by Debra Webb
If Clare Barker had any motherly instincts at all she would have come to her daughters immediately upon her release and tried to set things to rights. She would have explained what the voices and the images meant. Was Olivia the only one who remembered? As the youngest, Sadie probably didn’t remember anything from that time. But Laney was only a year younger than Olivia. Would she remember those awful sounds? The darkness? And those creepy feelings of terror?
Maybe she should meet with her sisters before she moved forward with the meeting with Keisha Landers. The reporter was so anxious she had agreed to meet Olivia at whatever time she and St. James could get there—no matter the hour. Olivia sensed there was something the reporter felt needed to be discussed face-to-face. With all that had happened today, Olivia had to admit, even if only to herself, that she was a little anxious about all this, too.
St. James and the detective were talking again. She really should go out there and see if there was anything new. Mainly she just wanted this to be over. But they couldn’t leave until the detective-in-charge gave the word.
What if the person responsible for the bombing had wanted to kill her? Would this quest she had set out to accomplish, no matter how much it hurt her adoptive parents, really be worth the steep price? Good grief, she should call them before they heard about any of this on the news.
She stared at her cell phone and tried to work up the nerve. Not happening. She told herself she needed to conserve battery power until she got another phone charger—since hers had gone up in smoke with the motel room. Later, when she’d picked up a few necessities, had her meeting with Landers and settled into a nice hotel in Houston, she would call home.
Except then it would really be late and her parents would be in bed. Maybe in the morning. Her name wouldn’t be connected to anything before then. No reason to be hasty in making that call. They’d only worry more.
“Looks like they’re wrapping things up.”
Olivia started. She pressed her hand to her throat and felt instantly contrite. Larry, the diner manager, had moved up beside her at the window. “I’m sorry. I’m holding you up.” She turned to him and extended her hand. “Thank you very much for being so kind through all this. I’m genuinely sorry for the trouble.”
He gave her hand a shake. “You be safe, Ms. Westfield. Looks as if you have some bad people out to get you.”
He had no idea. And she doubted he would be at all concerned with her safety once he learned who she was and what she was attempting to accomplish. She thanked him again and headed out to the parking lot to join her new partner.
Speaking of partners, Nelson had called. Everyone at the firm back home was worried sick about her. He would file the petition first thing in the morning. It had been too late to get it done today by the time she’d sent him the go-ahead.
St. James met her gaze as she moved closer, then he flashed her one of those killer smiles. Her heart skipped a beat. She told herself it was all the excitement and the emotional turmoil but she wasn’t so sure.
“The detective says we’re free to go,” he told her in the deep voice that sent goose bumps tumbling over her skin. “As soon as they have anything on the forensics they’ll let us know. I wouldn’t count on anything that’ll tell us who did this, but you never know.”
Unless the forensics could tell her who had done this and put that person behind bars, anything else learned would be pointless to her. Her car was dead. Thankfully no one was hurt. Not much else mattered. She really would, however, like to know who wanted to stop her that badly.
“At least we can be in Houston before midnight.” The possibility that Landers had information that would be useful to her investigation had Olivia ready to get on the road.
“The bomb squad checked my SUV,” St. James told her as he gestured for her to precede him in that direction, “just in case. It’s clean as far as explosives go. Other than the unavoidable signs of twenty-four/seven surveillance, I’m sure you’ll find it an acceptable ride.” As he opened the passenger-side door he flashed her another of those smiles that possessed the power to make her hormones sit up and take notice even at a time like this.
He hastily moved a battery-powered shaver and a bottle of aftershave from the front passenger seat. Tossed them into the backseat between a bag, probably carrying his clothes, and a backpack. An empty foam coffee cup and a half-empty bottle of water waited in the cup holders. The interior smelled of coffee and whatever aftershave was in that bottle and on his handsome face. The SUV was nice. Comfortable. Like him.
Olivia had no idea how exhausted she was until she fastened her seat belt and reclined in the leather seat. He was right. This would be a very acceptable ride. Maybe the bomber had done her a favor. Now she no longer had an excuse to avoid buying a new car.
Once they were on the highway, he interrupted the silence. “I’d like you to compile a list of the names of anyone you’ve spoken to about Rafe and Clare Barker and their case.”
“You believe someone I’ve spoken to is responsible for destroying my car?” She figured as much herself. “Trying to scare me off?”
“That’s exactly what I believe. The sooner we narrow down the possibilities, the more likely we are to head off another attempt at discouraging you.”
“Besides you,” she said pointedly, “there’s my boss, Nelson Belden, the reporter we’re going to meet, the detectives who investigated the case in Granger twenty-two years ago and about half a dozen former friends and neighbors of the Barkers. In my opinion,” she said as she snuggled more deeply into the soft leather, “we should start with the minister of the small church they—we—attended. He was a little strange. There was one lady who used to help out with the animals from time to time at the vet clinic the Barkers operated in that barn on their property. She actually threw rocks at me as I ran back to my car after asking my first question at her door.”
