Kristy gasped, leaning forward. She didn’t have to fake tears. They fell easily, pouring down her face. She remembered that night so clearly, the image of Lance lunging at her in the truck, the force of his fists as he struck her, the muttered curses and threats, the moment when he reared back, and the shots that killed him.
“Whoever killed him picked a good spot. No way of knowing that the city was planning on razing that land to build a roadway. A bad bit of luck,” Davenport said.
Yes, it was very bad luck.
Kristy had studied the questions cops asked once a body was discovered. Questions other wives, other killers forgot. So many people in her situation drew attention to themselves with their carelessness, their lack of emotion, or their extreme displays of emotion. Kristy’s job now was to create a fully realized portrait of the grief-stricken widow.
“What happened to him? Do you know?”
“We’re not at liberty to discuss specifics,” Detective Davenport said, a sure sign that Kristy was now a prime suspect. Otherwise they would just tell her the cause of death.
“I need to speak with my family. My son needs to know and my father,” Kristy said. Ryan and Pops couldn’t hear that Lance was gone from someone else. Kristy had to be the one to tell them.
“We understand, but first we’d like you to come down to the station and identify the body. We also have a few questions,” Ranger Santiago responded, his eyes boring into hers.
“I’ve met you before,” Kristy said without thinking.
“The Torres execution,” he responded.
That was it. Kristy remembered the heartbroken families of the two hikers killed by Gilbert Torres, a serial killer who’d taken eleven lives. She waited for Ranger Santiago to say something more about that day, how he’d been best friends with one of the victims and had come as a representative of the family, but he remained silent. There wouldn’t be any bonding with Kristy. Not today. There was something about him that unnerved her. He never dropped eye contact, a skillful maneuver, always drawing you back in, forcing you to look at him. Kristy saw the wedding ring and wondered what his home life was like. Was he a man who took his work home? Did he tell his wife about the horrors he experienced day in and day out? Or was he the type who bottled it up, living two lives, like Lance?
What evidence had they uncovered besides Lance’s body? Was it an eyewitness at the movie theater who saw Lance pick her up? A video camera that caught her dumping the bike?
Stop it. Just stop. She would drive herself crazy playing the guessing game.
“I’ll come to the station as soon as I speak to my family,” Kristy repeated. Let them arrest her. At least then it would all be over.
Ranger Santiago stood up. Detective Davenport joined him.
“That will be fine, Mrs. Dobson. We’ll be expecting you down at the station later this afternoon.”
“Yes. I’ll be there. Thank you,” Kristy said and they headed out without ever once offering their condolences. But then again, you don’t offer condolences to a murder suspect.
Kristy inspected her desk, making sure she hadn’t left anything behind. She’d burned all of Clifton’s letters, destroyed anything connected with Lance and her plan to kill him, but she still had to double-check. Kristy knew that it was quite possible they were waiting for a judge to sign a search warrant, that by the time Kristy arrived at the precinct, officers would be rummaging through her belongings at work and at home, trying to build a case. Her terror was building. But getting to Ryan and Pops was her priority.
Kristy texted Gus.
Have to go. Will call you later.
Kristy didn’t care if Gus heard about her arrest on the nightly news. She didn’t owe him anything. She raced out of the building and was nearly at her truck when she heard—
“Kris … hey, Kristy …”
She saw Mac barreling toward her.
“I heard there were cops here. Something about Lance.”
“They found him … his body,” she whispered softly.
“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Kristy.”
He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Kristy didn’t linger in the embrace. A woman whose husband had just been murdered couldn’t be seen hugging another man. That was Evading Murder Charges 101.
“I have to go tell Pops and Ryan … and the police want to speak to me.”
“They want to talk to you? About what?”
“I don’t know,” Kristy said.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? About Lance … and you?”
What was Mac saying? Did he know? Had he suspected all along?
“Tell you what? Besides my husband is dead and the cops want to talk to me?”
