by Lynn Shannon
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Mike asked.
She wriggled out of his grasp before he jumped into protective mode. “I’m fine, Mike. The perpetrator never came close to hitting me.”
Thanks to Weston. She passed a glance at him. The ranger was quietly watching their interaction and she had the feeling he was attempting to assess the relationship.
“Mike, have you met Texas Ranger Weston Donovan?” Avery took the opportunity to shift the conversation. “He was with me during the shooting and assisted. Weston, this is Detective Mike Steel. He’s a family friend. Mike and my dad worked together for many years.”
Weston nodded. “We met while you were doing the press conference.”
“I’ve been assigned to take over the investigation into the thefts on campus,” Mike said. “Shooting at fellow officers is something the sheriff's department takes very seriously.”
“Good. I’m glad to have you on the team.” Avery, like all of her subordinates, was a state officer. However, her jurisdiction ended at the campus border. Cooperating with local law enforcement was essential, and she’d been coordinating with the Union County Sheriff’s Department about the thefts on campus for weeks. “Let me run you through what happened.”
She explained the events in a clipped tone. Mike listened carefully, taking notes on a tablet and occasionally asking questions. When Avery was done, Mike turned to Weston. “Anything to add?”
He shook his head. “No, that covers it.”
“This is a pretty extreme escalation for the perpetrator to take. It’s not unheard of, but this isn’t a high-crime area and the guy only stole a laptop.” Mike frowned. “Is there any way this could be connected to the murder that happened on campus Friday night?”
“It’s possible.” Avery detailed the information they had on the murder. Mike’s expression hardened when she described the note, although he said nothing. She also explained her theory about being singled out because of her father. “I called you earlier today, but you didn’t answer. I was hoping to discuss the case with you.”
“Sorry about not returning your call. My phone fell into a puddle of water. It’s currently sitting in a bag of rice.”
“Sorry to hear that.” She grimaced. It didn’t sound like Mike’s cell phone would make it. “Does the case sound familiar to you at all?”
“No, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Your dad and I were partners for only a few years. We could be looking at something Kenneth did as a rookie or toward the end of his career. Unfortunately, most of the men your dad worked closely with are either dead or retired. I assume you’ve done a search on murders following the same MO.”
“We have. Nothing came up.” Weston shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hangings are typical for suicide, but not murder. My guess is the perpetrator has killed before using a different method. Maybe strangulation by another means, which is more common and difficult to narrow down.”
Mike nodded. “How long before we get ballistics back on the bullets recovered from tonight?”
“A couple of days. I’ve put a rush on them.”
“And what about an ID on the murder victim?”
“The coroner’s investigator is working on it,” Weston said. “So far, no one from the university—student or faculty—has been reported missing and the victim’s fingerprints didn’t yield a result when we searched our initial round of databases. Interestingly enough, Jane Doe had a pacemaker—”
“But you said she was young. In her twenties, right?”
“Yep.” Weston shrugged. “It’s not common, but it does happen. We’re tracing the serial number on the pacemaker. That should give us a name. I’m hoping it’ll come through sometime tomorrow.”
“If it does, let me know.” Mike clicked his tablet closed. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep some deputies on patrol outside your house, Avery, as well as the campus.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“No problem. Nice to meet you, Weston.”
Mike gave Avery another gentle hug before joining a group of deputies standing near the edge of the crime scene tape. Beyond the boundary, neighbors and persistent reporters still lingered. Avery scanned each face. Was the perpetrator mixed in with the crowd? Or was he long gone?
Either way, someone had shot at her tonight.
And she had no idea why.
Seven
Monday afternoon brought a fresh break in the case. Through the serial number on her pacemaker, Jane Doe was finally identified. Her real name was Debra Channing and she worked at the university as a janitor.
Weston stepped into the Harrison University Police Department. Officers spent most of their time on patrol, so only a handful of the desks inside were occupied. He nodded hello to a few people as he weaved toward the rear of the building. Avery’s office was made of glass walls and the blinds were open.
