No Escape

by Mary Burton

  Jo hesitated. “I went to see my mother.”

  Unexpected relief softened his mood. An odd reaction, considering the last time he’d seen his ex-mother-in-law she had backed him up against a hospital wall after Jo’s miscarriage and threatened to cut his balls off if he ever again looked at Jo. “How was your mother this morning?”

  She took extra care to straighten out the folds of her jacket. “She’s doing well. Though she did happen to drop by my house yesterday, and she wasn’t happy to hear I was out with you.”

  Brody shook his head. “I can only imagine all the ways she dreamed of gutting me.”

  “She didn’t share specifics, but I get the sense she’ll be sharpening her knives this afternoon.”

  Smiling, Brody kept his gaze ahead. “I’ll be sure to keep a lookout for a crazed blonde who favors rhinestones. She is still blond, isn’t she?”

  “She’s still blond but doesn’t favor the rhinestones much anymore.”

  “Good to know.” He wove through town and was soon pulling onto I-35 headed south and wondering how he’d managed to start this Sunday morning talking about his ex-mother-in-law.

  She pursed her lips. “I mentioned Smith to Mom.”

  “You discuss your cases with your mother a lot?”

  “No, never. But he unsettled me yesterday. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I wanted to understand the root of the emotions, and I thought Mom could help.”

  Brody frowned. “Did she?”

  “ No.”

  After a brief silence, he said, “I spent the better part of the night trying to figure out your exchange with Smith.”

  She twisted in her seat toward him. “It all could have been a game. We don’t know if Smith was telling us the truth about the bodies.”

  He tipped his head. “Care to take a bet on whether Smith was lying or telling the truth?”

  She frowned, stared at him a beat and then shifted her gaze back to the road. “No.”

  “Smart.”

  They arrived at the crime scene at ten minutes after eight. A dozen DPS marked cars, lights flashing, and several black Ranger Broncos stood parked at the end of a long, winding, dirt road. Last night’s rain had cleared but had left the ground soggy and muddy. From her pack, Jo pulled out rubber boots and slipped them on over her flat shoes.

  Brody didn’t comment but she caught his sideways glance. In school he’d teased her about always being prepared. “You should have been a Boy Scout,” he’d said.

  Her boots squished into sucking mud and a small, very nasty part of her hoped Brody was now ankle deep in mud. Closing the car door, she hefted her backpack on her shoulder and moved around the side of the car to meet Rangers Jim Beck and Rick Santos.

  Jim Beck was tall, muscular, with dark hair. Santos was as tall but his build leaner. Like Brody, both men wore the customary khakis, sport jacket, tie and cowboy boots with their white Stetsons.

  Her smile was genuine as she extended her hand to both Jim and Santos. “Not such a great way to start a day.”

  Jim shrugged and sipped from a black travel mug. “If Smith was telling the truth, it will be worth it.”

  Santos yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “More sleep would have been mighty welcome. But I reckon it’s not so bad.”

  Brody stood by Jo, extending his hand to the Rangers. The three had never been assigned to the same office until a couple of weeks ago, but a Ranger’s jurisdiction often crossed county lines into another territory. They’d all worked together on several cases, most recently an Austin kidnapping that ended with the suspect’s arrest in Houston.

  “There is no record of Smith owning this land. However, the registered “owner” is a corporation, which after some digging offered the name Tate Jones. We drill down a little deeper, I bet we find a link to Smith. But it explains why this property never popped up on our radar during the investigation.”

  Beck frowned. “I wonder what other corporations he’s set up and used as a front to buy property.”

  Brody stared at the wide-open land around them. “I hate to think.” He shifted his attention back to the Rangers. “According to Smith, the bodies would be near what’s left of that barn. Are the guys here with the ground-penetrating radar?”

  A truck rolled down the long road, kicking up mud. The vehicle parked behind Brody’s car and two men in jumpsuits emerged.

