The Survivor (22 page)

10:00 A.M. THURSDAY

K
ariss waited for her doctor to release her from the hospital. She’d been poked and x-rayed and stitched. Not all in that order. But after she had awakened in the middle of the night and found Tigo at her bedside, the hospital routine didn’t seem to matter so much. Maybe she’d simply been vulnerable, but hearing his voice and seeing him towering in the doorway had eased away the pain.

Though she was alone now, she wouldn’t forget his tenderness or the sacrifice of sleep he’d made for her.

“We can’t give up on each other,” he’d whispered just before leaving earlier this morning. “Believe that, Kariss.”

A tear had trickled down her cheek, perhaps an emotional response from the medication. “I—”

“You don’t have to say a word.” He leaned over the bed. “I know your heart. I see what you feel in your eyes. We’ll get the junk behind us and move forward together. Just don’t give up on me.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I won’t.”

“I can’t do the Jesus thing unless I feel it’s real.”

“I understand … Thanks for being here. Not just for taking care of McDougal, but for everything.”

“How could I sleep when I’m concerned about you?”

She clamped onto her lower lip to fight the tears threatening to flow. She despised weak women. “You must rehearse what you say to me.”

“It’s part of the package.” He smiled. “Even the things you don’t want to hear. But you are the bravest woman I know.”

“I don’t feel brave.” Her determination to take care of herself had failed miserably, and Tigo deserved her cooperation. “I’m thinking about taking residence at a hotel for a few days, the kind with a pair of FBI agents assigned to keep me safe.”

He planted a kiss on her forehead. “That makes me one happy man. I’ll make the arrangements when I get to the office. Remember Jerry Reiner? I’ll find out if he’s available. He has a new partner, and the two work well together. Call me when you’re released, and I’ll have them take you home and wait at the condo while you pack.”

Hours later, Kariss regretted agreeing to protective detail, but Tigo had seemed at peace with her decision. She would do this for him, even if hiding was a coward’s way out. Closing her eyes until the pain meds took effect again, she thought about their sweet early morning hours together.

She heard a knock and turned to see Amy standing in the doorway. Kariss hadn’t decided how she felt toward the famed psychologist now. She pointed to a chair beside her bed, the one Tigo had occupied hours earlier.

“I wasn’t sure you’d see me.” Amy scooted the chair away from the bed.

“The jury’s still out. A little truth would go a long way.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Kariss’s head throbbed. Or was the pain due to stress? “Have you been using me as bait?”

Amy moistened her lips. “No. His anger should be aimed at me and only me. I fought the odds and won. Every day he lets me live is a bonus day. I never thought he’d target you.”

Kariss attempted to manage her anger. “That’s rich, Amy. Oh, and what about endangering the lives of my sister and niece? How do you explain that? Or doesn’t it matter as long as you exact revenge? That’s what you really want, isn’t it?” Kariss endured another jolt of pain, but it didn’t bridle her
tongue. “Says a lot for your Christian testimony. Do you encourage deceit in your counseling?”

Amy glanced at the door, and then her eyes shifted back to Kariss.

“Stay right where you are. I want to see your face when you answer me. Don’t even think about leaving. I’m in the mood to chase you down the hall.”

Amy wrung her hands. Kariss had seen that mannerism before. The first time, it brought pity. No more. “Answers,” Kariss said. “I deserve honesty.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

“Now you sound like Agent Harris.”

“He’s a good teacher. Look, I’ve been run off the road. My loved ones have been hurt and frightened. I’ve been threatened and followed. Now shot. I think you hit the bull’s-eye by using me to draw your assailant from his hole. Maybe he’s under my hospital bed. Maybe I was just plain stupid to agree to this writing project.”

Amy’s eyes pooled.

“Don’t turn on the waterworks, Doc, ‘cause I’m not buying any of it. What have you not told the FBI, HPD, or me? Where is the logic in holding back information from those who want to help?”

“I didn’t think.” Amy buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

The tone of her voice told Kariss to back off. Amy was sincere. “If you’re serious about the apology, then you need to tell Tigo and Ryan everything. What about Sergeant Bud Hanson? The man is haunted by this crime too.”