Weston’s steps slowed as he caught sight of Avery. She was seated at her desk. Her hair was pulled back at the sides, and tucked into a roll at the nape of her neck. With her sharply pressed uniform and polished badge, Avery was the epitome of professionalism. The average person looking at her would never suspect she’d been shot at the night before. Except Weston knew.
His heart fluttered. That nagging spark of attraction he’d felt from their first meeting reared back up, but this time, it was accompanied by a fierce protectiveness. Weston gave himself a mental shake. He liked Avery, but anything more than friendship was impossible. Even if—and that was a big if—he could consider dating again, it wouldn’t be with a cop. Avery walked into danger, not away from it. It was her job, and a passion he shared, but his heart had suffered enough loss.
Weston knocked on the office door. Avery spotted him through the glass and waved him in but held up a finger, indicating he shouldn’t talk. He took a seat in one of the visitor’s chairs. A ringing came through the speaker from the phone on Avery’s desk. It was followed by a generic voice-mail greeting.
“Hi, Professor Jenkins. This is Chief Avery Madison with HUPD. I stopped by your office this morning to check on you, but a colleague said you’d called in sick. Could you please call me back as soon as possible? I’d like to speak with you. Thanks.”
“Is that Marianne Jenkins you were leaving a message for?” Weston asked.
She nodded. “Professor Jenkins was so upset on the night of the murder, she could only give me the basics. I was hoping to do a follow-up interview, maybe learn some new details that could aid our investigation.” Avery pushed away from her desk and stood. “Give me the rundown.”
“I don’t know much more than when we spoke this morning. The serial number on the pacemaker confirms our Jane Doe is Debra Channing. Twenty-three years old. Never arrested. Single. No children. Originally from Phoenix.”
He opened the folder and pulled out a photograph of Debra, taken from her Arizona driver’s license record. The young woman smiled shyly into the camera. She’d looked so young and hopeful. It was heartbreaking to realize that less than a year after the photo was taken, Debra had been brutally murdered.
Avery took it from him, studying the image carefully. “No one in Arizona has reported her missing?”
“No. Phoenix PD sent an officer to the address on her driver’s license. The house is owned by Robert and Joy Channing. A neighbor explained the Channings were out of town on an anniversary cruise. He was able to confirm that Debra is their daughter. She moved to Texas about nine months ago.”
“That corresponds with my records,” Avery said. “Debra started working for the university about seven months ago. Robert Channing is listed as her emergency contact.”
“I’m working on getting a search warrant for her rental house. We’re also trying to locate the Channings for notification.”
Avery winced. Weston shared the sentiment. The Channings were coming back from their happy vacation to the horrible news that their daughter had been murdered. Weston wasn’t able to go back in time and stop her de
ath, but he could get justice. He wouldn’t stop until Debra’s killer was behind bars.
“Okay.” Avery handed the photograph back to him and circled the desk. “Let’s see what Debra’s manager has to say.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jorge Garcia. I’m familiar with him, because he cleans our department as well as the other administrative offices. Nice guy, and I believe we can count on him to be discreet. Still, I don’t want to tell him she’s dead, since we haven’t notified the family yet.”
“Agreed.”
Finding out their daughter was murdered would be awful no matter what, but Weston didn’t want the Channings discovering the information through news reports. They deserved better than that.
They found Jorge in the basement of the administrative buildings, organizing a supply room. Mid-fifties and heavyset, he sported a full beard, which contrasted sharply with his shaved head. Bleach stains spotted his blue coveralls.
“What can I do for you, Chief Madison?” Jorge’s gaze jumped to Weston and then back to Avery.
“I need to speak to you regarding Debra Channing,” Avery said. “When’s the last time you saw or talked to her?”