He laughed. The deep rumble seemed to close around her in the darkness, made her feel warm and safe. Silly, Liv. So very silly. You don’t even know this man.
“She actually threw rocks at you?”
“Yes. She chased me off the porch and as I ran across the yard, she threw those white stones she’d used as a sort of mulch in her flower bed.”
Another deep chuckle. “We’ll definitely put her on the list. Right under the investigating detectives.”
If he hadn’t said the last so soberly she might have thought he was kidding. “You want to start with the cops?”
“If a mistake was made in the investigation, they have the most to lose.”
Neither she nor he laughed this time.
Chapter Seven
Houston News, 11:55 p.m.
Keisha Landers wasn’t exactly happy to have a third party present during the interview. Russ wasn’t surprised by her reaction, but Olivia convinced the lady to permit him to stay. Thankfully Olivia hadn’t mentioned the name of his employer, which was good since he knew the agency had contacted Landers to no avail. If the television reporter had something significant to bring to the table, they would know soon enough. If her anxious demeanor was any indication, this could be the break Olivia and her sisters needed. The one that could solve this puzzle, finally.
Twenty-two years was a long time for anyone to wait. Even if they hadn’t known they were waiting for this moment until very recently.
The Houston News conference room wasn’t as large as the one at the Colby Agency but it was big enough for staff meetings and morning briefings. Olivia sat next to him, the reporter seated on the other side of her. Coffee had been brewed and all three had a fresh, steaming cup. Russ suspected they would need a second before the meeting concluded. Mostly he was thankful Olivia hadn’t put up a fuss when his boss made the decision that under the circumstances it was too dangerous to have the Barker girls meet. To Russ’s surprise, Olivia had agreed for now. She would meet her sisters at a later time.
Landers had sent her cameraman home after he set up the camera. She had d
ecided this interview needed complete secrecy. Now, as they got started, she sat a box of material on the table. A standard-size cardboard file box the average person used for storing papers and receipts from the previous year. The once white box was yellowed with age and the corner creases weren’t so sharp anymore. The reporter removed the lid and set it aside.
“After Clare’s release,” Landers began, “I recalled my father working endlessly on the case.” She smiled sadly. “I was just a kid and every night during the investigation and then the trial I would ask my mother when my dad was coming home. She would always say that he was trying to help the missing princesses.” Her expression grew distant. “I didn’t understand what she meant at the time, but later, after his funeral, she mentioned that he always regretted not being able to do enough on that one.”
“Your father was a newspaper man his whole life?” Olivia asked.
Landers nodded. “He started out as a delivery boy at the age of ten and came home with ink on his hands until the day he died.” Her smile brightened. “He insisted that a good reporter was only as good as his next story. Didn’t matter how great the last one was, it was the next one that defined you.”
Russ sipped his coffee and analyzed the woman’s voice. It was thick with emotion. There was something big in that box. Her anticipation was as palpable as her respect and fondness for her father’s memory.
Landers removed bundle after bundle of photos and notes from the box. She unwrapped each, one by one, then began to pass them to Olivia. “The story was never going to be a routine homicide piece.” She laughed dryly. “Not that there’s ever anything routine about homicide. According to his notes, my father grew more and more disturbed by what he didn’t find in the police reports.”
“You have copies of the police reports?” Olivia asked, clearly surprised. “I asked to see the files and they turned me down flat. When my boss, Attorney Nelson Belden, followed up with a written request, he received a letter stating the case files had been misplaced.”
“My father had friends,” Landers explained. “One of his
buddies in Houston P.D. got copies of everything for him.” She passed the next bundle to Olivia. “Crime scene photos, lab results, interviews with friends, neighbors, anyone and everyone who was interviewed.”
“This is incredible.” Olivia moved the photos and papers closer to Russ so that they could study them together.
Some of the photos he would have preferred she not see. Blood on the sheets of the bed she and her sisters had shared. Blood in the closet and in the bathroom. A booking photo of Clare looking frazzled and wild-eyed with fear, or something along those lines. Rafe’s booking photo with him appearing calm and composed. The stark difference had Russ taking a second, longer look. What kind of man looked so cool at a time like that?
More photos of the numerous digging expeditions in the woods on the Barker property. Olivia stared long and hard at the images of remains.
Finally, she moved on to the official scene investigators’ reports and the interviews. They must have read for a half hour or more and were scarcely through half the neatly typed forms when Russ recognized what Landers’s father had seen more than two decades ago.
Every single person who had known the Barkers described Clare as a quiet, obedient woman. She did exactly as her husband told her and never dared defy him. Several stated in no uncertain terms that Rafe ruled her and the children with an iron fist. The minister Olivia thought to be odd even said as much. Clare was kind and generous and quiet, he’d said. A good, obedient wife and loving mother.
The physical evidence all pointed to Rafe. The connection between the physical evidence and Clare was negligible to the point of being nearly nonexistent. Each detective concluded that the evidence was such that Clare couldn’t possibly have been oblivious to the heinous deeds, thereby making her complicit.
