Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited

by Heather Graham

  Just as they were leaving, Jackson walked in. Logan briefed him on the latest developments, and Jackson listened gravely, then handed Logan the newspaper he’d been carrying.

  “Have you seen this?” he asked.

  Logan stopped and read the front page. Ted Murphy had been at it again.

  Missing Dead Woman Found in Walls of Historic Longhorn. Below that, Actor in Custody for Murder. Citizens Question Guilt as Body Count Rises.”

  The article went on to describe the discovery of Sierra Monte’s body as disorganized and chaotic. The team assembled to seek out answers was compared to the Keystone Cops. While the sketches of local artist Jane Everett were helping identify the unknown victims, Texas law enforcement seemed to be working with so-called psychics. Women in San Antonio should bolt their doors. Apparently, the killer was using a drug cocktail, and no one was safe.

  Logan didn’t read the article word for word, but he noticed that Ted Murphy was promising an exclusive interview with accused murder suspect Ned Bixby the next day.

  “I can make sure that doesn’t happen. We can transfer him to a federal facility. Since he says his wife went to New Mexico, I could play the federal card,” Jackson told him.

  “If Murphy interviews Ned Bixby and gets something from him that we didn’t, it’ll be a good thing,” Logan said. “Actually, I’d like to have Ted Murphy brought in for questioning. He has details in this article that we haven’t released.”

  “We can have him brought in, but he’ll be out in a flash. He’ll claim his right as a journalist to protect his sources,” Jackson muttered.

  “Well, we can hold him for twenty-four hours,” Logan said.

  Kelsey was standing silently at his side, and he knew she was anxious to leave. Jackson didn’t delay them any longer.

  Kelsey continued her silence as they drove. He glanced at her and saw the same sick feeling that must have shown in his face three years ago. He reached out a hand for hers. “We’ll find Sandy,” he said.

  “We saw a Ranger’s car in front of the inn this morning. If someone was there through the night, how could this have happened?”

  “Rangers don’t tell people what they can and can’t do,” he said patiently. “If Sandy chose to go somewhere, walk out of the inn, there would’ve been no way he could stop her. Right now, we should think about Jeff Chasson. We both know she was hoping to hook up with him.”

  Kelsey let out a breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that every time a woman disappears around here, we seem to find her dead.”

  He didn’t speak again. They got to the Longhorn and quickly parked on the street. As they started to head inside, Logan noticed that the Ranger car parked outside belonged to a good friend of his, Tyler Montague.

  When they walked in, there were only a few stragglers in the saloon. Ricky was sitting at a table with Tyler, who was taking notes. Both men rose when he and Kelsey entered, and Logan set a hand on her back, leading her toward them. As they all sat, he introduced Tyler to Kelsey. Tyler made a perfect Ranger; tall, lean and muscled, he practiced martial arts during his off hours. Even better, he was smart and methodical.

  Ricky was a mess. He looked tired and frantic, dark hair pushed back from his forehead in disarray. His eyes were red-rimmed.

  He tried to smile at Kelsey. “The morning’s been insane. The news is out about Sierra Monte’s body, there’s all kinds of stuff going on at the rodeo fairgrounds today and people have been rushing in from the street to gawk.”

  “Ricky, could Sandy have left with Jeff Chasson?” Kelsey asked. She looked over at Tyler Montague. “You would’ve seen them, right?”

  “Marshal,” Tyler said, “I didn’t arrive until about two this morning, so anything that went on before then, I wouldn’t have seen. Ricky’s been giving me a description of everyone here last night and trying to recall everything that happened, and it doesn’t seem to me that Ms. Holly could’ve been forced out by anyone. There were still a few people when I showed up, and part of what I was told to do was clear the bar. The assumption was that Ms. Holly had been upset and left the cleanup to her staff. We didn’t know she never went to bed until Ricky tried to find her when it was time to start cooking and serving breakfast.”

  “I didn’t see her leave,” Ricky said. “But I didn’t see Chasson leave, either,” he said, brightening.

