Deadlock

by DiAnn Mills

  Carly gave a grim smile. “Two people are ahead of me.”

  Bethany eased into a seat beside the young woman. “Can you explain what happened?”

  She took a breath and stared at her injured hand. “Never had a clue Dad would pay bail. But I should have figured it out. He’d changed the locks on the door, except the garage side door. I let myself in and picked the lock on their bedroom. I searched everywhere for Mom’s phone—under the bed, between the mattress and box springs, in Mom’s things, their closets. When I heard Dad coming up the stairs and a woman call his name and laugh, I panicked and tripped over a drawer. He walked in and went crazy.” She leaned her head on Anita’s shoulder. “I didn’t have any place to run. I was trapped. He stood in the doorway and ranted. Wanted to know how I’d gotten inside the house. He went through my purse and found my key. Took all my cash.”

  “How did you get hurt?”

  Carly was a kid wanting to right a wrong. “He accused me of framing him for Mom’s murder. With each word he moved closer. He grabbed my fingers and bent them and my wrist back. I heard them pop and screamed. He must have been afraid of the neighbors because he let go.” She took a deep breath. “I ran from the room. Never saw the woman.”

  Anita patted her shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry. I failed, and now he’ll come after Shannon.”

  Bethany’s temper escalated. How could a man treat his own daughter like an animal? “Are you willing to press charges again?”

  “Whatever it takes. He’s a jerk, and I hate him.”

  Bethany refused to give the lecture on how those we love could also make us hate. She focused on Anita and Ken. “You’ll make sure she files charges?”

  “Already called the police and our lawyer. Paul murdered Alicia, and he nearly killed Carly.”

  “Sir,” Thatcher said, “I understand—”

  “Don’t placate me.”

  “Paul Javon is a dangerous man, and he’ll soon be under the care of Harris County again. This time he won’t be released so easily.” Thatcher turned to Carly. “Promise me, Special Agent Sanchez, and your aunt and uncle that you will leave the investigation to trained people.”

  “Amen,” Ken said.

  “I promise,” she whispered. “I’m worried about Shannon. She spent the afternoon with a friend, so I think she’s okay.”

  Ken pulled his phone from his pants pocket. “I’m calling her now. The three of us together can persuade her to stay clear of your dad until he’s arrested.”

  “Carly Javon,” a nurse called.

  Bethany gave her business card to Ken and watched the three disappear into the treatment area.

  “Do you think she’s told us everything?” Thatcher said.

  “I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

  Thatcher stared at the doors leading to the ER. “Carly loved her mother, which means more heart than brains. She’s a fighter. But she might not be as lucky the next time.”

  7:30 P.M. SUNDAY

  Bethany had been looking forward all day to her dinner date with Elizabeth. They talked for hours, until their yawns signified a need for sleep. They were kindred hearts, even if they were from different cultures—Bethany’s Hispanic heritage contrasting with her friend’s milky-white features.

  Bethany attempted to ignore the stress raging through her and concentrate on her friend, except her attention and thoughts about the murders always surfaced.

  “You’re all absorbed in the Scorpion case, aren’t you?” Elizabeth said.

  “Does it show? I’m sorry.”

  “I knew it was either the case or a man, and knowing you, it was work.”

  Bethany’s pulse raced, and she hoped she wasn’t developing feelings for off-limits Thatcher. Half the time, she didn’t even like him. “I simply want the killer stopped. Feels like he’s playing a game. Working hate crimes was easier, and someone would always talk. But that’s not necessarily true in violent crime when a killer lives to strike again.” She lifted her chin. “No more shoptalk. What have you been up to?”

  Elizabeth had expressed a longing for family, and she’d met a nice guy about two months ago. A slow blush touched her cheeks. “Still seeing the same guy.”

  “I need details. Background? Any priors?” Bethany said with a laugh.

  “He’s a history teacher and basketball coach at a private Christian high school.” Elizabeth’s eyes held a soft, dreamy look. “Has a three-year-old little boy and is raising him alone. We’ve had good times together.”

