by DiAnn Mills
“Thanks. I found something you might be able to use. I’m now sure my mother’s death was no surprise to my dad.”
An alarm triggered for the young woman’s safety. “What have you learned?”
“I’d rather discuss it with you in person.”
“Okay,” Bethany said slowly. “Did you put yourself in danger?”
“Depends on how you look at it.”
“How soon are you available?”
“I can be there at three thirty.”
“Good.” She’d seen the results of family disputes in the streets and the repercussions of violated civil rights. Maybe she hadn’t heard God correctly when she prayed about the change in divisions. “Carly, I have no idea what you’ve been doing, but I’m concerned.”
“What would you do if your mother had been murdered?”
CHAPTER 18
3:30 P.M. WEDNESDAY
Bethany and Thatcher observed Carly Javon through one-way glass. She sat alone in an interview room. An ugly bruise on the left side of her face shone through a generous layer of makeup. Her hair was combed, and she wore jeans and a Rice University T-shirt.
Bethany hated this for Carly—the scars might never heal. “Looking at her makes me want to cuff her dad personally.”
“What if her injuries have nothing to do with Alicia’s murder?”
“It would at least get the jerk off the streets.”
“Are you going to persuade Carly to press charges against dear old Dad?” Thatcher said.
“Her mother wouldn’t have filed charges, but she’s spunky.”
Bethany opened the door to the interview room. “Carly, what’s the story on your face?”
“The truth or a lame excuse?” She stared wide-eyed.
Bethany liked her. Now to see if she had the courage to nail her dad. “What do you think?”
“He didn’t like the idea of me living with my aunt and uncle. Or taking my violin.”
“Did you let yourself back into the house?”
“I did, and he surprised me. Not pretty.” Carly clenched her jaw.
“How about allowing us to arrest him?” She eased onto a chair across from the girl. Thatcher joined them.
“Where do I sign? I came to you instead of the police because I trust you.”
“Begin with what happened.”
“He accused me of lying to you about his and Mom’s relationship. He threatened my aunt and uncle. He also told me I was just like my mother and deserved whatever happened to me.”
The coward needed to be stopped. “Was Shannon there?”
“She had a class.”
“So you’re ready to fight back?”
“I want him found guilty for his hand in killing my mother. Agent Sanchez, I’m convinced he knows how my mother died.”
“Why?”
“I should have told you this sooner. Sorry. Mom confided in me about leaving him. I wanted to find out what he’d been doing online, so I searched through his deleted e-mails. If he’d been smart, he’d have permanently gotten rid of them. Anyway, four days before Mom was killed, he sent an inquiry to their attorney requesting a change in their wills, specifically that Mom didn’t name Carly and me as beneficiaries, just him. He also wanted to know if the trust fund had him listed in the event Shannon and I were no longer alive.” She drew in a sob. “I didn’t see where the attorney responded.”
No indication of those deleted e-mails had been reported by the investigators. Had they been permanently erased after Carly had seen them? “Was it the same computer we imaged?” Thatcher said.
“No. He has a laptop. He had plenty of time to hide or destroy evidence.”
Bethany took the young woman’s hand. “We realize how difficult this is for you.”
Carly nodded. “If he’s not stopped, he’ll hurt my aunt and uncle. Maybe kill them too.” She reached inside her purse and pulled out a tissue. “You called at the right time. I’m angry and I ache all over. Ready to do whatever it takes to have him arrested for murder, beginning with what he did to me last night.”
“Excellent decision. What about your sister?” Bethany said.
“I think she’s okay.” A sad smile with a cracked and bleeding lip. “Shannon is so afraid of Dad that she’d never say a thing against him. But I have my priorities, and it’s not bowing to him. None of this will stop me from getting my education. Mom set up a trust fund for me and Shannon a few years ago so we can finish and go on to grad school. Actually there’s enough for doctorate work too. I could live on my own, but my aunt is Mom’s sister, and I care about her.”
“Does your aunt or uncle have any information about your mother’s death? Do we need to question them?”
Carly shook her head. “My mother didn’t want to involve them. They’ve always come to me with worry about Mom.”
“Do you think your father was serious about changing and just couldn’t?”
She snorted. “No. I think it was a front, the good guy role. The other woman probably has a lot to do with it. I mean, he had what he wanted—Mom supporting him and the girlfriend. When I was back home last night, I tried to find his girlfriend’s name and Mom’s cell phone. I don’t believe for a minute it was stolen. But Dad keeps his bedroom door locked. Got caught before I could break in.”
Bethany captured Thatcher’s attention for him to take over. “We have a search warrant for your parents’ home,” he said. “Although your father gave us permission without one. You’re a brave girl to come here twice to help. Can you tell me if any home repairs were done in the last few months?”
“No.”
“Pizza deliveries?”
“Sure. Always used the same restaurant because they had coupons.” When he handed her a pad of paper, she wrote the company and phone number.
“Have you learned anything new about Mom’s murder?”
“We’re making progress.”
Bethany wished he’d agree with her about Paul Javon’s guilt.