“On Thursday evening.” Before they could answer, Jorge stiffened. “It’s her boyfriend, isn’t it? Listen, I’m not just her boss. Debra is my goddaughter. If something has happened to her…” He inhaled sharply. “You wouldn’t be here if she was okay. I heard about the murder on campus from the news, but…please, don’t tell me it’s Debra—”
He started to tip over. Weston grasped the older man’s arm and directed him into a chair. Jorge sagged, like a balloon with the air let out. Avery went to the nearby water cooler and filled a cup. She handed it to Jorge. The man’s hand was shaking so badly, some of the liquid spilled out and spattered his pants. He emptied the cup.
“Take a few deep breaths,” Weston ordered. He didn’t want Jorge passing out or going into shock. “I need you to answer my questions. It’s important. Who is Debra’s boyfriend?”
“His name is Victor Haas. They started dating shortly after he moved here. I knew the man was bad news the moment I laid eyes on him and told her so. But Debra was headstrong. And Victor could be charming when he wanted to be.” He searched Weston’s face. “Debra’s dead, isn’t she?”
“I’m sorry, sir. We can’t say more. Debra’s parents—”
“Are on a cruise. Yes, I know.” He blinked rapidly. “But if Debra was only injured, you would’ve said so.”
Weston’s heart sank. This was a hard aspect of his job—to maintain distance in the face of grief—but he had to focus on the case. “Why do you think Victor is bad news?”
Jorge’s hand tightened around the plastic water cup, crumpling it. “For starters, I suspected he was using drugs. Victor showed up at Debra’s house while I was there. He seemed high. I threatened to call the police and he left. Afterward, I tried talking to Debra about it, but she defended him.”
Beside him, Avery started typing on her cell phone. Probably asking for local police to run Victor through the system.
“Was there anything else?” Weston asked.
“Yeah. He was abusing her. She came over to our house for dinner one night and my wife spotted bruises on her arm. It’s not the first abusive boyfriend Debra’s had. That’s how she ended up in Texas. To get away from the last loser she was dating.” Jorge let out a breath. “We’d hoped working at the university would inspire her to go back to college.”
“You said Thursday was the last time you spoke to Debra,” Avery said. “Was it unusual to go so many days without talking or seeing each other?”
“We normally saw each other when she came to work, but Debra took some time off. She was going to San Antonio to visit a friend and clear her head. She told Victor it was over on Wednesday night. I was there. He took it well, but I should’ve realized …” Pain vibrated through Jorge’s voice. “Victor was never going to let Debra go. I should’ve known what he was capable of.”
Debra had broken up with her abusive boyfriend one day before she’d been murdered. Victor Haas was someone they needed to talk to. Now.
“How do we find him, Jorge?” Weston asked.
“Try the Grimes Hotel Apartments off the interstate. That’s where he was staying.”
Grimes Hotel Apartments was a sleazy establishment off the interstate. It was a pay-as-you-go weekly room rental, a hotbed of criminal activity including drugs. Avery zipped up her jacket against the evening chill. The parking lot smelled of urine. Department of Public Safety patrol vehicles created a barrier around Room 106. Victor’s room.
Weston came out of the hotel office and crossed the parking lot to join her. “Victor isn’t here, but he hasn’t checked out. We’re arranging for a warrant so we can search the hotel room. Should be coming through in the next ten minutes or so.”
“It’s too bad none of his neighbors will answer the door. I’m sure one of them knows where we can find him.” She waved a hand down the street toward a bar within walking distance. “One of the troopers took a pass through the bar. Victor wasn’t there and no one had ever heard of him before.”
Weston rolled his eyes. “No surprise there.”
Avery scrolled through his criminal record on her tablet. “Victor Haas is a real peach. He’s been arrested for drug possession, theft, assault, and domestic battery. He did three years in prison for robbing a car mechanic shop.” She frowned. “You know, the thefts on campus started after Debra and Victor started dating. Considering his criminal history, it’s not a leap to think Victor might be involved. Did the manager of the hotel say what kind of vehicle Victor was driving?”
