Mystere

by Carolina Mac

  “You tell her that, boss?” asked Farrell.

  “Course I did.”

  “Lil said Rocky picked up Dave Brightman,” said Jesse. “I’ll go to headquarters and interview him when we’re done here.”

  “Yep,” said Blaine. “Farrell’s done for today. Travis you take Peyton and John, Fletch, you take Luke and Carlos and y’all give them a tour of headquarters. Include the morgue and the lab and the forensics’ garage. Introduce them to anybody that’s working, then come back and we’ll talk about weapons, training at the range, and open cases.”

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  DAVE BRIGHTMAN was chained to the table in room three when Jesse arrived at headquarters. Ranger Rockford stood outside the room chatting with the Chief.

  “He’s ready for you, Jesse,” said Rocky, “Mad as a wet hornet. Make sure he don’t spit on you.”

  “Did he spit on you, Rocky?”

  “Tried but I was too quick.”

  “I can imagine how you outsmarted him,” said Jesse.

  “Uh huh.” Rocky winked. “Don’t think you can.”

  Jesse opened the door and set his notes and a small recorder on the table. “Afternoon, Mr. Brightman, did anyone offer you a cold drink?”

  “Don’t want a fuckin drink. I want to know how you can pick me up any fuckin time you feel like it? I have rights.”

  “Yeah,” said Jesse, “you have a few, but they’re dwindling fast. You’re on parole,” Jesse tapped the page in front of him, “and right here in black and white it says you’re in violation if you’re in possession of weapons.”

  “That ain’t gonna fly. I had no weapons on me when that asshole picked me up.”

  “Well this might fly a little higher,” said Jesse. “You said in a recorded interview that you didn’t know Kevin Telfer and that’s an out and out lie. You and Kevin Telfer went to Round Rock High together.”

  “So what?”

  “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Brightman, you are gonna sit on your ass downstairs serving the balance of your parole—says here you got eleven months to go—until you confess to killing Kevin Telfer, or until you tell me who did.”

  Jesse picked up his notes and left the room. “Lock him up, Rocky. I’ll see about sending him to Travis County.”

  Rocky smiled. “Good job, Jesse. Couldn’t have done it any better myself.”

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE sat on the top porch step smoking and waiting for the crew to return from headquarters. Lexi and Hoodoo romped and played on the front lawn displaying energy Blaine wished he had a tenth of.

  Were four new hires going to be difficult to integrate? What about Peyton? Would she have trouble with the men? He had so many things to think about and his decision making wasn’t on target like it usually was. The missing Miss Misty hung over him like a dark shroud and clouded his every thought.

  Travis was first to return, He navigated the big silver Ford through the iron gate and parked. John and Peyton jumped out of the truck, smiling and talking. Good. He needed all of them to bond and work as a unit.

  “Come on in,” said Blaine, “we’ll have a beer, talk a bit about tomorrow, then call it.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Tuesday, April 7th.

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  AT TEN MINUTES to eight all available Blackmore Agency employees crowded into the kitchen. Coffee was ready in both coffee makers. (Mostly out of self-interest, he’d sent Lil out for a second appliance, so they’d have a constant supply.)

  An eager looking bunch. Blaine smiled to himself—that won’t last until the end of the week. “Okay, let’s get started. First things first, y’all can’t work until you have some kind of official status so Chief Calhoun will take care of that at headquarters. Once that’s done, Farrell will take y’all to Coulter-Ross where the best firearms instructor in Texas will evaluate your skills.”

  “You’re not coming to watch us shoot?” asked Peyton.

  “Farrell can take care of it,” said Blaine, “I have work to do and Farrell Donovan is one of the most accurate shooters on the planet.”

  “Dead-eye Donovan,” said Carlos with a grin. “Didn’t make the connection.”

  “On another subject,” said Blaine to Fletcher, “when you worked corrections did you know a guy named Alex McLaughlin at Travis County?”

  “Yep, sure did. Mean as they come, boss.”