“Bud called me this morning.”

“What did he suggest?”

“To do the protective-detail thing. Toss the book idea. But I can’t. It just delays things.”

“I took yesterday very personally. You have a death wish?”

“My motto is walk with courage and put fear on the run.”

“And you counsel women who’ve been victimized? I understand you’ve helped many women, but I wouldn’t recommend you to anyone.” The longer Kariss talked, the more the pain in her head intensified, as though the meds had forgotten their job. “The FBI is working with HPD to solve this crime. They’re close to solid answers. The best thing you can do is cooperate. That includes telling the whole truth. Is Baxter more involved than you’ve claimed?”

Amy’s eyes flared. “Why does he need to be brought into this? He’s ill and needs to be hospitalized. He’s not a murderer.”

“I’m not beyond believing he knows more about who assaulted you than you care to admit.”

“He doesn’t know a thing. He simply has issues … issues that could be resolved if the assailant were caught. I need to go.” She stood abruptly. The woman’s emotions seemed even more scattered now.

“I want the truth. Or I’ll tell the FBI you’re withholding information.”

“All right.” Kariss saw fear in her eyes. “Emails. I received two threatening emails about pursuing the novel. They came after I posted on Facebook. I kept them. Not sure why. When I responded, the messages came back undeliverable.”

“Novel quotes?”

Amy nodded.

“Me too. You’re afraid and playing Miss Independent, and it’s going to get you killed. Look, I’m mad, but I’m still your friend, and self-reliance and stubbornness are traits I’m quite familiar with. Sometimes we have to let others help.”

Amy nodded, but she remained standing.

Kariss pointed to the chair again. “We can talk through this. You thought a novel would bring the assailant into the open. Into a showdown. Well, it worked. But it backfired.”

“When Special Agents Harris and Steadman explained the car-bombing links, all I could think about was how much
bolder he’d become.” Amy shrugged. “But I’ve never met Joanna or her daughter.”

“But his boldness means that his chances of getting caught are exponentially greater now.” Kariss poured hope into her words. “I’ve been down this road before. It’s not pretty, and it’s not one you want to walk alone.”

“But everything that’s happened means he’s closer to me than I thought. I … I could know him. See him every day.”

“Do you suspect anyone?”

“No, and I analyze every male I see. Sad but true. He’s probably a pillar of the community, and I haven’t the sense to recognize it.”

Perhaps Amy was right … Could the assailant be someone respected in the community? Kariss inwardly startled.

2:55 P.M. THURSDAY

T
igo welcomed Ryan inside his cubicle. “You heard the news?”

“Hard to believe that Amy and Kariss are planning to share living quarters while in protective detail,” Ryan said. “That should be interesting. Odd, since last night I thought Kariss was going to climb out of bed after Amy.”

“At least we’ll be able to keep them safe until this guy’s found,” Tigo said. But he shared his partner’s skepticism about the two women getting along. Both were strong personalities—stubborn and opinionated. He respected that about Kariss, but the two women together could be … volatile.

“Sounds like a combo for trouble,” Ryan said. “Let’s hope Jerry and Hank are up for it.”

“Right. We’ll see how long it lasts. Kariss can’t handle being confined, and she’s too curious to just let us work through the case. I’d rather toss her in jail.”

Ryan chuckled. “Are you jealous of Amy?”

Tigo lifted a brow. “I might be.” No point in telling Ryan that he’d spent the night at the hospital.

“Thought so. Where are they?”

“Locked down at an extended-stay hotel off FM 1960 near I-45 north. Hope those two don’t try something stupid.” Tigo yawned. “Every hour they take advantage of the program brings us closer to the guy who thinks he’s outsmarted us. But we both know what Kariss is capable of.”

“You two need to get back together so you can keep tabs on her … activities.”

“Don’t think that would stop her. But we’re talking.”

Ryan leaned on Tigo’s desk. “Hey, that’s great. Didn’t mean to pry.”