  “Speak of the devil,” Jim said. “Shouldn’t be long before they’re set up and ready to go.”

  A wind blew across the flat, scrubby land, and Jo burrowed deeper into her jacket. She’d intended to make a thermos of coffee but had not expected Brody to be in her driveway early.

  She rubbed her hands together. “You and Lara ready for the big day? T minus six days and counting.”

  Jim grinned. “About as ready as you can get. She’s been so busy shooting pictures for a new summer exhibit that she’s barely taken time for the fitting.”

  “I’ve seen the dress, and it fits her perfectly. She’ll be stunning.”

  Pride burned in Jim’s gaze. “I’ve not one bit of doubt. I hear you’re getting together with her and Cassidy tonight.”

  She’d totally forgotten. Damn. “That’s right. Seven. A vegetarian cantina in Austin.”

  “Try not to get too wild and crazy at this bachelorette party.”

  “It’s not me you have to worry about,” Jo said. “It’s Cassidy.”

  “And I’m counting on you to be the levelheaded one that says no. Lara’s too nice.”

  “I promise.”

  The forensic techs unloaded the ground penetrating radar, which looked much like a push mower with large wheels and a computer screen mounted on the handle. At first, progress was slowgoing, guiding the device through the muck, but the technicians soon had the machine past the line of police cars and worked their way toward what remained of the barn.

  Brody and the Rangers moved closer to the search site. Jo straightened, trying to work the kinks from her back. As much as she wanted peace for the victims’ families, a big part of her hoped Smith had been lying. Logic suggested that the summons to West Livingston, the lies about the graves, and all his mind games were intended to stir trouble for trouble’s sake.

  The slow and meticulous process of pushing the GPR in a gridlike fashion began, and Jo was left with the Rangers to stand and watch the process.

  The barn had all but collapsed on itself though stubborn chips of red paint still clung to grayed and weather-ravaged boards that lay in a heap on the ground. Tall weeds peppered the land around the barn’s old footprint and had woven their way up through the boards. In five years there’d be no trace of the place.

  Across the field Brody stood, his hands on his hips, as he watched the technicians work. Her mother would call her a fool for saying this, but she could see that he’d changed in fourteen years. He wasn’t the swaggering baseball player with a quick story or a joke. He was a serious man. Hard to be a Marine and a Ranger, witness what they did, and not grow up.

  He’d been the lead for the human trafficking case last year. She’d watched the news, and camera crews caught a glimpse of Brody leading a twelve-year-old girl out of a storage shed. The girl had been crying and filthy, covered in weeks of grime. And she’d been wearing Brody’s jacket. He’d had his arm draped protectively around her thin shoulders, as a father would his own child.

  She never stopped to ask if he was married now. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band but many cops didn’t. The less the bad guys knew about you, the better. Picturing him with a wife and children sent a flush of embarrassment racing up her neck and face. He’d been frozen in time for her these last fourteen years. She’d always pictured him surrounded by cheerleaders or, with her studying, trying to find a reason why he should care about Shakespeare. Or children. But because she couldn’t picture it didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

  Emotion she’d not expected or wanted rose up in her, tightening her chest. Made sense he’d move on with his life. Mo
st everyone had. Except her.

  “I think we found something,” the technician called.

  She shook off the sting of emotion and watched as Brody, Jim and Santos walked toward the GPR. The technician pointed to the screen and then at the ground, nodding his head sideways as if he were as surprised as everyone else.

  The technician placed an orange flag in the ground and continued pushing the GPR over the soggy earth. Ten minutes later he raised his hand, indicating another hit. Another ten minutes and another hit. Three bodies. Just as Smith had said.

  A deep sense of unease strengthened and coiled around her insides.

  Brody spoke to the technicians and though she could not hear, it was clear from his expression he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted the land north of the barn also searched.

  A grim frown deepened the lines on the technician’s face, but he pushed the machine through the muck.

  Brody stood in the center of the first field, three orange flags circling him. He’d been trying to get answers for three families for over three years and now he was close.

