No Escape

by Mary Burton

  Dee emerged wearing jeans, a Find Christa! T-shirt and a leather jacket. She looked at Scott as if she wanted to speak but thought better of it and left.

  Brody hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Dee joined the search party?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Dee like to wear that T-shirt often?” Santos said.

  “No. No, of course not. She put it on yesterday because it was Christa’s birthday. A bunch of us gathered together and celebrated. She was trying to cheer me up. Show me that Christa hadn’t been forgotten.”

  Brody let his gaze roam over the apartment. It was neat, organized and smelled of fresh paint. “When was the last time you saw Christa?”

  Scott reached for a T-shirt draped over a couch and pulled it on over his head. “That’s all in the file.”

  “Humor me.”

  Scott’s argument melted when his gaze lifted to Brody. “The last time I saw her was the night she vanished. We’d gone to a party for our office. It was kind of a St. Patrick’s Day theme plus a corporate celebration. After I walked her to her car about eleven thirty, I returned to the bar to drink with my friends. Ask her roommate if you don’t believe me.”

  “We did ask her.”

  Scott stabbed long fingers through his blond hair. “Look, if this is about rehashing ground I’ve already covered . . .”

  “We’re into new territory now, Scott.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Brody watched Scott’s face closely. “We found Christa. She’s dead. Murdered.”

  Scott stared at the Rangers for long, tense seconds. “Where did you find her?”

  “We’ll get into that later. Where were you about a week ago?”

  “Last Monday? At work and home.”

  “Alone?”

  Scott frowned. “Yeah, alone.”

  “How long have you and the blonde . . . Dee . . . been together?”

  “I told you last night was the first time.”

  Brody grinned. “Really? Somehow I can’t see it. You’re a good-looking guy. Gals like Dee can see you’re hurting, and they want to make you feel better.”

  “No. I’ve been faithful to Christa.” Tears welled in his eyes. “Are you sure she’s dead? Are you sure you didn’t make a mistake? It’s hard to identify a body after four weeks.”

  “Christa was killed a week ago.”

  “What? That doesn’t make sense. She’s been missing for a month.” His face paled as the information sunk in deep. “Where was she all this time?”

  Brody dodged the question. “What was she like?”

  He swallowed. “She was sweet and nice. Everybody liked her.”

  “No stalkers or guys hanging around she didn’t know?”

  “If there was, she never said.” He sat on the couch and buried his face in his hands. “Her sister, Ester, is going to be devastated.”

  “We put a call in to her, but she’s out of town.”

  “She’s exhausted and needed a break. She was talking about going to Galveston.”

  “And Christa and Ester’s parents are dead.”

  “Yeah. They died when Christa was in high school. Car crash. Ester returned to Austin and moved back into the family home. Christa was fifteen when her folks died and Ester kinda finished raising her. They were tight.” He slumped back on the couch.

  Brody couldn’t get a read on Scott. He was saying all the right words, but there was a missing piece to this puzzle. “Did you organize the search for Christa?”

  “No, Tim Neumann did. He heard she was missing and organized the Find Christa! search. He was amazing. Marshaled so many people.”

  “Does he work with you at First Financial?”

  “No. He’s a Realtor. Has a small office in our building. I’d never met the guy until he stepped forward to help. Shit happens, and you never can tell who will be on your side.”

  “We can find Tim at the office today?”

  “Maybe. He works really hard and is out of the office a lot. But he always carries his cell and will get back to you pretty quick.” Scott rattled off the cell number.

  Brody pulled a notebook from his pocket and scribbled a note. “Great.”

  “Why do you want to talk to Tim? He barely knew Christa.”

  “We’re talking to anyone and everyone who can tell us about Christa and the time she vanished.”

  “You should talk to the local cops. They’ve been on this case and up my ass for a month.”

  “We’ve been in touch. Right now we’re trying to get a fresh take on the case.”

  Scott rose. “You’re gonna talk with the people I work with.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d rather you not tell them you found me with Dee. I’ve missed so much work the last month. Patience is running thin.”

  “I’ll keep it to myself.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, pal. If I find out you’ve been holding out on me, I’ll be your worst enemy.”

  Hookers weren’t Robbie’s favorite. They’d always been Harvey’s favorite in his later years because they were easy. “Two or three twenties and you can lure one into your car,” Harvey would say. “Cheap, easy hunts that offered little or no challenge.” That’s why it had been such a big deal when Harvey had trapped that girl a decade ago. He’d chosen the best for his son.

  Knowing that, Robbie had not wanted his first to be a cheap, easy kill. He’d wanted Harvey to know his kill had been a cut above. Worthy.

  When he’d first seen Christa he’d been dumbstruck. She looked so much like the girl Harvey had chosen for him a decade ago. She’d been upscale. Smart.

