The Last Move

by Mary Burton

  Kate’s piercing scream had shifted his focus. He took aim at her, determined to destroy her heart as she’d destroyed his. He fired, but she’d pivoted. The bullet had sliced her leg. When she dropped, he fired again, but this time he was more nervous and his hand shook. The bullet cut across her face. Blood gushed, and he’d thought he’d killed her.

  He ran. Though when he stopped to catch his breath nearly a mile away from the scene and slid into his father’s car, his body was alive with fear and a triumphant rush he’d never experienced.

  He’d never expected to be so excited or to enjoy the thrill of the kill.

  Later, after his arrest, he learned she was alive and that he had failed. In the courtroom, she’d been very precise when she testified against him. Mitchell had railed his frustration at the sentencing hearing, but Kate hadn’t spoken a word.

  Over the last seventeen years, he’d followed her work after she joined the FBI. She kept a low profile, but he paid close attention and made it a point to track her development. What case she was solving. Though he wanted to hate her, he took pride in her wins. She rose through the ranks and was one of the best agents in the country. She liked to chase killers, so he’d decided to become the ultimate killer.

  He watched as she dressed in her blue slacks and white shirt. He liked the way the fabric clung to her breasts. But the pants and matching jacket were too dark and heavy for her small frame. When the time came, he would ask her to dress differently.

  She paced the room. His call had upset her. Made her restless. She wanted to go for a run, but wouldn’t dare in the dark.

  He traced the outline of her body on the screen and smiled. “Come and get me, Katie. Find me. You know you want me.”

  She studied every corner of the room as if searching. For an instant, she stared toward the window. She thought someone was looking through the window, never realizing the camera and microphone were hidden in the grate.

  Those pale-blue eyes cut into him. And he recoiled before he reminded himself she couldn’t see him.

  She thought she was smarter than he was, but she underestimated him. That would be the first lesson she would learn from him.

  “Are you worthy of what I’ve planned for you, Katie? Are you up for the challenge? I hope you are, because I want a good fight before I checkmate you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

  San Antonio, Texas

  Thursday, November 30, 6:00 a.m.

  When Kate moved from her room down the center hallway of her mother’s home, she was careful to be very quiet. Her mother had never been an early riser, and she didn’t want to wake her. Avoiding the part of the floor that always creaked, she went into the kitchen. Opening cabinets, she was comforted to know her mother still kept everything where she remembered it. Retrieving the bag of coffee that had always been her father’s favorite, she made a strong pot and toasted a bagel. She selected a mug that said “Texas”—it had been hers in high school.

  Sitting in silence, she ate as she checked her phone for any updates from Agent Nevada. No new texts. Not good. Drexler remained on the loose. With an altered appearance, he might easily slip through the cracks. Nevada had theorized he was headed toward Texas, but Drexler could be in Arizona and over the Mexican border or have turned north to make his way to Canada. Once out of the country, he could vanish into the wind.

  She curled her fingers around her bracelet. She traced the W and the faded paint. She’d promised Sara he would not escape. And she never reneged on a promise.

  She rinsed off her plate and set it in the sink, then took one last swig of coffee before pouring the remains down the drain. Using paper from her notebook, she wrote a note to her mother. She took extra care with her handwriting, wanting her mother to see without realizing it that she had it all under control. Nothing was further from the truth. But she was good at pretending.

  She checked her watch. There was time to drive by Rebecca Kendrick’s place of employment and see if there was anything the officers had missed before Mazur arrived. Chances were there wasn’t, but she couldn’t breathe in this house. Couldn’t think.

  As she closed the front door behind her, a dark SUV pulled up in front of the house. She hesitated, reaching for the gun clipped to her waistband.

  When the man rose to his full six foot four inches and stepped out of the shadows, she recognized Mazur. He locked his car with his key fob and moved toward her. He was dressed in khakis, a white shirt, and dark tie.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Your brother, Mitchell, called me.”

  “Why?”

  “He said you might get up early and do something stupid like go for a run.” His gaze swept over her. “Or maybe return to a crime scene alone.”

  “How does Mitchell know about you?”

  Mazur shook his head. “So where were you headed?”

  “I planned to visit Rebecca Kendrick’s place of employment again but expected to return in time for the autopsy.”

  He moved toward her a step.

  “We can go together.”

  Her 9 mm rested securely on her hip. “I’ve no intention of getting myself killed.”

  He jangled keys in his hand. “No one ever does. My vehicle awaits.”

  “You make me sound reckless,” she said, falling in step beside him.

  “Call ’em like I see ’em.”

  “I’m not reckless. But I’m not afraid to take calculated risks.”

  The front door opened, and the porch light clicked on. Her mother opened the screen door, and huddling in a blue bathrobe and worn Uggs, asked, “Did you think you could sneak out, Katie?”

  “I was coming back, Mom.”

  Her mother studied Mazur. “Looks like Mitchell rallied the troops.”

  The tone of her mother’s voice caught her attention. And then she understood Mitchell’s early-morning call to Mazur. “Did you call Mitchell?”

  “I texted him,” her mother said. “I heard the phone ring, and then I heard you start pacing. I knew something was wrong.”