  However, his grim expression held no hint of satisfaction. He looked sad, and judging by the deep lines at his temples and the dark circles under his eyes, he was exhausted.

  “Winchester!” the tech shouted. “I’ve found another one here.”

  The hum of conversation silenced and everyone watched as Brody, Jim and Santos moved toward the site.

  Four bodies. Not three.

  They’d all expected Smith to lie.

  And he had.

  Robbie stared into the small television, which televised an image from a hunter’s camera secured high in the trees above his burial site. His plot of land now swarmed with a sea of cop cars and Texas Rangers. They’d found Smith’s bodies. And his.

  He sat back, folded his arms over his chest and smiled. The fact that the cops were here meant that Harvey had sent them. No way they’d have found this place without Harvey.

  Robbie smiled. Harvey had read his message in the classifieds, and he’d sent the cops. Not to punish him but to say, I know, boy. I know.

  Pulling in a satisfied breath, he was unable to tear his gaze from the images. For days he’d wondered if Harvey had seen his message. He’d feared his father would go to his grave never knowing that his creation had matured and become the man Harvey had intended.

  He watched the cops, shovels in hand, hovering around Smith’s graves and his own. He touched the screen, wishing Harvey and he could share this moment together. The old man was sick, dying, and there’d not be many days left.

  Robbie tipped back his head and closed his eyes smiling. Thank you, Harvey.

  Years ago, Smith had tried to make him into a man and he’d failed. After a decade he’d finally proven himself to his father.

  Harvey had said there was no sweeter rush than killing. Robbie hadn’t experienced a rush; however a deep satisfaction had washed over him when he’d shoveled the last bits of dirt on the grave.

  Harvey’s days were down to a precious few. He had weeks at most.

  If he didn’t delay, perhaps he could kill several more times before Harvey died. The old man could read about his exploits in the news and perhaps recapture the thrill that had given him such joy.

  For Harvey, he would keep killing.

  Chapter Five

  Sunday, April 7, 3:00 P.M.

  “We have three skeletonized remains,” Marissa Reardon, the medical examiner’s assistant, said.

  Brody hitched his muddied boot on the bumper of the medical examiner’s van as Marissa cradled a warm cup of coffee in her hands. Petite and in her early thirties, she wore her long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She was the only tech he’d met who always wore makeup, perfume and earrings no matter the time of day or weather conditions. Jokes painting her as a debutante made her laugh, but when she was on the job it was all about business.

  Brody leaned in. “Just as we expected.”

  “There will have to be lots of testing at the lab when we get the remains back, but they’ve been in the ground a long time. You said Smith was arrested three years ago?”

  “That’s right.”

  She sipped her coffee. “That would fit the initial findings here.”

  “Can you identify them?”

  “Seeing as you have three victims that were never accounted for, it will be easy enough to match dental records. And if we don’t have those records we might be able to pull DNA from teeth or bones.”

  “One of the victims suffered a fractured femur when she was eight.”

  Marissa shrugged. “An X-ray can also assist with identification.”

  A grim sense of satisfaction worked its way through his tense muscles as it did after a grueling workout. “You haven’t discussed the fourth victim.”

  A sigh shuddered through her body as she stared at the grave she’d yet to unearth. “That’s why I decided to take a quick break. I’m tired, and I want to be on my game when we excavate the fourth victim.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “GPR suggests those remains aren’t old. It indicated the presence of flesh.”

  “Flesh. That can’t be right.”

  “I excavated part of the skull.” Cradling her coffee in both hands, she took a sip. “From what I can tell, the deceased hasn’t been in the ground much more than a week.”

  “What?”

  “Your fourth victim couldn’t have been killed by Smith. Unless he found a way to sneak in and out of prison without anyone noticing.”

  Brody’s frown deepened. Smith had mentioned an apprentice. Robbie. “When can you excavate that body?”