Flustered, Mac looked away, almost ashamed that he’d even insinuated she might have something to hide.
“Sorry. I was … I don’t know what I was doing. Just be careful. Get a lawyer, okay?”
“I will. If anything seems off, you know I will.”
There was a perception that if you were arrested for a crime and you hired an attorney, you’d look guilty. That’s what law enforcement wanted you to believe. That’s why so many innocent people wound up confessing. But it was a bit of a catch-22. Hire a lawyer and you instantly become a prime suspect. Don’t hire a lawyer and get walked all over by the cops.
“Kristy …”
“I have to go.”
He reached out to stop her.
“Be careful. You know as well as I do how these things spin out of control.”
She certainly did.
“I’ll call you later,” Kristy told him.
“I’ll be here. You know that. And if Pops or Ryan need anything, I’m around.”
“Thanks, Mac,” Kristy said, climbing into her SUV.
It was almost two o’clock. Ryan’s last class was over at three thirty. She had to get there before school let out, before news stories began trickling out.
Kristy sped toward the school, making it in record time. She pulled into a visitor space and hurried into the office. It may as well have been a million years since she’d been here negotiating Ryan’s suspension. Kristy entered the administration office and saw Alice perched on her stool. She immediately turned her head in that sympathetic manner that drove Kristy crazy.
“Kristy, my Bible study said a special prayer for you and your family this week.”
She nodded in understanding but there wasn’t time to chat. “I need to see Ryan. Right now,” Kristy said.
For once, Alice actually seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. She hurried over to Principal Barnhardt’s office and opened the door. Liza was sitting at her desk, elegant as ever in a turquoise blazer and coral jewelry, typing away.
“Ms. Tucker … I mean Mrs. Dobson is here for Ryan. I thought she could wait here while I get him.” Liza stood up and motioned for Kristy to enter.
“Yes. That’s a great idea, Alice. Thank you.”
Liza ushered Kristy into her office and shut the door.
“Can I get you anything? Can I do anything?”
“No … thank you,” Kristy whispered.
Kristy’s hands were shaking, her teeth chattering as if she’d been caught out in the cold. She was ruined, completely and totally destroyed. Kristy Tucker, the killer. Kristy Tucker, the cold-blooded murderer. And yet she was still Ryan’s mom. Still the public information officer for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. She was the woman who had been battered and beaten and fought back. Was it possible that she could be all those things at once?
A few minutes later, Kristy heard Alice’s voice outside the door, and then she saw Ryan, standing in the doorway. Kristy stood up, smoothing her slacks, staring at her son, his sandy-brown hair covering his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles around them.
He stumbled forward.
“Mom, is it …”
“We’ll talk in the car.”
“No. I want to know now. Please �
�” His voice cracked.
“Take your time,” Liza said and closed the door behind them. Now it was just Kristy and Ryan, all alone.
“The police came to work today. They … they found Lance … they found his body. I’m sorry, Ry.”
He let out an anguished cry. Kristy moved to console him.
“Why, Mom? I don’t understand what happened. He was such a good guy. He was so good.”
No, he wasn’t. Not even close.
“I’m so sorry, my sweet boy. I’m so sorry.”
Ryan let out a sob, loud, ugly, and unrestrained. Kristy held him, rocking her boy in her arms, hating herself for every goddamn tear he shed. She wanted to give Ryan time to grieve but right now there were things she had to do. Time to face the music, she told herself.
“Ryan, I’m sorry, but we have to go. We have to tell Pops, and I have to go to the police station.”
“Why?” he asked, his eyes widening.
“I have to … I have to make sure it’s Lance, and they have questions.”
“But you won’t be gone long? You’ll be home soon?”
“Absolutely,” she replied. Kristy had no way of knowing if that was the truth, but she wanted to ease Ryan’s suffering, if only for a little bit.
He slowly stood, wiping his eyes furiously, his shirt stained with both their tears. Kristy led him out, nodding to Liza and Alice. They had been good to her, but Kristy didn’t have the strength to speak.