  “Lil, call McLaughlin’s PO and make an appointment for Travis and Fletcher to talk to him,” said Blaine. To Travis: “I came up with two addresses on him. Check both and bring him in.”

  Travis nodded, and he and Fletcher left.

  “They brought Buster Donaldson in again this morning, Jesse. He’s relaxing in an interrogation room waiting for you.”

  Jesse grinned. “I’m out of here. I’ll see y’all at headquarters.”

  “I’m sure Lil explained to y’all that we have no staff vehicles—at least not yet. We use whatever is handy and keep track of our expenses best we can.”

  “My old clunker ain’t up to much.” Luke said his first words. This morning he was clean shaven, and his long auburn hair was tied back with a blue bandana.

  “Don’t matter,” said Blaine, “as long as you can get here by eight in the morning, you can go with your partner.”

  “Have you decided who our partners will be yet?” asked Peyton.

  Blaine shook his head. “I’ll have a better idea after Farrell gives me his report on your skills.”

  Farrell drained his mug and stood up. “Let’s get going. I can’t drive yet, so who wants to volunteer?”

  “I can drive,” said Peyton. “My SUV is close to the gate.”

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  ANNIE returned from the hospital and called Blaine. “Jack’s a little more aware than he was last night, but he only wants to sleep.”

  “I think Andy and Rick are going this afternoon. I’ll go tonight.”

  “What time are my shooters coming?”

  “Right after they finish at headquarters.”

  “Any of them have problems I should know about?”

  “All of them included range results in their resumes and three qualified for the force. Hilder was an army ranger—he should be a cut above the others. Pick up on any weaknesses they might have and pinpoint them. They aren’t admitting they have any.”

  “This should be fun, baby. Is Farrell coming?”

  “He’s with them, but I didn’t let him drive. The girl is driving. Her name is Peyton.”

  “Former cop?”

  “Uh huh. Dallas PD. I’m iffy on a woman fitting in but she has lots of experience on the job, and that’s what I want.”

  “I’ll pick them apart, sugar pop. Farrell will help me.”

  “Love you, Mom. Let’s have dinner soon. Just the two of us.”

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  JESSE closed the door to interrogation room three and sat down opposite Bertram (Buster) Donaldson, second time in a week he’d looked across the table at this guy. “I’ve got a victim in a hospital bed who says you’re the guy who robbed and stabbed him.”

  “Calling bullshit on that. Cops lie and make shit up to scare you into saying stuff you don’t want to say. I know better. Way better.”

  “A forensic team is tossing your trailer right now, Mr. Donaldson, and when they find the knife the bullshit will be over.”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “As soon as you’re booked, you can call your lawyer.”

  “Book me then and give me my phone call. I ain’t talking to you for another fuckin minute.”

  Jesse smiled.

  Parole Office. Berkley Square. East Austin.

  TRAVIS AND FLETCHER arrived at ten minutes to nine to meet with Alex McLaughlin’s parole officer.

  Wanda Briggs showed them into her tiny office and searched through a pile of folders on her desk for the right one. “Here it is. Alex McLaughlin. He was here yeste
rday. Reported in, right on time. What’s he done that I don’t know about?”

  Wanda was a short black woman about five feet tall, with bleached blond hair and sparkling purple eye shadow.

  “We think he’s planning a robbery, possibly this weekend.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me. Robbery is what he’s good at.” She grinned. “I’ll rephrase that—semi good at. He’s been caught a bunch of times, but we don’t know how many times he wasn’t caught, do we?”

  “Nope.”

  “Who or what is he going to rip off this time?”

  “Mark Selecky,” said Travis.

  “The TV dude?”

  “Yep, that’s him.”

  “Why? He’s not one of the rich and famous in Texas. Why not aim higher?”

  Travis explained about the poker game.

  “Uh huh. That makes more sense. A lot of cash in one place. I can see it being a temptation.”

