Deadlock

by DiAnn Mills

  “A spy for what? Elizabeth is one of my dearest friends. She and I share the same concerns for the women and children here.” She pointed to her cell phone. “I’d like to record our conversation.”

  “No way, Ms. FBI. If you’re going to record me, I insist upon a lawyer. You must think because I volunteer here I’m stupid.” Hostility seemed to seep from the pores of her skin. “Why didn’t you tell the others about your FBI work?”

  “Because I wanted to volunteer and help the residents, not have them think I’m on an investigation.”

  Dorian giggled. “But now you are.”

  An airhead or brilliant? “Why did you refer to me as a spy?”

  Dorian glared. “Why are you firing questions at me like I’m a suspect?”

  “Are you?”

  Dorian pounded her fist against the picnic table. “What’s that supposed to mean? Upset me, and I’ll destroy your reputation. Media love a victim.”

  “Go for it.” Bethany had no desire to get into a debate.

  Dorian pursed her lips like a pouting two-year-old. “Since the first time I met you, you’ve been obnoxious.”

  “Some people bring out the best in me.” Bethany reached deep for professionalism. “Who else knows where you volunteer?”

  “No one but my former landlord. I don’t have family.” She sniffed. “These women and children are all I have. I live for them. You won’t find a thing linking me to this morning’s crime.”

  Smart woman or a lack of social skills? Dorian’s facial muscles were relaxed. Her arms were folded in front of her, but not gripped. A smile intact without a hint of malevolence in her eyes.

  The woman rose from the bench. “I believe we’re done here. You have nothing to incriminate me that would stand in a court of law. From your history, Special Agent Bethany Sanchez, you don’t fight well. What you did to your own brother puts you at the bottom of the food chain. I suggest you watch your back.”

  CHAPTER 34

  10:15 A.M. TUESDAY

  Bethany curbed her tongue and watched Dorian stomp back to the shelter. A possible bipolar condition joined the list of mental issues going on with the woman. How had she learned about Lucas?

  At the door, Dorian turned and covered her mouth. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Please forgive me, Bethany. I’m so sorry.”

  Whoa. She wanted to see the background on this woman now.

  Dorian hurried back to her, tears streaming down her face. “I know you mean well, and you care about all of us here.”

  Bethany plastered on a smile. “It’s all right, Dorian. I’m questioning you because the officer thought you might be able to help find out who attacked Elizabeth. Sit down, and we can chat.”

  She obliged, and Bethany searched her mind for the right words to approach her about Lucas. “Do you know my brother?”

  She shook her head. “I heard on the news you sent him to prison for a family dispute.”

  Bethany knew for a fact the information had not been picked up by the media. “Where did you hear this?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t remember. Maybe if you tell me his name, I could help you.”

  Bethany offered a smile. Later she’d search through media records to see if she’d missed something about her testimony against Lucas. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You mean you sent your own brother to prison?”

  “Let’s focus on Elizabeth. Can you help us find out who attacked her?”

  Dorian glanced around, blinking. “It’s all a part of a scheme.”

  “What kind of scheme?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Bethany stifled her frustration. Remaining calm was at the top of her priorities. “Do you know why Elizabeth was attacked?”

  Dorian’s eyes glazed in an imbalanced stare. Thatcher should be here. “Because of the evil.”

  “What evil? Elizabeth is a wonderful person.”

  She glanced away, her lips quivering.

  “What would it take for you to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Nothing and everything. I’m afraid the evil has killed my oldest son.”

  “You said you have no family.”

  “I was afraid.”

  Bethany reached across the table, and this time she took the woman’s hand. Unpredictable behavior washed over every word, but fear had a way of confusing the mind. “What’s going on, Dorian?”

  “No one can find Tyler—he’s disappeared. He’s a good boy, responsible and smart. Not like me or his younger brother, Aiden.”

  “Where is your younger son? Is he alone?”