  Aware that Mazur was watching, Kate walked toward the porch. Mazur followed. She glanced up to warn him to stay back, but he shook his head.

  He extended his hand toward her mother and introduced himself. “Detective Theo Mazur, ma’am.”

  “Sylvia Hayden,” she said, studying Mazur. “You’re my daughter’s San Antonio police partner, right?”

  He flashed a grin that was charming. “We’re working together on this case.”

  A smile teased her lips. “You don’t sound like you’re from Texas, Detective Mazur.”

  “Chicago, ma’am. Been here six months.”

  “How do you like it?”

  “Mostly hot.”

  Her mother laughed. “Chicago’s too cold for me.”

  Mazur winked. “The cold builds character.”

  “I say the same about the heat.” Her mother tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  If Kate didn’t know her mother well, she’d say she was flirting. She wasn’t sure if she was mortified or amused. “We have to go, Mom.”

  As Kate kissed her mother and moved to turn, her mother captured her hand and met Mazur’s amused gaze. “Take care of Katie.”

  The grin dimmed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve a daughter of my own. I know what worry feels like.”

  Kate could have pointed out she’d been an FBI agent for seven years and was quite capable. Although her colleagues and family would never believe it, she understood all too well the significance of emotions and their overwhelming effect on logic.

  Kate kissed her mom again on the cheek and pulled her hand free. “Go see Aunt Lydia.”

  “I’ll be on the road by nine.” She pressed a key in Kate’s hand. “I had the locks replaced a few months ago, so you’ll need this. You’re always welcome. Come and go as you like.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced at the shiny brass key. “Why
’d you have the locks changed?”

  “A few break-ins in the neighborhood. Time to upgrade.”

  “Was your house broken into?”

  “The back door was ajar one afternoon. I couldn’t remember if I locked it or not. Nothing was missing or disturbed, but better safe than sorry.”

  Kate hugged her mother. “Be careful.”

  “And the same to you.”

  Kate left her mother standing on the steps of her family home, remembering that when she’d left for her freshman year of college, she’d felt such a sense of relief, she hadn’t glanced back.

  This time she did look back and nodded to her mother, who waved and smiled just as she had done a million times when Kate had been young and their family was still whole.

  The heavy weight of her mother’s gaze had her sliding into the front seat of Mazur’s SUV. She settled her backpack by her feet and pulled on her seat belt. Mazur settled behind the wheel.

  “Your mother is nice,” Mazur said.

  “Most people aren’t sure I have a mother. Some assume I was spawned.”

  He laughed. “It did cross my mind.”

  His rich, deep laughter lifted some of her dark mood. She appreciated his directness. No hidden agendas with Mazur from what she could tell. A straight shooter.

  As he drove, he studied the neighborhood filled with one-story stucco homes, many landscaped with desert plants and pale rocks. “You grew up in this neighborhood, didn’t you?”

  “We moved here when I was fourteen. We started off in Austin until my father took the job with the local district attorney’s office.”

  “How did you handle the move?”

  “It wasn’t easy at first, but then you find a friend and it gets better.”

  “I hope the same for Alyssa. Uprooting and coming here has been hard for me, but I figure it’s worse for Alyssa.”

  “Kids are more resilient than adults.”

  “In Chicago, I lived a few blocks from where I grew up. Even to this day the old-timers like to share stories of my escapades as a young man.”

  She angled her head toward him. “You were a troublemaker?”

  “The Mazur brothers were legendary.”

  As an investigator, making small talk could be critical when dealing with a suspect. Get them to open up about the small things and then the big might follow. She sensed Mazur was doing this to her. “What was it like living around so much family?”

  “Great times. All my cousins lived within a few blocks. Holidays and birthdays were always a blowout. Mom was usually the host. Our house was always filled with people. Laughter.”

  “And you gave up all your family and career to be here for your daughter?”

  “In four years she’ll be off to college. I’ll never get that back, but Chicago isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Have you thought more about moving to Washington?” she asked.

  “I’ve thought about it a lot.”

  “Have you considered staying here and keeping Alyssa with you? Lots of single dads in the world.”

  He drove down the darkened streets that were only just beginning to fill up with commuters. “I have. Not sure I want to take a kid from her mother. A girl needs her mother.”

  “A girl needs her father, too.”

  A half smile tweaked the edge of his lips. “Trying not to be an asshole in this joint-parenting thing, but it’s hard.”

  “Alyssa is lucky to have you.”

  They drove in silence for several minutes.

  Early-morning sun cut across his face, deepening the sharp angles and highlighting his white teeth as he grinned. “FBI is a hell of a career.”

  “I wanted to catch bad guys. Also thought I’d get in some very interesting travel.”

  “How’d the travel work out?”

  “Been in hundreds of small towns, back alleys, corn fields, and swamps. The full tour of America.”

  “I think you were just trying to figure out how to leave San Antonio with grace.”

  Frowning, he drove in silence for a few more minutes. “Think you can find Bauldry?”

  “Yes.”