  “We’re looking to bring him in for questioning, and these are the two addresses the boss came up with,” said Travis. “Any idea which is the current one?”

  Wanda studied them for a minute and tapped one with a sparkly purple nail. “This one is still good.”

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  FARRELL directed Peyton down highway seventy-one and showed her where to turn into the ranch.

  “Long laneway,” she said as she navigated the tree-lined path. She stopped at the ten-foot iron gate and waited for the guard to open it. “High security for a ranch,” she said.

  Farrell nodded. “This is my Mom’s ranch. She’s going to work with y’all on your shooting skills.”

  John Hilder raised an eyebrow. “Your mother’s going to monitor our target practice?”

  “That’s right,” said Farrell, “and I’ll help her.” Farrell pointed to a spot in front of the six-bay garage. “You can park there, Miss Peyton.”

  ANNIE greeted them on the front porch, a long, wide wooden porch that stretched the whole width of the massive stone and timber structure. “Glad to meet y’all. Did y’all bring your own sidearms, or do some of you need a loaner to practice with?”

  “I don’t have a hand gun right now, ma’am,” said Luke, “I’ll need to borrow one.”

  “You come with me and you can see what I have and pick something that suits you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Appreciate it.”

  Farrell led the others around the side of the house and Luke followed Annie inside.

  “Beautiful home, ma’am. Don’t know when I’ve seen a nicer one.”

  “Thank you, Luke, it suits us. We have a big family.”

  Annie unlocked the gun cabinet in the family room and let Luke get the feel of several of the handguns.

  “I think I’ll try this one, if you don’t mind.”

  “Farrell shoots an SW,” said Annie. “He likes it.”

  “Farrell said you was his mama, but you look too young. Forgive me for saying that if it offends you.”

  Annie smiled. “Farrell is my foster son and Blaine is my adopted son. My biological son is only seven.”

  “That explains it.”

  “You have a big family, Luke?”

  Luke turned, stared at her and froze. Tears rolled down his face and he was unable to speak.

  Something terrible happened to him.

  Annie took his hand, led him into the bedroom and pointed to the table in front of the floor to ceiling windows. “Sit there for a minute and I’ll get you a shot of bourbon.”

  She rushed back, and Luke was slouched over, his head resting on his folded arms. “Drink this.”

  He downed the liquor in one gulp and nodded. “I apologize, ma’am. Just starting a new job and knowing I’d have to explain to people that my wife and baby are dead and I’m nearly dead because of it… I don’t know if I can do it.”

  Oh, my God.

  “Are you living alone?” asked Annie.

  He nodded. “In a rooming house in Austin.”

  “You can’t live alone right now,” said Annie, “I know about losing people you love. I want you to stay here for a while.”

  “Why would you say that? You don’t even know me?”

  “When the shooting is over for the day, I want you to stay behind and talk to me. We’ll work something out.”

  “You must be the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

  Annie pointed. “Clean yourself up in the bathroom and we’ll join the others outside.”

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE was researching Tanya Selecky when New Orleans PD came on his cell. “Detective Percival, do you have anything for me?”

  “I’m sorry, no, Ranger Blackmore. Miss LeJeune is not using her credit cards or her cell phone, and we’ve had no luck locating her here in the city.”

  “When I saw your number come up, I was hoping you had found a trace of her.”

  “Nothing yet, I’m sorry.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Blaine pressed end and headed to the kitchen.

  He pulled a Corona out of the Sub-Zero and said to Carmelita in Spanish, “They can’t find her, mi Corazon.”

  Tears rolled down Carm’s cheeks as she hugged him. “They will find her soon.”

  Alex McLaughlin’s Residence. East Austin.

  THIS was the second address in McLaughlin’s file and the one his PO said was the most recent. The other address was up in Longview. Maybe he had both on the go.

  The house looked deserted as Travis parked in front. “He rents a room over the garage and he’s gonna hear us coming up to get him.”

  “Maybe he’ll be cooperative and come quietly,” said Fletcher.

