Nothing to Hide

by Allison Brennan

  “Sold. I’m on it. Don’t lose her.” Jerry hung up.

  “Why does everyone think I’m incompetent?” Sean asked with mock indignation.

  “He doesn’t know you like I do,” Lucy said.

  They followed Teri all the way to Canyon Lake. This was where it got tricky. It was late at night and there were few cars on the road—much easier to spot a tail.

  “Where is she going?” Lucy muttered to herself. “King lived here—but on the cliffs. She’s heading down to the lake.”

  “To a boat dock.”

  “You think?”

  “What’d I say? That if she destroyed the evidence, she went out on a boat. This area is a state park.”

  “They must have security cameras.”

  “Most likely, no. The park is technically closed at night, but residents use some of the roads, which are thoroughfares.”

  “How do you know?” Lucy asked.

  “I was thinking of buying a place up here—before deciding on the house outside Vail.”

  “Here? Why here?”

  “Because it’s close enough to drive to for the weekend, and remote enough to feel like we’re in the middle of nowhere. But ultimately, I suspected that the house in Colorado would appreciate faster, and honestly, I love that area.”

  “Me, too,” Lucy said. “Good choice.”

  “I know,” he teased.

  Lucy considered Teri’s actions. “If she dumps the car, how’s she going to get back?”

  “I’ll take her.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “Maybe she isn’t going to get rid of the car.”

  “Maybe just the evidence,” Lucy said. “Dammit.”

  They lost Teri as she wound through the roads. She was there … then she wasn’t.

  “Shit,” Sean said and spun the Wrangler around.

  “Maybe she sped up?”

  “No, she turned off and I missed it. She might know we’re onto her.”

  Sean drove slowly back down the road that curved along Canyon Lake. “There.” He slammed on the brakes.

  At first Lucy didn’t see anything, then the faint edge of the Mercedes took shape.

  “I don’t know how you saw that,” she whispered.

  “I hate losing someone,” he said. “She knows this area better than I do.”

  The Mercedes’s lights were off, and they couldn’t tell whether she was in the car or not. “Where are we?” Lucy asked. She had a good sense of direction, but the winding roads threw her off.

  “Directly north of the King property.”

  “What? That doesn’t make sense. He’s on a hill.”

  Sean pointed up. “What do you bet she threw the evidence off the cliff?”

  “Oh. That’s—stupid.”

  “Stupid, but brilliant if she thought Garrett King was going to be arrested for his father’s murder. Kills him, tosses the weapon off the edge, escapes.”

  “How can she find it in the dark?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe she put a GPS in it. A phone. A glow-in-the-dark backpack. We’ll let her do the hard work.”

  “She probably expected the police to find it this weekend.”

  “Why didn’t they?” Sean asked.

  “Jerry had people canvassing the area, but they might not have gone down here. The cliff is more than half a mile from his house.” But it was logical, Lucy thought. They would have likely expanded the search area over time. But would they have found anything? Or was this detour of Teri James’s a trick?

  Lucy grew tense waiting—thirty minutes passed before the dome light went on in the Mercedes, then the engine started.

  “Should we pull her over?” Sean asked.

  “We can’t. This isn’t a police car.”

  “I have brights.”

  Lucy was trying to reach Jerry, but either the hill was blocking her signal, or he was in a bad zone. Either way, the call wouldn’t go through. She sent him a text message with her location and hoped he could find them.

  “Luce, make a decision.”

  “Stop her,” Lucy said. She didn’t know if this was going to work, but she didn’t want to lose evidence. And if she didn’t have any evidence on her? Well, she’d cross that bridge later.

  Sean floored the gas and pulled up right behind the Mercedes as it began to back out of the turnout she’d parked in. He flashed his bright lights.

  Lucy jumped out of the car, gun drawn, and identified herself.

  “FBI! Come out with your hands where I can see them!”

  Nothing. No movement in the car.

  “Teri James, get out of the car. Hands up.”

