Fear No Truth

by LynDee Walker

  “He said . . . he said Tenley . . .” Erica caught her breath in huge gulps, her shoulders shaking.

  Brent stepped toward her, reaching a hand out but furrowing his brow over where to land it.

  I cleared my throat. “Mr. Andre? What are you doing here, sir?”

  “I needed to talk to her.” He threw his hands up. “This morning, last night . . . I was thinking about what she said at Lola’s. About me, you know, having an affair. And I needed to tell her some things. She wouldn’t answer my calls, so I tracked her cell phone here.”

  Not bad detective work for a pilot. I nodded.

  “What is she on about?” He cocked his head to one side. “Tenley didn’t know places like this existed. I didn’t think Erica did, either, for that matter.”

  I wasn’t touching that one. His wife definitely wasn’t what she seemed, but that story was not mine to tell.

  Erica shook her head. “Darren. Drugs. Said Tenley was having sex . . .”

  “With Nicky? I thought she said Nicky was gay?” Brent ran a hand through his hair.

  “Darren. Darren was buying drugs. From Lenny.” Erica waved a hand at the window. “Said Nicky wouldn’t have sex with Tenley, so he had to.”

  Brent closed his eyes, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “Who had to what? Why the hell are you here, Erica?”

  Erica’s shoulders vibrated with a hitching breath. “I saw him, just yesterday.” She gestured to the window as her eyes darted to me. “It got me thinking. About old scores and who might want to settle them. About why he would be in Austin. About how something like this could happen in our world. I thought . . . I thought he hurt Tenley. So I came here to kill him.”

  Brent eyed his wife like she’d lost her mind. “I don’t feel like I’m any closer to understanding what’s going on here.”

  Probably not, but I was pretty sure I had this part straight, at least. I turned back to the window. “Are you going to live?” I called.

  “She broke my fucking ankle, man.” Lenny’s voice floated up.

  “Consider it karma.” My phone started buzzing and I backed toward the door, pulling it from my hip pocket. Austin number, but not one I recognized.

  Brent pulled in a slow breath. “Officer? Can you possibly fill me in on what the hell has happened here?”

  Erica raised her face, tears streaming a river down her cheeks and off her chin. “I’m so sorry, Brent. It’s all my fault.”

  “While I’m not entirely sure of much right now, somehow I doubt that’s true.” Brent’s voice softened.

  “I was wrong, I was wrong every time. About all of it. And now our baby is gone and everything . . . The life I built so carefully. It’s all trash. Dust.” Erica stomped a foot, her stiletto punching right through the floor. “Broken.”

  They didn’t need me for this part. I brandished the phone and smiled before I clicked the “Talk” button and stepped carefully back to the ground outside. Nothing here would tell me anything else useful about Tenley or Jessa or why they were dead. Which meant it would wait.

  “McClellan,” I said into the phone.

  “Hi. I um . . .” The words were choked, but I was pretty sure it was a man. A relatively young one. “I need some help and you said I could call you and I didn’t know who . . . I mean, I guess there’s not . . . I don’t have anyone else to ask. Can you help me, please?”

  “I’m happy to help. Can you tell me who I’m talking to and what kind of help you need?”

  “I’m sorry. Yeah. Sure.” He cleared his throat. “This is Nicky Richardson. I’m in the emergency room at University and I can’t go home and Tenley is gone and her mom isn’t answering her phone.” Words poured into my ear so fast I had to concentrate to keep up until he paused for a breath. “I found your card and I just dialed the number.”

  My fingers tightened around the phone. “What happened, Nicky? Why can’t you go home?”

  “Because I punched out my dad. He might need surgery to fix his nose.”

  Shit. Richardson probably had it coming, but the kid’s timing sucked. I needed to catch Graham and Archie up, and we needed to figure out how to put Zayne Davenport in a cell. He was still our most promising lead—especially since Nicky had given me a direct link between Zayne and Jessa this morning.

  An actual shit ton of work waited for me in Austin, complete with a ticking clock. But I couldn’t turn away a kid who had nobody else to call.

