by Mary Burton
At Connors’s apartment, he didn’t answer the front door. Brody called the landlord who promised to be right up.
Minutes later, a tall, lean man with a white shock of hair fumbled through a ring of keys as he walked up the steps to Connors’s apartment. “Connors owes me a couple of months’ rent. He kept saying, ‘Once I get married I’ll settle my debt.’ But then that girl vanished. He kept promising she’d be back. When she turned up dead, he didn’t have any more excuses. I served him with eviction papers two days ago.”
The landlord opened the door. “Technically the place belongs to me again. So have at it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brody said.
“Mr. Connors,” Brody shouted. “Texas Rangers. Mr. Connors, are you here?”
No answer.
Santos shook his head. “This is not right.”
“No, it is not.” Brody walked into the living room.
Pizza boxes and empty Chinese takeout cartons scattered over the living room coffee table and the floor. A kitchen trash can overflowed with beer cans. The place smelled of stale air and spoiled milk.
Brody flipped on the kitchen light switch. A large, square fluorescent bulb flickered but didn’t fully illuminate. “What happened to the furniture?”
“Taken back,” the landlord said. “All rentals.”
Santos wrinkled his nose. “I don’t remember it being so rank last week.”
Brody looked back at the landlord. “Thank you, sir. We’ll take it from here.”
The older man nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”
After Brody closed the door behind the landlord, he looked at Santos. “He’s coming apart.”
“World’s caving in fast.”
Brody moved through the living room, now furnished only with an old television and a couple of lawn chairs. The bathroom looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.
The Rangers moved to the single back bedroom and flipped on the light. A mattress on the floor and a single floor lamp furnished the room.
Brody spotted a pile of papers on the floor by the bed and moved toward them. They were newspaper articles. Brody immediately recognized Christa’s smiling face. Above the picture was the headline: MISSING FIFTEEN DAYS.
He pulled rubber gloves from his back pocket. Once gloved, he picked up the top article. The next several pieces concerned Christa. Below Christa’s articles were several on Sheila Dayton.
“His fiancé vanishes and he collects articles about another missing woman.”
“Did the local PD vet this guy?”
“They did, thoroughly. He has no record. And I know this place has been searched.” Brody flipped over the next article and saw the name Hanna written in bold ink on an Austin Realty sticky. “Look at this. Hanna. We never released her name to the media.”
Santos studied the room’s bare interior. “He was marrying Christa for her money. Why kill her? Her death left him high and dry,” Brody said.
“Smith was dying. Robbie was running out of time if he wanted to prove himself to his father. If Connors is Robbie, then he realized he couldn’t wait for the wedding.”
“He gives up a big payout to please Smith.”
Brody flipped through the articles. The last concerned Smith and his death. The article detailed Smith’s dark past and his battle with cancer.
“He’d be about the right age for Robbie. Height and build also fit,” Santos said.
“How far did local police dig into his past?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Maybe not far enough.” Something about all this did not feel right. “Smith was smart as hell. Always thought steps ahead of the cops. That’s why he was hard to catch. Doesn’t make sense that he trains a guy who leaves a stack of incriminating articles behind. Seems he’d have done a better job of coaching his successor.”
Brody and Santos found Christa’s sister, Ester, at the elementary school where she worked. She taught first grade.
The Rangers stood by their Bronco, waiting for the kids to file in for morning assembly. Half a dozen young boys walked up to Brody and Santos. The shortest of the group pushed through his friends to face Brody.
The kid glanced back at his friends and then squarely at Brody. “Are you a Ranger?”
Brody touched the tip of his hat. “Yes, sir, I am.”
Excited whispers spread through the boys. “Are you here to arrest a bad guy?”
Brody kept his expression stoic. “Not arresting anyone today, pardner. Here to have a look around.”
“There’s a fifth grader who likes to take my lunch. I don’t like him.”
Brody didn’t dare glance at Santos, fearing he’d smile. He cocked a brow. “That so?”
The boy nodded. “His name is Colin. We figured you were here to arrest him.”
“Not here for Colin today but”—he pulled a notebook from his vest pocket—“I’ll make a note of it.”
“Good. It’s Colin Bainbridge. He has red hair and lots of freckles.”
“Got it.”
The boy smiled. “Thanks.”
“If I don’t catch up to him,” Brody said, his expression stern, “you tell him Ranger Brody Winchester was asking after him.” He handed the boy his card. “In case he doesn’t believe you.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Will do.”
Brody and Santos found Ester Bogart’s room easily. She was writing the morning assignment on the board as the children put their lunches and books in cubbies.
“Ms. Bogart?”
The woman turned, her smile dimming when she realized it was the law. She met them at the doorway and escorted them to a teacher’s lounge where they could speak in private. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much time. The bell is ringing soon. Did you find Christa’s killer?”
“We’re working on it, ma’am,” Brody said.
She set down her eraser and folded her arms over her chest. “What do you need to know?”
The weariness in her voice testified to the number of times she must have been interviewed about Christa’s disappearance and death. “When is the last time you saw Scott Connors?”
