by Lynn Shannon
He blinked rapidly as if holding back tears, and Avery’s heart wept for him and the rest of Debra’s loved ones. She couldn’t take away their pain, but she would do everything in her power to get them justice. “I’m sorry, Jorge. Please, call the station and let us know the funeral arrangements. I would like to attend, if I can, and I’m sure some of the other staff members would as well.”
“That’s very kind of you, ma’am.”
He started wiping down the table. Avery topped off her coffee and went into the hall. Weston was waiting outside her office door, cowboy hat in hand. His dark hair had been trimmed. The haircut drew attention to the scrape on his forehead from tackling Victor and still-healing cut on his cheek from when they’d been shot at in the woods.
Their eyes met and that knot pressing down on Avery’s chest lightened. Her emotions were a tangled mess when it came to Weston. She wanted to keep him at arm’s length, but it was impossible. Crying on him yesterday proved that.
“Hey, I was just coming to get you,” Weston said. “Grady and Luke are here. They’re waiting in the conference room.”
“Let’s go.” She fell into step beside him. “You got a haircut. It looks good.”
“Thanks.” Dimples flashed in his cheeks, and her heart skittered. “Took only ten minutes at the university’s salon. The stylist was a student in training, but I decided to risk it.”
“You tackled a murder suspect yesterday. An inexperienced stylist is nothing compared to that.”
He snorted. “Speak for yourself. I need a good haircut to offset my ugly face.”
She chuckled. Weston could pose as a male model on any magazine in the country, but saying so would ruin the joke. “Sorry to tell you this, but the haircut doesn’t help.”
“Ouch.”
They turned in to the conference room. The blinds were open, affording them a view of the flowerbeds and trees across the street. The wooden table was long enough to seat twelve, and a huge whiteboard took up one wall.
Luke rose from his chair at the table. He was clean-shaven, the faint scar at the corner of his mouth stretching as he greeted her with a smile. “Avery, it’s good to see you.”
“You too.” They shared a brief hug. “Megan has sent me pictures of the baby. Ava’s precious. Congrats. I’m so sorry you’ve been dragged into this case.”
“Not at all. Megan and Ava are home now, and it’s all hands on deck. Besides, Union County is close enough I can go home at night and see my family. Unfortunately, I also have a house guest.” Luke threw a mock glare at Grady who was standing near the whiteboard. “He convinced my mother to make brownies and then ate every last one.”
“That’s a flat-out lie. Your beef is with your wife. I only had two. The rest disappeared on her watch.”
“Ooooohhh, you did not throw a new mom under the bus like that,” Weston said, shaking his head. Avery joined in on the fun by crossing her arms over her chest and scowling.
Grady laughed and held up his hands. “I take it back. I’m the brownie thief.”
The whole group laughed. Weston clapped each of his fellow Texas Rangers on the back and shook their hands. There were a few more jokes and good-natured teasing as everyone took their seats. It was clear to Avery the three men were very close and extremely supportive of each other. The warmth of their camaraderie was infectious, and it lifted her spirits.
The murders were terrifying and the case difficult, but there wasn’t a better group of people to have on her team.
“Okay, let’s get down to business,” Grady said, opening a binder. “As you all know, Victor Haas immediately lawyered up. It took a bit of time to locate a defense attorney, and I finally interviewed him this morning.”
Avery’s palms were sweaty and she swiped them along her uniform pants. “Did he confess?”
“Victor admitted to the thefts on campus, as well as shooting at you and Weston on Sunday night. As for the murders, however, he claims to be innocent.”
“Do you believe him?”
Grady’s mouth pursed. “I wouldn’t trust Victor farther than I can throw him. We had to offer him a sweetheart deal to get him to even talk to us. Normally, I wouldn’t have done it—”
“Except we’re on a ticking clock.” Avery heard the anger and regret vibrating through Grady’s voice. Victor would serve time for attacking Avery and Weston, along with the thefts, but it would be a fraction of the typical prison sentence given for these types of crimes. Sometimes deals had to be made to get to the truth. “If Victor isn’t the Chessmaster, then someone else is. We need to know as soon as possible to have a chance to stop him. Don’t worry, Grady. I know you did your best.”