  The driver’s door opened. Teri James emerged. “I’m unarmed,” she said.

  “Walk slowly toward me, hands behind your head.”

  “I heard a funny noise in my car as I was driving. I’m a bit worried about it.”

  What the hell was she talking about?

  “Walk toward me. Slowly.”

  Teri walked briskly through the leaves.

  “Stop!”

  Teri didn’t stop. Instead, she started running away from her car, directly toward Lucy. But she wasn’t armed—not with a gun. Not with a weapon that Lucy could see.

  “Stop!” she commanded. What if she had a knife?

  Sean shouted, “Lucy, something’s wrong—run!”

  Lucy turned and ran. She looked over her shoulder; Teri James was running after her, and Sean was gaining on both of them.

  The explosion lit up the lake. But Lucy didn’t see anything as she was thrown away from the blast and into debris on the other side of the road.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Tuesday Afternoon

  Teri James sat smugly across from Jerry and Lucy in the main interrogation room of the Bexar County Sheriff’s Office. Her lawyer, Theo Cox, sat next to her.

  Lucy was sore. Angry. And determined to prove that Teri James had killed her husband and three other men.

  They’d been asking her questions for hours, and she answered them—or didn’t. Lucy didn’t know if a word of what she said was true or not. She mixed a little truth with a lot of lies.

  Once the fire department put out what could have been a serious wildfire, the crime lab sent out a team to collect remaining evidence. Lucy was hoping for the murder weapon, but she wasn’t holding her breath. She had a feeling that the entire excursion last night was for a reason only Teri James knew. Maybe to see if she was being followed. Maybe to destroy evidence. Or maybe to fake her own death.

  They confronted Teri with the security tapes from her neighbors. She claimed the night her husband was killed she was tracking his plane and knew when it would land. She ran out to buy his favorite bottle of wine—and produced a receipt. When questioned that it was odd that she would have a receipt from a purchase several weeks before, she responded with, “I’m an accountant. I keep all receipts.”

  When confronted with Abby’s statement about Garrett King, when he hadn’t been charged with murder, her excuse was disbelief. “That’s not what I said; and clearly, you led her in the answers, because she didn’t say anything to me. She’s a minor, you had no right to interview her without me.”

  That wasn’t true, but a court would have to review the testimony. Lucy put her money on Abby—though it wouldn’t be easy.

  The car fibers from Teri’s car didn’t match the sample the FBI tested. The soil did, but Teri’s attorney claimed that there was a chance of cross-contamination because the FBI agent investigating the crime lived in the same neighborhood, only blocks from Teri James. Lucy said they were welcome to test the soil in her yard, and the lawyer countered that anyone walking down Teri’s street could have picked up trace evidence.

  They were running in circles. Jerry was more than a little frustrated. At two that afternoon, Cox asked that they be able to leave. “Clearly, you have no case.”

  Forensics was still working on the explosion, and they wouldn’t have a report for a couple of days—and that
was if they rushed it. Teri claimed that the car had been malfunctioning, and she pulled over because of an odd sound. When Lucy asked what she was doing in the woods for thirty minutes, Teri said she must be mistaken, because less than five minutes passed while she was waiting for her car to cool down.

  Teri never raised her voice or became overtly angry. She showed her frustration in well-planned increments. A brilliant actress. Cold, calculating—just like Dillon said the killer would be.

  Jerry wasn’t going to let her leave. “Take a break. The cafeteria downstairs is good. Be back here in one hour.”

  After a few minutes of arguing, the lawyer finally agreed, but said they would be leaving at five and would be back tomorrow if necessary.

  They walked out and Jerry said, “We have shit.”

  “We have Abby’s statement.”

  “Which will be torn apart in cross-examination. I have the damn ADA in my head telling me what will work and what will not work. Two identical cars. Dammit! I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “I have twenty years of experience over you,” Jerry countered.

  “She did something with her pants. Abby saw them—she is a reliable witness. She will hold up on the stand.”