Surprise flashed in her gaze. She’d not expected that question. “The day of Christa’s funeral.”
“You two walked arm and arm out of the church that day.”
A crease in her brow deepened. “We had lost the most of anyone in the room. We understood each other.”
“I hear you weren’t too fond of Scott when Christa dated him.”
“I didn’t like him. I thought he was after her money. Christa was to have taken control of her trust on her wedding day. It’s a substantial sum. I told her to keep that detail to herself, but she wasn’t good about that.” She folded her arms. “When she vanished he was devastated. And he and his friends organized the Find Christa! campaign. It was clear he was devoted to her. After the funeral all he could talk about was finding her killer. Tim and I tried to talk to him but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Did he mention he was leaving town?”
“No.” Her brow wrinkled. “In fact, he and I were supposed to have dinner tonight.”
“That so?”
Color rose in her cheeks. “We’re really good friends. We get each other. The loss of Christa, I mean. We’re friends.”
Santos studied her. “But you’d like it to be more.”
Her fingers tightened around her arms. “No! I mean I like him, but I get that he loved my sister.”
Santos shifted his stance. “I heard you two fought before the funeral. He wanted her cremated.”
She lifted her chin. “I convinced him it was better for Christa if she was at rest with our parents.”
“How much money are you worth now that Christa is dead?” Brody said.
“It’s not like that.” Her words sounded clipped, angry. “I can’t believe you are asking me these questions. I loved my sister.”
Brody shook his head. “Never said you didn’t.”
“What is your point?”
“Have you ever been by Scott’s apartment?” Brody said.
She frowned. “No.”
“We found articles in the back bedroom of the house.”
Her hand rose to her slender neck. “What kind of articles?”
“Articles that dealt with Christa’s disappearance along with articles on Harvey Smith.”
She shook her head, her lips flattening into a frown. “I’m not sure what you are getting at.”
“We’ve not released it to the media, but there was another woman buried like Christa. Surveillance tapes show this last victim getting into his car the day she vanished.”
Her face paled. “No.”
“Is there anything you’re not telling me about Scott?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“He ever tell you anything about his past?”
“His mother died when he was young. Christa told me she tried to talk to him about his childhood, but he was always guarded about it. He prided himself on being a self-made man.”
Muscles in the back of Brody’s neck tightened. “Where is he, Ms. Bogart?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, I haven’t seen him since the funeral. Have you checked his work?”
“He was fired yesterday. And the GPS on his car and phone aren’t working.”
Her shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the news was too much for her. “I don’t know. I don’t know. He always seemed to care about Christa.”
Brody pulled his card from his pocket and handed it to her. “You call the instant you talk to him or see him, you hear me?”
She accepted the card, nervously flicking the edges with her fingertip. “Did he kill Christa?”
Brody rested his hands on his hips. “I don’t know anything for sure yet, ma’am. But he is number one on my list of people to talk to.”
Two years of thinking and planning and the pieces were coming together for Robbie. Smith had taught him how to plan dozens of steps ahead and it was finally paying off.
Chapter Twenty-One
Friday, April 19, 9:00 A.M.
Jo yawned as she leaned over the kitchen counter, her chin resting on her hand as the coffee machine dripped out her third cup of the day. Her head pounded and her eyes were bloodshot. She couldn’t put in her contact lenses. She’d been with her mother all night and had hoped to coax out more information. She thought once or twice her mother might talk to her but her sister had returned and her mother shut down completely. Her sister had stayed through the early morning hours until their mother had fallen into a deep sleep. Both sisters, at the urging of the nurses, had left just before dawn.
The coffeepot stopped gurgling, and she poured herself a cup, hoping the caffeine kick would get her through the day. She’d finish her coffee. Shower. There’d be paperwork to do at the office for a couple of hours. Shift appointments. Postpone meetings. By noon or one she could get back to the hospital if she hurried.
Her doorbell rang. Annoyed by the unexpected, she took another gulp of coffee, set the mug down and went to the front door. She peered through the peephole and saw her sister standing on her front porch.
Jo groaned. She needed coffee before getting into round two with her sister. She unlatched the door and opened it. “Is Mom okay?”
“Just called the hospital. She’s resting comfortably.” Her sister came in as if she owned the place. “I smell coffee.”
“Made a fresh pot. Would you like a cup?”
“God, yes. But I can’t stay long. I’ve got to get to the salon and get ready for the day.” Ellie followed Jo into the kitchen.
“Can you manage the place by yourself?”
“With my eyes closed. I’ve been working in the place since I was twelve. I’d go back to the hospital, but I know Mom will rest easier if the shop is taken care of.”
Jo poured Ellie a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She dug sugar out of the cabinet and milk out of the refrigerator. Ellie liked her coffee sweet and cut heavily with milk.
While her sister doctored her cup, Jo sipped from her own cup. There’d been a strained truce between Jo and Ellie at the hospital in the early hours but she suspected Ellie was here to finish the argument.
Ellie took a long sip of coffee. “I was a bitch yesterday. I was freaked out about Mom and was still mad about the stuff you’d said about Aaron.”
