by Mary Burton
“That man is dangerous.” She spoke slowly, carefully.
“He didn’t look dangerous to me, and I can take care of myself.”
The front door chimed. Tensing, Jo turned and expected to see Dayton again. It was her sister, Ellie. Ellie was a younger version of their mother. Tall, blond and tanned, she wore her jeans and T-shirt tight. The bemused, happy expression on her face turned to suspicion when her gaze darted between Jo’s face and their mother’s.
Gold bracelets rattled on her wrist as she tucked her purse in the bottom drawer of her beauty station. “So what did I walk in on?”
“Nothing,” Jo and her mother said at the same time.
Ellie shook her head. Gilded hoops peeked out from her blond hair. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you two agree on anything in the last fifteen years. What is up?”
Jo hoped she and her mother could talk, and she could help her see that Dayton was dangerous. But as Jo opened her mouth, her mother turned and stalked toward her station to rearrange her scissors. She’d seen that expression often enough. Candace Granger’s arctic blast could cool any sweltering Texas day.
Jo moved past her sister, unwilling to rehash, and reached for the door. “Ask Mom.”
Dayton was humming when he started his car. He glanced up at the salon as Jo stood in the center of the store arguing with her mother and another woman who, if he didn’t miss his guess, was her sister.
By the looks, Jo was gaining little headway with her kinfolk.
He backed up his car. If Jolene Granger thought she could bully him, she was mistaken. He wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, he was just getting started with her.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Dr. Watterson said to Brody.
A headache pounded behind Brody’s temples as he stared at the medical examiner’s sour expression. They stood in exam room two, the draped remains of Smith’s last three victims resting on covered gurneys behind the doctor. “Bad news is dominating the day. Good news first.”
Dr. Watterson moved toward the first gurney that held one of the victims’ skeletonized remains. He pulled back the sheet to reveal a collection of darkened bones that had been arranged in some semblance of anatomical order. “We weren’t able to extract DNA from this victim. She’s been in the ground too long.”
“How long?”
Dr. Watterson adjusted his glasses. “Thirty or so years.”
Shit. “That means she wasn’t one of the women on my list to identify.”
“The women you were looking for died in the last eight to ten years. She can’t be one of them.”
The letter that had been delivered to Jo’s house had mentioned a Delores. The specifics on her had been sketchy compared to the other victims. He’d turned the letters over to the experts who were now analyzing handwriting, fingerprints and whatever information they could squeeze from the pages. “But you can definitely confirm that the victim was a woman?”
“Yes. Shape of her skull and pelvis confirms gender. I can also tell you that she was Caucasian between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. And I think, judging by the shape of her pelvis, she didn’t have children.”
Brody studied the brown bones. “But you can’t identify her?”
“Not at this time.”
Frustration had him clenching and releasing his jaw. “Anything else you can tell me about her?”
The doctor raised his index finger. “As a matter of fact, I can tell you that she suffered an injury to her mouth. Someone knocked out two of her front bottom teeth. For whatever reason she did not seek treatment and an infection set in.” He pointed a gloved index finger to her bottom teeth and traced along what would have been the gum line. “She would have been in a great deal of pain. And she would have been sick. That kind of infection will spread with each breath she takes.”
“Could the killer have injured her mouth?”
“The injury would have occurred six or so months before her death.”
“Anything else?”
“She was a heavy smoker. You can see it on her teeth.”
Not a lot to go on, but something. “What about the other two bodies?”
Dr. Watterson carefully covered the first set of bones and moved to the second. “If you look at her right femur you’ll see she suffered a bad break early in her life. See the break line and how it mended?” He traced a gloved hand along the visible line in the bone. “Likely the trauma happened when she was a teenager. Tammy Lynn Myers, one of your alleged victims, also suffered the same type of break. And we have dental X-rays for Myers and they do match this victim.”
Tammy had been living in a halfway house near one of the schools where Smith had taught. She’d been struggling with substance abuse but had turned a corner. And then she’d vanished without a trace.
The police had assumed she’d overdosed or left town. It had been Tammy’s sister who kept insisting that she had done neither.
Three years ago when Smith had been arrested and his house searched, police had found a locket that had belonged to Tammy.
Immediately, she’d been added to the list of possible victims. But the search team excavating his backyard had never found Tammy’s body. Later, Smith had confessed to killing the girl, but he’d never revealed where her body could be found.
Finding her now was another piece of the puzzle and though the news was grim, there was relief knowing she’d been found. “So we have Tammy.”
“Yes.” Carefully, Watterson pulled the sheet over her body. “You are free to speak to her family.”
He sighed, not looking forward to the hard conversation. “Will do. What about cause of death?”
“No way of telling without the soft tissue. But based on the positioning of the hand bones in front of her chest and the presence of rope fibers, she was tied up like Smith’s other victims.”
She’d been in a shallow grave, bound and immobile. He’d never be able to say with certainty but he knew. She’d suffocated.
One down, one to go. “What about the last one?”