“You’ve helped us so much today,” Thatcher said. “And you’re filing charges before you leave, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your mom would be proud of you.”
“I hope so. At least while he’s in jail, he won’t be hurting anyone.”
Bethany refused to discount a threat to the Javon girls. “Have you talked Shannon into moving out?”
“She doesn’t think Dad will hit her. I told her I used to feel the same way until he bloodied my nose. But I’m not giving up. She has a boyfriend, and he knows about the problems at home.”
Could be another violent crime. “Promise me and Agent Graves you’ll not go back into your dad’s house for any reason. It’s much too dangerous.”
“Even when he’s in jail? Doesn’t matter. I have to learn the truth.”
“There’s nowhere you could look for anything the FBI hasn’t already detailed,” Bethany said.
Carly smiled. “Probably not.”
CHAPTER 19
5:35 P.M. WEDNESDAY
Bethany shut down her computer, ready to end the day. Slow progress with the case, but Paul Javon had been arrested on aggravated domestic assault charges and would see a judge in the morning. Carly consulted her uncle’s attorney for legal counsel and gave him Pastor Lee’s name. Paul Javon could be convicted for continuous violence against the family, which meant a heavy fine or two to ten years in prison.
She saw Thatcher leaning against the doorway of her cubicle. How could one man look so good?
“Want to grab something to eat?” he said.
They could discuss the case. Not a bad idea. “Can I run home and change clothes first?”
“Sorry. I’m on a time crunch.”
He must have a date. “We can make it another time. Breakfast? On me?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. What was his problem? The cases? Had SSA Preston given her the ax? Did Thatcher need to talk?
“Know what? We can go now. In fact, I’m ready.�
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“Bethany, I have a gig. That’s the reason I can’t go later.”
“What kind of a . . . gig?”
“Not many people know this, but I’m part of a band. When I can, I join them.”
She hadn’t seen that coming. “What do you play?”
“Guitar.”
“What kind of music?”
“Country-western.”
“My fav. Count me in.” She grabbed her purse from her desk drawer. “I have jeans and boots in my truck. Leftovers from a western-day event at church. Won’t take but a minute to change.”
“Sure, but you don’t have to do this. You’ll be alone while I warm up with the rest of the guys and while we’re playing sets until midnight.”
“I can handle it.” Watching Thatcher onstage with a guitar would be priceless. She’d be sure to snap a few pics. “I’ll get into character.”
“Hat too?”
“I draw the line there.” She laughed. “I can hardly wait.”
“Right. Hope you aren’t disappointed.”
At a local restaurant, they ordered chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and rolls, with a salad to balance it out. Thatcher let her know the evening could change on a dime. “Although there are lots of agents on this case, we could get a call.”
Time to focus on the murders. “Wish we were making more headway.”
“Three days into it, we have an abuser in jail.”
But not the killer. “Maybe a few days and assault charges will loosen his tongue.”
“I doubt it.”
At seven thirty, they pulled into the parking lot of a huge country-western club in west Houston. It often hosted big names from Nashville. Impressive.
Three men unloaded equipment from a van parked in front of the rustic entrance. “The rest of the guys are here,” Thatcher said. “Ever been to this club?”
“No. Do you play here often?”
“Depends on how you look at it. My schedule means I might have to replace myself at the last minute. But I have someone who can fill in.” He released his seat belt. “This is a great stress reliever. I want you to keep what happens tonight to yourself. Only two other agents and SSA Preston know about my hobby.”
“Okay. If I want to blackmail you, this would be it?”
“Right.” He feigned irritation, but his lips curved into a smile.
“I wanted to take pics, but I’ll restrain myself. Who are the agents?”
“Grayson Hall and Laurel Evertson. We graduated from Quantico together. Also, Daniel Hilton, Laurel’s fiancé.” They exited his car, and he grabbed his guitar from the trunk. Two of the band members waved. “I’ve never brought a girl to a gig.”
Bethany laughed. The confident agent who flirted with the ladies seemed uncomfortable. “Why did you invite me?”
Thatcher stared at her. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s a way for you to get to know me better. I’m a risk taker.”
“Not so sure I’m ready to unleash much more of my inner personal life.” He already knew about her dad and brother. The rest was boring.
Inside the dimly lit club, a jukebox played the latest Keith Urban. Alcohol assaulted her nose, and she ordered a Diet Dr Pepper. She eased into a seat near the dance floor and watched Thatcher and the three guys set up equipment and warm up. He introduced her as a friend. Curiosity coursed through her about his guitar-playing expertise.
By eight thirty, the club was filled. Weird. Most places didn’t pack a crowd until ten or ten thirty. Two cowboy types approached her for the extra seat, but she told them it was saved for one of the band members.
The band picked up their instruments. Thatcher took center stage. She started. Was he the lead singer? Thatcher Graves a singing cowboy? She drew in a breath. What if he was terrible? What would she say?
At the strum of his guitar, a blonde with more curves than Bethany would ever own made her way to Thatcher. She said something and he snickered. A moment later he shook his head. Maybe some of the office chatter was true.
Thatcher played a few chords. “Thank you for joining us tonight.” He strummed the opening bars of a tune, and the crowd applauded. “So is this what you want to hear?”
