Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

by Rita Herron

  The deputy shook his head. “No, but I have a recorder.”

  “Good. Set it up.”

  Jaxon opened the door, bracing himself in case Tierney had suddenly changed his story, but the big man looked calm, resigned. Determined. He was staring at his blunt nails again, his handcuffed hands splayed on the table.

  “We’re going to tape this interrogation,” Jaxon said as Deputy Kimball set up the tape recorder. “All right with you, Tierney?”

  His cold eyes stabbed Jaxon. “I figured you would.”

  “All right, then.” Jaxon gave a brief introduction for the taping purposes. “This is Sergeant Jaxon Ward, Texas Ranger. Also present is Deputy Kimball from the Cherokee Crossing Sheriff’s Department. We are here to interview Mr. Roth Tierney.”

  He recited the date and time. “Now, Mr. Tierney, tell us exactly what happened the night Wade Mulligan was murdered.”

  Tierney heaved a big breath. “When I got outta prison, I looked up the kids. But when I tried to see them, the social workers told me no. And my probation officer warned me not to go near them.”

  Jaxon frowned. “Why?”

  “He said I needed to prove myself first. Get a job. A decent place to live.” He worked his mouth from side to side. “Like going through the proper channels ever worked for me or did my kids any good.”

  Jaxon resisted a comment. “Go on.”

  “I found out Hank and Avery were living at the Mulligans’, and I drove by the house.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I just wanted to see them, make sure they were okay.”

  “Did you see them?”

  Tierney nodded. “Just glimpses. I watched them get on the bus to go to school. Walk to the store. I...couldn’t believe how big my boy was, but I could tell he had an attitude. He looked like I did at that age. Full of rage.”

  “And Avery?”

  The man chewed the inside of his cheek for a minute. “I never seen anything prettier in my life. Reminded me of her mama before she got messed up on drugs and ran off.”

  Jaxon bit back a retort. “Did you talk to her?”

  Tierney shook his head. “I figured she hated me. I know they told her what I done, and figured I needed to clean up first. But—” he hesitated “—I knew something was wrong. She looked so sad, and she had bruises on her legs.”

  Jaxon grimaced. “What did you do then?”

  “I was still trying to do the right thing, didn’t figure I’d do the kids any good if I ended up back in prison. But I couldn’t get those bruises out of my mind, so that night I drove by again. I parked in front of the house. Then I heard screaming.” He made a low sound in his throat. “I couldn’t let that bastard hurt her anymore, so I went up to the window and looked in. That’s when I saw Mulligan sneaking into Avery’s room.” His cheeks reddened with anger, and he balled his hands into fists. “I ain’t no fool. I did time. I knew what that SOB was doing to my little girl.” He banged his fists on the table. “I had to stop him. So I sneaked in the window and killed him.”

  Jaxon waited for him to elaborate, but Tierney leaned back in the chair as if he were finished.

  Dammit, Jaxon had to do his job and ask for more details.

  Police received false confessions all the time. Mentally unstable folks, delusional ones, or some just wanting to take credit for a crime for attention.

  Others did so to cover for someone else.

  The key to discerning whether or not the confession was real lay in the details.

  Police usually omitted facts from the news to help them later weed out the phonies and pinpoint the right perpetrator.

  “How did you kill him?” Jaxon asked.

  Tierney heaved a breath. “I stabbed him.”

  “Did you have a knife with you?”

  Tierney hesitated. “No. I grabbed a kitchen knife when I went inside and used it.”

  Jaxon studied him. Tierney could have learned that from the news report. “Where exactly did you stab him?”

  Tierney’s mouth twitched with anger. “In the chest, where else? I wanted to kill the jerk.”

  “How many times did you stab him?” Jaxon asked.

  For a moment, Tierney looked away, as if he didn’t intend to answer.

  “How many times?” Jaxon asked.

  “Once. Went straight through the heart. Learned that in prison. Fastest way to kill someone is to aim for a main artery.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  The man’s mouth twitched again. “I threw the knife down. Avery was on the bed screaming and I panicked. I didn’t want to get caught, so I rushed outside. I figured Hank would call the police and they’d think there was an intruder, and then Avery and Hank would go back to social services. Then I might get them back.”

  “But that didn’t happen,” Jaxon said, stating the obvious.

  Tierney shook his head. “Hell, no, Hank had to go in and stab the bastard a bunch of times, then tell everyone he killed Mulligan.”

  Disgust ate at Jaxon. “Why didn’t you come forward and admit the truth then?”

  Tierney locked eyes with him. “I seen the meanness in my boy’s eyes. I figured he needed some cooling-off time. I never thought they’d sentence him to death row.”

  Jaxon crossed his arms. “But they did, and you’ve had plenty of time to confess before now.”

  Tierney’s cuffs clanged against the table. “Truth is, I went on a bender after that night. Lasted a few weeks. Then I wound up back in prison for violating parole. By then, the trial was over and Hank had been sent away.”

  Jaxon still didn’t know if Tierney was telling the truth. But if his confession cast doubt on Hank, he could use it.