“No problem. What she doesn’t know is I’m more determined than she could ever be.”

Ryan grinned. “So what’s on our list?”

“Got a lead on a man who might be David Smith. Works on an offshore rig. Fits the MO—rough, rowdy, a drinker. A week ago, he bragged to some buds that an old girlfriend had been killed in a car bomb.”

“Where’d you find him?”

“At a bar near the channel called the Stragglers. Bartender’s an informant. I’d shown him Ian’s sketch.” Tigo handed Ryan his handwritten notes. “He now goes by the name of Cohn Wesson and has other aliases. He’s wanted for a handful of crimes. Murder stretches what he’s done in the past, and I have no idea how he fits with the Garrett bombing.”

Ryan studied the pic of Cohn Wesson, possibly David Smith. “Blond, blue-eyed. From the size of his shoulders, he’s probably a bodybuilder. Mouthful of white teeth, so he must be good with his fists. Let’s check him out tonight.”

“I’ll flip for steaks.” Tigo needed to get his mind in the game and off Kariss. “Then we can check on Smith and Wesson.”

Ryan chuckled. “He probably thought he was clever with his aliases. More like an ego trip.”

10:00 P.M. THURSDAY

Tigo assessed the smoky bar, taking in the characters—and they were characters. Hadn’t seen that many tattoos in one place since he helped bring down one of Houston’s largest
Hispanic gangs. He and Ryan fit right in. His partner wore a wool cap pulled over his bald head and had added a long scar to his left cheek—to make him look extra mean. His five o’clock shadow added to the effect. Ryan often took on a tougher persona when working undercover. It made for interesting conversation with the bad guys.

Tigo was using a wide prosthetic nose, plenty of bling, and a black leather jacket, a hoodie underneath.

Kariss would have loved this place, a great setting for one of her novels. But Tigo couldn’t think about her right now. He needed to concentrate on sorting out those who’d welcome a good fight and those who were there to drink. A mix of tobacco and weed weighted the air along with the stench of unwashed bodies.

Tigo and Ryan made their way to the end of the bar, close to an exit but where they could still watch both the front and rear doors. The bartender who’d provided the information worked his way to their end.

“Where’s Wesson?” Tigo said.

“Standing at the other end of the bar, wearing a brown leather jacket with a rebel flag on the back. He’s had plenty to drink, but he holds his liquor. Doesn’t miss a thing, so I’m sure he’s spotted you. Two of his buds from the rig are with him.”

“Does he know we want to talk?”

“That’s all you.”

Tigo slipped the bartender an envelope, cash for his tip. He and Ryan made their way toward the man who might be behind the car bombings and shooting. Wesson had sidled himself up to a blonde whose flaxen hair didn’t blend with the harsh lines etched into her face.

“Wesson?” Tigo said. “Or is it Smith?”

The man turned and sneered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tigo pulled out his ID and discreetly flashed it. “We need to talk.”

“Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“It’ll have to wait, dude. We have some questions. It’ll only take a few minutes, and then you can continue your business with the lady.”

Wesson’s jaw tightened. “What’s this about? Who are you?” Two men stepped up next to him.

“Call off your dogs, or the three of you will face FBI arrest,” Tigo said.

Wesson hesitated. No doubt he was packing.

“I wouldn’t reach for a weapon if I were you.” Ryan’s voice registered barely above a whisper … a deadly one. “Hate to tell your boss he can find you at the morgue.”

“They come with me.”

“Then they’ll go down with you,” Ryan said.

Wesson glanced around. “All right. Let’s talk outside.”

Tigo and Ryan stayed on Wesson’s heels on the way to the front entrance. About ten feet from the door, Wesson bolted, grabbing a person on each side of him and shoving them in Tigo’s and Ryan’s paths, sending bodies flying in every direction.

The agents stepped over the bodies and ran after him. Wesson headed for a motorcycle.

“Stop! FBI! You know what happens if we pull our weapons.”

Wesson slowed and raised his hands.

“On the ground.” Tigo kept his firearm aimed at Wesson as the man lowered himself to the pavement.