Ryan’s sniffles punctuated the silence as they headed home, every one of them like tiny pricks to her heart.
Telling Pops was equally horrible. He sat in his chair, completely motionless, nodding, his breathing tortured as he took in the news.
“At least now we know,” he said at last. “At least we know.”
Kristy didn’t want to leave, but it was getting dark and she worried if she didn’t show up at the station soon, they’d send officers to the house.
“I’m afraid I have to go.”
“We’re coming with you,” Pops said.
“No. That’s not a good idea.”
If the cops had anything on her, the last thing she wanted was for Ryan and Pops to be there to see Kristy cuffed and led away. The humiliation and betrayal would be unbearable.
“We’re a family. We’re doing this as a family,” Pops said, reclaiming his role as the man of the house. Ryan helped Pops change his oxygen tanks and they climbed into Kristy’s car. They buckled their seat belts, as if seat belts could protect them from the catastrophe she was sure awaited them.
It was a little after six when they arrived at the police station. She hadn’t even checked in with the officer at the front desk when she saw Ranger Santiago barreling toward her. He nodded hello to Kristy and introduced himself to Ryan and Pops.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said, shaking their hands. Kristy swallowed hard, tasting blood from where she’d bitten her cheek.
Stay calm. Stay calm.
He directed Pops and Ryan to a row of chairs against the wall in the lobby. They were all occupied but it didn’t seem to matter to him.
“I’m going to ask y’all to wait out here. If you don’t mind coming with me, Mrs. Dobson,” he said.
She reached out and squeezed Ryan’s shoulder.
“I’ll be back soon. I love you guys.”
She followed Ranger Santiago through a long, fluorescent-lit corridor, down a maze of hallways until she reached the morgue. Kristy had never been so closely watched, even within the Walls, where everyone was monitored. She could feel the ranger analyzing the way she moved, the way she talked; hell, she almost wondered if he was studying her breathing patterns. Did guilty people breathe differently? Could the rise and fall of her chest be her downfall? She hadn’t read that in any of her research, but it was possible, wasn’t it?
They stopped at a large window, the view obscured by a heavy black curtain, not all that different from the one that hung on death row. Ranger Santiago briefed her in that calm, soothing, practiced manner of his.
“I want to warn you that your husband was out in the elements for quite some time, so you should be prepared.”
The curtain opened and Lance’s body was revealed, spread out on a gurney, just like all those inmates. His complexion was a bluish gray, eyes swollen shut, face bloated and puffy. No, he was not at all recognizable. Monstrous in death, but he had been even more frightening in life. Her gaze landed on the simple white gold band she’d given him on their wedding day.
“It just looks right, doesn’t it?” Lance had said after their first night as husband and wife, their hands intertwined, the early-morning sunlight streaming through.
She’d kissed Lance’s ring hand.
“It looks perfect,” she’d said.
“Mrs. Dobson, is that your husband?” Ranger Santiago asked, interrupting her trip down memory lane.
Kristy nodded and turned to him. “That’s his ring. That’s Lance’s wedding ring.”
Women were expected to cry. They must always cry, she’d learned. The ones who didn’t were labeled heartless, cold, shrews, or “not quite right.” Kristy’s tears fell, but not for Lance. She’d cried far too many tears for him. No, these tears were for Pops and Ryan and what would happen if she failed today.
Ranger Santiago motioned for the ME that the identification was complete. The curtain was closed and he ushered Kristy down a different hallway into an interview room.
“Can I get you some coffee or water?” he asked.
“Coffee would be good. Please,” she said.
“Milk? Sugar?” he asked, so accommodating, as though they were old friends catching up over lost time.
“Just plain coffee will be fine,” she said.