  “He’s in juvie. Supposed to be released next week. Tyler was going to take him in, but now . . .” Dorian burst into sobs. “I used to think the system caused all my problems.” She inhaled sharply. “It’s not. It’s evil people.”

  “Someone here?”

  “Not here. Out there.” Her arm swept around them. “It’s bigger than you could ever imagine. I made them mad and now Tyler’s missing.”

  “How so?” Of all the things Bethany should be doing, listening to a crazy woman wasn’t one of them.

  Dorian bent toward Bethany, but when she didn’t say anything, Bethany moved forward. “Evil people must be stopped so the innocent can live in peace. The victims deserve justice.”

  “You’re right, but it’s impossible,” she said. “If you make it known I gave you information, they’ll kill Aiden and me. In that order. If you arrest me, they’ll kill Aiden. Either way I lose.”

  “All right. I’ll say you made me furious. Refused to cooperate with HPD or the FBI. But I must have something to go on.” She desperately needed the woman’s confidence, whatever the state of her mind.

  “Find out what happened to Tyler . . . and visit Aiden. Persuade him to stay at the juvenile detention center. He’ll get what he needs and an education. And he’ll be safe.”

  “I’ll do my best. When they’re safe, you’ll tell me about this evil that has attacked Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you all I know.”

  Could she really believe Dorian? “How did this evil get inside the shelter?”

  Her eyes widened. “Through the walls, like a demon.”

  Great. What a waste of time. “What can you tell me about your missing son?”

  “He’s a hard worker. Saving for college. Would do anything for Aiden and me.” She hesitated. “He has to be alive.”

  “So the boys’ names are Tyler and Aiden Crawford?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll do my best to find him. What’s his address?” Bethany reached into her purse for a pen and paper, then pushed them toward her.

  Dorian wrote the information. “I have a photo of the boys. It’s wrinkled ’cause I keep it next to me. Their father was a black man, so they don’t look like me. He overdosed when Aiden was born. Stupid man died.” She pulled a folded photograph from her jeans pocket and handed it to Bethany.

  The older son was the young man who’d saved her life, Zack Adams.

  2:47 P.M. TUESDAY

  Thatcher listened to every word of Bethany’s latest report. She’d entered his cubicle wearing stress like a coat of armor. “You agreed to check on Dorian Crawford’s sons?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Yes. At the time it made sense. I must find out who hurt Elizabeth. I’m such a softy.”

  He chuckled. “Not sure softy best describes you. When did you plan to investigate the boys?”

  “After hours.”

  “The ones we use to sleep?”

  “All I need to do is talk to Aiden, report to Dorian, and see what she can tell me.”

  “I’ll go with you. What are you not telling me?”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “Why?”

  “We’re partners, and I have to keep my eye on you. Might find an object lesson.”

  She blinked. “I shouldn’t have said a word. She showed me a pic of the boys. We know the older one as Zack Adams.”

  Thatcher f
ocused on the information. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Right. Lucas calls, you nearly get plowed down in a hit-and-run, and the guy who saves you is the son of a crazy woman. There’s got to be a connection.” He gave her his best unbelieving stare. “Have you run a background on Tyler?”

  “Clean. He’s been attending night school at the University of Houston. Excellent grades. I have his address, but his cell phone is out of service. His mother’s life has been colorful—in addition to the robbery, solicitation, and breaking and entering, Dorian’s mental issues are a part of her record.”

  He’d do a little researching on this one. “How’s your friend Elizabeth?”

  “She’s off the critical list. I’m heading to the hospital at the close of work.”

  “Count me in.”

  “Why this time?”

  “For us to discuss the Scorpion case. Then follow up on Aiden Crawford. What else?” He simply wanted to be with her—selfish but true. More like tormented. He’d been thinking a relationship between them could work. They could establish guidelines. . . . Who was he fooling? Rules girl would run like the wind at the mention of his growing feelings.