  They arrived at the small café located in the city center. Mazur parked across the street. This early, the shop should have been bustling with customers. But it was dark and quiet as a temporary memorial to Rebecca. However, tomorrow the café would reopen and be back in business. No matter how gripping a tragedy, the world moved on, leaving behind fading memories.

  “Why here?” Kate said more to herself as they walked down the alley behind the café. “Why Rebecca? As crazy as William is, he was always methodical. And sixteen years in prison would have taught him patience, too.”

  They walked toward a small parking lot. “Maybe Rebecca and Bauldry had a thing, and she was breaking it off with him.”

  “Perhaps.” She knelt down and touched the worn asphalt, wishing it could share its secrets. “His tone on the phone this morning was so smug. It’s as if he had a secret he couldn’t wait for me to discover. He’s really proud of himself.”

  “You said you recorded the call.”

  She fished out her phone and hit “Play.”

  Mazur’s jaw clenched. “He’s done his homework. Your mother might not have seen him, but he’s seen her. She said she had the locks replaced.”

  “Yes. Observing is what he does best. He always took his full allotment of time before making each move in chess.”

  Mazur checked his watch. “We need to get to the medical examiner.”

  She rose and brushed the dust from her hands. “Right.” She paused and looked back at the scene. “William knew both the victims. Why them? Why now?”

  In his car, she replayed in her mind William’s phone call as they drove toward the Bexar County Medical Examiner’s office.

  Neither spoke as he parked and they crossed the lot. Inside, they took the elevator down to the autopsy suite, where they found the medical examiner gowned up and talking to his assistant. Between them was a body covered by a sheet.

  Kate had attended countless autopsies during her seven years with the FBI. Each autopsy suite was different, but there was a likeness about them that enabled her to quickly adapt. She set her backpack aside and pulled on a gown. As she reached up behind her to tie off the gown, strong hands brushed hers away.

  “I got this.”

  Mazur’s hands were large but nimble as they tied the strands into what felt like a tight, neat bow. Before she could offer to help him with his gown, he moved past her toward the table, pulling on rubber gloves. She followed, and Mazur exchanged pleasantries with Dr. Ryland and his assistant.

  The technician pulled back the sheet to reveal the nude body of Rebecca. Gashes marred her flesh. Most of the wounds were around the heart, lungs, neck, and abdomen.

  The victim’s eyes were removed. Cutting patterns suggested they had been gouged out of her head with the tip of a blade. Her skin was pale and clear, her cheekbones high, and her lips full.

  “Rebecca Kendrick is a twenty-six-year-old Caucasian female, who is sixty-five inches tall and weighs one hundred and thirty pounds. Each eye along with a section of the extra ocular muscles has been removed. There’re no other wounds on her face. Also, no defensive wounds on either hand.”

  “Was she alive when the eyes were removed?” Mazur asked.

  “My guess is no. Otherwise, I would expect potential pain, conscious or not, would have made removing them impossible without more trauma to the face.”

  “Thank God,” Mazur said. “Was that true for the Soothsayer cases you worked for the FBI?”

  “No,” she said, unflinchingly.

  Mazur and Dr. Ryland exchanged troubled glances. The focus then shifted to the victim’s arms, where multiple scars were clearly visible. “Her body shows signs of extensive and prolonged IV drug use. We’ll run a tox screen to determine if she was using at the time of her murder.”

  Everything they’d learned about Rebecca so far suggested she’d been cle
an at the time of her death. But addicts often relapsed in their first eighteen months of recovery. And when they did, some could be quite clever hiding it.

  The dead woman had three tattoos: a heart on her inside wrist, a scroll around her right biceps, and a set of teardrops over her right ankle. Her muscle tone was good. Her ears were pierced, and she had a belly ring.

  The doctor held up the victim’s left hand. The nails were painted a bright blue, made garish when contrasted to the pale skin, and were all neatly rounded except for the right index finger, which was broken and torn. The cuticles had already receded.

  Dr. Ryland took tweezers and a scalpel and held the edge of the nail while simultaneously trimming the tip off. “Maybe she scratched him and we’ll find his DNA.”

  The doctor pressed the tip of his scalpel to the flesh above her right breast and made a diagonal slash toward her midsection. He repeated the cut on the left side and then drew the blade down across her midsection for the classic Y-incision.

  What followed was the sound of flesh pulling and the rib cage snapping as the doctor removed the bones. The wounds had caused a significant amount of blood to pool in the chest cavity, which now oozed onto the stainless-steel autopsy table. The technician wiped up the blood and suctioned the interior cavity, giving the doctor an unobstructed view of the organs.

  The killer’s knife had lacerated through what had been a normal kidney, stomach, and descending thoracic aorta, which was the largest artery in the body.

  The doctor held up the damaged artery. “Both the jugular wound and this would have bled out very quickly. No emergency care could have saved her.”

  The clinical savagery of the autopsy was necessary, but knowing that didn’t cool Kate’s rising anger. William had known this woman. Surveillance footage confirmed he’d been in her shop the day she died. And the phone call from him early this morning cemented in her mind that William had killed Rebecca to make some kind of point to Kate. This was a game to him. If not for Kate, this woman might have dodged the Reaper.