He moved to the next gurney, which held the second set of remains. “The next victim is Brenda Morris.”
“She vanished eleven years ago. Prostitute working in downtown Austin. Her ankle bracelet and her driver’s license were found in Smith’s house. How did you confirm her identity?”
“Brenda had scoliosis.” He nodded to the collection of bones. “This person had scoliosis, so given the time frame I’d say this is Brenda. I have a DNA sample from Brenda’s son on file and was able to extract some from this victim’s back molar. The lab will be able to cross-check.”
“We have Tammy and most likely Brenda.”
Brody hooked his thumbs on his belt. “But we don’t have any remains for Susan Carson.”
He covered the remains of the final body. “According to my records, she went missing ten years ago.”
“That is correct.”
“Carson was petite, standing just over five feet. Judging by the long bones, all three of these victims were over five foot six inches. She’s definitely not one of the three.”
“Smith gave us two of the three lost victims but not the third.” Brody shook his head. “Why am I not surprised he’d hold back?”
“Are you certain Susan was one of his victims?”
“We found her wallet in his house along with a piece of jewelry.”
“It’s a safe assumption he killed her.”
“Yeah.” Brody sighed. “Who the hell is the other victim?”
Brody had kept in touch with Tammy’s parents and sister because they’d been so involved in the Smith trial. The three had sat stoically in the back of the courtroom every day of his trial. Deeply religious, the family had often been seen praying during the trial, and the only sign of emotion he’d ever witnessed from them had been the day the medical examiner had discussed asphyxiation. Tammy’s father and mother had wept as their surviving daughter tried to comfort them.
Now as he
pulled up in front of the small adobe-style home, he wasn’t sure what to expect when he delivered his grim news. Yes, Tammy had been found but now whatever hope they’d harbored that she might be alive and return home one day would vanish.
He parked and moved up the sidewalk past a couple of tricycles with grim determination. Tammy’s parents had both died in the last year, both taken by cancer. That left Tammy’s sister, Logan, as the family’s sole survivor.
He rang the bell. Inside he heard the rush and clamor of young children followed by a mother’s lighthearted warnings. “Scoot or no ice cream.”
The door snapped open and the instant Logan Myers’s green gaze met Brody’s, the laughter died. A red-checked towel in her hands, she quickly finished drying her hands. “It’s been awhile.”
He touched the brim of his white hat. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pushed open the screen door. “I see your name in the paper from time to time. Congratulations on getting that Rangers star. I’m glad you’re doing well.”
Right now, he didn’t feel fine but ham-fisted and lacking. “Thank you.”
Logan pushed her hand through disheveled, brown hair. “The place is a mess but come on in and have a seat.” The children he’d heard through the door turned out to be two towheaded twin boys who were about five. They halted in their tracks when they saw Brody and stared at him wide-eyed.
“Afternoon, boys.”
The boys glanced at their mother and back at Brody.
Logan tucked her towel in her apron pocket. “Travis and Tyler, I’d like you to meet Texas Ranger Brody Winchester.”
Travis grinned. “A real Ranger?”
“Yes, sir,” Brody said.
Tyler raised his thumb to his mouth before thinking better of it. “Are we in trouble?”
Logan shook her head. “No one’s in trouble, boys. The Ranger is here to talk to me about some old business.”
“Does he have a gun?” Travis said.
“I do,” Brody replied.
“Can I touch it?”
Brody shook his head, smiling. “No, sir. You got to be a might bigger before that can happen.”
Travis cocked his head. “I’ll be six next month.”
Brody considered the new bit of information. “No, I don’t believe that will be old enough.”
“What about your hat?” Tyler said.
Brody squatted. “I don’t see how that could hurt anything. Have a look.”
The boys scrambled close, each staring at the hat as if it were solid gold.
“What’s that around the band?” Travis said.
“A silver concho. Belonged to a man who was a Ranger for thirty years. He gave it to me.”
“You ever shoot a bad guy?”
“Do you have a horse?”
Brody grinned at the rapid-fire questions.
Logan gently touched each boy on the head. “Okay, you two, you’ve seen enough. Now, I need you to scoot on to your rooms and I’ll be in presently.”
When the boys didn’t budge, Brody raised a brow as he stood to his full six-foot-four frame. “Sounded like an order to me, partners.”
The boys’ eyes widened and they turned and ran to their rooms.
Logan smiled after them. “I could use you around here more often, especially at bedtime when no one is able to listen to a word I say.”
Brody smiled. “Happy to help.”
She extended her hand to a well-worn sofa. “Have a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee or a soda?”
“No, ma’am.” He sat, his large frame not quite fitting on the sofa. He waited until she’d taken a seat across from him in a Lay-Z-Boy before easing onto the edge of the couch. “I’ve come to tell you we found Tammy’s body.”
She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them for a moment. “I saw on the news last week that they’d found Christa Bogart in a shallow grave and I’d wondered. But every time I hear a story like that I wonder if Tammy’s also been found.” She raised her gaze to him. “I’m tired of wondering but I can’t help myself.”