  “She’s fourteen.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Lucy said.

  “It could. I wish I had your confidence, but we’re dealing with a pile of circumstantial bullcrap and we need one solid piece of evidence.”

  “We have a lot to go through. We will get her.” Lucy had to believe it. She couldn’t bear the thought that this woman would get away with multiple murders because they only had circumstantial evidence. “Ash is still processing evidence. The duct tape, the gas can, the security videos—”

  Ash burst into the room. He looked exhausted and excited all rolled into one caffeine-charged scientist. “I got her. I got her.”

  “Slow down. What do you have?” Jerry asked.

  “Justice.”

  “What?”

  “The dog.”

  Ash turned his phone over to Jerry. He’d recorded the dog limping down the hall as Teri and her attorney went to the cafeteria. Justice growled, then bared his teeth, then nearly lunged at Teri before his handler—whom Lucy recognized as one of the Sheriff’s K-9 handlers—pulled him back.

  “That’s not going to get us a conviction.”

  “It will when I tell you that the running pants that she was wearing when she killed Victor King matched the threads found in Justice’s mouth.”

  “We didn’t get the running pants,” Jerry said.

  “Yes, we did—they were in her car, the car she tried to blow up.”

  “They must be contaminated,” Lucy said.

  “That’s the beauty—they weren’t. They were in a duffel bag that was blown away from the vehicle.”

  “It’s going to be difficult to connect them to her,” Jerry said.

  “One more piece of circumstantial evidence,” Lucy said. “We’re building a mountain.”

  “Which could crumble apart,” Jerry reminded her. “Anything else in the duffel bag?”

  “No,” Ash said. “But that, coupled with the gas can we seized from her house, will convict her. And of course my expert testimony.”

  “Gas can? Why didn’t you lead with that?”

  “Because the dog was so cool.”

  “Ashley!” Jerry snapped.

  “Sorry. Okay. So yes, the soil matched and she might be able to prove that someone else in the neighborhood committed the crime, or the killer walked through there, or some such nonsense. But the grass from Garcia’s car and on the bottom of the gas can matches one hundred percent the grass of the James family lawn. Plant DNA is real—and has been successfully used in trial. That puts the gas can that was found in her garage also in Julio Garcia’s vehicle. But we’re still working, and I expect to find more.”

  “What about the explosion?”

  “ATF is all over it. I’m good at a lot of things, but explosions and bombs—I know next to nothing.”

  Ash left, and Jerry said to Lucy, “How do you want to play this?”

  “What did the ADA say?”

  “She wants to prosecute, says the circumstantial evidence is good, but she’s worried that if anything is thrown out we won’t have enough for trial. She wants something solid.”

  “Maybe that video will help.”

  “It looks good to us, but we’re already sold on her guilt. A judge may toss it.”

  “She might not know that,” Lucy said. “And truly, Teri’s explanation for how she was gone the evenings of all four murders—and lied to us about where she was when her husband was killed—will be easy for the jury to understand. Now that we have confirmation on the soil and pant fibers? At a minimum, we’ll get a conviction on Victor King and Julio Garcia—and hopefully parlay that into a conviction on the other two victims.”

  “Good,” Jerry said. “I still want her to confess.”

  “Remember what Dillon said.”

  “Of course I do. She won’t confess. But we can try.”

  Lucy smiled. “Trying is half the fun.”

  Teri and her lawyer returned an hour later. Jerry went through the evidence they’d confirmed. He painstakingly outlined each fact that they had, and where her alibi or statement was false. As he spoke, Teri grew increasingly pale, and Lucy knew they had her.

  She might not confess, but she knew she wasn’t getting away with murder.

  “Why?” Lucy spoke up after Jerry laid out the facts. “You would only have a small portion of Abby’s trust, as her guardian. Was that worth killing Abby’s father?”

  Teri stared at her and didn’t say a word.