  “Are you happy?”

  Her eyes danced. “Very. But we’ll see. Both of us are praying about our relationship.”

  “Wonderful. The thought of a relationship terrifies me.”

  “I think God instructs us to follow Him, afraid or not.”

  “Which is why I’m single and working violent crime.”

  Elizabeth touched her arm. “If you’re waiting for problems in your family to fade away, I doubt it will happen.”

  CHAPTER 30

  1:30 A.M. MONDAY

  Bethany tossed back the sheet, unable to sleep or relax. Blundering and the weight of the unsolved murders weighed on her. Only one thing to do: outline what the investigation had found and try to make sense of it. Three murders and no connections. Paul Javon couldn’t have committed the third murder because he was in jail. It was still possible he hired someone to kill his wife and make it look like a copycat. Was she right with her theory, and Thatcher spot-on that Scorpion had killed Ruth Caswell and Ansel Spree? Where were the answers?

  Snapping on a light, she read through the various reports on her computer. Once she focused on what the FBI had learned about the killings, she pulled up a blank document and typed the creeping progress.

  Paul Javon is in jail for the second time on assault charges. He pleaded innocent again to domestic abuse, but Carly’s battered body, broken wrist and fingers, along with her testimony, indicate otherwise. Shannon refuses to affirm her sister’s allegations against their father.

  Felix Danford looks innocent of any wrongdoing.

  Bethany hadn’t absolved him completely, but his alibi had been confirmed by more than one person.

  The FBI’s informants claim the 103 Boys didn’t attempt a copycat and murder Ansel Spree. The gang wouldn’t lower themselves or give someone else credit for their work. Neither did they see it happen.

  We are looking for a small man, and psychological traits play into his ego. So far, only one of the service personnel who might have been near Ruth’s or Alicia’s homes fits this description, and he isn’t the killer.

  The crime scene was swept each time for prints, but nothing was found.

  The victims were shot point-blank, execution-style with the same type of bullet. But they still didn’t have the ballistics report.

  Ruth Caswell’s killer stole traceable items. Pawnshops in the city are on alert.

  Do the real killer or killers compare themselves to the often-deadly scorpion?

  What had she missed?

  She shivered . . . and reread the eight items. Progress and patience. The latter had always been her downfall.

  7:30 A.M. MONDAY

  Thatcher stared into the huge brown eyes of his partner, who looked like she needed another eight hours of sleep instead of drinking coffee at Starbucks. “What’s on your mind this morning?”

  “Last night Elizabeth gave me the name of the free medical clinic where she sends the residents. Small chance, but I wanted to see if Ansel Spree ever used it or if they knew Ruth Caswell.”

  “We don’t turn it off, do we?”

  “Apparently not. Thatcher, I feel so unqualified with this case. I want our partnership to work, but I’m losing faith in me offering anything substantial.”

  “Bethany, think like Scorpion. Understanding others gives us an edge to predict thoughts and behavior. We have to get inside his head, feel his highs and lows. Learn what excites him. Discourages him. But more importantly feel his pain. We�
�re compiling information moment by moment. Will he continue to kill or flee? To him, his thoughts are justification for killing innocent people.”

  “I’ll keep at it. I’m too stubborn to admit defeat. By the way, you handled Carly and the Cookes like silk.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Paul Javon’s issues might lead us to Alicia’s killer, but her death is the real thing. She was targeted by Scorpion.”

  “I’m not conceding yet. More to uncover. With the rush on the lab, the ballistics report will push us ahead, and we should have it tomorrow. Then we can discuss a copycat. Am I an asset or a pain?”

  He laughed. “Trust me, you’re doing a fine job. I value the way you evaluate evidence.” Yet, his heart thumped a little harder when he saw her. How long could he hide his attraction?

  “Appreciate the pep talk. I did a little digging in the early hours of the morning, and I found more information about Alicia and Paul Javon.” She hesitated, as though thinking through what she’d learned.