  Marissa stared into her coffee cup, as if willing it to give her strength. “Give me a minute. The men and I will get started again soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  In the last seven hours Brody had been so caught up in the crime scene he’d not been able to get back to check on Jo. Now as he moved away from Marissa he caught sight of her pale face, as she stood alone, huddling in her jacket. He now regretted not making the time to check in on her.

  “Jo,” he said.

  She raised her head. Recognition flickered in her gaze but there was no hint of a smile. “How’s it going?”

  “The forensic team is excavating the first three bodies.”

  “And the fourth?”

  He tightened his jaw. “It’s not like the others.”

  “Meaning?”

  “This last victim was killed within the last week.”

  Her head tipped, as it did when she was a teenager. The slight movement indicated she’d stepped back from emotion, and her brain had turned to computing the issue at hand. “Smith mentioned the apprentice. Robbie.”

  “I know. I wasn’t sure how to take the information.”

  “Did you check the paper for the ad?”

  “I did. Most look like typical ads, whereas a few appear to be messages. ‘In it to win it’ was one. Another was ‘Bluebonnets’ and the last, ‘Call Rafe.’ Robbie and Harvey aren’t the only ones who use the classifieds for messages. We’re trying to trace all the purchasers of those ads. But each was paid for with cash.”

  A furrow creased the delicate skin between her eyes. “I should go back and talk to Smith again. Find out what else he knows about Robbie.”

  “There’s time for that. First, we finish what we have here.” He sure as hell wouldn’t let her go back to that prison alone. He’d hated the way that monster had stared at her through the glass. Crawled in her head. Whenever he’d dealt with Smith in the past he’d always been able to keep his cool. He could play nice with the animal in the hopes of getting answers. But he’d come close to losing his temper yesterday.

  She raised her chin a notch. “This is your investigation, so I’ll take my cue from you. But I’m no kid. I know what I’m doing, and I can handle Smith.”

  “This is no reflection on your professional talent.”

  He’d never had doubts about her intellect. From
the get-go, he’d known she was smarter than most, including himself, and could do or be whatever she wanted. “Trust me on this one.”

  “Of course.”

  Stiff, professional, he understood her trust did not extend beyond work.

  Marissa, who now worked on the fourth victim, motioned him to come.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.

  “Let me have a look. I might see something.”

  He frowned. “Suit yourself.”

  When they reached the burial site roped off by yellow crime scene tape, Brody reached for plastic gloves in his coat pocket. He handed a set to Jo and called out to Marissa. “What do you have?”

  “I’ve cleaned off the face and upper body.” She rose and stepped aside as a forensic technician snapped digital pictures. “But it’s clear she was young. I think her hair was blond. It’s so caked with dirt now.” She hesitated. “I’m going to let the medical examiner do the cleaning. I don’t want to disturb any evidence.”

  Brody raised the tape for Jo and the two ducked under. Immediately, the heavy scent of death rose foul and putrid from the ground. He’d smelled it enough times and knew he could handle it.

  He knelt beside the body and stared at the dirt-caked face of the victim. A woman. No more than thirty. Likely, blond hair. High, sunken cheekbones. The expression frozen on her face telegraphed panic. This close, the odors were thick and heavy.

  “Smith buried his victims alive,” Brody said. “Was she buried alive?”

  Marissa shook her head. “I don’t know. There is substantial dirt in her mouth and nose but the medical examiner will have to open her up.”

  “Dr. Granger,” Brody said without glancing back. “Any thoughts?”

  Slowly she knelt beside him and cleared her throat. She lifted her hand to her nose. “Can you remove more of the dirt?”

  Marissa nodded and with a small brush slowly brushed away the dirt. A half hour later, the victim’s clothed torso was exposed.

  Jo cleared her throat, raised her hand to her nose. “Smith abused his victims physically and tied the victims’ hands at their sides, so they couldn’t claw free of the dirt. This victim’s bindings are consistent with Smith, but there is no bruising on her face.” She swallowed.