“She took the words right out of my mouth,” Weston said. “Nothing is more important than preventing another woman’s death.”
“Thank you both.” Grady gave a sharp nod. “While I don’t take Victor at his word, his claims are supported by the evidence. Bullets shot from Victor’s gun match those recovered from the shooting on Sunday night. A Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle was found in Debra’s garage. Stolen from a man in Austin. According to Victor, he’s been stealing laptops and cell phones from students on campus and pawning them to support a drug habit.”
“What was he doing in Debra’s house?” Weston asked.
“He was crashing there. Victor didn’t have money to pay the hotel, news had broken about her murder, and he had a key to her house. He figured no one would be any wiser if he stayed there for a few days.” Grady turned to face Avery. “Attacking you was a spontaneous decision. He hid when you and Weston arrived, hoping you would leave quickly.”
“But then I went into the bedroom and saw the backpack on the floor.”
He nodded. “Victor panicked. He has two felonies on record. Conviction for a third—like if you nailed him for robbery—would mean a long prison sentence. That’s also why he shot at you on Sunday night. He didn’t want to get caught with the laptop in his possession.”
Avery tilted her head, mulling over the facts. “Shooting at us in the woods and attacking me in the bedroom were spontaneous acts. Victor hadn’t planned them.”
“No. Which fits with his criminal history. He’s undisciplined. I don’t think Victor is capable of orchestrating and carrying out a series of complicated murders.”
Avery sat back in her chair. “So, Victor isn’t the Chessmaster.”
Weston mouth flattened into a grim line. “Which means the killer is still out there.”
Weston had hoped Victor was the Chessmaster, but evidence didn’t lie. For Avery’s sake, as well as any other woman in the killer’s path, they needed to move on. “I’d like to go over what we know about the murders, now that we can eliminate the shooting and the attack at Debra’s house.”
Grady nodded. “I figured you would. Our boss is coming in, along with the behavior specialist. I’d like to wait for them.”
“Especially since they’re bringing lunch from Sweet Hog.” Luke joined a couple of fingers together and kissed the tips. “Best BBQ in Texas.”
His antics pulled a small smile from Avery, but her complexion was pale. She pushed away from the table. “We have extra bottles of water and plasticware in the break room. I’ll grab them.”
“I’ll help you.” Weston followed her out of the conference room. He needed a moment to speak with her privately, before everyone else arrived. Luckily, when they stepped into the break room, it was empty. “Avery, hold on. I have more information about the case to share.”
She tensed. “It’s about Jeffrey.”
“Yes. I did some digging. Jeffrey has a solid alibi for both murders. His financials are straightforward, so a murder-for-hire is out. I suspect you’re right. He told us about the IA investigation just to discredit you.”
Which only succeeded in making Weston hate the man. He hoped never to lay eyes on him.
“Scott Carpenter,” he continued, “the man Jeffrey accused you of having an affair with, also has a solid alibi for bo
th murders. Nothing indicates either of them had anything to do with this.”
She leaned against the table and rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know if I’m relieved or not. We’re eliminating suspects right and left.”
“I know, but meeting with the behavior specialist and getting a profile of the killer should help.”
“Thank you, Weston. For keeping your interview with Scott discreet.”
“No need to thank me.” He stepped closer, pulling the tactical knife from his pocket and clicking on the flashlight. Weston gently took Avery’s chin in his hand and tilted her face up. “We’re in this together. Flying bullets, tackling suspects, hunting a killer. Nothing boring about hanging out with you, Avery. Now do me a favor and stay still.”
Her breath hitched. “What are you doing?”
