Nothing to Hide

by Allison Brennan

  “Which would confirm that he knew that Julio was dead instantly,” Lucy said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Just play it,” Jerry said.

  The killer paced on the screen, then dragged Julio’s body away from his car. Dropped it.

  “This is the only body that was dragged,” Lucy said. “In Standish’s simulation, we assumed he was dragged, but he fought back, and that was a natural progression of his resistance.”

  “Based on the evidence at the crime scene and on the body, that’s the most likely scenario,” Ash said. “Watch this.”

  On the screen, the killer pulled Julio’s hands above his head. He hit them half a dozen times. Then he hit him in the stomach twice and the groin twice. Then he Tasered him in the side, pulled out a gun, and shot him in the face. The killer walked away, then came back and put duct tape over the victim’s mouth, then pulled it off.

  “Why did he walk away?”

  “I just put that in there. I don’t know that he did or didn’t, I just wanted to make it clear that the killer put the duct tape on after he shot Mr. Garcia.”

  “It’s a stage,” Lucy said.

  “What do you mean?” Jerry asked.

  “It’s clear here. Everything with Julio Garcia had to match the first two victims, down to the duct tape and the Taser—even though Garcia was dead and couldn’t scream or fight back. He’s setting the scene so that we see the same things that we saw at the other crime scenes.”

  “We have matching ballistics,” Jerry said. “We know that it’s the same gun that killed these three men, and therefore the same killer.”

  “But the killer is setting a stage, like theater,” Lucy said. “He wants it to look the same way. Maybe because he thinks we’re idiots and can’t figure it out, maybe there’s another, more personal reason for him to do so. Whatever it is, this is a setup. An act. Like he’s directing a play. Close the curtain on the body, then cut, the end of the act.”

  “Now you’re talking nonsense,” Jerry said.

  Lucy tensed. She knew what she was thinking, but maybe she wasn’t explaining it well. “We should consult a profiler.”

  “No. I’m not going down that path of bullshit again.”

  She was taken aback. In the days that she’d been working with Jerry, he never swore. He appeared to be what he was—a polite, good-old-boy, diligent, and respected deputy investigator. But mention a psychological profile and he lost it.

  “I don’t know who you worked with before, but I have someone I explicitly trust who can give an honest appraisal. Help us narrow down what this killer is thinking.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “We follow the evidence. The evidence will lead us to the killer. I’m not going to deal with a bunch of theoretical garbage that will delay our investigation.” He turned to Ash. “Anything else?”

  “No—I’ve gone over the crime scenes and evidence twice and haven’t found any unidentified hairs or fibers. The killer wore gloves—we found no prints, and I looked at everything I believe the killer may have touched. The killer wore some sort of low-heeled boots, but the footprints were too indistinct to get a pattern to narrow down a manufacturer, or a precise size. The prints were found at the Garcia crime scene, but the first crime scene was too rocky, and the second crime scene was a parking lot.”

  “This is good work, Ash, thank you,” Lucy said. “Can you please email it to me? I want to review it again.”

  “Of course. And I’ll shade it—meaning, the areas that are incontrovertible based on physical evidence will be identified, and areas where I made logical extrapolations of data will be identified.”

  Jerry said, “Ash—I want you to go over everything again. The scenes of the crimes were problematic because of the locations, but the killer touched the victims. He had to in order to remove the duct tape. To get close enough to stun. He dragged Garcia twenty feet, maybe there’s sweat, hair, fibers, something. You’re the best CSI we have in San Antonio. You will find something.”

  Ash opened his mouth, closed it. “Yes, sir. I’ll go back and look at everything again, with an assistant. Maybe I missed something…”

  “You didn’t miss anything, but you might not have seen it yet. This demonstration is good, but it doesn’t give us evidence.”

  “I’m on it. It’s my number one priority right now.”

  Lucy and Jerry walked out. She was about to tell him good job for lighting a fire under Ash—stroking his ego was sure to get him to spend far more time than he should on the case, considering his workload. She agreed, the killer had to have left something behind. They might not be able to match it to anyone until they had a suspect, but finding the evidence was half the battle.

  But Jerry spoke first.

  “Now, don’t get your panties in a wad because I don’t want to consult some shrink.”

  “That’s not what profiling is, Jerry. It’s taking known human criminal behavior and looking at an unknown subject and helping narrow down an investigation. Because right now we have squat.”

  “We have more than we had before—we have Susan Standish as a possible adulterer, and we can and should track down her lover because maybe he has a clear motive.”

  “Possibly for Standish, but the others?”

  “We follow the evidence.”

  She wouldn’t be able to get through to him, but she planned on consulting her brother Dillon on her own time.

  Because something felt so weird about this entire case that she couldn’t help but wonder if they were missing something obvious—simply because they saw only what the killer wanted them to see.

  * * *

  Although Lucy and Jerry didn’t see eye-to-eye on criminal profiling, they did have the same sensibilities about interviewing. After a brief discussion, they opted to visit Susan at her house. No friend to lean on, no one to raise objections if they had to get tough with her. Not that they planned to play hardball—that depended on Susan’s answers.

