The Last Move

by Mary Burton

  Her voice dropped. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “You need a partner and backup until Nevada can get there.” He sighed. “This isn’t the time to be a cowboy, Kate.”

  “Right.”

  When she ended the call she rubbed the side of her neck. Sweat had soaked through her blouse, making it cling to her skin.

  Mazur answered his phone, and his mouth hardened into a grim line. He looked toward her, the phone to his ear as no doubt someone above his pay grade told him to work with her. Like it or not, they were in this together.

  She approached him after he hung up, seeing no reason to delay the inevitable.

  “Looks like we’re joined at the hip,” she said.

  “Right. There’s not much more we can do here. The forensic team is collecting data, and the medical examiner will be here soon to collect the body.”

  “What about witnesses and security cameras between here and the interstate?”

  “Got it covered. I’ve uniforms searching local businesses. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Maybe.”

  He walked her back to his car, and when he opened the door, heat washed out. As they slid into the front seat, he switched on the air conditioning, which felt good for the first few minutes. Soon it chilled her skin.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Stay put.”

  “Sure.”

  He left her and crossed to Palmer. They spoke, their heads ducked slightly toward each other, and a couple of times the two glanced back toward her. Palmer shook her head and rubbed the toe of her boot into the dirt.

  Mazur returned to the car. A grim expression deepened the lines around his mouth and eyes.

  “We should go through my cases,” she said.

  “A parade of freaks and demons. Can’t wait.”

  At the office Mazur hustled Kate toward the conference room. He wondered how she contained all her emotions as she pulled out her laptop from her backpack and set it up at the head of the table.

  Her expression was determined, but she didn’t look the least bit tough. Sweat from the heat had flattened her hair, and her mascara now cast faint shadows under her eyes. Her skin was pink from the sun. She slid off her shapeless navy blazer to reveal a cotton blouse that now clung to her skin and nicely rounded breasts. Absently she wiped a bead of sweat from her chest.

  He cleared his throat. “I need to see the chief. Don’t leave this room.”

  “Has Palmer called Bastrop?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Right.” He left her and ordered several sandwiches to go, knowing Palmer would be starving soon. He went to his chief’s office.

  “I don’t like getting calls from the FBI,” the chief said without looking up from a stack of papers. “It has a way of aggravating my ulcer and fucking with my day.”

  “I’m not fond of it either.”

  “What the hell is going on? Ballistics matched the Sanchez murder and the Samaritan cases?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And that murder victim you have resembles another of Agent Hayden’s cases?”

  “It does.”

  The chief muttered several curses as he looked up. “Figure this out fast, Mazur. The press is already up my ass about the Sanchez shooting, and they’re going to double down when they hear about this latest murder.”

  “I will.”

  “I gave you a shot in this department because you saved my boy’s ass in Iraq. And, if push comes to shove, I’ll ride the ship down with you. But I’d rather not go down with my ship.”

  “You won’t, sir.”

  “Dr. Hayden really suspects this Bauldry guy?”

  “We know this latest victim, Rebecca Kendrick, purchased her car from Sanchez Motors, where Bauldry worked after his release from prison. We also know Gloria Sanchez’s mother worked for the Bauldry family.”

  He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. “Holy shit. Where’s Bauldry?”

  “Right now, he’s MIA. He’s not been at any of his last known addresses, and his brother hasn’t seen him. I’ve a BOLO out on him.”

  “His family is very well connected,” the chief said. “Father died last year, but the brother is just as powerful.”

  “The family has cut him loose. He’s on his own.”

  The chief studied him. “I’d be doing you a favor by tossing this hot potato of a case to someone else.”

  “No. I want this. There’re others in the department who know the players better than I do, but I caught more homicides in Chicago in the last five years than half these guys caught in their career. Cultural differences or family history is not going to stop me from solving this case.”

  The chief’s jaw worked as if he were chewing leather. “I refuse to retire with a loss like this.”