  She hesitated. “We might have Lester Willis’s interview report. See if his animosity to Eldon Hoveland put our victim in Scorpion’s way.”

  “Right. Agents interviewed Hoveland’s landlord and his pastor. The man excelled in reaching out to others. According to his pastor, if he had a dollar in his pocket and someone needed it, he gave it. No enemies.”

  “Thatcher, what am I doing getting mixed up with Dorian’s problems while a serial killer runs loose?”

  “I thought you wanted to find out who’d attacked Elizabeth.”

  “Yes. But I hate being scattered. I’m hoping she recognized her attacker and can file charges. End it.”

  “An HPD matter. But I learned the doctors refused to let police officers question her.”

  She sighed. “Another reason for me to see Elizabeth.”

  CHAPTER 35

  5:45 P.M. TUESDAY

  Bethany and Thatcher rode the hospital elevator to see Elizabeth, who’d recently regained consciousness. Bethany prayed for her dear friend’s healing and for the name of the person who’d attacked her.

  In the ICU waiting area Bethany hugged Elizabeth’s parents and quietly introduced Thatcher.

  “Can we have a few minutes alone with her, to ask what she remembers about the attack?” Bethany said, hoping Mrs. Maddrey’s emotional state wouldn’t taint her judgment.

  “No,” her mother said, her face red and blotched from crying. “I won’t allow anyone to upset her. The police have already tried, and the doctor and I refused them.”

  Mr. Maddrey wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Dear, this is Bethany, one of our daughter’s closest friends. She can help find out who did this.”

  The woman closed her eyes and turned from him.

  “Think about the repercussions,” he continued. “Elizabeth will recover. If the person who assaulted her isn’t apprehended, the next time she might not be so lucky.”

  “That’s why she needs to give up her job at the shelter,” Mrs. Maddrey said. “Most of those women are crazy.”

  “She’s no more going to give up her work with those women and children than the moon’s going to drip honey.”

  “She’s dedicated to her job, an admirable trait,” Thatcher said.

  Mrs. Maddrey peered at Bethany with red-rimmed eyes. “If I consent to you interviewing Elizabeth, you have only ten minutes with her.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Thatcher answered for them. “We’ll do our best not to upset your daughter.” His kind attention to the grieving couple was one of the many things Bethany admired about him. “We all want her to recover as quickly as possible.”

  “Promise?” The woman sounded like a child.

  “You have my word,” he said.

  Bethany and Thatcher entered the room where Elizabeth slept amid the steady beep of machines monitoring her vitals. Her head was bandaged, covering the sixteen stitches, and her thick hair had been cut and shaved in areas, but she was alive. Tests would show the depths of her injuries. Praise God for good doctors.

  Elizabeth stirred, and her eyes opened to half-mast. “How did you get past my mother?” Her faint voice seemed like music.

  “Wasn’t easy.” Bethany kissed her forehead. “Are you ready to dance?”

  “Forgot my shoes,” Elizabeth whispered. “Good to see you.”

  Bethany smiled into her friend’s pale face, where a blue-and-purple bruise darkened the right side. “Are they treating you like a queen?”

  “You should see my doctor.” She closed her eyes. “A hunk.” Elizabeth had a way of making the worst of circumstances look better.

  “I have a friend for you to meet—my partner.”

  “The good-looking one?”

  Heat burned Bethany’s face. “No, that was my other partner. This is Special Agent Thatcher Graves.”

  Elizabeth opened her eyes. “Drop the last name. It’s deadly.”

  He chuckled. “Good to meet you.”

  What kind of meds had they given her? Discretion had dropped into a bedpan. “We promised your parents we’d be only a few minutes. Do you remember anything about the attack?”

  “Attack? Is that what happened? I thought I fell.”

  “Very much so.”

  Elizabeth blinked. “Can I have an ice chip?” She pointed to the bed stand, where a cup sat filled with ice.

  Bethany slipped a piece into her mouth and waited. Guilt nibbled at her. Elizabeth needed her rest.

