The Last Move

by Mary Burton

  He waited, watching her duck down the side alley that led to her car. She rummaged in a large purse as she fumbled with keys until her thumb pressed the “Unlock” button on her fob. She opened the back driver’s side door, dumped her purse on the seat, and slammed the door closed.

  His head covered in a hoodie, he followed her, keeping his hands tucked and his head down. He could move quickly when he put his mind to it, and speed was most important now. As he approached she was opening her driver’s door. He quickened his pace. When gravel sounded under his boots, her body tensed and she turned.

  Her gaze widened, startled. First, there was a flash of recognition, then fear. She gripped her keys and tried to hurl herself into her car. She was quick enough to close her door, but he was fast enough to stop her from locking him out.

  He stabbed the needle into her back, and she arched back. He silenced her scream with a gloved hand over her mouth and held her close to his chest, giving the fast-acting sedative time to course through her body. She grabbed his hands with hers, desperately trying to pry open his grip. A car drove down the street, and he yanked her deeper into the dark. Cries became a moan as her muscles lost their tension and worry. She slumped back against the seat.

  “That’s right,” he whispered against her ear. “Give in. It’ll be so much easier if you just let go.”

  She tried to shake her head, but the movement was slight. Finally her hands dropped to her sides, her keys clinked against the ground, and her face tipped forward.

  “That’s a good girl,” he said.

  He grabbed her under her arms, and snatching up her keys, he dragged her toward the car’s trunk. He opened it and placed her inside. She lay helpless before him, her head turned, her neck exposed, her full breasts pressing against a white blouse.

  He laid his hand on her breast, savoring the softness. He grew hard and wondered what it would be like to strip her naked and slide into her as he pretended she was Kate.

  Drawing in a breath, he squeezed her breast once more and pulled back. Rape was not on his list.

  He slammed the trunk closed, savoring a rush of excitement that was more potent than any opiate. Killing was so sweet, so intoxicating; he knew he would never stop unless Kate caught him.

  He slid behind the wheel of the car and started the engine. He’d already mapped out where he was going and what would happen next. It was all falling into place.

  He drove through town and onto the southbound interstate, driving until he found the barren stretch of road where he had planned to finish his evening’s work.

  He pulled off onto the access road and wound his way along a side street past fields of scrub, rock, and red soil. He slowly drove off the road and parked.

  He popped the trunk and found the woman still lying on her side. The drug he’d chosen wouldn’t last long, and if he judged her weight correctly, she’d be awake in minutes.

  A soft moan rose in her chest as he hoisted her on his shoulder and carried her to the spot that had been so carefully staged.

  He placed her on the ground and spread her arms and legs wide. He tied her feet first and moved to her right hand. As he fumbled with the knot, she looked at him with hazy eyes and screamed. She reached out with her left hand and scraped his arm. He slapped her hard on her face, stunning her. He finished securing her right hand.

  Her eyes were wide and full of fear as he carefully fanned out her dark hair. She tried to raise her head, but he hit her again. “Don’t move or it’ll be far worse.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Payback is a bitch.”

  His fingers brushed the sheath hooked to his belt, and he removed the long knife. She screamed again, and this time he jerked a rag from his back pocket and shoved it in her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes.

  Straddling the woman, he carefully unbuttoned her blouse, slid the tip of the knife under her bra, and exposed her breasts. Her nipples hardened in the cool night air and made him want her so badly.

  The surge of power filled him as he stared up at the crescent moon. He gripped the knife in his hand. The woman moaned and her eyes fluttered. He waited a beat, knowing she needed to see him.

  The rag muffled more screams as he scraped the tip of the knife along her bare skin. She flinched. “Time to pay the piper.”

  She jerked hard against her restraints several times before the tight ropes cut into the flesh of her wrists.

  When she stared up at him, pure panic sharpened her gaze. She would have given him anything, absolutely anything to gain her freedom.

  He adored that look of shock and terror. “It’s not a bad dream,” he said. “It’s quite beautiful.”

  She croaked out a strangled cry as he pressed the knife slowly into her right breast, between the rib cage and her lung. Then quickly he yanked the knife free and studied her face. It was all he could do not to come.

  There was a pattern to the remaining cuts he would place on her beautiful body. This was the next item on the list.

  He jabbed the knife over and over into her body, finishing at number thirteen with a slice across her neck. He was breathless, and his hands were wet with her blood. As she struggled to breathe he drew closer to her face as her last breath brushed over her lips.

  He whispered, “Goodbye.”

  He rose to his feet and staggered away from her, drawing in a breath as he calmed his racing heart. Using the gun to kill had been exciting, but this, he thought, looking at the knife dripping with blood, was an even bigger high.

  He sheathed the knife and moved toward the body, stepping around the pool of blood seeping into the hard red soil. Carefully he dipped his gloved index finger into the pool of warm blood and drew an eye on her forehead. Satisfied with his work, he pushed the tip of the knife into her left eye socket and dug out the eyeball. He laid the bloody prize on her chest and repeated the process with the right eye. Carefully he bagged both trophies.