  He glanced up, his attention focused on her.

  “Alicia was engaged before Paul. Six months after she married Paul, her ex-fiancé was jogging at night and killed by a hit-and-run. Still a cold case. HPD questioned Javon when an anonymous caller indicated Paul threatened to kill her ex. No alibi, but no evidence either.”

  He peered into her face, where a frown slowly formed. “This is a good thing. That’s our job. What do you propose we do with this information?”

  “Leverage. Twenty-four years ago, forensics weren’t what they are today. Reopening a cold case might upset Paul enough to give us the name of his girlfriend. If he refuses, then his hands are dirty, and we’re looking at a copycat.”

  “Good call, partner. I’m ready to talk to him.”

  She reached for her purse with one hand and her coffee with another. “I’m ready. Want to take my truck and pick up your car later?”

  “As much as I despise my rental, I’ll drive.”

  “What is it with you and always having to be behind the wheel?”

  He grinned. “Power and control.”

  “Thought so. And the loaner has my snacks.”

  At the city jail, Thatcher waited for Paul Javon to respond to what Bethany had learned about the twenty-four-year-old unsolved murder. “Looks to me like we have enough evidence to reopen the cold case.”

  “I shouldn’t have seen you without my attorney,” Javon said. “The whole thing was a ridiculous accusation.”

  Thatcher stared into the man’s face, using silence to add pressure. “You’re right, Paul. The prosecutor will bring up the old case. Your attorney will ask to have it stricken, but what would look good is your cooperation. Give us your girlfriend’s name and contact information, and I’ll personally ensure it’s in your record.” He pushed a pad and pen in his direction. “It’s a way to show your daughters a new beginning.”

  “All right. I’ll give it to you. Haven’t talked to her since my arrest.” He printed the name Lisa Camry and a phone number.

  “What was your last conversation about?”

  “Old subject. She’s pregnant. Money would make it go away, but she refuses an abortion.” He ran his hand over his face. “Prior to Alicia’s death, she showed me the medical report. I was furious and wanted proof it was my child.”

  “Were you able to confirm the paternity?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No. I needed time to think about it.”

  “Where does she live?”

  He shook his head.

  “Won’t or can’t?”

  “She lives with her invalid mother on the west side of town. We couldn’t meet there, so we met at different hotels.”

  “Which ones?”

  “That . . . that won’t help you. I always took care of the room, and she entered through the back.”

  Thatcher pointed to the notepad. “I want a list of those hotels, the dates and times.”

  He closed his eyes. “She’s too gentle and kind to hurt Alicia.”

  “Have you hit her too?”

  “My anger issues never surfaced with her.”

  Thatcher stared into his face. The man was a bully and a coward. If he hadn’t abused his girlfriend, it was because their relationship hadn’t angered him yet. “Really? One more death on your hands goes against your conscience?”

  CHAPTER 31

  10:00 A.M. MONDAY

  Outside the city jail, Bethany breathed in the satisfaction of a lead. Thatcher walked briskly, and she hurried to keep up, short legs working overtime. He said nothing, telling her his mind toyed with Paul Javon’s moral code. Hopefully the judge would insist upon a psychiatric exam and get the man in counseling and on meds.

  Medical professionals and prescriptions did no good for her brother. Lucas seemingly found no reason to change, except to get worse. No texts from Lucas since Saturday night. Maybe he’d weighed what revenge and threatening FBI agents would cost. Nice thought. One more incident, and the hour after Scorpion’s arrest, she’d file charges against him.

  “I want to talk to our friend at the dry cleaner’s,” Thatcher said, interrupting her musings.

  “Why?”

  “I want to talk about his brother, ensure there’s nothing that could lead us to Scorpion.”

  “A new development?”

  “No. Just giving him a little time to think about what he told us.”

  No point in arguing with Thatcher.