  Taking her hadn’t been as easy as cruising for a hooker. He’d had to work. To plan. It had taken some doing to toy with her heating unit so that the temperature soared in her apartment, forcing Christa and her roommate to open their windows. He’d sat in the parking lot in his darkened car and watched as the roommate had cracked her window. He could have taken the roommate, but she wasn’t his type. So he’d waited, patient and silent, for Christa who had come home just around midnight. It hadn’t taken long before she’d opened her window. After she shut off the lights, he waited another fifteen minutes and then made his move. He’d been in her room and on top of her, the needle in her neck, before she knew what had happened. After she’d passed out it had been easy enough to carry her out the one-story window and across the dark parking lot that had no cameras.

  Robbie had been proud of his coup. But when the time came to kill her, he’d been as terrified and scared as he had been all those years ago. That’s why he’d kept her tucked away in the trailer on the other plot of land for so long.

  At first he would toss her food and leave, but after a few days, he’d linger while she ate. A day or two more and he’d asked if she liked her meal. At first she talked only about him letting her go but after a couple more days she answered his questions. He’d been able to tell her about Smith and the loss of his father’s love. She’d seemed to understand.

  But in the end, he realized if he did not act, he’d run out of time before Smith died. And it broke his heart to know his father would have gone to his grave thinking him a failure.

  When he’d told her he was taking her home, the relief on her face had almost made him back out of the kill. She’d thanked him over and over again as they’d driven down the country road. “I won’t tell. I won’t tell. I swear.”

  She didn’t deserve to die. But she was the perfect victim. And she had to die, so his father would know he’d finally manned up.

  When they’d arrived at the field, she’d looked confused. But she’d not panicked until he’d pulled her out of the cab and bound her hands at her side.

  “I won’t tell. I won’t tell!”

  Gently he touched her face. “I know you won’t.”

  He’d dragged her to the hole he’d dug for her and forced her into it. Each time she tried to get up, he tossed more dirt in her face until her en
tire body was covered.

  Robbie had sat at Christa’s grave for hours, weeping for her and for his own success.

  Shaking off the memory, he tightened his hold on the steering wheel as he drove toward east Austin.

  If the cops had not been to Harvey’s dump site, now his, he’d have gone for another one like Christa. He liked the nicer girls, the ones that hadn’t been used and soiled by so many before him. But he understood Smith needed to send the cops.

  As much as he wanted a better girl, for now he’d have to adapt and make do with what he could easily find. Of course, he could wait until the crime cooled or move to another town, but he needed to act again before Smith died. He’d needed to show his father he was a man. The first kill was not a fluke.

  Like any city, Austin had its places where the prostitutes hung out. He drove the city side street past Tequila Shots cantina. Three girls stood on the corner. One was older, skinny and dark. The second wore a red wig and had breasts so large, they threatened to spill out of her green skintight dress. But the third one . . . he knew her. Liked her. Young, blond, and thin but not the emaciated kind of thin that came with too much time out here. She wore faded jeans that hugged narrow hips and a black tank top that showed him and the world that it was cold outside. He’d liked the way she absently scanned the streets, as if she knew her way around. She wasn’t easily rattled or emotional.

  He slowed and rolled down his passenger window. She caught his gaze, glanced from side to side and sauntered toward him.

  “Hey.” She snapped her gum. “I know you.”

  “I picked you up a couple of times before.” He unlocked the car door.

  “Yes.”

  “My car is warm.”

  She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. “Turn the heat up. I’m chilly.”

  He cranked the heat. This one never made small talk, and he suspected her brain moved at a slower pace. “Better, Bluebonnet?”

  “Better.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a hundred an hour, like before.”

  He handed her two hundred dollars.

  She counted the money. “This is more than you’re supposed to pay me.”

  He pulled into traffic and headed west on East Twelfth. “I’d like more of your time, Bluebonnet.”

  She tucked the money in her shoe. “Okay.”

  “Thank you, Bluebonnet.”

  She cocked her head. “Why do you call me Bluebonnet? My name is Hanna.”

  “Have you ever seen bluebonnets?”

  “They’re pretty. Purple.”

  “Pretty like you.”

  She stared out the window. “Bluebonnet is not my name.”

  Chapter Eight

  Monday, April 8, 3:00 P.M.

  Brody and Santos returned to the burial site to walk the land without Sunday’s chaos. They got out of the Bronco. Already the heat had evaporated the moisture from Saturday’s rain and dried the air. The area remained secure with an officer guarding the site.

  A hundred-foot area around the collapsing barn had been roped off. The unearthed graves remained open and raw and several forensic technicians still worked around the graves.

  After Brody and Santos spoke to the officers on duty they started to reexamine the site. “No other bodies were found in the immediate area yesterday or this morning,” Santos said.

  Brody let his gaze trail over the open land of knee-high grass, brushy trees and rolling hills. Nothing caught his attention.

  “What if the killer isn’t an apprentice? Hell, we only have Smith’s word that there is an apprentice,” Santos said. “What if he was one of Smith’s fans? Maddox said the guy had lots of people writing him. Women wanted to marry him.”

  “The warden just sent me a list of Smith’s fans. There is one in the Austin area that’s been very vocal lately.”

  “This fan decides to take Christa and somehow Smith tips the fan off about this site.”

  “Not impossible. Smith never mailed correspondence from the prison, but there are other ways to get messages out.”