When he broke into a song, Bethany shivered to her toes. Never had she imagined the clear, low tones coming from him. She didn’t recognize the song, but with the chorus of “When all my dreams come true, they’ll all be about you,” the crowd roared, and so did she. His voice gave her goose bumps.
She listened and kept smiling. Couldn’t help herself. Had he sung professionally?
After the first twenty-minute set, he joined her with a glass of water.
“Okay, you blew me away,” she said. “You might have missed your calling.”
He took a long drink of water, and she saw him from a different angle. Definitely a unique persona from Special Agent Thatcher Graves. This was a carefree nature she’d seen only glimpses of in the few short days they’d worked together.
“At one time, I recorded on a label in Nashville. Helped me through college. I wanted to continue with the music while practicing psychology, but my dad didn’t approve of either career choice. He was right. The FBI is where I belong.”
Another small hint of the real Thatcher Graves. “So when you can’t make a gig, which one of the guys fills in?”
“Female singer. No competition.”
“You’re really good. I’m glad I came.”
“Just keep it to yourself.”
“I will. Ever work undercover with the band?”
He grinned. “Maybe. But not tonight.”
The blonde from earlier moved closer and finagled her way onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thatcher, I’m hurt. You haven’t called me in weeks.” She kissed him, but he turned away.
“I’ve been busy. Can’t you see I’m with someone?”
Bethany avoided the scene and watched a waitress deliver a pitcher of beer and glasses to a table beside them. The shadow of an Hispanic man in the far corner captured her attention. For a moment she thought it was Lucas. . . . Should she excuse herself for the ladies’ room? Check out the man at the far table?
The man stood, much too heavy for her brother. Get a grip. Lucas had better things to do than stalk his sister.
The blonde laughed. “Since when did you go for a Mexican?” she said. “She must be really good.”
He scooted her off his lap and onto her feet. “Insulting my date doesn’t make you look good.”
The blonde swore and walked off.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “She just confirmed all the gossip you’ve heard. The new Thatcher hasn’t surfaced enough yet.”
“Who is the new Thatcher?”
“I’m trying to show it.”
By twelve thirty, they were driving back into town. Exhaustion pelted her body, and she’d be tired in the morning. Yet tonight had been worth it, and she was filled with admiration for Thatcher’s talent. Women were all over him tonight, but he didn’t seem interested. Maybe one day she’d ask to tag along again.
“I have the country-western band going. So what’s something unusual about you?” he said.
“Nothing you could blackmail me about.” Actually there was plenty about her brother and family she wouldn’t want told. “I have an African gray parrot. His name’s Jasper, and he has a huge vocabulary.”
“Does he sing?”
“Sometimes. He does a mean head bob to salsa.”
Her phone buzzed with a text, and she took a quick look.
Bethany, u keep bad company. Guess u will live & die with Graves.
CHAPTER 20
6:45 A.M. THURSDAY
Thatcher invited Bethany for coffee at Starbucks near the FBI office. They both ordered breakfast sandwiches and black coffee. Two things in common this morning, except he added a scone.
“Are you sleeping any better?” He blew into the hot coffee. Usually he requested an ice cube to cool it. This morning his mind sp
un in too many directions.
“Sort of.”
Which explained why he received texts all hours of the night. “So you think we should concentrate on Alicia’s death.”
“The Caswell murder keeps turning up cold. Nothing from Mae Kenters or the traffic cam footage gave us a lead.”
“I don’t give up, remember? I believe the murders are a serial killing.”
“Gut instinct doesn’t stand up in court. Paul Javon has motive oozing out his pores. Ruth Caswell hadn’t been beaten. In fact, she didn’t have a bruise on her.”
“Aren’t we feisty this morning?”
Her face softened. “I only meant we needed evidence. Can you tell me more about your reasoning?”
“The same method of execution and the two plastic scorpions link the cases. Alicia’s broken arm was prior to her murder.” Thatcher sipped his coffee. “The majority of serial killers pick their victims at random. They kill because they can. The psychological gratification is their key. Most serial killers satisfy the blood demon, pacifying their craving for a while, and then lay low for months. Not in our cases. Have you analyzed it all?”
“Just shoving information into my head’s data bank.”
He nodded. “Anything kicking around in your head?”
“I’m thinking . . . constantly. Everything about Javon points to him shoving Alicia out of the way and devising a plan to eliminate his daughters for the eight mil. If I could only find proof.”
“I want to bring in Shannon. She’s the aloof one. Carly seems to protect her, and I’d like to know why.”
“Danford said Alicia originally wasn’t going to leave Paul until Shannon graduated from college.”
He typed into his phone. “I’ll arrange it when we get to the office.”
She nibbled on her sandwich. “Why is it you know more about me than I do you?”
“I assumed the office gossip filled you in.”
Her dimples masked the tough-girl agent. “I haven’t seen that side.”
He chuckled, realizing his reputation would haunt him forever. A report came in on both phones. “We have camera footage at Ruth Caswell’s prior to Mae Kenters leaving the room for her break.”