She didn’t want coffee but she needed time alone. She could bet money that Detective Davenport was watching her through the two-way glass, along with their superiors, assessing every sigh and shift, cataloging the intonation of her words. She had read enough case files to know what they would be looking for. She recalled nervous ticks being one thing they looked for. Was any part of her making involuntary movements? What else? The eyes. A flatness to the eyes was a sure sign of guilt. Obsessive weeping was annoying to them because it wasted their time. But so was emotional restraint, which was seen as a refusal to cooperate in the investigation. Kristy leaned against the table, head in her hands.
I am a distraught grieving widow, she reminded herself. A distraught grieving widow.
This was the crossroads—when a simple conversation might become the basis for an entire murder case, Kristy’s guilt or innocence determined in a span of seconds, minutes, and hours. She considered giving it all up. Confessing her sins here and now. Wouldn’t that just be easier? It would all be over then. But she’d done all this for her family, for Ryan and Pops. They were still what mattered.
She thought about Lance and how the entire world saw one person, a charming devoted husband, a dedicated stepfather, a jokester, a shrewd businessman. Only Kristy, Hannah, and Lisette were witnesses to the other Lance. Cold, calculating, ruthless, demanding. If Kristy wanted to get out of this, maybe she needed to take a page out of Lance’s book. If a dual personality worked for him, why couldn’t it work for Kristy?
In this dull gray room with the stale, putrid air, she made a conscious choice. She wasn’t Kristy Dobson, the scared and battered wife. Not anymore.
Ranger Santiago returned with the worst cup of coffee Kristy ever had in her life (and she worked in a prison). She took a few sips, trying to calm her breathing. He sat down across from her, crossed one leg over the other, and loosened the top button of his white shirt. Just getting comfortable before he pounces, she thought.
“You are being recorded. Is that okay?” he asked.
Kristy nodded.
“Mind giving us a verbal answer?”
“No, I don’t mind being recorded,” she said.
The flurry of questions began, a tidal wave of information coming at her.
>
How did you meet Lance?
How long did you date?
When did you get married?
What did you do for fun?
Who are your friends?
Names?
Ages?
Occupations?
Did Lance have any business troubles?
Did you have any financial issues?
Marriage troubles?
Substance abuse problems?
Any enemies?
She answered all his questions, without any reluctance.
“Did Ryan and Lance have any issues? Were there any difficulties?”
Kristy blinked in shock. Wait a minute. Why was he asking about Ryan?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Can you repeat the question?”
“You said your son was friends with Lance before you became romantically involved. Was that difficult for Ryan?”
“No. Not at all. He was happy for us.”
“So there were no issues with his mother dating his teacher and mentor?” Ranger Santiago asked.
“No. Not at all.”
“But Ryan has a temper? I know there was an incident at school in which the police were called. Did he have counseling for that?”
“No. It was an isolated incident. You can see that from his record.”
This wasn’t happening. They couldn’t blame Ryan. That wasn’t … possible.
“Ryan loved Lance. Lance was like … like a father.”
Kristy’s voice was shrill, her hands gripping the table. Ease up. This is what they want.
Casting suspicion on someone else to trigger a reaction in a suspect.
Don’t let him rattle you.
“Ask anyone. They’ll tell you how much Ryan loved Lance.”
The ranger’s questions shifted, focusing on the week leading up to Lance’s disappearance, the last time Kristy saw him. As nerve-racking as all of this was, Kristy remained unflappable, never letting her concern and anguish waver. She found moments to probe, begging him to tell her what happened to Lance. Each time, Ranger Santiago dodged her inquiry. He wasn’t giving her any information. He wanted Kristy’s version of the events.
Over and over again, Kristy told Ranger Santiago where she was and what she’d been doing. In some ways, it was easier now. She had told that same story so many times to reporters she almost believed it was the truth. As the interrogation wore on, Kristy lost track of time. Ranger Santiago’s questions grew repetitive. His goal, she realized, was to keep her in this room long enough that she grew hungry and tired and hopefully careless. Classic interrogation techniques. He didn’t have enough evidence to arrest her or he would have already done it.
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