  A cool wind blew over the tops of the grass blades, making them bow slightly. “Off the top of your head, do you remember the name of the fan?”

  “Ginnie Dupont.”

  “A woman?”

  “She fancied herself in love with him. Said she’d do anything for him.”

  “She needs a visit.”

  “Agreed.”

  They walked toward the cluster of three empty graves. “When are you going back to West Livingston to see Smith?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I wanted to go today but Maddox says that Smith is very ill. He’s semiconscious at best. A damn miracle that he got out of his sick bed on Saturday.”

  “The guy’s been gaming the system since he entered it. Would stand to reason he’d take his last burst of energy to jerk our chains.”

  Brody rested his hands on his belt, tapped his right index finger on his gun handle. “What about Neumann?”

  “According to his answering service, he’s out showing houses until five. He’s promised to return all calls when he returns.”

  “Right.”

  They walked the land for the better part of an hour, searching for anything that might shed light on two vicious killers. They found nothing.

  Back in the car, Brody fired up the engine and cranked the heat.

  “You get the invite to Beck’s wedding?” Santos said.

  Brody stared at the horizon. “He gave it to me this morning.”

  “Should be fun.”

  Brody tightened his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m not much for weddings.”

  “Can’t say I am either, but this one is going to be casual. A barbecue. Jo Granger is going.”

  Brody shifted into gear and drove back toward the main road. “Jo Granger? How do you know her?”

  “We became friends last year when she helped my sister, Maria. Maria’s been struggling since our mom died and Jo took the time to talk to her.”

  Brody stopped at a light. “Might as well hear this from me.”

  Santos met his gaze. “What, you asked her to go to the wedding? There a snap-crackle-pop between you two?”

  Brody shook his head. “No. Our relationship is strictly professional. And I did not ask her to the wedding.” He hated poking around in the past. “But Jo and I do have a past. We were married in college.”

  Santos blinked. “Wait. You the baseball jock and Dr. Jolene Granger, the smartest woman in Texas, were married?”

  Brody glowered. “You make me sound as dumb as a box of rocks.”

  “My friend, most college boys are.”

  Brody shrugged. “Well, I won’t pretend that I was a genius. I was failing English literature and needed to get my grades up to stay on the roster. Jo was my tutor. We hit it off and one thing led to another. We married.”

  Santos’s gaze narrowed. “I could see you being impulsive, but not Jo. She thinks three steps ahead.”

  Except for that first night they slept together. But he refused to tell Santos about that, the unwanted pregnancy or the miscarriage. That information was too personal. If Jo wanted to share with Santos, so be it, but he wouldn’t. “Lots of kids do foolish things in college.”

  Santos shook his head. “Shit. I didn’t expect that. She’s never mentioned an ex-husband, but she’s a pretty private gal. And I don’t know her all that well . . . yet.”

  A knot twisted in Brody’s gut. He had no claim on Jo. And Lord knows that woman deserved happiness. So why did he want to punch Santos in the face? Damn.

  “No lingering feelings between you two?” Santos said. “Cards on the table now. If I’m poaching I’ll stay clear.”

  Yeah, back the fuck off. “No. The last couple of days have been business. I tracked her for Smith.”

  A curious smile curled the edges of Santos’s lips. “Last chance, hombre. I warn you now, I like that lady a lot.”

  “She’s all yours.”

  “No take-b
acks.”

  Fuck.

  It was past four when Jo dashed downstairs to the coffee shop, grabbed a sandwich and returned to her office. Maybe if she hustled, she could make up the lost time and put a dent in the paperwork.

  She studied the pink message slips piled high on her chair and groaned. She’d be here until tomorrow at the rate this day was going.

  Snatching up the slips, she sat in her chair, placed her purse on the credenza behind her and opened her sandwich.

  “I talked to Dayton’s attorney.”

  Her mouthful of turkey and rye, she met Dr. Anderson’s gaze, chewed and swallowed. “I assume he’s not happy.”

  “He was hoping for a thumbs up from us. He didn’t like your assessment: ‘cold-blooded sociopath.’”

  She wiped her hands with a paper napkin. “I read up on him after the interview, and I am more convinced of his guilt.”

  He chuckled. “I pay you for your honest opinion. It’s what I admire about you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m being frank.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to ask but what were you doing this weekend? I heard the Rangers corralled you.”

  She set her sandwich in the center of her napkin. Dr. Anderson had contacts in all the local and state police agencies, and she always assumed now he knew more about what was going on than she. “I’m surprised you don’t know all the details.”

  He grinned. “I know the high points, like you identifying the victim.”

  “I made a guess. Are you telling me I was right?”

  “You were exactly right. And now there is talk of the Rangers returning to West Livingston to talk to Smith tomorrow.”

  She scrolled quickly through her cell inbox for a message from Brody. There was none. “And when are they going?”

  “Depends on Smith and how he’s doing. He’s in bad shape.”

  Frustration rose up in her. Brody should have called her and clued her in on what was happening. He wouldn’t have a crime scene if not for her. “I want to go with the Rangers back to West Livingston.”

  He shrugged. “You can push off the appointments you have tomorrow, but Wednesday you have court.”