  “I remember a little.” She swallowed. “I was at the shelter early and set out bacon and eggs. Then decided to check e-mail. Unlocked my office, but the light switch didn’t work. Made my way to the desk. That’s all I remember.”

  “Someone was waiting for you, Elizabeth. Have you had a problem with any of the residents?”

  She shook her head. “Who found me?”

  “The cook. She called 911.”

  Weariness creased her friend’s normally smooth face. Thatcher touched Bethany’s shoulder. “We should go.”

  “Thanks for helping us.” Bethany took her friend’s hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “Rest and get better.”

  She closed her eyes, and a smile graced her lips. “Mom said my friend was here earlier. He might be a keeper.”

  “He’ll need my approval.”

  Elizabeth’s smile lingered. “Agent Graves, come back to see me when I’m not so out of it.”

  “Will do,” he said. “Appreciate your talking to us.”

  In the hallway, Bethany stood for a moment outside Elizabeth’s door with Thatcher. “Dorian has no business being at Noah’s Loft. She gives unstable another line in the dictionary. But she’s the only lead I have. Elizabeth is my friend, almost like a sister. I can’t leave this to HPD.”

  CHAPTER 36

  7:15 P.M. TUESDAY

  Thatcher and Bethany entered the Harris County Juvenile Detention Center on Congress Avenue. There they waited for Aiden Crawford in a bleak visitors’ area that reeked of adolescent sweat.

  Thatcher took one look at the kid’s record and groaned. “Bethany, he will never listen to you. He’s already connected to an African American gang that despises Hispanics. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Be my guest. My talks with Lucas only made him madder.” She shook her head. “Forget that remark. Whining isn’t my style. Anything you can say to curb Aiden’s behavior is welcome.”

  “We can’t fix them all, but we can try with this kid.”

  Bethany’s determination matched her features. “I see Lucas in every rebellious face.”

  He could spend a lifetime getting to know her. Thatcher inwardly startled. Did he just think “lifetime”?

  She whirled to face him as though she’d read his thoughts. “This is really beyond the call of duty. An HPD case. I mu
st be losing it to think I can help Elizabeth through Dorian. But thanks.”

  “No problem.” His reasons were selfish.

  Aiden entered the room and slumped onto a chair. He wore insolence like gang colors.

  Thatcher introduced himself and Bethany. “Aiden, your mother asked us to check on you.”

  “Why?” His gaze shot lethal arrows.

  “Because she cares about you.”

  “When did this start?”

  Thatcher wasn’t going to mince words. “Do you know where your brother is?”

  A hint of worry swept over his face. “Ain’t found ’im yet? ’Cause he might be dead.”

  “When did you last see Tyler?”

  “Don’t remember.” He swung one leg out in front of him.

  “Weren’t you supposed to live with him after release?”

  He curled his lip. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Your mother would like to see you stay here where it’s safe.”

  “When I roll outs, I got plans.”

  “Without a roof over your head and an education, your plans will flush down the toilet. Why is your mother afraid for you?”

  “She don’t know nuthin’,” he said. “Do you know where she put me last time?”

  Thatcher had done his homework. “Your grandmother.”

  “Crazy old lady. All she did was talk to the TV. No food in the house ever but pinto beans and Spam.”

  “Then Tyler took over.”

  “Whatever. This ain’t about my mama or Granny.”

  “Right. It’s about keeping you safe. Tyler did right by you.”

  Aiden blew out a sigh that spelled anger. “Maybe. But he done got stupid.”

  “How?”

  The kid humphed. “Ask him if he can talk from the dead.”

  “What’s going on with your brother?”

  “As I said, ask him if he can talk from the dead.”

  Thatcher leaned back in the folding chair. “If he’s in trouble, then he needs help.”

  A muscle twitched.

  “Can’t help your brother, Aiden? Or won’t?”

  He glanced at his hands. “A list.”