  “You won’t.” Promises meant little. Only results mattered. “The autopsy for Rebecca Kendrick is going to be tomorrow.”

  “I want a report from you right after that autopsy. Until this case is solved, I don’t want you taking a piss without me knowing it.”

  “You’re in the loop.”

  He knew it would be a long day and returned to the conference room. Kate was hunched forward studying her laptop and scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad. She straightened and slid on dark-rimmed glasses that framed her face in a nice way. “I called the warden at Bastrop. He’s away from his desk but will call me back.”

  He glanced at the legal pad. She’d already made a list of twelve names with three circled. “That’s some list.”

  The door opened to Palmer, who glanced toward Kate. “Something tells me none of us are going home for a while.” She nodded toward the legal pad. “That your list of greatest hits?”

  “It’s the cases I’ve worked in the last five years. I circled the cases that put me in the eye of the media.”

  “Like the Samaritan and the Soothsayer,” Palmer said.

  “What’s the deal with the eyes?” Mazur asked as he pulled out a sandwich and set it in front of Kate.

  Kate recapped Michael Carter’s biography. “And as Carter’s paranoia grew, he believed that he was under constant surveillance from certain women who he thought were soothsayers. In Carter’s mind, soothsayers could steal your soul.”

  “Did these women reject him in some way?” Palmer unwrapped a sandwich and slurped on a chocolate milkshake.

  Kate nodded. “As far as he was concerned, yes. He had prior contact with all of the women, who were prostitutes. From what other sex workers told me, Carter’s initial encounters weren’t violent. But then he kidnapped each from their place of work and took them to a secluded area, where he stabbed them to death and mutilated their eyes so that the world would know their blind souls could not roam the world tempting man.”

  “And the wound patterns on Rebecca Kendrick’s body matched the Soothsayer’s work?” Mazur asked.

  “I’ll know better after the autopsy, but from what I’ve seen, they’re almost identical,” Kate said. “The eye extraction detail was kept from the press. I’ve no reason to believe it was leaked.”

  Mazur rolled up his sleeves as he nodded to her laptop. “Have you ever lost sight of that computer? I imagine it’s full of all kinds of case details.”

  “I have not,” Kate said. “It has several encryption levels, and when it’s not with me it’s locked in my hotel room safe.”

  “Nothing is impregnable,” he challenged.

  “I’m aware, that’s why every measure is taken.”

  “Is there a leak in your unit?” Palmer asked as she plucked a potato chip from the bag.

  “We’re a tight-knit team,” Kate said. “I trust everyone.”

  “What about someone who’s close to the team and might have access to files?”

  “Not possible. We’re all very careful.”

  “That reporter, Taylor North, keeps close tabs on you,” Mazur said. “What’s the deal with him? Did he cover
the Soothsayer case?”

  “He didn’t approach me during the investigation, though that doesn’t mean he wasn’t following the case. I assumed he was simply driven and hungry for a headline. Now, I don’t know. I should talk to him. I’d like to know where he’s been.”

  “Agreed.” Mazur glanced toward the legal pad and noted one case was circled multiple times. “What other cases do you have?”

  “There’re a few that come to mind. I really hope if there’s a copycat, he doesn’t attempt one of these.”

  She clicked her computer, and three images appeared on the screen. These women were tied to a stake and burned. “They were doused with gasoline and set on fire. Their killer thought they were witches.” Another image showed the bodies of five prostitutes who’d been strangled and their corpses mutilated with a knife. Those killings happened in Denver.

  As she ran through the slides, Mazur was struck by the utter horror that filled her life. Every cop had to find a way to decompress, but he wondered what the hell she could ever do to cope with this.

  “This last case is the most recent. I just came from Salt Lake City, where I was interviewing the victim.”

  “Is this the nut that puts women in boxes?” Palmer asked.

  “Yes. Sara Fletcher was his fifth victim,” Kate said.

