by Mary Burton
“I assume he’s at his house. That’s where he’s basically been holed up since he got out of prison.”
“He wasn’t there when we paid him a visit,” Mazur said. “Does he have other properties?”
“There’s the ranch. It’s fifty miles west of town. He was never crazy about it as a kid, but that would be the only other place I’d imagine him going. Why are you asking about William? Has he approached you?”
“His name came up in an investigation,” Mazur said. “We just want to talk to him. We think he might have valuable information.”
She suspected he’d avoided the mention of murder, knowing the word could likely silence a man worried about legal troubles. “I can’t help you. Feel free to check the ranch. We don’t keep staff out there since Mom passed. She was the one who loved that place most. But I can give you a key and permission to investigate.”
“That would be helpful.”
“Are you going to arrest William?”
“Right now we simply want to talk to him.” Mazur was smooth, made it sound like they were looking to have a friendly chat and catch up.
Jeb moved to his desk and retrieved a key from the center drawer. “The place is a little rustic. It was Mom and Dad’s first home, before Dad made his money. I guess that’s why William likes it. Reminds him of simpler times.”
Mazur accepted the key. “Does the family have a place in New York?”
Jeb’s brow furrowed. “No. All our business is in Texas. Why do you ask?”
Mazur rattled the key in his fist. “I don’t know. It’s a big city. A good place for a guy like William to hide.”
“That would be the last place William would go,” Jeb said.
“Why would his housekeeper, Elizabeth Lopez, tell us he was in New York?” Mazur asked.
“She must have been mistaken,” Jeb said.
“I’m not debating that with you now. If William is not at this cabin, where else would he be?”
“It’s anyone’s guess. William is smart. Knows how to set up dummy corporations that own multiple properties. If he doesn’t want to be found, it’s going to be tough to find him.”
Kate was silent as Mazur drove on TX-173, bracketed by grassy flatlands and scrub trees and endless barbwire fencing. The sky was full of stars and the landscape full of scattered barns and farmhouses. A few trucks and cars passed them, but for the most part this stretch of road was quiet and dark.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at the entrance to the Bauldry property, marked by twin stone pillars and metal struts that supported a sign that read “Stone Horse Farm.”
Dust kicked up around the car as they drove another ten minutes down a dirt road that ended at a one-level ranch built over one hundred years ago. It had a tin roof, a wraparound porch, and stone chimneys that hugged both the east and west sides of the house. The house was dark, the only sign of movement caused by the wind rustling through the trees near a horse corral.
Mazur left his car running and headlights shining into the house as they both got out of the car. Drawing his weapon, he moved in front of her and took the five stairs first. Kate also drew her weapon, and they stood on opposite sides of the door. He pounded on the door with his fist and called out, “Bauldry! San Antonio police!”
Silence answered them. It didn’t appear that anyone was here, but a smart cop assumed trouble waited behind the door. A dark house and a man who didn’t want to be found created a ripe scenario for trouble. Mazur banged again on the door, then tried the doorknob. It twisted open.
“It’s common for folks out here to not lock their doors,” Kate said.
“I never trust an unlocked door.” He raised his gun and pushed open the door. Again silence. With the headlights shining into the house, now he had enough light to switch on the lights in the porch and main room. Reddish-brown tiled floors ran throughout a large den and into a connected kitchen. Twin guns hung over a stone fireplace, faded red Navajo rugs warmed the floor by a leather couch, and a collection of deer antlers adorned the wall. Off to the side stood a wide-screen television.
Again, Mazur shouted, “William Bauldry! San Antonio police!”
No response.
“Stay here,” Mazur ordered. He moved into the house slowly, constantly looking left, right, and up toward the ceiling as he went through the den and kitchen and into the two bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. He shouted to Kate, “All clear!”
Her weapon in her grip, she moved into the house’s center, noting the landscape oils on the walls, the rich brass light fixtures, and the ornate tile work in the kitchen. This might have been the senior Bauldry’s first house, but they’d clearly upgraded it recently.
“I’m in the bedroom on the right,” Mazur said. “Have a look at what I found.”
She found Mazur standing by a desk. Centered on top was a framed picture of Kate and William taken when they were dating. They both were smiling. His arm was draped over her shoulder, and she stood close to him. “He’s not forgotten you,” Mazur said.
“That picture was taken when we were in high school.”
“But the glass is freshly polished. And the image faces toward the bed.”
She didn’t want to touch the frame or get any closer to the image. “I remember the moment. The picture was taken at a concert near the Alamo.” She glanced toward William’s hand tightly clutching her shoulder. “I had to wrench free of his hold.”
“How did he react?”
“He was frustrated. Wanted to know why I was so cold to him. He was only trying to show me how much he loved me. He ordered my meal for me at dinner. I didn’t want to eat but he insisted and then was moody when I didn’t eat. He kept interrupting me and telling me I was wrong. I broke up with him shortly after.” An uneasy feeling clawed up her spine, but she pushed it aside. “Is there anything here that might link him to the shooting?”