  “Ricky, is her room locked?” Kelsey asked.

  Ricky shrugged. “I don’t remember if I locked it or not after Ranger Montague and I went in there. We saw her purse on the dresser…her keys were by it. I checked the closets—it didn’t look like she’d taken anything with her.”

  “Has anyone contacted Chasson yet?” Tyler asked.

  “They’re trying from the station,” Logan said.

  Kelsey got up. “I want to go into her room,” she announced.

  “You know where it is. Right behind the kitchen,” Ricky told her.

  “Of course,” Kelsey said.

  As Logan stood with her, Tyler said, “I’ll hang here with Ricky and keep an eye on the place. Special Agent Crow wants someone watching the stairs and the gallery.”

  Logan nodded. He and Kelsey made their way to the kitchen and the room that branched off it.

  “The kitchen was detached when the Longhorn was built,” she said. “By the time Sandy bought it, though, the pantry hall had been built to connect the kitchen to the saloon and the smokehouse, which is now Sandy’s room.”

  Logan studied the simple architecture. He noted that there was a private door leading to the grounds in back, which had probably been extensive once. Now, there was only the broad lower porch, some trellises, plants and little fountains. The back of the property was set off from its neighbors by a high whitewashed wooden fence, allowing guests privacy.

  Logan walked to the door that led outside as Kelsey searched the room for any sign of where Sandy might have gone. Ricky hadn’t lied; there was absolutely no evidence of distress. The bed was neatly made, Sandy’s toiletries arranged in an orderly fashion on her dressing table, and there didn’t seem to be a speck of dust on the hardwood floor. As he reached the outer door, Kelsey was peering beneath the bed.

  The lock was just a push-button type that could be locked from either side. Logan stepped out and stood on the rear porch. From here, Sandy could take a pathway straight to the street, or she could turn to her right and go through the gate to the backyard. He looked for footprints, but the porch was swept clean. He headed toward the backyard, entered and glanced around. He saw a pretty little toolshed in the far corner. His eyes followed the lawn to where there was access from a door at the rear of the saloon. It led to the side of the stage.

  As Logan surveyed the area, his phone rang.

  “Raintree.”

  “Logan, it’s Sean. So far, we haven’t been able to get hold of Jeff Chasson. He’s not answering his home phone or his cell. I’ve contacted Bernie Firestone and other people associated with the documentary, and they haven’t been able to reach him, either. I had a patrol car go by his house, and his car is parked in front. Should we enter?”

  “Give me the address. I’ll go in,” Logan said. “Get me a warrant while I’m on the way.”

  “Logan, the woman’s been missing for only a few hours. I think you should hear some kind of noise and go for probable cause.”

  “If he proves to be our man, we can’t have evidence thrown out in court.”

  “That’s such a long shot, Logan.”

  “And we’re worried about a woman’s life,” Logan agreed. “All right. I’m going in.”

  * * *

  Kelsey knew Logan was watching her, and she started to worry that she’d be taken off the case, since she was personally involved. She had to act like a law enforcement officer and not a terrified relative.

  “We may get more IDs on the other women today,” she said, both to distract herself and to emphasize her professionalism. “At first, I thought the killer was going after women who w
ere interested in or knew something about gems. Now, while that may be part of it, we also know he was looking for psychics. That would suggest the killer’s aware that there are people who can really contact the dead, so I’m going to assume we’re adding several aspects to our profile. First, he’s someone who’s local, or frequently local, with a good understanding of the geography, history and legends of the area. And while the business was in transition—before Sandy officially took over—there could have been an endless throng of people in and out.”

  “Jackson has officers hunting down everyone who worked here,” Logan told her.

  “So…a local, with an avid interest in history, with access to costumes and to drugs. But drugs are easily available on the street, and still…” She turned to look at him. “It has to be someone with some basic chemistry in his background to be able to mix up the right cocktail. And administer it. How could you be so focused on a diamond that you’d go through all of that and kill over and over again?” she asked.

  “The kind of money it would bring in today’s market is astronomical,” he reminded her.

