by Mary Burton
After the autopsy was complete, the technician moved in to repack the organs and sew up the body.
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I have test results,” the doctor said.
“Thank you.” She moved out of the suite. Slowly she stripped off her gown, wishing she could peel away her guilt as easily as the thin fabric.
She heard the doors whoosh open behind her and knew by the steady clip of footsteps that it was Mazur. He moved with precision, determination.
Mazur stripped off his gown and tossed it in the bin next to hers.
She raised her chin and met his direct gaze, careful not to let anything she was feeling reflect in her expression. “Each Soothsayer victim was discovered near an open field. The knife wounds were meant to blind the spirit in the afterlife. Simply killing in this life was not enough retribution. He wanted everlasting hurt and pain.”
“What was the time difference between the killings?” Mazur asked.
“Four weeks. He thought his work was most effective under a new moon. In his mind it was the most powerful time to send his victims into the afterlife. The first victim worked as an exotic dancer in a nightclub. The second was involved in the porn industry and was a high-dollar escort.”
“And they shared no other characteristics?”
“Both were Caucasian, of small stature and trim. But other than that, they didn’t resemble each other. My assumption from the beginning was that the killer liked smaller women because they were easy to subdue. From there I drew up a psychological profile. It took over a year to find him. When they did he had already drawn up plans for his next kill. They found the women’s eyeballs in a jar in his home office.”
“Rebecca was not killed during a new moon,” Mazur said as he checked his phone. “That was November 19.”
“An anomaly that sets this case apart from the others. Gloria Sanchez didn’t fit the victim profile of the Samaritan. Another anomaly. Both women had chess pieces found in their belongings.”
“How long did you work the Soothsayer case?”
“On and off for a year. And it was common knowledge that case was very personal to me.”
“Why?” Mazur asked.
“The second victim was the daughter of a friend of mine. My friend, Mimi, worked in public relations near the Oklahoma FBI office, and I knew she and her daughter, Elise, were estranged because the daughter had become a sex worker. We both led busy lives and didn’t see each other much, but occasionally we ran into each other at the local gym. She couldn’t forgive herself for her daughter’s death.”
Mazur drew in a breath. “Let’s assume this is Bauldry. Who will he plagiarize next?”
“The case that has gained recent notoriety is Raymond Drexler. As I’ve mentioned, he locked his victims in a wooden coffin.”
He slid his hand into his pocket and absently rattled change. “I don’t have enough evidence for a judge to let me get Bauldry’s credit cards or phone records. Nothing he said in that phone call to you was threatening, and two chess pieces are not going to get me a search warrant for his home.”
“He’s likely not using his credit cards now anyway and has already pulled out what money he needs,” she said. “He’s been in prison for seventeen years. He has had years to plan this. He won’t stop until he has total control of my life.”
“I don’t give a shit what he wants. He’s not getting it.”
“He’s done a pretty good job of it so far. I’m back in San Antonio chasing the clues he left for me and looking over my shoulder. Did I leave anything out?”
“It’s time we stopped chasing and start hunting.”
“Where?”
“We’ll talk to Martin Sanchez again and suck everything out of him that he knows about Bauldry. Then I want to visit the prison where Bauldry was incarcerated.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
He loves me, he loves me not.
San Antonio, Texas
Thursday, November 30, 1:00 p.m.
They arrived at Sanchez Motors and found Martin in Gloria’s office. He was talking to Lena, and they appeared deep in discussion when a salesman from the floor announced their arrival.
Martin thanked Lena, who nodded to the cops before she left. He came around his desk. “I’d rather talk with Mr. Bennett present.”
“That’s your choice,” Mazur said. “We don’t want to push you. Just had a quick question about Rebecca Kendrick.”
Martin’s eyebrows drew together, and he folded his arms over his chest. The subtle gestures gave away more than he’d intended. “Rebecca Kendrick worked here last year after she was released from prison. She was one of Gloria’s protégés.”
Immediately Mazur noticed Sanchez’s closed posture. “That’s what we’ve learned. Looked like they were close, based on the evidence we found at Rebecca’s apartment.”
Sanchez took a small step back. “What were you doing there?”
Mazur spoke as if the woman were still alive. “We’re trying to learn more about her relationship with Gloria and another employee by the name of William Bauldry.”
“Bauldry? What does he have to do with all this?”
“What can you tell us about him?” Kate asked.
“Worked hard enough. I wasn’t a fan of having him, but he turned out to be a good employee. He left about five months ago.”
“Why?”
“Said he didn’t need the money and wanted to do other things. Where’s Rebecca?”
Mazur locked his gaze onto Sanchez. “She’s dead.”
The man’s face instantly paled, and he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “What?”
“She was found this morning.”
“How?” His face constricted with pain. “Was it drugs?”
“Had she gotten back on drugs?” Mazur asked.
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “She swore to me she was clean. I worried about that, but she swore.”