  “Jesus, I hope this creep is caught before he can recreate any of your other house of horrors victims,” Palmer said. “How the hell do you sleep?”

  “Not well,” Kate said.

  Mazur glanced at the picture of Sara Fletcher and then to another picture of the wooden box that had been her prison. A primal rage made it hard for him to sit still. “This guy is headed south and was last spotted in southern New Mexico.”

  “At this time, Drexler is not relevant to this case.”

  “Assuming the Sanchez and Kendrick killings are connected,” Mazur said, “what theories do you have about this killer?”

  “Male. Late twenties to midthirties. Educated. And he wants the world to know he’s smart enough to obtain classified details, but he also wants the world to know he’s his own man.”

  “That description fits Bauldry,” Mazur commented.

  “I know.”

  “So what can we expect?”

  “The next time he murders, he might improvise. He might have his own style that he wants to show off.”

  When Mazur and Kate arrived at the Forensic Department an hour later, Calhoun had organized all the clothing articles from Gloria Sanchez’s murder scene next to Ms. Kendrick’s belongings. Kate scanned the items, not touching but evaluating.

  “I’ve processed the items from the Sanchez case, but haven’t had a chance to examine Ms. Kendrick’s things. You can look but don’t touch,” Calhoun said.

  “Of course,” Kate said as she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

  Gloria Sanchez’s clothes were all high end and designer. The shoes were Gucci as was her purse.

  “She liked nice things,” Mazur said.

  Kate lifted an evidence bag that contained a bottle full of oxy, then replaced it. She studied the shoes, the belt, and the earrings. And then she paused when she saw the victim’s key chain. It appeared to be a brass chess piece.

  She raised it up. “It’s the queen, the most powerful player on the board.”

  “She was the Queen of Cars,” Calhoun said. “She often appeared at events with a crown, a cape, and a scepter. It was her shtick.”

  Kate moved to Ms. Kendrick’s belongings. The items weren’t nearly as expensive. Faded jeans and a white blouse, a beaded bracelet, and slip-on shoes. All now stained with blood that was still sticky and damp.

  She took a mental step back, banishing the image of the young woman who’d been alive and well yesterday.

  As she inspected each item, she saw nothing that was out of the ordinary. Why had the killer chosen her?

  “I’d like to look at the contents of the purse.”

  Calhoun unzipped Rebecca Kendrick’s large black leather tote. She removed a spiral notebook, several pens, lipstick, a hairbrush, a leopard-print wallet, and a packet of blush.

  “Is there any jewelry?”

  Calhoun looked up. “Two gold stud earrings.”

  Kate frowned.

  “What are you looking for?” Mazur asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, more to herself.

  “You were interested in the queen chess piece before,” he prompted.

  “William and I used to play chess. It’s how we met. We were our happiest when there was a chessboard between us.” William would see all this as a game. He would deliberately leave her a memento so she knew it was him. “Check her purse one more time.”

  Mazur shook his head. “This is a stretch.”

  Calhoun rooted in the bottom of the purse. Seconds passed, and then she arched a brow before frowning as she removed a white bishop. “It was stuck in the bottom of her purse.”

  Kate released the breath she was holding, but there was no sense of relief. She rubbed her thumb against her forefinger, now worn red.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I have chosen the queen, the rook, and of course the bishop. When this match is finished the king will have nothing left.

  San Antonio, Texas

  Wednesday, November 29, 8:00 p.m.

  Mazur and Kate arrived at the coffee shop where Rebecca Kendrick had worked for the last sixteen months. A uniformed officer Mazur recognized from the Sanchez crime scene approached them as they got out of Mazur’s vehicle.

  “I’ve interviewed the owner and am going to canvas the area businesses for surveillance tapes,” the uniform said.

  “Good,” Mazur said. “I’d like to talk to the owner.”

  The uniform shrugged. “Emma Gibson. She doesn’t know much.”