Russ read copies of letters the victims had sent to Rafe thanking him for his wonderful work rescuing pets. The Barkers had been known far beyond the boundaries of their community for their animal rescue work. Veterinarians from many surrounding counties had sent folks there to view the many animals up for adoption. Grateful kids, most often young girls, sent letters thanking Rafe for their new pet. The letters were placed on a bulletin board, some accompanied by a photo of the girl and her pet. The bulletin board was labeled “the princesses.” All the victims’ photos were there, the ones found as well as the ones who remained unaccounted for. That was how the case had gotten its moniker.
“Do you see how it all points to Rafe until that final morning before the arrest?” Landers queried.
Olivia nodded. “The blood the police suspected came from my sisters and me was the only actual physical evidence that tied Clare to anything. And since we’re all three alive, we know that was planted.”
“The blood,” Landers countered, “and the fact that several of the murdered girls were buried on the property.”
“But that doesn’t prove Clare helped murder or bury a single one,” Olivia insisted. “There was no conclusive evidence that she was involved.”
“The consensus,” Russ felt compelled to add since the two appeared at such odds on the issue of Clare’s involvement, “was that Clare and Rafe worked as a team. It was difficult for most to accept that Clare had no idea what her husband was up to considering how close the two appeared to be. Where one was seen, the other was always nearby. That she was so submissive to him makes the idea far less acceptable, as well. In my opinion, her conviction was more about perception and possibility than evidence.”
“Agreed,” Landers said. “Those very elements, though not evidence themselves, speak to motive and opportunity. That conclusion, whether biased or not, and the blood confirmed to be you and your sisters’ type were instrumental in Clare’s conviction and, as we all know, in the overturning of that conviction. The evidence was circumstantial at best and the Texas Supreme Court recognized that reality.”
Olivia lapsed into silence for an extended period. Russ wondered if it was more than she could absorb in one sitting.
“We should finish this tomorrow,” he offered. “Today has been a hell of a ride and it’s late.”
Landers put her hands up in a show of no protest. “I do understand. We can start fresh in the morning.”
For an ambitious reporter she was far more reasonable than he’d expected. Five or six years older than Olivia, she had followed in her father’s footsteps only she’d chosen television over newspaper reporting, making quite the name for herself in Houston. It was obvious to Russ that this case had thrown her for an emotional loop, as well.
But no one was more emotionally slammed than Olivia and her sisters. This was a test of will for Olivia, but the waiting and not knowing had to be difficult for Sadie and Laney, too.
“If Clare wasn’t involved,” Olivia said, finally breaking her silence, “maybe there was someone else.” The pitch of her voice rose with each word. “Someone who was right there all along that no one knew about.”
Russ wondered where that had come from. Something she remembered or wishful thinking? Maybe Olivia just needed one of her biological parents to be a normal person.
“There’s no mention of close family in any of the interviews,” Landers pointed out. “No friends who visited. Just Rafe and Clare and their daughters. Do you remember anyone else frequenting the house or the clinic?”
Olivia considered the question for several seconds before shaking her head. “I barely remember anything. Mostly what I recall comes in the form of nightmares and none of it is clear. I just feel like there’s something we’re missing. Something or someone.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Have you ever considered regression therapy?” Landers asked her.
Russ had wondered the same thing. Olivia had been old enough to have more substantial memories than her younger sisters. But regression therapy was not for the faint of heart. And sometimes there was nothing gained.
&nbs
p; “I never had any reason to consider it until now.” Olivia stared at the mound of documentation. “The only people who know the whole truth are Rafe and Clare. He’s either lying or she’s keeping a secret that could have cleared her during the trial.”
Olivia was right on both counts. “If anyone else was involved, Clare would have known that person,” Russ said, voicing what Olivia hadn’t. “She and Rafe were together all the time.” He gestured to the documentation on the table. “Wherever those interviewed saw one, they saw the other. But if Rafe pulled disappearing acts to assuage his dark urges or went off with some other person to do the same, why didn’t Clare say as much at trial?”
The first person who came to his mind was Clare’s sister, Janet Tolliver. Janet had arranged for the secret adoptions of the girls. She had kept the photo albums all those years. And she’d taken care of Clare’s son, Tony Weeden, they suspected, after Clare’s rape in college. Why had she never been seen by any of the folks in Granger who knew the Barkers? Surely she had visited her sister at some point, unless they were estranged again by then. Either way, why hadn’t Janet been at the trial?
And why the hell had she been murdered shortly after Clare’s release from prison?
“Maybe Clare was protecting someone,” Olivia offered. She turned to Russ. “But why do what she’s been doing since her release? If she was wholly innocent, why behave guilty now? What’s the point?”
“I think you need to ask her that.” This from Landers.
“That could pose a risk to her safety.” Russ made the statement a little more forcefully than he’d intended, but he didn’t want Landers putting any ideas in Olivia’s head. She was already plotting enough strategies that had garnered her the wrong kind of attention.
“Besides,” Olivia mentioned, “it’s doubtful that she would come forward at this point and chance being arrested.”