“No. In a place like this, no one knows nothing about nothing. But Victor does have a 2004 Ford Festiva registered in his name. We have a BOLO out on it.”
BOLO was short for be-on-the-lookout. Every law enforcement officer in the state would be searching for his car.
Avery tapped her finger against the tablet. “Last night’s shooter used a motorcycle to escape, but that doesn’t exclude Victor as a suspect. He could’ve borrowed or even stolen it. But I can’t figure out any connection he may have to me.”
“Nothing in his criminal record is familiar?” Weston asked.
“No. He was arrested once in Houston, but that was while I was in the academy. As far as I can tell, I’ve never come across Victor before this case.” She pulled up Debra’s photo on the tablet in an attempt to jog her memory, but nothing happened. Avery sighed. “Debra worked on campus for over six months, but I don’t recognize her. I should’ve seen her before. Passed her in the halls, maybe said hello.”
“And how many people does that happen with on a daily basis, Avery? There are over 3,000 students at Harrison University. Just students. That’s not including faculty and staff. It’s impossible for you to know each one of them.”
Weston’s argument was logical, but it did very little to assuage the guilt churning her insides. If she’d recognized Debra on the night of the murder, been able to identify her, then maybe Victor would be in custody now.
Avery flipped back to Victor’s criminal record. “Maybe we were wrong and this case isn’t personally connected to me at all.”
“Too early to say yet. Victor grew up in this area. He may have crossed paths with your dad. Maybe as a juvenile.” Weston glanced at the hotel. “Chances are, Victor didn’t grow up in the best household. This could even be about a family member—Victor’s mom or dad, even an older brother. I’ve got a fellow ranger of mine, Grady West, digging into it.”
“I know Grady. Megan and Luke had a BBQ a few months back, and he was there along with his wife, Tara. She’s very sweet. And their kids are adorable.”
“They are.” He pulled out his wallet and removed a piece of paper. “Maddy, Grady’s daughter, loves drawing pictures for me. This is her latest masterpiece.”
He unfolded the paper. The picture was done in crayon. One figure was huge—obviously Weston—
holding the hand of a little girl on a sidewalk. They were both eating ice cream. Avery laughed. “You’re the same size as the buildings.”
“According to Maddy, that’s why I’m not good at playing hide ’n’ seek.”
They laughed. Avery handed the drawing back to Weston and noticed a paper on the ground. It was stark white against the blacktop. Had it fallen from Weston’s wallet when he pulled out Maddy’s drawing? She bent to pick it up.
It wasn’t a piece of paper. It was a photograph, creased and worn at the corners. She flipped it over. A beautiful, dark-haired woman smiled straight into the camera. The joy in her expression wasn’t practiced or fake. It beamed out even though the picture was small.
“That’s my wife,” Weston said. His voice was soft, but there was a catch in his throat. “Melissa. She died five years ago. Cancer.”
“She was beautiful. How did you meet her?”
He was quiet for a long moment and Avery’s chest tightened. Maybe she’d overstepped the line. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
“No. It’s okay. Melissa and I were in college together. She was smart and witty. A woman of deep faith. Kind-hearted and loyal. She came to every one of my football games. I quit when she got cancer to take care of her. After she died, I couldn’t imagine being on a field knowing she wasn’t in the stands.”
A lump formed in Avery’s throat. The way Weston talked about his wife touched her, and it spoke volumes about him. He was someone who stuck when things were hard. A man of character.
“After Melissa died, I was lost. I had money but no purpose. Grady convinced me to join law enforcement. It was my saving grace.” Weston gently took the photograph from Avery’s hand. “That whole part of my life—the football and my marriage—feels like a lifetime ago. Almost like it happened to someone else. Does that make any sense?”
“It does. You’re a different person now. It’s…it’s like you want to move on, but you don’t know how.”
He tilted his head. “Spoken like a person who can relate.”