  “Right.”

  A tall, thin woman with gray hair twisted into a bun greeted them at the front door. She wore a peasant skirt and a white top. Bracelets jangled from her wrists. She was talking to another uniformed officer, who seemed relieved to see Mazur.

  “Emma Gibson,” he said as he showed her his badge.

  She lifted her chin a fraction. “Yes.”

  “I understand you own this café?” he asked.

  “That’s right, for fifteen years now.”

  “And you hired Rebecca Kendrick,” Mazur said.

  “That’s right.” She steadied a quivering bottom lip, but her tone shook. “A little over a year ago.”

  “What can you tell me about her?” Kate asked.

  She blinked back tears. “Great gal. Had a few hard knocks as a teenager, but she was pulling herself up and making progress.”

  “What kind of hard knocks?” Kate asked.

  “She didn’t talk much about it. Health issues, which led to too much drinking and ultimately arrests. She was released on parole early last year.”

  “Not everyone hires ex-cons,” Mazur said.

  “She had solid references from a work-release program. I called her sponsor, and she vouched for her personally.”

  “Who sponsored the program?” Mazur asked.

  “Sanchez Motors.”

  “Gloria Sanchez?” Kate asked.

  The woman frowned. “Yeah. Jesus, do you think the cases are related?”

  “We don’t know,” Kate said. “Did Mrs. Sanchez ever visit your shop?”

  “She came in for coffee a few weeks ago. Rebecca took her break, and she and Gloria sat at a corner table and talked. It looked intense, but when they were finished Gloria hugged Rebecca.”

  “That the only time you saw the two together?” Kate asked.

  “Yes.” She leaned in. “Look, Rebecca worked hard and was talking about going back to school. The girl was smart, and if she could keep her head screwed on straight, she was going places.” She bit her lower lip. “Did her past catch up to her?”

  “We’re still trying to figure it all out,” Mazur said. “You said she locked up as expected?”

  “S
he clocked out of the register at 11:01 just like she was supposed to do.”

  “Anything unusual about her last few days?”

  “No. There was nothing that caught my attention.”

  “Did she have friends?” Mazur asked.

  “Sure. A few guys and gals in her age group. They came in sometimes to see her.”

  “Do you have names?” he asked.

  “Only a couple of first names. Steve and Patsy. The others, I don’t know. They seemed like a nice group of kids. I do know they all attended that drug-addict support group. ‘One day at a time,’ Rebecca always said.” Ms. Gibson frowned. “I did see a guy lingering outside a few times while she was working. He never came in or did anything. But him watching the place made me notice.”

  “What guy?” Kate asked.

  “Tall, thin, dark hair. Well dressed.”

  “How old?” Kate asked.”

  “Midthirties, maybe. I didn’t know him, so I asked Rebecca if he was a friend of hers. She said no.”

  “Did you believe her?” Kate asked.

  “Funny you should ask,” Emma said. “I never caught her in a lie, but that time I got an odd feeling.”

  “You think she knew the man?” Kate said.

  “I asked her later again, but she shrugged it off. Said for me not to worry.”

  “Did you ever see the guy again?” Kate asked.

  “No. Not after that day.” Her brow knotted. “Do you think he killed her?”

  “He could have just been a guy standing on the street corner,” Kate said.

  Mazur scrolled through his phone and found Bauldry’s picture. “Is this the guy?”

  Emma studied the phone a long moment. “It’s an older picture of him, but yeah, I’d say so.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Ninety percent.” Emma was frowning when she looked up at him. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Did he kill her?”

  Mazur knew in his gut he was on the right track but kept his voice even and his expression blank. “He’s a person of interest.”

  A sad smile tipped the edge of Emma’s lips. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. She had so much life ahead of her.”

  “Do you have security cameras?” Mazur asked as he tucked the phone back in his pocket.

  “I don’t. But the restaurant across the street does.”