“Then why did you ask about an overdose?” Kate asked.
Martin cleared his throat. “She was doing so well. I wanted to see her succeed. But I know it was a struggle for her.”
Kate leaned in a fraction. “You two were having an affair.”
“What? Why would you say that?” Sanchez took another step back.
“When I first saw her I thought she could have been Gloria’s sister. They look a lot alike. But they aren’t related. She’s simply your type. Men who stray often find a woman who reminds them of their spouse when she was younger.”
Martin cleared his throat. “No. You’re making assumptions.” He drew in a breath as he retreated behind the desk. “I need you to leave. I’m calling Bennett.”
Mazur didn’t budge. “Don’t you want to know how she died?”
The man stood silent, blinking.
“She was murdered.”
“Like Gloria?” he whispered.
“How do you think?” Mazur pressed.
Martin lowered to his chair. “I don’t know!”
“Did you hire William Bauldry so you could be with Rebecca?” Mazur pressed.
“What? No!”
“Maybe Bauldry got a taste for killing again and then decided to go after Rebecca,” Mazur said.
Martin shook his head as the color drained from his face. “Get out!”
Kate sat silent, staring out the front window of the SUV as the endless horizon of dry Texas scenery passed by as they headed northeast. She’d received word from the warden at Bastrop that Richardson had volunteered his time at the prison. He’d never been on the payroll and had visited as part of a church group. She felt like a fool for having missed the connection. They were now driving there. As much as she wanted to remain objective, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was now responsible for not only her father’s death but the deaths of Gloria and Rebecca.
“You need to get out of your head,” Mazur said.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“You’re playing the bl
ame game,” he said. “I’m a master at it. That’s how I know you’re doing it now.”
She released a breath and looked at him. “What do you blame yourself for?”
“There’re a couple of cases that went sideways that I’ll never forget.” His jaw tensed. “But I never go to bed now without wondering if I could have saved my son if I’d woken up the night he stopped breathing.”
When he spoke, all the lightness she’d come to associate with him vanished. Kate knew there was nothing she could say.
“I’d have moved heaven and earth to save Caleb. And you’d have done the same to stop Bauldry from shooting your father.”
She tugged at the center button on her jacket. “Logic and emotion never mix well.”
“No, they sure as shit don’t.”
They made the rest of the hour-long ride in silence. At one point, he turned on the radio, allowing a country-music song to drift lazily around them.
They arrived at the Bastrop Federal Correctional Institution, and after passing through the guarded main entrance, parked. Inside, they showed their identification and secured their weapons in lockers for visiting police.
Bastrop was a minimum-security prison a little under two hours from San Antonio. The fact that William, a convicted murderer, had been placed here spoke to the influence his father had wielded. Without his old man’s pull, William would have been slated for a maximum-security prison twice the distance away, with all solitary units and strict conditions.
The Bastrop warden, Jim Smith, a tall, lean man with a gray swatch of hair, greeted them on the other side of the locked doors.
Smith shook their hands. “Welcome.”
“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Kate said.
Mazur shook his hand. “Detective Theo Mazur. You spoke with Agent Kate Hayden on the phone.”
“About William Bauldry. I’ll help you if I can.”
“We’d appreciate that,” Mazur said.
Smith guided them down a plain hallway toward an office at the end. Inside he nodded to his administrative assistant, a plump middle-aged woman, and offered each a chair in front of his large wooden desk.
The walls were covered with pictures of the warden and several key Texas politicians. There was a collection of well-read books that dealt with prison reform, psychology, and law. A plant sat in need of watering on the credenza behind his desk, but there were no personal pictures. Not surprising. Most who worked in the prison system revealed as little as they could about their private lives. Prisoners had a great deal of free time to think and scheme against their jailers.
“What do you want to know about Richardson and Bauldry?” He motioned for them to take a seat before he sat behind his desk. “Mind telling me first what’s prompting all the questions?” Smith asked.
“We have two murders that we’re investigating,” Mazur said. “One is a Samaritan copycat; the other is a look-alike of the Soothsayer case. In both cases William Bauldry’s name has come up.”
“I know William committed murder when he was a kid, but he was one of the few I never saw reoffending. From day one William was one of our best inmates. And to be perfectly candid, I was worried. We don’t house violent offenders, but his daddy knew important people and pulled strings. You know how it goes.”
“He never gave you any trouble?” Mazur asked.
“Didn’t so much as look at anyone crossways. In his last two years, he helped my administrative assistant with filing. He was a big help, and I was actually sorry to see him go.”
“When did Richardson and William see each other?” Kate asked.
“They never had a formal appointment—that’s why I didn’t get right back to you. Took some digging to find the connection. Richardson was here to give motivational speeches. William’s good behavior earned him the job of setting up for prison events. Richardson was just one of many programs we had for the prisoners.”
“Did they get time alone?” Kate asked.
“Sure. There was always a guard in the hallway, but there were times when they were alone. I know William enjoyed talking to Richardson. William is very intelligent.”
