Cut and Run

by Mary Burton

  Among the belongings were a hairbrush, lipstick, mace, PowerBars, and receipts for food and gas and a withdrawal from an ATM. There were also her cracked cell phone, breath mints, and a hotel key.

  “What about that phone?” Hayden asked. “Any record of calls? I hear she was trying to call me.”

  “That’s correct,” Savage said. “But she was hit before she finished dialing. There’s a voicemail from Dr. McIntyre’s office.”

  “They were trading messages,” he said. “What else is on the phone?”

  “She also visited the website for the medical examiner’s office and did a search on Dr. McIntyre.”

  “She saw a picture of her?” Hayden asked.

  “It was on the page she pulled up.”

  How had Macy been tipped off about Faith? Had she learned something when she’d visited Jack Crow’s trailer?

  “No more calls,” Savage went on to say, “but Special Agent Crow did snap a selfie in what looks like her hotel room, as well as a picture of a missing person poster, all on the night she was attacked.” Savage opened the phone and showed the Rangers the pictures of the selfie and the missing person poster. “Remember Paige Sheldon?”

  Paige. The name Macy had given the responding officer. “Sure. She was a pregnant teenager who vanished about eight months ago.”

  Savage pulled up the case on her computer. It was the same picture on the flyer, but this one was more vivid, in color, and showcased her stunning looks. “She’s now nineteen, and according to the missing person report, she vanished in May,” Savage said.

  “Why did Macy take a picture of her poster?” Hayden asked.

  “Missing girls, runaways, and black market babies are the exact kind of case Macy Crow specializes in investigating.” Savage spoke the words as if she were saying Hayden’s thoughts out loud. “She’d have been drawn to a poster like Paige Sheldon’s.”

  These cases got under Hayden’s skin because he remembered how Sierra used to talk to him about adoption. They had always known she couldn’t have children, so adoption had been the plan. They had just been referred for a mixed-race toddler when she’d been diagnosed with cancer. Adoption was put on hold, and whenever she was sick from the chemo, he’d remind her that one day she’d hold their baby in her arms.

  “Is there a geotag on the picture?” Hayden asked.

  “Yeah,” Savage said. “It was taken on Third Street outside a bar called Second Chances, which is two blocks from where she was struck by the vehicle.”

  “Her old man gets brutally murdered. Macy’s in town less than five hours, visits a bar, takes the time to snap a picture of Paige Sheldon’s flyer, and then an attempt is made on her life,” Hayden said. “I want to talk to Paige Sheldon’s family. Macy Crow saw something, and I want to know what it was. What else did you find?”

  “Her Uber app showed she was picked up at a hotel at ten p.m. last night.” Savage reached for the hotel key that was among Macy’s belongings. “I called the hotel, identified myself, and told them to hold off on housekeeping until we can investigate the room. The manager said Macy wasn’t supposed to check out until Friday and had put a Do Not Disturb sign on her door. The room should be untouched.”

  Hayden wrote down the hotel name and address. “I’ll check it out.” He looked at the picture of the Paige Sheldon flyer Macy had taken outside Second Chances.

  “She might have left more information in her hotel room,” Savage said.

  “Which is exactly why we’re headed there.”

  The drive to Macy Crow’s hotel room took Hayden and Brogan just under twenty minutes. It was an average, nondescript chain hotel that could be found in hundreds of cities across America. They introduced themselves to the clerk, who ducked into the back and brought out the manager, a tall man with short, graying hair.

  He came from behind the front desk and extended his hand. “I’m Jay Sanchez. You called about one of our guests?”

  “That’s right,” Brogan said. “We’d like to see Macy Crow’s room.”

  “It was a hit-and-run?” the manager asked.

  “She passed away late last night, and we’re trying to find out what happened.” Brogan was sticking to the story that Macy was dead.

  “That’s terrible,” Sanchez said. “Of course I’ll show you the room.”

  As they rode the elevator to the third floor, Hayden asked, “When did she check in?”

