“I’ve told you everything I know.”
“I understand, Mrs. Dobson, but …”
“My son and my father, are they still out there?”
“Yes, they are …”
“Then I’ll come back tomorrow, I’ll stay as long as you need me to stay, but right now I need to be with my family.”
She expected him to push back, but he closed his notebook and reached out to shake her hand.
“You’re right, Mrs. Dobson. We’ve taken up enough of your time. If I have any more questions, I’ll be in touch. We’re going to find out who killed your husband. People rarely get away with a crime like this. And I’m proud to say that I have a hundred percent closure rate.”
Despite Kristy’s exhaustion, she understood his warning. This wasn’t the end. Ranger Santiago stood and opened the door. Kristy slipped outside and headed toward the lobby, where Pops was waiting.
She glanced around.
“Where is Ryan?” she said.
“Talking to that lady cop,” Pops relayed.
The blood drained from Kristy’s face.
“What?”
“She said she just had a few questions.”
No way. This wasn’t happening. Kristy spun around, marching over to Ranger Santiago.
“Where the hell is my son?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not going to ask again. Where is Ryan?”
“I’m not sure. Give me a minute …”
But Kristy wasn’t waiting. She pushed past him, hurrying back to where she came from.
“Ryan? Ryan? Are you here?”
“Mrs. Dobson, calm down,” Ranger Santiago called out after her, trying to keep up.
“He’s a minor. Or have you forgotten? He just lost the only father he’s known. What the hell is wrong with you people?”
A door opened and Davenport stepped out.
“I want my son. We’re leaving. Now,” Kristy said.
“We were just talking.”
“You can’t possibly think I’m that stupid. If you want to question my son, get a warrant for his arrest.”
Ranger Santiago nodded curtly to Davenport, his eyes flashing. She’d clearly gone off the book on this.
“Let him go, Joanna.”
She didn’t say a word to Kristy. She opened the door. Ryan looked up, stricken.
“Let’s go, Ry. Come on.”
He hesitated and Davenport motioned for him to go.
“We’re done here,” Detective Davenport said, her tone signaling they were anything but. Ignoring the officers, Ryan hurried out, Kristy leading him down the hallway and back toward the waiting area. Ryan’s voice was low, trembling with fear.
“They were asking me all these questions, about Lance, about why I punched Scott and if I had anger issues. They asked me if I used Lance’s guns and if I ever went shooting. Mom, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. They’re just doing their jobs,” Kristy said. It was a lie. She didn’t believe that for a second. She wasn’t sure if they were actually targeting Ryan or if this was all part of some plan to coax her into confessing.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“They always talk to the family when a homicide occurs. I promise nothing is going to happen to you. Okay?”
They reached Pops, who staggered to his feet, clutching his portable oxygen.
“Everything okay? I’m sorry if I messed up, Kristy girl. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with asking the boy some questions.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Pops. We’re all done now. Let’s go home.”
Kristy grabbed Pops’s oxygen tank and he leaned on her, his wrinkled age-spotted hands grasping her tightly as Ryan followed them out. She wouldn’t allow her son to be dragged into this. He’d already suffered enough. If they came for him, Kristy would come clean. That was the only solution. For now she planned to savor her freedom, because it appeared that her days as a free woman were numbered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
At dawn, Kristy bolted out of bed. They were coming for her or Ryan. She was certain of it. Kristy sat by her bedroom window for hours, the faint orange-hued slivers of sunlight peeking out among the clouds. She took a shower and then brewed a pot of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, gazing into space, waiting for the inevitable. Her instincts proved correct. She heard the first car, tires skidding on gravel. Through the kitchen window, the caravan of Conroe Police Department squad cars and the Texas Ranger’s pickup made their way onto the property. Kristy raced downstairs toward Ryan’s room.
“Ryan, get up. The police are here.”
Alarmed, Ryan sat upright, clutching his pillow protectively against his chest.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. But I need you to get out of bed and go wake Pops.”
She left Ryan behind, scrambling to get dressed. Kristy made it to the front door, just in time to greet Ranger Santiago.
“Mrs. Dobson, we have a warrant to search your house, property, and vehicles. We’ll start with your bedroom and then search the rest of the home. The officers will be photographing everything, and we’ll be taking all electronics, including computers and iPads, into custody.”
“Okay,” Kristy said, holding open the screen door, knowing there was no way to stop them. “Okay, that’s fine.”
“We need to know if you, your father, Ryan, or Lance has any other weapons in the house,” Ranger Santiago said.
The police had already confiscated the guns they found at the campsite when they took Lance’s camper and truck into custody.
“My father has a pistol he keeps in the nightstand by his bed. That’s all,” Kristy said, recalling that terrible evening Lance held that same gun to her head. Ranger Santiago nodded matter-of-factly. Just as Kristy’s day-to-day tasks involved watching people die, his included invading people’s homes, searching for proof that they were criminals.
“Our bedroom is upstairs,” she said as she led the ranger and other officers toward the stairs. Pops and Ryan lingered near the kitchen entrance, anxiously surveying the scene.