  So he shoved a pad in front of the man. “Write down everything you just told me.”

  Tierney grabbed the pen, then picked up the pad Jaxon had laid on the table and began to write.

  A knot seized Jaxon’s belly. The stab wound to the aorta had been made by a man holding a knife with his left hand.

  Tierney was right-handed.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME Jaxon emerged from the back, Avery thought she was going to pull her hair out. She’d already bitten her fingernails down to the nubs.

  She stood, anxious to hear what he had to say, but his expression was unreadable.

  “Deputy Kimball is securing your father in a cell for the night,” Jaxon said. “I need to make a couple of calls, and then I’ll drive you back to your house.”

  Jaxon stepped outside again, and she paced, wondering if she should ask to see her father. But bitterness swelled inside her. What could she possibly have to say to him?

  Thanks for finally coming forward? Thanks for trying to save me twenty years ago?

  Thanks for letting Hank rot in a cell when you could have spoken up years ago and my brother might have had a life?

  Jaxon returned a moment later, his mouth set. “I left a message with my director and the judge explaining the turn of events.”

  “What happens next?” Avery asked.

  “We’ll contact the governor to grant a stay for Hank.”

  Hope jolted through Avery. Was it really going to happen?

  Would they free her brother? Would she and Hank finally get a chance to be a family again?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Thank you, Jaxon.”

  A tense heartbeat passed before he acknowledged her words. “Let’s go.”

  She glanced at the door leading to the back rooms, but old hurts and shame mushroomed inside her, overriding her need to see her father. If he’d really loved her, he would have stuck around that night and made sure she and Hank were safe.

  He should have been there for both of them at the trial, as well.

  But he’d abandoned th
em and caused them to suffer for most of their life. How could she possibly forgive him for that?

  Jaxon seemed distracted as he drove her back to her house. When they arrived, he parked and followed her up to the door.

  “Thanks for tonight,” Avery said.

  “I’m coming in.”

  “But my father is locked up.”

  “He may have killed Mulligan, but he didn’t leave you threats or paint nasty words on your house.”

  Avery’s stomach clenched. She’d forgotten about the vandalism.

  “I still think the key to the threats may be in the mail Hank received at the prison.”

  “We can look over everything tonight.”

  “I’ll do it while you go to bed,” Jaxon said. “You’ve got to be exhausted, Avery.”

  It had been a traumatic day. But for the first time in years, she had hope that her brother might be released, and that she might have some kind of family again.

  All thanks to Jaxon.

  “I’m sure you’re tired, too,” she said softly. “Maybe we can look at those letters tomorrow.”

  Jaxon shook his head. “No, I want to review them tonight.”

  She reached up to touch him, but he stepped away. “Go to bed, Avery.”

  Hurt stabbed her. Before when he’d kissed her, she’d thought he might have felt something.

  But she’d obviously imagined the attraction because she had no experience with men.

  So she retreated to the bathroom to get ready for bed alone.

  * * *

  WORRY STILL NAGGED at Jaxon as he watched Avery head into the bedroom. Convincing the judge that Tierney’s confession hadn’t been fabricated because of a last-ditch attempt to overturn Hank’s conviction was going to be damn hard.

  He didn’t want to burst Avery’s bubble that he might not be able to pull it off.

  Especially if he pointed out that her father was right-handed, and they believed the real killer had inflicted the wound with his left hand.

  Dammit, if only they had prints to match or some other piece of concrete evidence to point to the real murderer.

  He made a makeshift desk on Avery’s kitchen table, then took the first box of Hank’s mail and began to sort through it.

  He skimmed through each letter, noting the tone, and divided them into categories—sympathetic letters stating views against the inhumane treatment of prisoners and the death sentence, personal letters from women who’d read Hank’s story or seen his picture and wanted to meet him. Others offered conjugal visits and the occasional marriage proposal. Some pro–death penalty people claimed that an eye for an eye was the appropriate punishment. Religious zealots also promised to pray for his soul to be saved so he could enter Heaven.

  The past few weeks Hank’s mail had increased exponentially due to the publicity about the upcoming execution. He quickly read through the people’s reactions and comments.

  But one letter caught his attention, and made him pause. He read it a second time, trying to discern the underlying meaning—if there was one.

  Dear Hank,

  I’m so sorry that you spent your life in prison, and have prayed for you every day for the past twenty years. You were a lost, angry boy, and you had reason to be angry.

  I wish I could change the outcome of that night for you. But I know you hated Wade Mulligan, and he deserved to die for what he did to you and your sister.

  Mistakes were made back then. The Mulligans never should have been allowed to have children in their home. I’m so sorry that you and Avery were hurt by them.

  At least Wade’s death saved other children from suffering the way you did.

  I pray for your soul, and for forgiveness for my own.

  Jaxon exhaled. There was no signature. But it certainly sounded as if the writer had known the situation in that house.

  As if he or she felt guilty.

  The verbiage also sounded like that of a woman.

  Avery claimed she’d heard a woman’s voice that night, a woman assuring her everything would be all right now.

  He studied the names of all the females associated with the case.