  “Yesterday,” he said. “She was supposed to check out on Friday.”

  “Did you notice anything about Ms. Crow?” Hayden asked. “Did she have any visitors?”

  “No visitors that I know of, but I don’t work the front desk anymore.” The elevator doors opened, and Sanchez extended his hand and waited for them to exit. “I did ask the gals that worked the front desk, and none of them remembered. I’m having the surveillance tapes pulled. As soon as I get the all clear from corporate, I’ll turn them over.”

  The manager stopped at room 342, where a DO NOT DISTURB sign dangled from the door handle. He removed a passkey from his pocket, swiped it, and opened the door. “Ms. Crow checked in Monday, but she didn’t have a reservation. I checked the room status myself when Ms. Savage called to confirm that housekeeping had not been inside. As you can see, they haven’t.”

  “Did you enter the room?” Hayden asked.

  “No. I didn’t want to disrupt anything.”

  “Great. Thank you for your time, Mr. Sanchez,” Hayden said. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “Glad to help.” Sanchez lingered a beat and then, accepting that Hayden wouldn’t allow him inside, nodded and stepped aside. Hayden pulled on latex gloves, flipped on the lights, and closed the door.

  Brogan worked his fingers into gloves. “Give us a clue, Macy.”

  The room was furnished with the standard two double beds, a desk and chair, a bureau, and a television. Both beds were still made, but judging by the towels on the bathroom floor and the open soap packets, she had showered in the short time she was here.

  A blue zippered bag filled with cosmetics, tampons, toothbrush, toothpaste, and razor sat on the bathroom counter. In the shower, the shampoo and conditioner bottles were open.

  Hayden looked at the blond strands of hair in the hairbrush, and his mind flashed to a memory of Faith running her hands through her very thick hair. She’d quipped once that sometimes the locks were like having a sheepdog on her head.

  There was a coffee maker plugged into the wall, and beside it were two wrapped mugs and K-Cups. The trash can was clean.

  Hayden stripped the top blanket on one of the beds and removed the pillowcases from the pillows before yanking off the sheets. He skimmed his hands under first one mattress and then the other but found nothing.

  Brogan opened and searched the bureau drawers. The first was empty except for a Bible. None of the others held anything. He then crossed to the simple desk, where a computer and phone sat in full display. There was also a set of keys, which he guessed was for Jack Crow’s truck.

  “Here we go.” Brogan opened the laptop.

  Hayden rubbed the back of his neck and studied the stickers on the outside of the computer. “Hiking, a Hello Kitty sticker, a triathlon logo, and a literacy emblem. Athletic, quirky, and smart.”

  Brogan booted up the computer. A screen saver appeared featuring Macy standing atop a peak in a lush green mountain range that reminded Hayden of the Appalachian Trail. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, her sunglasses were on top of her head, and she wore a blue puffer jacket. Straight white teeth flashed, and she had her hands in the air as if she’d crossed a finish line. He would have sworn on a stack of Bibles it was Faith.

  “She worked for the FBI,” Brogan said. “And yet she doesn’t have a pass code on her computer.”

  “She wanted us to see this. One more precaution, just in case.”

  Hayden picked up the keys and walked to the window. Pushing back the curtains, he scanned the lot until he spotted several dark trucks. He began
clicking the unlock button on the chain. The lights on the truck parked closest to the hotel winked.

  Brogan picked up the phone. “Looks like a burner, like the one Ledbetter said Crow bought.”

  “Ledbetter said Crow bought two phones.”

  “The phone found on Macy was her own personal phone. There is only one burner that I see.”

  “Any activity on the phone?”

  “No call, text, or email history,” Brogan said. “But there are three addresses in the Maps application.”

  “Where are they?”

  “The first is out in the Texas Hill Country, the second is in East Austin near where she was hit, and the third is for the Travis County Medical Examiner’s Office.”

  “Jack Crow left Faith’s work address for Macy?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “That explains Macy’s search for Faith. She had to have been floored.”