  “But wouldn’t people out there—dedicated gemologists—know about the diamond?”

  “Yes, but come on. You can buy body parts on the black market. Selling a diamond would be nothing.” Logan slowed down. “That’s Chasson’s house,” he said.

  He pulled up behind a deputy’s car. The two officers who’d been watching the house emerged from it and approached them. They all introduced themselves, then the older officer said, “We’ve knocked, we’ve banged, we’ve walked all around the house. There’s no response.”

  “Logan!” Kelsey gripped his arm.

  The birds were back. They’d suddenly swooped in, hundreds of them perching atop the roof and the eaves, on utility wires nearby and the garden trellises in front.

  “I heard a scream,” she told Logan and the two local officers.

  “It might’ve been those dratted birds,” the older one said.

  “And it might not have,” Kelsey insisted. “We’ve got to go in.”

  “Cover the back,” Logan said tersely. The officers moved around the side of the house, while he and Kelsey hurried toward the front door.

  They didn’t have to break in; it was open. When they walked inside, they discovered a sunken living room with white and brown furniture, chrome and glass tables, and the finest in ultramodern luxury. There were two filled wineglasses on the coffee table, neither of them touched. Logan headed toward the kitchen and family room, and Kelsey hurried down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

  She found Jeff Chasson’s room easily enough. It was filled with pictures of him posing with various actors, many of them stars. She didn’t focus on the pictures, but on the bed.

  It was wildly rumpled, sheets half on the floor, pillows scattered.

  A moment’s relief swept through her.

  Well, she was pretty sure she knew where Sandy had spent most of the night.

  Logan came up behind her. “I think we know where Sandy was, and what she was doing,” he said lightly, echoing her own thought.

  “Still, she left the inn with nothing? No purse, no keys, no overnight bag…”

  “Maybe she thought she was just going out for a while,” Logan said.

  “So where is she now?”

  “Where’s Jeff Chasson? Neither of them are answering their cells. Maybe they decided on a romantic interlude.”

  “Sandy wouldn’t just walk off. She would’ve told me, or if she’s angry with me because of what I started, she certainly would have told Ricky. She stuck him with a real mess,” Kelsey said.

  Logan listened to her, but then shook his head. “We’re already on dangerous ground, Kelsey. Sandy is an adult and she hasn’t been missing twenty-four hours. Jeff Chasson’s an adult, too—chronologically speaking—and at the moment, we’re guilty of breaking and entering. They might’ve had such a magnificent, tumultuous night that they went somewhere for a few days. And maybe Sandy’s angrier at you than you think.”

  “We don’t know that Sandy was the one who shared this bed with Chasson,” Kelsey said. “And no matter how angry she might be with me, she loves the Longhorn. She would never just walk away from it. Besides,” she added, “the front door was open!”

  “But there’s no sign of foul play here,” Logan said.

  “Yes, there is.”

  “What?”

  “The birds,” she said. “The birds are everywhere. Something definitely happened here.”

  * * *

  Logan looked across the table at Ned Bixby. He sat with his attorney, who appeared to be frustrated. The guy was young, a civil servant, and Logan was sure that nothing in law school had prepared him for a client who wanted to confess to everything.

  Since Logan was now convinced that Bixby hadn’t even killed his own wife, he knew that he had to trip the man up. “Tell me about the way you stabbed your wife, Ned. It’s important that we get the details.”

  Bixby stared back at him. “I don’t remember.”

  “Sure you do. She was your wife. You loved her. Were you angry? Furious that she wanted to leave you and sleep with other men? I mean, that’s what you believed, right?”

  “She didn’t want me,” he said quietly. He looked down at his hands. “I drove her away.”

  “You drove her away because you wanted to control her with your love?”

  “I…I expected too much. Please, I said I did it. I don’t need a trial. I did it. I killed her. I killed them all.”

  Logan leaned forward. “If you make a confession like that, Ned, and law enforcement is pulled off the case, more women could die. Do you want that to happen?”