  “Stay put. I’m on my way.”

  “Thank you,” he said. The line went dead.

  The Andres came down the steps behind me. “Can I take you home?” Brent asked.

  I opened my mouth to tell him I had my truck before I realized he wasn’t talking to me.

  Erica’s face crumpled. “Why would you want to? Don’t you have someone better to go see?”

  He put his hand out, stepping toward her.

  “I never did. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s a long ride home and it seems we both have some talking to do.”

  Erica stared at his hand. Turned for her car without touching it. “It seems.”

  They didn’t appear to notice me as they climbed into the Jag and drove away, leaving Brent’s Vette sitting there in the dust.

  I started back for my truck, calling the local paramedics for Lenny before I dialed Graham.

  “Where the blue hell did you take off to? And what part of ‘Do not operate a vehicle while taking this medication’ did you not understand?” He didn’t yell, but I could tell he was good and worked up. “You’re on speaker, by the way. Though Archie here might be too worried to talk to you.”

  “I didn’t take any meds because I knew I needed to go out. Count the pills if you don’t believe me, but you both know I hate how that shit makes me feel,” I said. “I was just going to go talk to Nicky Richardson this morning, I swear, but then he told me Jessa and Tenley knew each other and I went to the Andre house, and now I’m walking out of a low-rent trailer park outside a dusty little border town.”

  I hit the highlights, talking without a breath until I opened the truck door.

  “Now you have to go on speaker, because I can’t hold this thing with the side of my head today,” I said.

  Silence.

  “Graham?”

  “So you left your hotel, with your severe head wound and no medication, and chased a grieving mother with a handgun all the way to the border? By yourself?” Archie had no problem yelling.

  I pushed the button to turn down the volume on the phone.

  “When you say it like that, I don’t come off as the hero detective,” I said.

  “You’re the stubborn detective. How does that suit you?” Graham half growled.

  “It’s accurate, if not terribly flattering,” I said. “But did you guys hear me? The girls knew each other. That means it almost has to be one of those people they both knew. We need to start working on a warrant for Zayne Davenport. I met the gardener when I was there yesterday. It’s too late tonight to find him, but I’ll swing through the neighborhood in the morning and see if I can spot him. I want a soil sample from the Davenports’ rose garden.”

  “What? Why?” Graham asked.

  “She must think Jessa was buried there last fall,” Archie said.

  “I do. The gardener made a comment yesterday about the roses dying and finding animal remains,” I said. “Since Jessa spent time in that house, I want to see if there’s evidence that her body was hidden there.”

  “Good thinking,” Graham said. “But Zayne didn’t kill Ray Wooley.”

  “How do you know?” Archie and I asked in stereo.

  “That what I came here to talk to Archie about. Y’all aren’t going to believe this, but the APD got lucky with the prints from Ray’s apartment. And they got a confession, no attorney present. I got a courtesy call from a buddy there about a half hour ago.”

  “And?” I prodded when he got quiet. Graham likes his suspense buildups.

  “Bobby Wayne Oti
s.” Graham let the words drop one by one. “They’re booking him as we speak.”

  “Senator Three First Names who won’t shut up about gun rights?” Archie’s voice sounded hollow.

  I fumbled for words. That doesn’t happen often. “But. What? How?”

  “Apparently he’s also Pastor Otis. He said he saw Ray on TV the other night and God told him to ‘rid the earth of this scourge on mankind.’ That’s a quote.” I could practically see Graham waggling his eyebrows. “Just put out his hands for the cuffs straightaway when he answered the door.”

  “You gotta give this job one thing: it’s never boring,” Archie said.

  I tapped one finger on my thigh, turning the truck north. The vertigo-ish sensation that meant my brain was trying to pick apart a web was back, but I didn’t have time to wait for my subconscious to catch up.

  Next thing. “Did Ray know the Davenport kid?”

  “Huh?” I wasn’t sure which one of them grunted.