  He pulled out a burner phone and snapped pictures of the lifeless woman. Once he was a safe distance away, he’d call in the murder, knowing there would be no way the local cops wouldn’t call Kate.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I’ve found my bait; now it is time to build the trap.

  San Antonio, Texas

  Wednesday, November 29, 6:00 a.m.

  The shrill ring of the phone woke Kate. She sat up straight; the papers that had been draped over her chest fell to the floor. She blinked and looked around the unfamiliar room. She’d been in so many rooms like this over the years that there were plenty of times when she woke up and looked at the phonebook on the nightstand to see what city she was in.

  She snatched up the phone. “Kate Hayden.”

  “Jerrod Ramsey. Did I wake you?”

  She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, surprised she’d slept so late. “No. I was up.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and her fingers through her hair.

  “What’s the status of the San Antonio shooting?”

  “We get the ballistics back today.”

  “What’re your thoughts on the case at this point?”

  She pushed the hair from her eyes as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She rose and rolled her head from side to side, trying to work a kink from her neck. “The victim was in deep financial trouble and had terminal cancer. Husband likely having an affair.”

  “And what do you think?”

  She rubbed the back of her neck, chasing away an odd feeling. She moved toward the closed curtains and peeked through to check the weather. “When I’ve all the data points, I’ll call. Evidence, not opinion, leads. Has Nevada had any luck with Sara Fletcher’s abductor?”

  “Not yet.”

  She rubbed the worn edges of the Wonder Woman bracelet. “Has she spoken yet?”

  “No. Which is all the more reason why I want you back there. You’ve got until five your time today, and then I’m calling you in so you can work with Nevada on the Drexler hunt.”

  A weariness settled
on her shoulders that she’d not felt in a very long time. “I’ll update you today.”

  “Good.”

  He rang off, and she tossed the phone on her bed. She stripped off yesterday’s clothes and stepped into the shower. She ducked her head under the hot spray, savoring the heat pulsing on her tired muscles.

  She toweled off and set the coffeepot in the room to perk. While coffee dripped into a paper cup, she dressed in her last clean outfit, which was simply a navy-blue version of the other. Simplicity in wardrobe cut down on daily choices and kept her mind focused on the puzzle. Hair dried and makeup applied, she packed her belongings into her suitcase. She was sipping her coffee when her phone rang. Detective Mazur’s name appeared.

  “Detective. Have you gotten the ballistics report?” she asked.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  Blinked. Felt like a computer processing unexpected data. “Good morning.”

  “That sounded as if you were in pain. Pleasantries can be a challenge, can’t they, Agent Hayden?”

  She heard the laughter in his voice. There was a time she could have accepted good-natured ribbing about her stiff demeanor. But there wasn’t anything in this day or the hours ahead that was remotely amusing. “There’s a plaza in the center of the city. See you in thirty minutes.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She packed up her backpack, left her room key on her dresser for the maid, and made her way down the elevator. She checked out at the front desk and hurried to her rental car. She loaded her suitcase in the trunk and tossed her backpack in the front passenger seat. Behind the wheel, she started the engine. She paused to again familiarize herself with the knobs and buttons. Satisfied, she drove to the plaza.

  She found Mazur leaning against his car. His head was bowed as he checked his phone.

  As she approached, he typed a message. He hit “Send” and looked up. “I haven’t eaten breakfast yet this morning. Been busy with a last-minute homework assignment with a teenager who needed a rundown on my side of the family for an American history project. There’s a diner over there.”

  “That would be good. I’m hungry.”

  “So you’re now eating and perhaps sleeping regularly?”

  “Badly on both counts,” she countered.

  He pushed away from the car and walked beside her. “Seems to be a hazard of law enforcement.”

  “I’ve been terrible at both most of my life.”

  “Because of your father’s shooting?” He slid the question in as if it were perfectly natural.

  She looked at him. “Most likely. I’m a fairly easy puzzle to figure out.”

  He opened the diner door and as she passed said, “Your idea of easy and mine are different.”

  A hostess escorted them to a booth in the back. He took the seat that placed his back to the wall and faced the front door. She sat, and a waitress approached and offered coffee to both.

  “How’s the hotel?”

  She scanned the menu. “Like a million others. Very predictable and different enough that I stubbed my toe on a chair.”

  “I can’t imagine being on the move all the time.”

  The waitress filled the stoneware mugs and took Kate’s order for a western omelet, while Mazur ordered pancakes. He sipped his coffee and waited until the waitress was out of earshot before asking, “Has Sara Fletcher spoken yet?”

  She was oddly touched that he’d remembered. “No.”

  “And Drexler?”

  “Still on the loose.” She thought about the girl lying in her hospital bed, pale, emaciated. Her eyes had seen things that no human should ever see in a lifetime. Pivoting the conversation back to him, she said, “You seem off.”

  He set his cup down carefully. “My ex announced she’s moving to Washington, DC.”

  “You haven’t been here long, so I’m assuming she hasn’t either.”

  “Another big promotion is in the works. She’s one talented attorney.”

  “Is she taking your daughter?”

  Absently he tapped his thumb on the table. “She’s going to let our daughter finish out the semester here with me.”