  “Okay, I didn’t kill them all. But I killed Cynthia.”

  “So tell me about the knife.”

  Bixby was crying again, tears streaming down his cheeks. “What’s to tell? It was a knife. A carving knife, I guess. I grabbed it out of the holder in the kitchen. I thrust it into her heart.”

  “Ned,” Logan said wearily, “we’re going to release you.”

  Ned Bixby gaped at him. “But…I just confessed to killing my wife!”

  “You didn’t kill her, Ned. Cynthia wasn’t stabbed. She drowned.”

  “What do the details matter? She was in the bathtub. I was so angry, I forced her head under the water,” Bixby said.

  The young attorney shook his head and lifted his hands. “He wants to be convicted.”

  Logan eased back in his chair, looking at Bixby. “Ned,” he began, “you didn’t kill your wife, but you feel responsible. You believe that if you hadn’t been so possessive and dictatorial, she wouldn’t have left you, and if she hadn’t left you, she wouldn’t be dead. But what you’re doing is wrong. You didn’t kill Cynthia, and what you don’t see is that now her killer could get away with it.”

  Bixby’s face contorted with anger. “I did it. I am responsible,” he said. He frowned at Logan. “I thought I was fine. I thought I could live without her. But then you showed me…her body.”

  Logan rose. He walked around and set a hand on Bixby’s shoulder. “She’s gone, and you didn’t do it. Get angry again because she was someone you loved, and she’s dead, murdered.” He pulled a chair closer to Bixby. “Tell me about her, Ned. Did she like the Congregational church a lot? Did she like music? Was she a dancer? Did she like jewelry? Did she prefer romantic comedies or horror movies or what? Help me out here.”

  Bixby inhaled on a deep, rattling breath. “She was full of light. She sang around the house.” He paused. “She loved being in San Antonio. She’d go to the Alamo and just sit in the plaza and stare at the old chapel. She told me she could see them—that she could see the ghosts there. I’d laugh at her, and she’d be indignant and tell me that there could be a plane somewhere between this life and the next one, and I shouldn’t be such a skeptic. She was happy about the ghosts she saw. She said it meant there was another world, one where everyone was happy.” He winced. “I didn’
t make her happy.”

  “Ned, she did leave you, right? You saw her leave, as in take her things and walk out of your home, right?” Logan asked.

  He nodded. “But she didn’t take much. She just wanted out.”

  “Did you two have a computer?”

  Bixby nodded.

  “May I have it?”

  Again, Bixby nodded.

  Logan straightened and turned to the young attorney. “I’ll see about getting all the charges against him dismissed.”

  The attorney looked as if he was about to kiss him. Logan stepped away.

  * * *

  Kelsey stood with Sean at the rear of the internet café. The business offered dozens of computers as well as coffee, sandwiches and pastries. The manager, Shelby Horton, was a harried man in a full apron and a hair snood who wanted to be helpful, but also wanted to get them out as quickly as possible.

  “As many as a hundred people come in here on a typical day,” he said. “Tall, short, men, women…so many of the hotels still charge for internet, and guests don’t want to pay. I have strangers and locals and—”

  “How about Jeff Chasson?” Kelsey asked. “Do you know who he is?”

  Horton arched his eyebrows. “Actually, he has been here. He sometimes comes in when he’s working on local shoots. He acts like he’s afraid he’s being followed or fans are going to come screaming after him. Frankly, not that many people even notice him. He’s not that big a celebrity.”

  “But he comes in regularly?”

  Horton nodded.

  “What about the newspaper guy—Ted Murphy?” Sean asked.

  “He’s always in here. I guess he thinks he’ll hear something, pick up some gossip and scoop the wire services, but he’s crazy. Moms come in to connect with their kids. My computers all have Skype. Soldiers come in—we’re not far from several bases and major military hospitals. Yeah, maybe Murphy thinks he’s going to overhear some national secrets. Oh, and we get the cowboys. Now, that’s funny. The guys in their rodeo getups pecking away at the keyboards. We get all kinds here.”