“My father’s bedroom is on the first floor in the back of the house, and Ryan’s bedroom is in the basement,” she said. Perhaps later when she was facing trial, they’d say she cooperated. Perhaps that might be enough to keep her off death row.
“Mom?” Ryan asked, wanting her reassurance.
“It’ll be okay, Ry. It’s all going to be okay.”
Ranger Santiago led the officers upstairs to Kristy and Lance’s bedroom. They inspected and photographed everything from Lance’s underwear to his belts to his toothbrush. Throughout, Ranger Santiago kept up a steady commentary on what they were doing. Kristy’s status as a law enforcement official was the only reason she was treated with such respect. It wasn’t pleasant watching the police go through her personal items. Every now and then they’d take something, a belt buckle or Lance’s watch, and put it in a plastic bag and she’d wonder, why that item? What clue might that provide? She kept her mouth shut though, didn’t ask questions, didn’t do anything that might draw attention to herself.
As the search continued, Kristy grew more and more uncomfortable watching them casually sift through her mother’s jewelry collection, her underwear drawer. She excused herself, allowing the officers to work alone, joining Ryan and Pops at the kitchen table, the three of them drinking coffee and waiting for the search to end. Hours later, just as the sun was setting, Ranger Santiago thanked them for their cooperation and the cops all left, their cars kicking up dust as they headed out. The police were gone. Lance was gone. It was just the three of them, mourning, grieving.
Kristy had no choice but to take time off from work. “Two weeks paid,” Gus said when he heard that Lance had been recovered. It was generous by any standards, even more so knowing what a tightwad Gus was.
With the police investigation continuing, Kristy did what any grieving wife would do—she planned a memorial service.
People she hadn’t seen in years showed up. Former coworkers, Ryan’s classmates and their parents, her high school teachers, including Liza. Kristy didn’t remember much about the service. Ryan, Pops, and Kristy all declined to speak.
“Not sure we could get through it,” Kristy told the kind-faced pastor. She grimaced through the man’s bumbling eulogy, waxing poetic about Lance and all the great gifts God had bestowed upon him.
After the service, everyone gathered at Kristy’s house for a reception. Carmen, Mac, and Vera provided all the food: a giant spread of cold cuts and cheeses. Other folks brought casseroles and pies, enough food to feed an army. As Kristy made her way through all the well-wishers, accepting their condolences, she spotted Yoli outside chain-smoking on the porch. Yoli had quit smoking after Roy’s cancer diagnosis, but stressful situations brought out bad habits. Kristy slipped outside and joined her. She hadn’t smoked a single cigarette since Lance died. But when Yoli handed Kristy hers, she took a long, slow drag, the nicotine working its way through her body.
“Y’all doing okay?” Yoli asked.
“Getting by,” Kristy managed.
Yoli took the cigarette back and sucked on it deeply as if it held answers to long-lost questions.
“A Texas Ranger came by the house last night. Did you know Lance and Roy got into a shouting match at Texas Land and Cattle a few months back, arguing about the money that Lance owed us?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“This cop was asking all these questions. Probing us about our falling-out with Lance, asking about our finances. I mean, Kristy, can you imagine Roy hurting a fly?”
Roy was the nicest man Kristy ever met. Were they suspicious of Roy now? It seemed like everyone was getting swept up in Kristy’s mess. But the truth was they hadn’t arrested anyone. If they did, she’d come forward. That’s what she’d have to do. Kristy squeezed Yoli’s hand.
“The police are asking everyone questions, Yoli. It’s their job.”
But was it? Could someone who had nothing to do with Lance’s death be in police crosshairs? It happened, didn’t it—innocent people going to prison for something they didn’t do? Thinking about Clifton, Kristy realized anything was possible.
The police were ever present. Kristy caught a brief glimpse of Ranger Santiago at the funeral, slipping into a pew at the last minute, tipping his cowboy hat to her as she exited. Ranger Santiago wasn’t just watching Kristy, he was surveying Ryan, Pops, Yoli, and Roy, trying to find some clue that might lead him to the murderer—that might maintain his “I have a hundred percent closure rate” status.
In the days following the funeral, neighbors brought more casseroles and condolences. Kristy’s forward motion refused to let her sit still, organizing, cleaning, listening to Carmen and Mac telling her to “hang in there,” and “we’ll find the son of a bitch and make him pay.” Over and over again, Kristy heard a variation on this theme, wondering if and when these prophecies would come true.
“Kristy, what happened to your husband?”
“Kristy, do the police have any leads?”
“How are you coping with his murder?”
Since his body had been discovered, more reporters descended outside Kristy’s home. But these weren’t the respectful friends and colleagues she’d known for years, these were cutthroat journalists from major national news outlets, all vying for a way to exploit this tragedy for higher ratings. Kristy Tucker was officially the news.
But her family was collateral damage. Ryan skulked around the house in wrinkled clothes. Pops slept most of the days away, asking Kristy to deliver his meals to his room instead of joining them at the table. With nothing else to do, Kristy became obsessed with the house, sweeping, dusting and vacuuming, cooking meals for everyone. On multiple occasions, Ranger Santiago stopped by.