  “And then she moves to Washington in January.”

  “Yeah.”

  Pain, loss, and longing huddled around the word. “You would find the area around Washington an acceptable place to live. I’ve connections in law enforcement there.”

  “I didn’t say I was moving.”

  “You’re a dedicated parent. Each time you speak of your daughter, it’s clear you love her very much. I’d wager you’ll be there by spring.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t be sure of that. Hell, you just met me two days ago.”

  “I had your priorities figured out after the first two hours I met you, Detective.”

  He shook his head, a pained smile on his lips. “I’m not saying I’m going to make a move. But keep this under your hat.”

  “Of course.”

  The waitress arrived with their food, and they both sat back, each momentarily lost in thought.

  “There’s more evidence that Martin Sanchez was having an affair,” Mazur said when the waitress left again. “He called a Rebecca several times a day for the last year. It makes sense. Man kills wife to be with mistress. But somehow I keep going back to Bauldry.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know. Hate to say it’s a gut feeling, but that’s about all I have right now. He’s been out of prison eleven months. Has he contacted you at all?”

  “No.”

  Mazur picked up his fork and stared at the stack of pancakes. “Could Bauldry and Richardson have crossed paths?”

  Her brow knotted. “Dr. Richardson did consulting work with several prison systems. He studied criminal behavior and profiled dozens of serial killers.”

  “Did he visit Bauldry’s prison?” Mazur asked.

  Kate frowned. “Bauldry was in Bastrop Federal Correctional Institution near Austin. Because my father was a prosecutor, it became a federal case.” She thought back through Richardson’s professional associations. “I don’t remember Richardson being at Bastrop. Maybe I missed something. I’ll check with the detectives in the local jurisdictions who are still digging into Richardson’s past and see if he visited the facility.”

  “I’ll have Palmer make some calls.” Before she could respond he pulled out his phone and typed a text. The phone chirped with a response almost instantly. “She’s on it. Why did Richardson develop a taste for killing?” Mazur asked.

  “He had a history of violence as a child. All his cruelty was directed at animals. He also had a history of frequenting prostitutes, who reported he could be violent.”

  “And Bauldry?” Mazur asked.

  “There were problems of animal abuse in his past that came out at his trial. His parents did an excellent job of hiding his issues.” She stared into the depths of a half-empty cup. “It’s been seventeen years.”

  “That kind of crazy is forever. He keeps a picture taken of the two of you in the cabin.” He stabbed a section of pancake. “Palmer won’t get back with me for at least an hour or two, and we’ve got every cop in the area looking for Bauldry. Come down to Laredo. One way or another I have to prove or disprove Martin Sanchez as the shooter.”

  “Sure.”

  Traffic headed south to Laredo was heavy, but Mazur was glad for the time alone with Kate. He liked being with her, especially breathing in her soft scent and watching the way her brow wrinkled when she was working a case. More and more he wanted to peel off that damn suit and see the woman beneath it.

  She was silent, lost in her thoughts. He was learning that silence was almost a constant condition. He sensed she was thinking a few moves ahead of herself, but right now he needed her focused on the moment at hand.

  They arrived at the condo building where Gloria Sanchez kept her unit. They showed their badges to the guard at the front station. He was a burly man with thinning hair, but the creases of his uniform were shar
p and crisp. He accompanied them up to her condo. It was empty. Tile floors were scuffed with bits of debris, and discarded packing boxes were scattered about.

  “When did she move out her furniture?” Kate asked.

  The guard stood by the door. “It was about two weeks ago, right after she sold this unit.”

  “When did she put it up for sale?” Kate asked.

  “About six weeks ago. The plan was to clean the place for the new occupants, who show up the first of December. The cleaning lady got sick on Sunday, so she never made it by. Mrs. Sanchez was scheduled to make the final walk-through with the new buyers on Monday morning. Of course, we all know what happened. Terrible.”

  “We’ll let you know when we’re finished,” Mazur said.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll be at my desk.”

  Kate moved to the large bank of windows that overlooked the city, its green parks below, and the Rio Grande River. “The view is stunning.”

  “Agreed.” He moved into the kitchen and found a couple of bottles of champagne chilling, cheese, and a box of crackers. The cabinets were empty. The trash can in the pantry closet was filled with paper plates, takeout boxes, and bottles of wine.

  “How often did she come down here?” Kate asked as she entered the kitchen.

  “About two or three times a month.”

  He opened a drawer to crackers and ketchup packets. “This is not the place of a woman committed to an area.”

  “It was supposed to be cleaned. No one was supposed to see it this way,” she said. “Appearances were very important to her. The cleaning lady got sick according to the guard. We should be seeing a spotless place.” Kate pulled out the trash can.

  “I’ll get local police to send a forensic team here.” His phone chimed with a text.

  She moved into the bedroom, and Mazur followed. There was an air mattress on the floor, a few rumpled blankets, and small trash can. In the can were several empty pill bottles with another woman’s name on the prescription. “Oxy. She was taking some high doses of pain meds and deliberately keeping it off the radar.”

  “We both figured a cancer like hers would be tough to manage.”