A heavy weariness settled on her shoulders. “My intent was to protect you from him.”
Ellie frowned into her cup. “I’ve called him several times since we talked, but he’s not answered. I did a little digging on him. Didn’t take much. The story of his wife is everywhere.”
“He’s not a good man, Ellie.”
“I really feel stupid now, Jo. And when I think about our date I realize he was kinda creepy. I brushed it off. Bad habit of mine.”
“What did he say?”
“He railed on about his wife, but a lot of guys bitch about their wives.” She sipped her coffee. “But then he said he hoped wherever she was that she was happy. Maybe near water because she loved the water.”
Jo remembered from Sheila’s file that she’d hated the water. She couldn’t swim and was terrified. And yet she’d been found in water. “I’m sorry.”
Ellie released a sigh as if letting go of a dream. “What’s the deal with you and Mom? And please, Jo, don’t bullshit me. I know there is something simmering between you two.”
“Honestly, Ellie, I don’t know what exactly is going on.” She thought about Smith’s letter and wondered if he’d written it or if Robbie had made another forgery.
“Shit, Jo, I hate being on the outside of this.”
“When I know the whole story the three of us will talk.”
Ellie set her cup on the counter hard. Coffee splashed on her hands. “Mom tried to kill herself yesterday. Mom, the-rock-of-all-rocks, cracked. You must know what is going on.”
“I thought I knew, but I don’t have the whole picture.”
“If there was a big problem, Mom would tell you. She always talked to you about money matters, Daddy’s estate . . . big picture. Our conversations go as deep as perms and hair dyes. But you two. There’s always been a kind of respect. You may drive her crazy, but she respects you.”
Jo grabbed a paper towel and handed it to Ellie.
“You’re more like her than you realize. I’m like Dad. I’m easily fooled. Not you or Mom.”
Jo sighed. “When Mom opens up . . .”
Ellie shook her head. “You’ll keep me out of the loop like always. Big picture Jo. Little picture Ellie. I am not stupid, you know.”
“I never said you were.”
“Not with words but your actions. I can handle what Mom is going through.”
“I don’t know what it is exactly.”
Colorful bracelets jangled on Ellie’s wrist as she threaded her fingers through her hair. “I may not have a huge IQ but I saw things when I was a kid.”
Jo remained silent, not sure if she could speak without betraying emotion.
“I know Mom wanted you in pageants and you hated it. I know you’d try to talk to Dad about a book you read or something you learned. He’d listen and be patient. But he never got it. Never got you.”
“Mom thought the pageants were my ticket to success. And Dad, he was tired after a long day.”
“It was more than that, and you know it. She didn’t push the pageants for you because it was a ticket to success. It was like she was trying to mold you, change you from a brain child into a beauty queen.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I said you weren’t one of us. You are totally us.”
“Thanks.”
“I tried to imagine what it would be like for me if both our parents were like you.”
“Like me?”
“An egghead.” Her brow rose at Jo’s frown. “What? It’s the truth. You’d rather read a book than get your hair done. God, I can’t imagine a life where I was forced to study all the time.”
Her sister’s
backhanded compliment made Jo smile.
“I’m not as smart as you, Jo, but I’m not stupid. I get that you were out of sync with the family.” She hesitated. “Is Dad your biological father? Is that what this is all about?”
Jo stilled, fearful the smallest change in her facial expression would reveal her own worries.
Ellie sighed. “It’s not the first time I’ve thought it. Only seven months separate their wedding date and your birthday.”
Jo folded her arms over her chest. “We shouldn’t have this conversation without Mom.”
Ellie planed her hands on her narrow hips. “Can’t you take the shrink hat off for a moment and tell me?”
“I can’t talk about what I don’t know. Mom is holding a secret, but I don’t know what it is. I swear to you, I don’t know what it is.”
The tension in Ellie’s body eased. “I can’t believe a paternity test would freak her out like this. Even if Dad were alive, she’d have figured a way around it. She could make him believe anything.”
“Whatever she’s facing now is not easily dismissed.”
Ellie nodded. “We can figure this out together. We can double-team Mom.”
Jo smiled. “I don’t think we should push hard right now. But we need to encourage her to talk.”
“Understood.” She pointed a manicured finger at Jo. “But don’t shut me out, Jo. Let me help you and Mom. Troubles and all, we are all each other has.”
“I know. I know. And when Mom is ready to tell us what drove her to this, I’ll encourage her to include us both.”
“Thanks.” Ellie hugged Jo. “I need to head to the salon. I plan to go back to the hospital around noon.”
“Me too.” Jo squeezed Ellie close.
“See you then?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Jo walked her sister to the door and hugged her again before she watched Ellie head to her car. She waved goodbye and closed the front door.
She’d returned to the kitchen, finished her coffee and poured what remained of Ellie’s coffee down the sink. She’d wiped up the counter when the doorbell rang. Ellie. What have you forgotten? Jo did a quick sweep for Ellie’s bejeweled purse, glasses or wallet but she didn’t see anything.