  Macy had been to Crow’s trailer, but then she’d driven deeper west into the Hill Country, doubled back to this hotel, and finally gone to East Austin.

  “She had a call in to me on her personal phone,” Hayden said. “Because she found something out there in the country.”

  Brogan opened Macy’s email account on the computer and scanned the received emails and then the sent folder. “You’re going to love this. She sent an email message to Faith McIntyre. She scheduled it to arrive today at five.”

  “Put a call in to Savage. Have her people process this room and the truck completely. And tell them it’s a priority.”

  He reached for his phone and dialed Faith. The call went to her voicemail. “Faith, check your email. There’s a message from Macy, sent today.”

  It was nearly seven when Hayden and Brogan arrived at the Second Chances bar on Third Street. Stepping inside, they removed their hats, knowing there’d be no hiding the fact they were Rangers. But then, neither cared.

  The bar had a decent-size crowd for a weeknight. Most of the patrons looked like working-class men. Only one or two in cheap suits were sitting in the booths. Behind the bar was a long mirror framed with barnwood, and in front of it were long shelves covered in countless liquor bottles. Hayden glanced at the flyers behind the bar and spotted the one for Paige Sheldon. Why had it caught Macy Crow’s attention? This was the kind of work Crow did for the FBI, so maybe it had simply been reflex.

  There were a few men at the bar hunched over their drinks, and standing before them was a tall man with gray hair brushed off a long, lean face tanned by the sun. He wore a bright-red T-shirt that read SECOND CHANCES, jeans, and worn cowboy boots.

  He grinned when he spotted the pair. “How can I assist two of Texas’s finest?”

  Hayden made the introduction as each showed his badge. “You are?”

  “Danny Garnet. I own the joint.” He set the bottle of booze on the bar. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re following up on a case lead. We had a hit-and-run at the park.”

  “I heard about that. Cops weren’t giving out many details. What can I do to help?”

  “Victim snapped a picture a block from the bar. Thought she might have come in here.”

  “Last night was hopping. We have a two-for-one special between eight and eleven, and that brings ’em out of the woodwork.”

  Hayden pulled out a picture of Macy Crow. “Ever seen her in here?”

  Garnet studied the picture, nodding. “I do remember her. She’s not the average gal that comes in this bar, and she stood out. There were several guys staring at her last night. One tried to hit on her.” He handed back the picture. “How is she?”

  “She didn’t make it.” Hayden watched Garnet’s face, carefully searching for any hint that he knew more than he was saying.

  “Shit.” His face crumpled, and he looked down, shaking his head, rubbing the bar rag over an already-clean section. “Where was she hit?”

  “Right down the street near Comal Pocket Park. And you were here the whole night?”

  “I was,” he said. “Slinging drinks. Like I said, two-for-one night is crazy.”

  “And you got people that can confirm it?” Brogan asked.

  “Sure. Dozens. Say the word, and I’ll find a few folks to back me up.” Garnet shook his head and then seemed to think better of holding back. “Look, I don’t like to share what my customers say, but Macy was here to ask me about her dad, Jack Crow. She told me he died on Sunday. Terrible. Crow and I served in the military together. He saved my ass a couple of times. Hell of a guy. And I told her so. I was sorry to hear he passed.” He leaned in closer. “And for the record, I’ve been clean since I got out thirty years ago. Not even a speeding ticket.”

  “Did she tell you Jack Crow was murdered?” Hayden asked.

  “Shit. No. She never said a word about that. What the hell is going on?” Garnet asked.

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Hayden said. “When was the last time Crow came by here?”

  “Years.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Definitely. I wouldn’t forget my old buddy. Maybe he dropped by, but I wasn’t here. During the day I’m often off property dealing with suppliers.”

  “Did she speak to anyone while she was here?” Brogan asked.

  “Just the guy who was hitting on her.” Garnet twisted the onyx ring on his pinky finger. “I could tell she wasn’t having any of his charm. She left less than a few minutes after he started hitting on her.”