“Warden Smith,” Mazur said. His grin was easy, natural, as if he and the warden were old friends. “We aren’t here to second-guess you. We both know you run a tight ship.”
“Did Richardson ever give William anything?” Kate asked.
Frowning, the warden shook his head. “That’s forbidden.”
“How long did Richardson visit this prison?”
“About a year. The men in his group spoke highly of him. He was very effective with the men.” He shook his head. “Do I have a problem here? Are you trying to say I let something slide?”
“No.” Mazur said. “We’re just gathering information, sir. We’re trying to connect a few dots.”
The warden’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his expression had turned guarded. “As I said, William was a model inmate. He checked books out of the library weekly, and as I understand it, he read every book we had in stock. He was one of the success stories.”
Kate’s temper scraped against her skin like nails on a chalkboard. She remembered how her father’s body twitched when the bullets cut into his flesh. “Did William have any visitors?”
“His brother visited in the beginning but not in the last ten years. However, his sister continued to come several times a year.”
“Sister?” Kate asked. “He didn’t have a sister.”
“Well, half sister is more like it. She said they had the same father.”
“What was her name?”
He moved to his desk and checked William’s file. “Gloria. Gloria Hernandez.”
Gloria Hernandez, now Gloria Sanchez. As Nina’s daughter, she had grown up in William’s house. They had been close as kids. Were they half brother and sister, or had that just been a story they told?
Mazur scrolled through his phone and pulled up Gloria’s picture. “This her?”
The warden leaned in. “Yes, I believe it is. Though she didn’t wear makeup or jewelry like that. She was always modestly dressed.”
“How often did Gloria visit her brother?” Kate asked.
The warden checked several pages in the file. “Two or three times a year ever since he was first incarcerated.” He squinted and he checked an entry. “Five times during his last year.”
“Did you two ever speak?” Mazur asked.
“Sure. I make it a policy to know something about regular visitors. She was always nice. The two of them liked to play chess when she was here.”
“Chess?” Kate asked.
“She was very good. I watched a game between the two of them once. She was William’s equal, if not better.”
The three talked another ten minutes before Kate and Mazur thanked the warden. Outside the prison, the warm air coaxed the chill from her bones. She was silent as she and Mazur walked toward his car.
In the SUV, she released a breath. “William and Richardson were connected. And Gloria visited William on a regular basis.” She could easily have taken instruction from William and made additional contact with Richardson.
“Was Gloria really his half sister?”
“My mother said Gloria got into trouble in high school and William’s father spoke to my father and the charges were dropped. It’s the kind of thing a father would do for his daughter.”
“That’s the kind of thing a father does do for his daughter.”
“William never said a word to me, but I do know the family was very loyal to Nina.”
He reached for his phone and typed a text. “I’m asking Palmer to check Gloria Sanchez’s birth certificate.”
“I doubt William’s father is listed, but it’s worth checking.”
“Think the Soothsayer might have been a case that Richardson studied?”
“It’s the kind of case that would appeal to him.”
“So William could have learned about the case particulars from Richardso
n.”
“Very possible.” Her phone rang. She noted the number was blocked. “Agent Hayden.”
“It looks like you’re visiting my old haunts.”
William’s voice slithered down her spine. She looked toward Mazur and mouthed William Bauldry’s name. “I did. The warden had some interesting things to say. Do you have a GPS on the car?”
Mazur raised his phone and mouthed, “Trace.” He got out of the car and immediately dialed a contact at the phone company for a triangulation on the incoming call as he searched around and under the car for a tracking device.
“I don’t know anything about a GPS. I wish we could talk about it, but we don’t have time. I’ve about thirty seconds. I’m guessing Detective Mazur is already tracing my call.”
Lying to him would make him angry and her look foolish. Her best play now was to make him believe he had something to prove to her. “You know how it works.”
“Why are you so determined to find me, Katie?”
“There’s so much we need to talk about. Seventeen years is a long time.”
“A lifetime.”
“I understand you and Dr. Richardson were good friends.”
“I wouldn’t call us friends. I helped him with this and that. Fascinating man.”
The calmness of his tone stoked her anger. “But the time you spent alone with him would have given him time to tell you about the women he murdered along I-35.”
“That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”
She hesitated, wishing she could see his face as she delivered this line. Quickly she ticked through the Samaritan case. She knew all five murders had been carried out with the same weapon, which had never been recovered. Had Richardson realized his mistake when he’d texted authorities from his secretary’s computer? Had he asked William to send Gloria to take it? “Did Gloria get the gun from Richardson for you?”
He was silent a beat. “You have been busy.”
The edge in his tone told her she’d struck a nerve. “She was your half sister.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve figured a few things out.”
She gripped the phone and closed her eyes, and she concentrated on keeping her tone even. “Why won’t you face me, William? We can talk like adults. I know teenagers make mistakes that they regret.”