  “You’ve been watching too much TV.”

  They climbed the outside staircase as silently as possible. The wood was old and weathered and creaky and unless Alex McLaughlin was either deaf or an extremely sound sleeper, he would have already heard them.

  Travis knocked on the wooden door at the top of the stairs. A solid door with no view of the apartment inside No answer. There was no sign of another entrance or exit. This was it. He knocked again. “This is the police, Mr. McLaughlin. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  The door swung open and a naked Alex McLaughlin stood in front of them. “Could you give me a minute to get some goddam clothes on?”

  “Sure thing,” said Travis. He stepped inside the one-room rental and Fletcher followed.

  One large room with a sagging brown fabric sofa, a flat screen on the wall and a double bed in the corner. Nothing else. A closed door could lead to a bathroom. These were temporary digs.

  McLaughlin emerged fully dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. “What do you want to ask me?”

  “The boss wants us to bring you to headquarters, sir. The questioning is going to be formal.”

  “Fuck off. I ain’t going anywhere. I’m not leaving here and that’s that.” He folded his arms over his chest and refused to move.

  “Do I have to cuff you?” asked Travis.

  “You can try.” McLaughlin laughed. “Ain’t happening.” He was solidly built with a mop of dark hair and a day’s scruff on his face.

  “Okay, let’s do this the hard way.” Travis pulled out his weapon and cocked it. He held it against McLaughlin’s left temple while Fletcher cuffed him. Without another word, McLaughlin marched down the stairs and got into the truck.

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  ANNIE sat at the picnic table analyzing the first round of targets while the shooters drank a cold Coke. The sun beat down from a clear Texas sky and the temperature was on the rise. She pulled out a pen and made notes on each chart.

  “Okay, let’s go again.”

  Farrell put up fresh targets and the four shooters took their positions.

  Annie walked from shooter to shooter, correcting their stance, pointing out which muscles were too tight and correcting any flaws she noticed. She spent considerably more time with Luke. He had great control of his weapon, but with his nerves
frayed the way they were, he wasn’t as steady as he might have been before… his life turned upside down.

  They finished, cleaned their guns at the picnic table and talked about how much each of them enjoyed shooting. Annie sized them all up, and figured overall, Hilder was the best—like Blaine had predicted. He had little to improve on, but they hadn’t touched on rifles or their non-dominant hand yet. She’d save that for next week.

  “I’ll write a little note about each of you and send it to Blaine and let him discuss your strengths and weaknesses. Next week we’ll work a little on rifles, but mostly concentrate on your non-dominant hand.”

  Peyton nodded. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  Carlos reached across the table and shook Annie’s hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Powell. I learned more from you in one session than I ever learned from the academy instructor.”

  “My pleasure. You’re welcome, sugar pop.”

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE pulled a Corona out of the Sub-Zero and didn’t even have the top off when his cell rang. “Chief, something up?”

  “Gang rape and murder on state property. There’s a witness.”

  “Is the scene secure?”

  “Rocky and Ruskin have it and Mort’s on his way.”

  “Okay, where?”

  “West campus at the U, behind one of the dorms.”

  “Shit.”

  The dogs raised hell at the front door as the crew came in to check out for the day. Blaine met them in the foyer and pointed at the trucks. “Something came up. Let’s go. Peyton, we’ll need two vehicles. Take Luke and John and follow me.”

  Rolling towards downtown, Blaine said to Farrell, “Call Travis and tell him to go to Quantrall, pick up the dogs and meet us at the U.”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s up, boss?” asked Carlos from the back seat.

  “Gang rape behind one of the dorms. The girl is dead.”

  “Fuck,” said Carlos.

  University Campus. Austin.

  MEDIA VANS monopolized most of the parking spots by the time Blaine arrived with the team. “Goddam fucking assholes,” he hollered as he tried to back into a space too small for the huge truck. “Y’all jump out. The fucking doors won’t open when I get parked.”