“Just wanted to check on y’all,” he’d say, holding up a store-bought pecan pie or burgers and fries from Whataburger. He’d ask Kristy for a few minutes of her time, and Kristy would answer the same version of the questions she answered before. She did her best to summon her Lance persona—polite, professional, distraught—but the pressure was growing. When he’d leave, Kristy, unable to sleep, roamed the halls of her home, checking on Pops and Ryan, afraid to sleep, afraid the cops would come and take her away without a proper good-bye.
Despite Kristy’s forced hiatus from work, she insisted that Ryan return to school.
“Life has to get back to normal,” she told him.
“Nothing will ever be normal, Mom,” Ryan said, but this time he didn’t argue.
After a week of him moping and ignoring her, Kristy stormed into Pops’s room, pulled open the shades, and switched off the TV.
“I can’t see you like this anymore,” she said.
“Damn it, I was watching that,” Pops grunted.
“No more of this. You’re going to get your butt into the shower and Mac is taking you to your doctor’s appointment. I am not letting you lie here in the dark and wither away. I can’t … I can’t lose you too, Pops. I can’t …”
Pops must have sensed Kristy unraveling.
“Okay … okay … I’ll get dressed. I’m sorry. I just … you spend your whole life around murder and evil and then it’s right here in your own backyard. Guess I lost perspective. But I’ll stop with my pity party. It’s done. I’ll be there for you and Ryan, Kristy girl. I’ll always be there.”
Kristy might have been able to get Pops and Ryan to start living again, but she was going crazy. She couldn’t just stay home and do nothing. She had to get out of this house. She didn’t even call Gus to tell him she was coming back to work. She simply showed up at the office. She was surprised to find Carmen sitting at her desk.
“Hey, lady,” Carmen said, surprised to see her there. Kristy scanned the desk, everything neatly organized, a stark contrast to Kristy’s chaos.
“Hey,” Kristy replied, feeling a bit like a stranger.
“It’s damn good to see you,” Carmen replied, rushing forward to give Kristy a hug.
“But?” Kristy asked.
Something was wrong. Carmen wasn’t making eye contact.
“You should talk to Gus,” Carmen said.
Kristy could tell this wasn’t going to be good news, but she forced a smile.
“If I don’t come back, Gus and I ran off to Vegas to elope.”
Carmen chuckled.
“God, I missed you, Kristy,” she said.
Kristy’s smile faded when she stepped into the hall. She made her way over to Gus’s office and knocked on the door. He always kept it closed, so no one would catch him napping.
“Come in,” Gus said.
Kristy entered. Gus was seated at his custom-made oak desk, so massive he resembled a chubby child emperor.
“Kristy, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea?”
Shit. He was being nice. That definitely meant something was wrong.
“I thought you were going to take time off,” Gus said.
“I did. But I’m going crazy at home …”
“The thing is … Lance’s death has created quite a stir and the higher-ups aren’t exactly thrilled with the continued media scrutiny. They’ve suggested that you take more time. Just until the police catch whoever did this.”
Her stomach dropped. Were they concerned about the PIO’s image or were they trying to distance themselves from Kristy? She tried to rationalize it. If the cops were going to arrest her, they’d simply fire her, not keep her on paid leave.
“When were you going to let me know?” Kristy asked.
“This just happened. I was going to give you a call, but it’s been hectic here without you. Carmen can hardly manage her own work, let alone yours.”
Panic set in. Kristy couldn’t imagine what she’d do if she wasn’t working.
“Gus, I need this job.”
“And it’ll be waiting for you. You’re still getting paid. Take this time to be with Ryan and Frank.”
&n
bsp; Kristy could have argued, but what if it cast suspicion on her? A grieving woman should be at home grieving. Kristy thanked Gus and returned to her office. It was Wednesday. She could at least visit with Clifton.
“Hey, Carmen, do you mind if I head over to Polunsky and do one last press day? I just … I can’t go home. Not yet.”
She waited to see if her question raised any eyebrows but Carmen’s relief was obvious.
“God, that would be amazing. I have so much paperwork to catch up on. I’ll take a long lunch and Gus will never even know. But just so you know, it’s going to be a busy day. Clifton Harris got his new date so there will be lots of questions, I’m sure.”
“They’re executing Clifton?” Kristy asked. She hadn’t heard anything about it.
“Yeah, all his appeals have been denied. His execution is in a few weeks.”
And Kristy would miss it. This time she wouldn’t be there.
“Hey, Kris, I hope you’re not mad. I mean, about me doing your job.”
“I could never be mad at you,” Kristy said, covering. It wasn’t Carmen’s fault. No. This was all Kristy’s doing.
“Take care of yourself, okay? And I’ll see you soon?” Carmen said.
“I hope so,” Kristy replied but she wasn’t sure. Who knows—the next time she returned here, she might be on the other side of these walls.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Clifton was waiting for Kristy in their usual pod when she arrived. Unfortunately, today’s journalists were prompt so there was no time to speak to him. Kristy had to wait two and a half hours while Clifton patiently told his story to three reporters, answering the same questions over and over again. Once they were gone, Kristy took a seat and picked up the phone. One last time.
“I heard everything,” Clifton said softly. “How are you doing?”
The Walls Page 27