  “Or did you just not want to be married anymore and thought murder was the way out instead of divorce? You’ve divorced before, so I don’t think that’s the reason. I think money is the reason. Money or the inability to accept your own failure.”

  More silence. It wasn’t money. Was it just to get away with it? Did she kill because it was easier? More fun? More challenging?

  They might never know her true motive, but Lucy didn’t doubt they had the right person.

  “Fine,” Jerry said. “Theresa Jenkins James, you are under arrest for four murders in the first degree, with special circumstances. Anything you say can and will be used against you in…”

  Teri’s entire body slumped. Jerry thought it was an act, but Lucy saw something in her eyes … and knew the truth.

  “Call nine-one-one!” Lucy shouted and jumped up. She ran around the table and caught Teri as she tumbled to the floor. “Teri!” She slapped her face. “Teri! What did you take? What drug?”

  Jerry ran out to get help. The lawyer stared in disbelief.

  “Teri! Dammit, don’t take the easy way out!”

  Lucy leaned over and breathed deeply around Teri’s mouth. She smelled something sickly sweet on her lips. What was that?

  “I—” Teri mumbled.

  “What?”

  Please confess. Please confess.

  “I. Hate. Dogs.”

  * * *

  Kane handed Sean a beer as they sat by the pool. Jesse, Brian, and Michael were swimming, and Siobhan and Lucy had gone out to pick up food.

  “Thirty-two. I feel old,” Kane said.

  “You are old. You’re almost fifty.”

  “Screw you, Little Rogan. I have a few more years before the half-century mark. Though I’ll admit that I don’t bounce back as fast as I used to.” He scratched at the bandage on his arm from where he was shot the other night.

  “All good with Brian and Michael?”

  “Better. They still have some things to work out. Ruth is bringing the other boys home tomorrow. They probably shouldn’t have missed three days of school, but she said Padre helped them in ways she didn’t expect. They shared some of their fears—things they don’t want to talk about.”

  “Padre is good at getting people to talk.”

&
nbsp; “He’s going to have them at the camp again—just the boys from St. Catherine’s—for their spring break. Make it a regular thing.”

  Sean watched as Jesse did a cannonball into the middle of the pool.

  “We good, Sean?” Kane asked quietly.

  “Of course. Why?”

  “The other day—you doubted yourself. You never doubt yourself. I mean—this isn’t a competition or anything. You’re Jesse’s dad. I’m just his uncle.”

  “His bad-ass uncle.” Sean smiled. “I’m good with that.”

  “He’s a great kid. He’s adjusted better than anyone could have expected.”

  “I’m glad you’re my brother, Kane. And Duke—warts and all.”

  “He’s proud of you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you without criticizing you at the same time.”

  “I know. I was a rotten teenager.”

  “So I’ve heard. Makes me like you even more.” Kane laughed.

  Lucy called from the back door, “Food and company are here!”

  “Company?” Sean said as he got up. “This was supposed to be a small birthday dinner.”

  “It is,” Lucy said. “Just a few friends.”

  Sean stepped into the house. Nate, Brad, Leo, and Julie from the morgue had all shown up while he and Kane were talking out back.

  “Do we have enough food?” he asked.

  “I doubled the order,” she said.

  Siobhan was putting all the food out on the island for people to help themselves. Kane walked over and wrapped his good arm around her tightly, then kissed her. Sean was so happy that his brother was finally settling down—as much as Kane Rogan could settle down. And he had friends, good friends he liked and trusted.

  The pain and guilt he’d been wrestling with over the last few months finally disappeared. Life was good.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Monday Afternoon—Six Days Later

  Lucy and Jerry wrapped up the Teri James investigation that week. The ME determined she’d killed herself with strychnine, which she ingested with the small lunch she ate with her lawyer. The evidence Ash collected would have been enough to go to trial, but it ultimately would have been up to a diligent prosecutor to convince the jury that she was guilty. Without a murder weapon, it would have been an uphill battle—but the circumstantial evidence was voluminous.