  Joleen could have killed her husband, except he didn’t think she had the courage. And she certainly hadn’t appeared to harbor guilt over anything, not enough to write an apology note for it.

  Imogene Wilson had ranted that she’d killed Mulligan, but her mind was so fractured that her testimony wouldn’t stand up in court. She also wouldn’t have had the mental capacity to write Hank and apologize, either.

  The same went for Erma Brant. At one time she might have had the presence of mind to kill Mulligan and regret the way it turned out for Hank. But this letter had been postmarked in the past six months. Erma had been suffering from dementia for years.

  Lois Thacker, now a police officer, had been honest about the Mulligans’ abuse, but she seemed too hardened to write a heartfelt letter like this. Of course, he hadn’t spoken with her for long. As a cop, she would know how to cover herself and avoid suspicion.

  He skimmed his notes again. Delia Hanover had been nice, worked with children and was sincerely sorry for Hank and Avery. But at the time, she was young and new on the job, and claimed she hadn’t known about the abuse. He couldn’t imagine her killing anyone, much less being devious enough to cover up a crime.

  Who else?

  A noise jarred him, and he stood and walked to the back porch door to look out. The wind whirled, snapping trees and sending tumbleweed across Avery’s backyard. Shadows flickered in the woods, making him tense.

  But he studied the thicket of trees and didn’t see any movement.

  The noise sounded again, and he walked back to the hall, then realized the sound was coming from Avery’s bedroom.

  His heart squeezed. What if someone had climbed through the back window?

  He gripped the gun in his holster and peered into her room.

  Moonlight streaked the walls and floor, a sliver of golden light dappling Avery’s bed where she lay thrashing against the covers.

  Another nightmare.

  Hell. As much as he wanted to end this ordeal for her tomorrow, he still wasn’t certain they had Mulligan’s real killer in custody.

  He started to close the door and leave her, but she cried out again, and his heart wrenched.

  Maybe he didn’t have all the answers tonight. But he could offer her some comfort.

  Unable to resist, he eased inside and walked toward her bed. When he reached the side, she startled and opened her eyes.

  “Avery?”

  Seconds stretched, causing his heart to hammer.

  Then she reached out her hand and beckoned him to come to her.

  * * *

  AVERY BLINKED JAXON into focus. His dark features were almost lost in the shadows, but she couldn’t confuse his raw masculine scent with anyone else. Strength and courage emanated from him as he reached his hand out and took hers.

  “You were having another nightmare,” Jaxon said as he lowered himself onto the mattress beside her. He removed his holster and laid it and his weapon on the nightstand.

  Her cheeks heated with embarrassment, but he was so close that she breathed in his essence, and all embarrassment faded.

  She was just a woman here, and he was a man. The dark room, moonlight and his quiet breathing seemed so intimate that she lost her inhibitions.

  She’d never trusted anyone before, but she trusted Jaxon with her brother’s life. With her life.

  With her heart...maybe not. But close enough that she wanted to feel him next to her.

  “Jaxon,” she whispered. “Lie down with me. Hold me.”

  Wariness echoed in the next breath he took. “That’s not a good idea, Avery.”

 
Need and desire rippled through her. The fact that he was trying to be polite only made her want him more.

  “Why not?” She reached up and tugged at his shirt collar. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  He closed his eyes, his body tensing, but she ran a hand down his chest, then drew slow circles on his abdomen. He sucked in a sharp breath, then caught her hand in his.

  “You’re playing with fire, Avery.”

  A smile curved her mouth. She’d never been one to play games, to flirt. She didn’t even know how.

  But for once in her life she wanted to feel a man next to her. To touch him.

  To be with him.

  Instinctively she knew that Jaxon would never hurt her.

  She licked her lips, hoping he wouldn’t reject her as she lifted her finger and traced it along his lower lip. “I want to be with you, Jaxon.”

  He hissed between clenched teeth. “I’m trying to be noble, Avery. The last thing I want to do is take advantage of you.”

  She raised her head and flicked her tongue along his lips where her finger had just been. “You are noble. That’s one reason I want you,” she said in a husky whisper. “I need you.”

  A low groan rumbled from his throat, and then he slid his hands beneath her head and brought his mouth to hers. “Stop me anytime,” he murmured.

  “I won’t,” she said softly.

  He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. His were dark with passion and hunger, but there was something else there. Control. A fierce determination that she believe him.

  “I mean it,” he said against her ear. “Anytime—”

  “Shh.” She kissed him tenderly. “I trust you.” She threaded her fingers deep into his thick dark hair. “Please make love to me, Jaxon.”

  Emotions flashed on his face. Then he moaned again and claimed her mouth with his.

  * * *

  JAXON HAD FOUGHT his desire as long as he possibly could. Avery’s soft plea turned him inside out. He wanted nothing more than to please her and chase away her bad dreams.

  He gently traced his tongue along her mouth, tentatively at first, his body hardening as she parted her lips and invited him inside. Need drove him to deepen the kiss, and their tongues tangled in a sweet erotic dance unlike anything he’d ever experienced.