  Her car was in the driveway; there was a carport attached to their double-wide. It was a nice-looking place, clean and newly painted, dwarfed by the land it sat on. Plants and flowers overwhelmed the porch that ran along the length of the trailer.

  They walked up four steps and Susan opened the door before they knocked. “Deputy. Ms. Kincaid.”

  “Agent Kincaid,” she corrected.

  “Right. Sorry. I don’t remember making an appointment.”

  “We have a few more questions for you, and we were in the area,” Jerry said. “We wanted to look at the crime scene again,” he lied smoothly.

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll—well, come in. Excuse the mess.”

  The trailer wasn’t messy, but it was cluttered—furniture a little too big for the space, pictures hanging from virtually every available wall, knickknacks and collections of dolls, crystal figurines, a whole rack of souvenir spoons hanging next to a rack of souvenir mugs. It almost made Lucy claustrophobic.

  Two large, old dogs looked up from their beds in the middle of the living room, without much interest in the visitors.

  “Please, sit,” Susan said, motioning to the couch. “Can I make y’all some coffee?”

  “No, thank you, ma’am. We won’t be here long. We’re going back through all our evidence, talking to friends and family again. We tracked down Joey Adkins.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s married with two kids. The IT manager for a major San Antonio company.”

  “Oh. I guess I didn’t know that.”

  Why did Lucy think she was lying? Why would she about something so unimportant?

  “Did you attend your husband’s ten-year high school reunion last fall?” Jerry asked.

  “Um, yes?”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I just don’t know why that matters.”

  “I don’t pay much attention to rumors—you know how some folk are—but there was a rumor that came up more than once during our investigation. So I have to ask—were y
ou cheating on your husband, Mrs. Standish?”

  She stared at him and blinked. She hadn’t expected the question. She was stunned, and she was guilty. Something in her eyes, the way they shifted slightly down, looking for an answer that wasn’t there. A moment too long before her response.

  “Of course not,” Susan said. “I would never. I loved Billy Joe. He was my soul mate.”

  “I need to follow up on these accusations, Mrs. Standish. Because maybe one of your other suitors might think getting Billy Joe out of the way would earn him a permanent spot in your bed.”

  She jumped up, hands on her hips. “Is that what Joey said? That I was cheating on Billy? You tell him he can go to hell, that’s what you can tell him!”

  No reaction to the plural suitors. Had she honestly not heard it? Jerry had made himself clear, Lucy thought.

  “Mrs. Standish,” Lucy said as she assessed the woman. She wasn’t certain she was playing her right, but it was a gamble worth taking. She kept her voice firm and slightly superior in tone. It would sound more judgmental that way. “I need you to listen to me carefully. It is a crime to lie to a federal agent. I need you to answer Deputy Walker’s question truthfully. Were you having an affair?”

  “I—I—” She looked to Jerry, her eyes immediately tearing up. “Why are you doing this to me? I just lost my husband! He’s dead, and I miss him every day. Why would you dredge up past mistakes?”

  That’s what she called Joey Adkins’s “accident.” A mistake.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. Standish,” Jerry said, all nice and sweet. “Can I get you some water?”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much, Deputy.”

  Unbelievable.

  Not unbelievable. She’s trying to play you. Well, she’s trying to play Jerry because he’s a man, and she’s used to getting her way with men.

  Lucy stood in front of the woman and stared. She didn’t have to muster much acting skill to freeze a look of disappointment and disapproval on her face. Susan fidgeted.

  Jerry came back with ice water. “Thank you so much,” Susan said with a nervous smile, looking right up at Jerry with wide, wet eyes.

  Lucy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was becoming ridiculous.

  Susan drank. “Now. What is it I can do for you?”

  “Telling the truth is a start,” Lucy said.

  The tears returned. “I have. I don’t know who would have hurt my husband.”

  “Susan—can I call you Susan?” Jerry asked. “I don’t think you killed your husband. But I need to investigate his case fully. You understand that, right? Because you’ve already filed the claim for your insurance, and I’m sure you can use the money, what with having to live on your lone salary. But the insurance isn’t going to pay until I finish my report, and I can’t finish my report until I interview everyone even tangential to this investigation.”

  “I—But I didn’t kill my husband. I swear, Deputy, I didn’t. I miss Billy so much.”

  Ironically, Lucy believed her. At least, Susan believed that she missed him.

  “I know you do,” Jerry said in a fatherly tone. “But he worked a lot, and he was gone more than he was here, wasn’t he?”

  She sniffed and nodded. Jerry handed her a tissue, which earned him a bright smile.

  “So I need to know anyone you were romantically involved with. Maybe you broke it off. Maybe they were upset because they knew you loved your husband. Sometimes, people we think we know and trust, we really don’t know very well.”

  Susan bit her lip and looked down. She didn’t say anything. Lucy waited. Jerry waited. She still didn’t talk. Was she trying to think up a lie?