  The moment the two entered the dry cleaner’s, Siddiqui stepped from behind the counter, definitely shaken. “Let’s talk in my office. I know why you’re here.”

  Seated in a small room with the door closed, Thatcher opened the conversation. “Sir, you said you knew why we returned.”

  Siddiqui buried his face in his hands. “My brother.”

  “What can you tell us?”

  “He’s broken the law and left the country. My family has been disgraced.”

  “You were cleared previously.”

  Siddiqui nodded. “I’ll always be on some list.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bethany said, and she meant it. Past cases in the civil rights division where prejudice became the norm.

  “Was your brother here on Friday when we conducted the interview?”

  Siddiqui paled. “No. Agents, I’m trying to build my family’s respect again. And I know nothing about Mr. Spree’s murder. I wanted to help you.”

  “You did,” Thatcher said. “His statement indicates he was aware of danger unless he cooperated with someone, most likely the killer. You provided important information, and I’ll make sure your cooperation is written into your file.”

  Once in the car, Bethany worked through her irritation at Thatcher and pity for Siddiqui. Yes, she was right he had no part in killing Spree, but to hear his desire for respect made her sympathetic to his predicament.

  “I hope he’s able to bring honor to his family,” she said.

  “Our job isn’t always catching the bad guys. Sometimes it’s reassuring the good ones.”

  11:03 A.M. MONDAY

  Thatcher pulled into the subdivision on the west side of town, where Paul Javon claimed Lisa Camry lived with her mother. Small tract homes built in the sixties. Junk cars. Weeds.

  “I bet Alicia’s inheritance looked very good to a woman living here,” Thatcher said.

  “Not all the homes are deteriorating. But I agree. You should see the contrast in my parents’ neighborhood. The well-kept homes look like roses among thorns.”

  She had another sensitive side.

  They parked in the driveway of a small home, minus the neighborhood’s abundance of yard decor. A lazy cat stretched out on the front porch. Freshly painted exterior. “Let’s see what we find out about Lisa Camry.”

  “And hope she’s home and didn’t leave town since your call.”

  “Or waiting with a loaded gun?” He smiled and captured one of hers. Good.

  A tall young woman opened the door, wearing a shaky smile and a wedding ring. Auburn hai
r and green eyes, with a striking resemblance to Alicia. After Thatcher and Bethany displayed their IDs, Lisa Camry ushered them into a small but neat living area and gestured for them to sit.

  “As I explained on the phone, we have questions about Paul Javon,” Thatcher said.

  She nodded, her body stiff. “I figured as much.” Her gaze focused beyond them, looking but not seeing. “How can I help you?”

  “Are you having an affair with Paul Javon?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m a married woman.”

  “I assume that’s a yes.”

  “My husband drives a truck. I get lonely. I met Paul at a club and we hit it off.”

  “Is your husband aware of your affair?”

  “I’d never hurt him like that.”

  Thatcher lifted a brow. “How long have you been seeing Paul Javon?”

  “About eight months.”

  “What were your plans?”

  “I have no clue about his. Mine were to play it out until one of us got tired of the game.” She shook her head. “Never dreamed he’d be a person of interest in a murder or beat up his wife and daughter.” She paused. “I follow the news. . . . Anyway, I didn’t tell him about my husband, but he told me his wife no longer cared for him.”

  “Has he ever hit you?”

  Her green eyes slid him disbelief. “This lady packs, and I’d blow his head off if he even tried.”

  Maybe Paul needed a woman like Lisa to keep him in line. Time for Bethany to pose the sensitive questions. Thatcher turned to his partner—who also packed.

  “Lisa, how often is your husband on the road?” Bethany said.

  “Five days a week.”

  “I bet he’s exhausted when he’s home.”

  Lisa nodded sadly. “Not much difference than when he’s gone. I do love him, but I have needs.”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Paul told us earlier today. Is it his baby?”

  “No. I thought he’d pay me off.” She shrugged. “He always had lots of money and drove a BMW. I really want to get out of this neighborhood.”