His hat dangled on the edges of his long fingers. “It’s natural.”
A bitter frown twisted her lips. “Funny you should come here today. I heard on the news that Smith died. Heart attack. Cheated the needle and cancer.”
Brody had kept Smith’s death under wraps until the midday news. No telling what Robbie would do when he got wind of Smith’s death, but Brody hoped it forced a mistake.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She met his gaze, all hints of softness gone. “I’m sorry they weren’t able to execute him properly. I’d have had a front row seat for that.”
He’d seen mixed reactions from those who’d witnessed executions. Some experienced vindication while others remained as hollow as ever. But there was no point in telling her. No one understood until they lived it.
“I don’t suppose you know how she died.”
“No, ma’am. The medical examiner wasn’t able to determine cause of death.”
“Like the others, most likely.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She twisted the folds of her apron in her hands. “Tammy made her share of mistakes, but she was trying to get herself together. I thought she’d made it.” She was silent before straightening. “Well, I appreciate you coming to tell me.”
Case closed. Killer dead. And still inadequacy gnawed at him because he knew Smith’s legacy continued to kill and destroy more families like the Myers family. “I wanted to see it through.”
“Thank you.”
Smith had skirted justice. But he’d be damned if his apprentice would.
The news of Smith’s death didn’t reach Robbie until late in the day. He’d been busy all day with work, away from TV and radio. The first time he’d heard the news he’d been driving home.
Stunned and not sure if he’d heard correctly, he’d frantically punched buttons, trying to find another station that was reporting the news. When he couldn’t find one he’d rushed home and went straight to his computer. He’d searched Smith’s name and immediately the prison’s news release popped up.
Convicted Serial Killer Harvey Lee Smith died in West Livingston prison of an apparent heart attack.
Robbie sat back in his chair and stared at the screen. Smith had never had heart trouble. But, of course, since the cancer, maybe he’d weakened.
Blinking back tears, Robbie remembered that Smith didn’t approve of emotion. Keep your feelings hidden, boy, even in private. You never know who is watching.
Biting the inside of his mouth, he focused on the physical pain. But his emotions wouldn’t be corralled and he was left with a burning sense of sadness and loss. Harvey was dead. Harvey was dead.
There’d been a time when he’d thought the indestructible Harvey would live forever.
Harvey had plucked him from a rancid hand-to-mouth existence. He’d given him an education. A purpose.
There was so much he owed Harvey. So much he wanted to give in return. And though he’d killed and shown Harvey he could man up, a deep sense of lacking would not lift from his shoulders.
Robbie tapped the keys of his computer. Harvey had always wanted to connect with that damn kid of his, and as much as Robbie resented the old man’s love for that child, he knew Harvey had suffered for not knowing his kid.
He searched her name on the Internet. Dr. Jolene Granger. Images of Jo Granger popped up and he stared at them for a long, long time.
“Sure I’d like to see her,” Harvey had once said. “But a scorpion’s nature doesn’t change. Sooner or later I’d turn on her.”
Robbie smiled as he traced her face on the screen. “I can give you this last gift, Harvey. I can see to it that you and your baby girl are together forever.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday, April 16, 9:00 A.M.
Jo’s support group meeting for the at-risk teen girls had gone well last night. She’d had a good turnout and the girls had been in high spirits. Two of the pre
gnant girls had talked about making an adoption plan for their babies. Jo had listened and offered to put them in touch with a good social worker if they were serious.
She’d hoped Sadie would show but, not surprisingly, the girl didn’t make the meeting. By the time Jo had arrived home, she’d been dead on her feet and still her sleep had been restless.
Yawning, she blinked and refocused on the open case file on her desk. She needed to get her work done so she could slip out in an hour. Today was Christa Bogart’s funeral.
When the receptionist buzzed her phone, she was actually glad for the interruption. “Dr. Granger.”
“Yes?” She pulled off her reading glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“There is a Ranger Brody Winchester here to see you.”
Jo sat straighter. “In the lobby now?”
“Yes. He’d like to see you.”
“I’ll be right down.”
She hung up, rose and tucked her already smooth blouse into her waistband. Moving toward the door, she peered at her reflection in a small mirror. Her gaze looked a little wild. She moistened her lips.
“Good Lord, Jo. What the devil has you riled up? He’s here on business, just the way it should be and always will be.”
She found Brody standing in the lobby chatting with the receptionist. Sammy, normally jaded and aloof, grinned up at Brody as if she were about to melt. Brody listened as she talked and managed a funny quip or two.
Jo’s own excited heart slowed a beat. She’d forgotten that Brody could be a charmer. He’d certainly charmed her in college, and like Sammy, she’d willingly lapped up every honey-coated word. The memory cooled her excitement so much that when she spoke her voice had a chill. “Ranger Winchester.”
The easy laughter faded from his gaze. “Dr. Granger.”
Aware Sammy watched them closely, she hid all traces of emotion. “What can I do for you?”
“Got an idea I’d like to run past you.”
“My office is this way.”
“After you, ma’am.”