“Checking for a delayed concussion. You’ve taken several knocks to the head in the last couple of days, and you’re rubbing your forehead like a headache is brewing. I know the hospital cleared you yesterday, but concussions can develop later.” He briefly shone the flashlight into each of her eyes. Her pupils were fine. Weston clicked off the flashlight. “Any dizziness? Or nausea?”
“No. I’m okay, Weston. Just a headache.”
Their gazes met. There were flecks of gold buried in her green eyes. He’d never noticed them before now. Avery leaned closer and Weston’s heart quickened. His thumb traced the delicate cleft in her chin. Her skin was soft. The scent of her wildflower fragrance wrapped around him, teasing his senses. Somewhere inside, someplace reasonable, Weston knew he should step back. But he couldn’t get his feet to move.
Footsteps in the hall broke the moment. Weston released Avery and took a giant step back. Then another one. What was he doing? He’d almost kissed her. Maybe it was imagined, but the chain holding his wedding rings seemed to cut into the skin at his neck.
Avery’s cheeks flushed and she spun away to grab water bottles from the fridge. An officer entered the room, carrying a takeaway bag from a fast food restaurant.
“Chief, more people arrived to see you,” he said, pulling out a chair. “They went to the conference room.”
“Thank you.” Avery fished out some plasticware from a drawer and handed it to Weston. “We’d better hurry back.”
The scents of BBQ sauce and fried okra greeted them as they entered the conference room. Weston plowed through the tender brisket but barely tasted it. He’d perfected the art of boxing off his emotions, but after almost kissing Avery, it was difficult. The attraction between them was like a constant buzzing, flaring to the surface when he least expected, and becoming impossible to resist. But this case was complicated enough without adding romance into the equation.
Weston’s boss, Lieutenant Vikki Rodriguez, wiped her hands on a napkin. “Let’s get started. Grady has brought me up to date on the developments with Victor Haas, so no need to go over it again. I’ve asked Emilia to focus on the most relevant facts about the murders.”
Emilia Sanchez rose and ran a hand down the front of her pantsuit. Her dark hair was pulled into a low ponytail. Weston had worked with Emilia on several cases. She was highly intelligent and passionate about her work.
He closed the lid to his lunch and pushed it aside before taking out a notebook from his pocket along with a pen. Around the table, his colleagues did the same.
“There are three aspects to these murders I’d like to discuss,” Emilia said. “The first is the bracelet charm placed on each victim’s wrist. In Debra’s case, it’s a pawn. In Marianne’s, a rook. The chess pieces have significance.” She wrote on the board. “A pawn represents a peasant in medieval times. During a game, they’re usually the first piece sacrificed.”
“Debra Channing was a janitor here at the university,” Avery said.
“Exactly. In our society, janitors aren’t paid well. It’s a menial job, which is why the killer chose Debra to be the pawn.”
“What does a rook represent?” Lieutenant Rodriguez asked.
“It symbolizes the walls of a castle,” Emilia answered. “Marianne Jenkins was posed at Avery’s house for a reason. Her home was the castle, and the killer breached it.”
The knot in Weston’s stomach tightened. From the beginning, he’d suspected the killer was focused on Avery and now Emilia’s observations confirmed the threat. “The notes addressed to Avery reference each chess piece.”
“Yes. That’s the second piece of evidence which I’d like to address.” Emilia went to her binder and removed a piece of paper. “The note left on Debra’s body reads ‘The game begins, Avery, with the King’s pawn opening.’ The killer is letting Avery know he’s started playing.”
Beside him, Avery’s expression was professionally blank, but under the table, her hands were knotted together. Weston leaned closer until their shoulders were touching. The urge to protect and comfort was instinctual and as impossible to resist as breathing.
“Playing?” Luke asked. “As in, the killer and Avery are playing some sick twisted version of chess.”
Emilia nodded. “Chess is a game of strategy. Avery and the killer are opponents. This is supported by the second note, left on Marianne Jenkins’s body. It reads ‘I’ve captured your rook, Avery. So far I’m winning the game. Hurry, hurry and make your next move. Time’s running out.’ The killer is taunting her. He also seems to indicate she’s made a move in the game, and he’s countered by taking her rook.”