  I flipped the visor down against the glare. “I’m trying to put all the variables here in order. What’s the first thing we have?”

  “Jessa’s murder,” Graham said.

  “No. The video of Jessa’s assault,” I corrected. “And we know she had paint thinner on her clothes, but only on her back. And we think whoever poured the accelerant on her was left-handed. And now we know she knew Zayne Davenport via Erica Andre.” I paused for a breath. “So, if Zayne sold Ray that video of Jessa, maybe he’s the link between Ray and Tenley.”

  Silence ticked for more than a minute.

  “Graham? Arch?” I didn’t dare glance at my screen, accelerating on the freeway ramp.

  “That’s a pretty solid trail of evidence,” Archie said finally. “And Tenley died either because she turned the Davenport kid down or because she figured him out.”

  “Or because he lied and he knew about the money?” Graham mused. “A hundred grand is a lot of motive for a high school kid. Even a rich one. I still think we shouldn’t ignore that. Especially given that it’s gone.”

  “What money?” Archie asked.

  “Graham, can you fill him in?” I asked, eyeing the speedometer as it approached ninety, twilight closing blue purple over the road in front of me. “My head is killing me, and I need to pay attention to what I’m doing here.”

  “Drive safely,” Archie said.

  “Always.” I clicked the “End” button, laying heavier on the gas.

  I had a solid trail on Zayne. Maybe Nicky Richardson could help me shore it up, provided he felt like talking.

  41

  I flashed my ID at the nurse working the ER desk and smiled when she held up one finger, tucked an escaped lock of brown hair behind her ear, and yelled for someone to please clean room four.

  “What can I do for you, Officer?” she asked, turning back with raised brows and an I have sixty-four things waiting for my attention, so be quick stare.

  “I’m looking for—” I didn’t get the name out before a nasally bellowed “Get the fuck out of my way. That little faggot broke my goddamned nose!” rattled the glass in the doors and sent the nurse sprinting down a hallway to the left.

  Four steps behind her, I broke into a run when Darren Richardson raised his fist to punch the orderly blocking the doorway.

  “Mr. Richardson, I’d stop right there if I were you.” I didn’t have to shout. My head was thankful.

  Richardson spun to face me.

  And began to laugh.

  “If it isn’t Ranger Barbie.” He sounded like an old radio recording of Howard Cosell, the deep-black bruises under both his eyes disappearing under a plaster-and-gauze cast encasing his nose. “What’re you going to do, sweetheart? Give me a makeover? If you’ll excuse me, I have an important lesson on respect to teach my idiot son.”

  The orderly, stocky and young but two heads shorter than Richardson, bent his knees and planted his hands on the doorframe.

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you again to watch your mouth. And return to your bed.” Good for him. His voice was shaky, but only a little.

  “And I’m going to have to tell you again to go fuck yourself, shorty. Move out of that door before I move you.”

  I kind of wished he’d try.

  “Please, please give me just one reason to put cuffs on you,” I said, moving to Richardson’s side and widening my feet into a punching stance.

  “I got a better idea. Let me take care of this and I’ll put them on you.” Richardson leaned sideways with a leer and stumbled, crashing into the wall.

  Gross. Not even if he wasn’t ten years too old and three sheets too drunk.

  “Mr. Richardson, please.” The nurse put a hand on his arm to help steady him, and Richardson roared and flung her to the floor.

  That was all I needed. I whipped my cuffs free as Richardson pushed off the wall, blowing his breath out in a huff. I got a whiff of bourbon strong enough to make my eyes water. Jesus. It’s a wonder he was upright.

  The nurse scooted backward across the tile, her ankle already twice its normal size and tears dripping down her face. When she reached the wall, she braced her back against it and used her good leg to push herself to standing.

  “Please return to your own bed,” the orderly said through clenched teeth.

  Richardson drew his fist back again, and I stuck one boot out in front of his knee as he spun to throw the punch, sending him skidding across the tile on his face.

  “You little bitch!” he howled when he managed a sitting position.