“Nothing out in the open. If we want to search drawers and closets, it’s smarter to get a warrant.” He pulled out his phone and took a picture of Bauldry and Kate. “But that could change. I noticed a shed out back. I want to have a look.”
“Of course.” She followed him, grateful to turn her back on the room and step outside into the fresh air.
He retrieved a flashlight from the trunk of his car, and they followed a graveled path around the side of the house to the large shed. Mazur kept his gun drawn and the flashlight shining ahead.
At the shed, while she stood to the side, he pushed open the large sliding door. He shone the light inside the workshop, searching for any movement that would alert him to danger. But nothing moved. There wasn’t a sound.
His light landed on a vintage red truck that looked like it dated back to the forties.
“He’s always liked old cars,” Kate said. “His father has a large collection as well.”
“The advantage to old cars is they don’t have GPS, making them impossible to track.” He moved toward the truck and shone the light inside. “Where would he go if he’s not here?”
“I don’t know. His brother said he has many properties.”
He nodded toward the door and closed it behind him. As he stared out over the vast land and the distant horizon, he shook his head. “Finding him is like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
An hour later, Mazur dropped Kate off at the car rental place. As she pushed through the front doors, a clerk greeted her with a smile, which she made herself return. When given the choice of cars, her first inclination had been to choose white, but remembering Mazur’s earlier teasing, she chose red. Hardly rebellious, even though for her it felt a little that way.
When she arrived at her hotel, she went straight to her room. The instant she opened the door, she hesitated. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Normally she didn’t have cleaners come into her room. She hated having her space invaded. But today, she’d forgotten to remind the front desk.
She moved into the room, hand on her gun as she looked first in the closet a
nd then under the bed. Nothing. In the bathroom, she reached for the shower curtain. Her heart pounded for reasons she could not quite explain. She tightened her hold on the grip of her gun and pulled back the curtain. Nothing.
She closed her eyes. “Not good, Hayden. Not good.”
Chocking it up to fatigue and too much work, she opted to go for a run. Sweat and fresh air were the best medicine for anxiety.
She changed quickly. Normally she didn’t carry her gun when she worked out. Its weight and bulk sometimes rubbed against her skin, but tonight she put up with the inconvenience. She clipped the gun at the base of her back and pulled an oversize T-shirt over it.
The night air was crisp. As a teenager, before things went wrong, she used to run. She’d loved the solitude. But now she had worry and stress weighing on her.
She grabbed her phone and shoved earbuds in before cutting through the lobby. With a nod to the woman working behind the desk, she headed outside. The run began slowly. But within minutes sweat beaded on her forehead and soaked her T-shirt.
Many of the old streets and buildings hadn’t changed much in the last seventeen years. Sure, some businesses had traded hands, but the buildings and the street patterns had remained the same. Memories from the past flashed through her mind, and she recalled walking these streets with her mother, father, and brother. Before her father had died, they’d been a happy family. Her father had been the glue that held them all together. And with him gone, it all unraveled.
Her gaze settled on a too-familiar location. Breathless, she slowed her pace to a walk, pressing her hand to her side as she moved closer to the alley that she would never forget.
Usually she drove to chess practice alone, but that night her father offered to drive. It was dark when she came outside and saw her father standing by the car. As she approached him, William stepped out of the shadows. He hesitated when he saw Kate’s father, then raised his weapon before her father could wrestle the gun away. The pop, pop of the weapon was loud, and Kate flinched as time slowed to a crawl and every detail came into perfect focus.
Her father sank to his knees, stared up at her, his eyes reflecting shock, anger, and fear. He mouthed, “Run,” as the barrel swung toward her. Her life stilled. William fired.
The first bullet struck her in the thigh, tearing through flesh. The impact dropped her to her knees. The next rapid-fire shot hurled a slug toward her face. William never spoke as she tumbled back toward the ground.
She would later learn that a facial wound could bleed excessively, often looking far worse than it was. Unconscious and covered in blood, she must have appeared dead to William.
Her next memory was a siren blaring and William cursing her. “Why the fuck did you make me do this?”
The blast of a horn brought Kate back to the moment, and she realized several people were staring at her. Ducking her head, she turned and ran back toward the hotel. When she arrived, her hair and clothes were drenched in sweat.
She entered the lobby and was suddenly anxious for a hot shower to wash away the sweat and memories. She had just pressed the “Up” button on the elevator when she heard, “Kate.”
She stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. Activating mental armor, she turned to see her brother, Mitchell, crossing the lobby. It had been at least five years since she’d seen him. He was as tall and muscular as ever, but since his wife’s death he looked tired. Silver now wove through his dark hair. A Texas Ranger’s star pinned to his chest glinted in the lobby light, and he held his Stetson in his hand.
She didn’t speak as she rubbed the side of her neck. “Mitchell. Is everything all right?”
“Mom is fine.”
“How did you find me?”
“When I saw you on the news I figured you’d be staying close to police headquarters. I stopped by the police department and identified myself.”