  “Is there anyone else we can talk to here who might have known her?” Hayden asked.

  “Sure. Heather was here. She’s my manager, and frankly she notices more about what’s going on than I do. As she likes to tell me, women are more astute.”

  “We’d like to speak to her,” Hayden said.

  “She’s not here right now, but I can get you her contact information.” Garnet went into the back and reappeared with a sticky note. “Here’s her name and number. She’s not scheduled to work until tomorrow night.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “We will,” Hayden said. And then as he turned he nodded to Paige’s flyer. “Thanks for posting that flyer. Not all area businesses are as cooperative. And for that case, we need all the help we can get.”

  “We do what we can.” Garnet again turned the ring round and round. “We’re as much a part of the community as anyone.”

  Outside, as they got into Hayden’s car, Brogan said, “He’s lying.”

  “Yeah, I got that feeling, too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tuesday, June 26, 7:15 p.m.

  Faith had put on her earphones and was listening to music as she spent the next hour typing up more reports that would have to be done eventually. As she slid into the facts of the cases she’d worked, she felt a sense of control returning.

  When she finished the last report, Faith combed her hair back with her hands and then secured it with a band. She then shifted her attention to the queue of emails on her computer.

  Several were from Margaret Slater. One was an update on the shelter fundraiser, and another invited her to be on a fundraiser for the brain trauma unit at the hospital. Her last line insisted they have lunch or dinner soon.

  Miss seeing you, kiddo.

  Faith responded, promising to call her soon. And then remembering that Margaret had been a good friend of her mother’s, she typed,

  I’d like to talk about Mom and my adoption when you get the chance.

  For a moment, she hesitated to hit the “Send” button. She’d avoided these questions with Margaret for years, and as uncomfortable as they felt, they had to be asked. She hit “Send.”

  The tenth email down stopped her cold. It was from Macy Crow. She checked the time and saw that it had been sent at five p.m. today. How was that possible?

  Dear Dr. McIntyre,

  My name is Macy Crow. I’m Jack Crow’s daughter. You left me a voicemail, but we need to talk i
n person.

  This might seem out of left field, but I believe we’re related. I’m adopted and have been searching for my biological roots for several years. My adoptive father, Jack Crow, passed away on Sunday, and ironically, you were the pathologist who took care of him.

  I’ve attached two addresses that Jack left me on a prepaid phone I found at his trailer. I’ve been to the one in the country, and I’ve got a gut feeling something very wrong happened there.

  Macy Crow

  P.S. A picture is worth a thousand words, so I’ve enclosed a few of mine.

  Faith studied the selfie and caught the wry expression that telegraphed, “Ain’t this something?” For a long moment she stared at the picture, seeing herself but also noticing subtle differences.

  Multiple reactions collided as she looked at what could have been her face. Joy. Curiosity. Anger. Sadness. She wasn’t sure how long she sat just staring at the picture and reconciling it with the image of Macy lying in her hospital bed. Hands trembling, she tapped her index finger on her mouse.

  She glanced at the clock. It was after office hours, and she realized the sounds of the office had faded as most of the staff had left for the day. She had almost an hour and a half before sunset. There wasn’t much traffic now, and if she hurried, she could reach the ranch. As tempting as it was to go alone, it wouldn’t do her or Macy any good if something happened. Hayden needed to have this information.

  A knock on her door startled her for a moment.

  Nancy poked her head inside. “What are you still doing here?”

  “Like you, catching up on paperwork.”

  “Remember the autopsy you did last week? Miller was a thirty-eight-year-old male who suffered sudden death after a blinding headache. You determined it was an aneurysm?”

  “Sure.” Cranial examination had determined massive blood present in the brain cavity due to an arterial tear in the brain stem.

  “His wife is in the lobby. She didn’t realize how late it is, and I ran into her on my way out. She’s still struggling and wants to talk to you.”