“What kind of move did Avery make?” Weston asked.
“She brought you on the case.”
Avery’s brow furrowed. “But…if getting help from Weston triggered the killer to kill Marianne, that would mean everything I do is a move. Including this meeting.”
Weston’s gaze shot to Emilia who nodded. Her dark eyes reflected sympathy. “Yes. The killer is daring you to win the game—to find and stop him before he captures all the pieces on your board.”
“And by capture,” Lieutenant Rodriguez said, throwing down her pen. “You mean murder. Well, we aren’t going to let that happen. You said there were three pieces of evidence. What’s the third?”
“My father’s notebook,” Avery answered, before Emilia could speak. “The killer has targeted me because of my dad.”
Luke held up a hand. “Hold on. We’ve dug through all of your father’s arrest records and investigation files that we could find at the sheriff’s department.” He turned to Emilia. “And I’ve even contacted retired detectives who worked with Kenneth Madison. We can’t find any case that’s similar to these.”
“I recommend you expand your search to assaults in which strangulation was used,” Emilia said. “These murders are not the work of an amateur. Posing the bodies in the classroom and at Avery’s house was risky. This killer is controlled, disciplined, and he’s practiced in preparation for this competition. It’s possible Kenneth Madison arrested the killer for a lesser crime—like assault—long ago. After that, the killer probably moved away, using distance and time to perfect his skills. But Avery is right. She’s been targeted because of her father. The key is why.”
“We can dig through the files again,” Grady said. “Expanding the search to strangulations might yield new results.”
Avery inhaled sharply and sat up straight. “I know another avenue to pursue. Calvin Miller is a retired FBI agent. He and my grandfather grew up together, but more importantly Calvin was a mentor for my dad.”
Lieutenant Rodriguez nodded. “Good. Weston and Avery, interview Calvin Miller. Luke and Grady, look at strangulations in Union County. Focus on ones Kenneth Madison worked first and then branch out. In the meantime, Emilia, I want a complete workup of our killer. Race, gender, age, work experience. Everything.”
Weston raised a hand to stop everyone from moving. “Emilia, how fast is the killer working? There were only two days between the first and second murders. We’re beyond that now but no one has been reported missing. Yet.”
“It’s hard to say. He’s smart enough to shift his plans b
ased off increased police pressure, but it won’t deter him for long. He’s probably already selected each of his victims.”
Beside him, Avery whispered, “The clock is ticking.”
Twelve
Nothing was better than murder, but a close second was planning the kill.
The Chessmaster hummed as he ironed the long white gown. The fabric was soft with lace detailing at the neck and hem. He draped the garment on a hanger before carrying it to the rear bedroom. Anticipation sank into him with fierce claws. The noose hanging in the center of the room, attached to a pulley system, stood empty. Everything was ready.
He opened the closet and hung the gown inside. Along the back wall was a collage of pictures arranged under printouts of different chess pieces. Avery was in the center. She was dressed in uniform, sunlight highlighting the curves of her face and copper-colored hair. The Chessmaster traced the line of her neck. Dark images fueled by twisted desires heated his blood. He wanted to hurt her. To make her pay for everything.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Soon. Soon he would have Avery.
But not yet.
There was still work to do. Avery was a worthy opponent, but she hadn’t figured out why they were playing the game. That moron Victor had interfered, causing confusion with his bumbling actions. He should’ve killed him. He still might.
The Chessmaster opened his eyes and scanned the photographs under each of the chess pieces. Victor’s arrest would simplify things. Avery could focus on the right information, and that would help. But he couldn’t risk any more delay. He wanted her to know. To understand.
To see him.
The Chessmaster’s lips curved into a smile as he pulled a photograph down. There were basic rules and strategy, but each game of chess had its own unique signature. Avery had made her move by bringing on more Texas Rangers.