Annoyance scraped under her skin. “And they gave you the information?”
“I’m a Texas Ranger. And I know a lot of those guys.”
Still, it didn’t sit well. “Right.”
“Mom also saw you on the news. She knows you’re in town.”
Guilt jabbed her. “I’ll call her.”
He traced the leather-and-silver-studded band of his Stetson. “Why haven’t you gone by to see her?”
Visiting the family home where her mother still lived always churned up bad memories. Whenever Kate did have free time, she invited her mother to come see her wherever she was staying. Her mother always agreed, never once pushing Kate to visit the house.
“I said I would call her and I will.” Her brother might be trained to interrogate, but she was adept at avoiding questions.
He glanced at the tiled floor and then looked back up. “Why’re you staying here and not at the house with her?”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?” He leaned in, towering over her. But she had been playing this game with him since they were kids.
Standing her ground, she shook her head, feeling an old surge of bitterness. “I’m not interested in revisiting the past.”
He ran his hand along the rim of his hat. For a moment, he didn’t speak. “I don’t remember exactly what I said after Dad died, but I know it was shitty. And I should have apologized to you a long time ago. Sierra’s death has made me see a lot of things differently.”
Her chin raised a notch. “You said I might as well have pulled the trigger myself.”
His brow knotted, and he shoved out a breath. “I was young. Angry. Hurt. I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you meant it, otherwise why say it?” Unshed tears choked her throat.
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry, Kate.”
She could still picture the hate in his eyes and the rage coating each of his words the last time they’d really talked before she left for college. “I’ll call Mom. The rest of this is unnecessary.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s necessary, Kate.”
“Why, Mitchell? Why after seventeen years is it necessary?”
The lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth had deepened. He was thirty-eight but looked a decade older.
“I was wrong. I wanted you to know that.”
If he thought an apology would create some kind of family bonding moment, he was wrong. She appreciated the effort, but she couldn’t accept his forgiveness when she couldn’t forgive herself. “Thank you for the apology. Now, I’ve got to be going. I’ve an early call.”
“Are you close to finding this Samaritan shooter?”
Feelings were off limits for the two of them, but somehow murder was a safe subject. “We’re still waiting on the ballistics. I should have my answer by tomorrow or the next day.”
“Mazur is a good cop. New to the area but seasoned.”
His opinion of Mazur mattered more than it should. “Good to know.”
He pulled a card from his wallet. “If you need me, call.”
She flicked the edge of the card with her index finger. Her bruised feelings would have to wait. She lowered her voice. Her brother might have been an ass, but he had a reputation as a good lawman. “The victim knew William Bauldry.”
Dark eyes locked on her. “What?”
“William worked for the Sanchez dealership after he was released from prison. Detective Mazur and I have visited his home. His housekeeper said he was in New York.”
Mitchell shook his head. “That’s not his style.”
“No, it’s not. So we visited his brother’s home and the property near Medina. He’s nowhere to be found.”
“Jesus, Kate. You were just out running alone at night with this guy somewhere nearby.”
“I’ve dealt with men like him before. But with William lurking around, maybe you should talk Mom into seeing Aunt Lydia.”
His grip on the brim of his hat crunched the well-worn edge. “Mom won’t leave town until she sees you.”
“Talk to her. Convince her to leave.”
“I’m in the middle of an investigation.”
“I’ll try to talk to her, but go see her,” he said more softly. “She loves you.”
His words stung more than any insult. “I’ll talk to Mom.”
“What can I do?”
“I haven’t even proven it’s William,” she said. “There’re a dozen other reasons why Gloria could have been murdered.”
“You’re smart and you’ll figure it out. Dad said you have a gift. If there’s a pattern, you’ll see it.”
Fatigue was strengthening second doubts. She had to have more than a gut feeling about William. She needed facts. “Just keep an eye on Mom. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more but finally nodded. “You call me if you need anything.”
“Sure.”
“I meant it when I said I was sorry. I know I can be difficult. But we’re family.”
For Mitchell, this was a grand gesture. “Can I get the ‘I can be difficult’ on tape? Might be a good ringtone.”
His posture relaxed a fraction, but a smile was still too much to expect from either of them. “It’ll take a few beers before that happens.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.
“You take care of yourself, Katie.”
“You, too, Mitchell.”
Raymond Drexler hadn’t expected his life to turn to shit so fast. He still could not get over the fact that he had lost his sweet Sara thanks to the fucking cops and Kate Hayden. Nobody understood him.
He stopped in New Mexico and pulled into a truck stop. Keeping his head low, he bought a razor and scissors and went into the bathroom, where he showered and shaved his head and beard. After dressing, he put on an old ball cap he dug out of the lost-and-found bin. A few men passed by him, but he didn’t look up. He wasn’t the first man to shave and change his look in a place like this.
Tossing the razor and shaving cream back in his bag, he crossed the lot to his truck. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he skimmed his hand over his bald head. The new look would take getting used to. And without the beard, he wasn’t sure if he even liked his face without it. Shit, he felt naked.