  Blood streamed anew from his nose, soaking through the gauze packing and running down his face to rain red spatters on the white tile.

  “I warned you,” I said, glancing at the orderly and the nurse in turn. “Y’all okay?”

  “I’ve had better days,” she said, whimpering when she tried to put weight on her foot. “But I’ll live.”

  The orderly just nodded, not budging from the door. Behind him, I could see Nicky rolled up in a ball on the narrow ER bed, his face varying shades of black and purple and still slightly bloody besides. I turned a Try me glare on his narcissistic douche of a father before I opened the cuffs and stepped toward him.

  “I’m afraid you’re taking a detour through county tonight, Coach,” I said. “Good luck getting your pain meds there.”

  “You can’t arrest me!”

  “Oh, but I can. One count of assault”—I pointed to the nurse—“and one count of attempted assault.” I jerked my head to the orderly. “You folks want to press charges?”

  “Please,” the nurse said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the orderly said.

  I smiled, laying an obvious hand on my gun. “So, are you going to give me your wrists, or are we doing this the hard way?”

  Richardson glowered. Opened his mouth. Snapped it shut. Folded his wrists one over the other behind his back and turned so I could reach them.

  I knelt and closed the cuffs a little tight before I hauled him up by the collar as hospital security and two male nurses rounded the corner at a dead run.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, pushing Richardson toward them. “Assault and attempted assault.”

  The largest cop grabbed Richardson’s arm when he stumbled. “Rough night, Coach?”

  Richardson nodded. “My nose.”

  “We’ll have someone look at that,” the cop said, waving for one of the nurses to make that happen. Rolling his eyes, the blond one gestured to an empty room.

  I turned back to Nicky’s door, mostly so I wouldn’t clock the sympathetic cop. He was just starstruck, and he hadn’t heard the hateful bullshit Richardson spouted at Nicky. Or that’s what I’d tell myself so I could focus on Nicky, anyway.

  “May I?” I nodded to the orderly.

  He kept his eyes on Richardson’s retreating back, moving just enough to the side to let me squeeze through. “My brother is gay. And, kid, your dad is a dick. Nice job on the nose.”

  Nicky raised his forehead from his knees, his long, muscul
ar arms still wrapped tight around his shins. “I’ve never been good enough, you know? Not before I knew I was gay, not for one single day since.”

  I wanted to tell him how wrong he was, but the hard truth was, it wouldn’t matter what I said. I wasn’t his father.

  “What happened?” I stepped to the side of the bed and winced when he turned to me. Up close, the bruises on his face were deep and blood speckled and downright frightening.

  Tears trickled across the black-purple-red palette, pelting the green-and-navy hospital gown tented over Nicky’s knees. “I tried so hard. But it was always his work. Always his players. Hours in the gym and I just couldn’t play. I didn’t fit.” He sniffled, scrubbing at his nose with one fist. “From as far back as I can remember, I was the queer man out. I think he knew it, too. Maybe before I did. The only time he looked at me or spoke to me, he was always trying to toughen me up. Make me stronger. More like him. You know he gave me a subscription to an online porn service for my twelfth birthday? Said I might as well learn how to give girls what they wanted if I was going to be a man.” Nicky’s eyes were fixed on a poster about hand washing over the sink, his voice flat, disconnected.

  I watched his hands, tightening on the skin of his forearms as he talked.

  “I was the coolest kid in the seventh grade because of who he was, and then everyone wanted to hang out at my house and watch those videos. Problem was, I didn’t get it up looking at big tits or watching girls give blowjobs. But then I found a male/male section and . . . I knew.”

  “And there’s nothing wrong with that.” I couldn’t help myself, stepping closer to the bed. “Your dad is wrong. Pretty often, by my guess. But I meant today. I need to know what happened tonight.”

  Nicky shook his head, pulling in a hitching breath. “He was drinking. Started at like, three. I heard him calling me when I came in from school. I should know better, you know? My brain really is broken. I keep going back, looking for approval. Affection. Something besides contempt. I stuck my head in to ask if he was okay.”