  “Mrs. Standish,” Lucy said in a stern voice. “I can subpoena phone records, and I will do it and interview every person you have spoken to in the last year. Ask them if they were sleeping with Billy Joe Standish’s wife while he was still alive. How many are going to say yes?”

  “You make it sound so bad.”

  “We need names, we need them now, or I’ll be getting that warrant first thing in the morning.”

  “Carl. But he would never hurt Billy Joe. He loved him like a brother.”

  Lucy had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything.

  “What’s Carl’s last name, Susan?” Jerry asked nicely.

  “Franklin.”

  “And when did you and Carl get involved.”

  “I’ve known Carl since high school. We’ve been friends forever.”

  “You’ve been sleeping with him since high school?”

  “Oh no! Of course not. Just—a few months ago. May. Billy Joe was gone for a whole month and it just sort of happened.”

  “Is it still happening?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “And before Carl?” Lucy asked.

  “Ricky Johns.”

  “Was he upset when you broke it off with him?” Jerry asked.

  “We didn’t exactly break up.”

  “Does he know about Carl?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “Is that all? ’Cause I’m real tired right now. It’s been a long day.”

  “Agent Kincaid?” Jerry asked. “Any more questions for Mrs. Standish?”

  “In the last year, who else besides Carl and Ricky did you have sex with?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Who?”

  “It was just one time.”

  “Who?”

  “Andy Kernick. But he doesn’t even live around here, he was just here visiting for his little brother’s high school graduation, and one thing just … well, you know how it is. Andy and I went out in high school and we were old friends. He’s in Birmingham now, works for a big pharmaceutical company. And, well, you know, he might be married, too, so it was just that one time.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Jerry said and stood up. “We’ll let you know if we have more questions.”

  “And you can file your report now? Because I have repairs I need to do. I never had to pay for repairs before, Billy Joe was so handy with everything.”

  “We’re almost done, I’ll let you know.”

  Lucy walked out first. In the car she couldn’t even speak.

  Jerry drove away and called his office to ask for current information on Carl Franklin and Ricky Johns, then called his boss to talk about how they might be able to get a search warrant. She said they’d talk in the morning because right now an affair wasn’t going to do it. He hung up.

  “Unbelievable,” he said.

  Lucy didn’t know if he was referring to Susan or Lucy playing hardball. “I saw that she was looking to you for validation, so I decided to be tough.”

  “I know. Good call.”

  She relaxed.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Because you had a look on your face I couldn’t quite read. And you were shaking.”

  “Was not.” Was she?

  “Well, I’m a keen observer of human nature, and you appear to be as well, but maybe we don’t always see in ourselves what we see in others.”

  “She made me angry.”

  “Me too. Carl Franklin is her husband’s best friend. I interviewed him after the murder. He was genuinely grieving. I don’t think he could have faked that kind of grief. But he could have killed him and the grief was guilt. If that’s the case, it won’t take much to push him over into a confession.”

  “Then why James and Garcia?”

  “Why indeed. But we need to pursue this angle. She lied to me. Maybe not outright lied when I first talked to her, but an affair is a pretty clear motive for murder, and she didn’t even hint to it.”

  “No amount of money could replace Sean,” she said.

  “Your husband.”

  “Yes. I’m sure he has a life insurance policy because—well, his line of work. His company would have it on everyone. But I’ve never asked, and I don’t care. My life would never be the same without him.”

&
nbsp; “You don’t seem the cheating type.”

  “I didn’t know there was a cheating type.” She’d met far too many people who thought extramarital affairs weren’t a big deal.

  “Maybe there isn’t, but it seems your empathy for poor Billy Joe was real enough.”

  “It was.” She glanced at him. “You and your wife have a good relationship?”

  “Yes. I’ve never cheated. I almost did once. The first time she was deployed. Got myself into a prickly situation with a fellow officer. As it came clear to me that our mutual flirtation meant something more to her, I realized what I was doing. I transferred. It was inappropriate and I love my wife. I told her about it. My guilt was so strong, even though I never acted on it. It was a momentary weakness that I caught in time. I know some men, married and single, who play around with the badge bunnies—oh, I’m sorry, that’s probably not very sensitive of me.”

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “Well, I just ignore it. I go home to Jeanie every night, and very much happy to do so. I would never hurt her. And I can’t see how Billy Joe didn’t know what his wife was up to.”

  “Maybe he did,” Lucy said. “Maybe he’d figured it out and confronted one of the men who was intimate with his wife. And it ended badly for him.”

  “If he was the only victim, I’d be right there with you on that scenario. But it doesn’t fit.”

  “It doesn’t,” she agreed. “But we’re going to have to follow through. Follow the evidence, right?” she said, repeating his words.

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

  * * *

  By the time they got back to BCSO it was after six, so Lucy gathered her notes and went home. They would talk to Susan’s lovers in the morning.

  “Home early,” Sean said when she walked into the kitchen.

  “It’s nearly seven.” She kissed him. “Something smells amazing. I hoped you saved some for me.”

  “We haven’t eaten. I just made stew.”

  “Stew? Really?” He would never cease to amaze her.