“I haven’t done anything.” Wesson tossed in a few curses to emphasize his point.

Ryan cuffed him, then pulled a .38 Special and a pocket knife from inside Wesson’s jacket. “We’re taking a trip to the other end of town. You can cool off in custody. See if it improves your attitude.”

“I know my rights.”

Ryan chuckled. “Let’s go talk about it. We’ve identified
three aliases, and you’re wanted in two states for assault and robbery.”

“Wrong guy. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Convince us,” Tigo said.

11:50 P.M. THURSDAY

Back at the office, Tigo, Ryan, and Wesson sat in an interview room. Tigo observed Wesson, whose fury had escalated since they’d gotten to the office. “This will go a lot easier if you cooperate.”

When Wesson didn’t respond, Tigo dove into questioning. If the suspect didn’t request a lawyer, Tigo wasn’t going to waste time. “You’ve used the names David Smith, Cohn Wesson, and Alex Winchester. I bet you think you’re clever. Our report says your real name is Jarod Mason from Beaumont, Texas.”

Wesson leaned back in the chair, wearing the same sneer they’d seen earlier. “The FBI’s getting pretty smart. But a man has the right to use whatever name he chooses.”

“Especially if you’re going to beat up a convenience store clerk and rob an eighty-year-old man.”

“I didn’t do either of those. Someone set me up.”

“Do you think we’d haul you in here if we didn’t have evidence? Do you want to make a deal or not?”

Wesson glared. “What do you want to know?”

“Joanna Yeat was recently killed in a car bombing along with her daughter. We understand you threatened her. What can you tell us about it?”

Wesson rubbed the back of his neck. “I met with Joanna a few times, and we had words, but I didn’t kill her. And I don’t kill kids.”

“What was your relationship with her?”

“We knew each other a long time ago.”

“Involved?”

He chuckled. “I helped her get through college. Saved her from asking her family for money.”

“You don’t have the professor look,” Tigo said. “What did you do?”

“I helped businessmen get dates with her.”

“What else?”

“Took pics. She was my model.”

“What kind of pics?”

“The kind that pay big bucks. What do you think?”

“So you took porn shots of Joanna.”

“It’s called art.”

“So is drawing in mud. When did you last see her?”

“A few weeks ago. Don’t remember the date.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Uh, a Saturday afternoon.”

“Where?”

“At a mall.”

Ian hadn’t lied. “What was the occasion?” Tigo leaned in. “Rich woman who refuses to hand over a few dollars spells murder to me.”

“I had nothing to do with her death.”

“What happened at the mall?”

“She was supposed to bring me something, but she forgot.”

“Were you blackmailing her?”

Wesson narrowed his eyes. “She owed me.”

“How much?”

“I asked for one mil to keep her secret.”

“About the photos?”

Wesson smirked. “What of it? I have a right to earn a living.”

“I bet.” Tigo showed him the phone numbers found in Joanna’s tennis shoe and on her cell phone records. “Are these your numbers? Burner phones?”

Wesson narrowed his gaze.

“Do you want to be arrested for murder?”

His gaze darted. “Yes. Those are both mine.”

“Where were you the morning of Wednesday, January sixteenth?”

“At home minding my own business.”

“What’s the address?”

The man rattled off the numbers and street name. Ryan cleared his throat and glanced up from his iPad. “That apartment complex closed a year ago. Try again.”

“Oh yeah, that was my previous address. I’m sharing a trailer house in Galveston with a friend.”

Ryan typed in the information. “The property belongs to the owner of the park. So you live alone?”

“With a friend, a lady friend. She’ll vouch for me on the sixteenth.”

“Name,” Tigo said. “We want to call her. Now.”

“Can’t help you. She’s working.”

“You mean you don’t have the number or you’re lying?” Tigo waited, not moving a muscle. Wesson squared his jaw in a stare down.

“Which is it?”

“We’re separated at the moment.”

Tigo laughed. “I think we have our bomber, Special Agent Steadman.”

“Wait.” The man whipped his attention from Tigo to Ryan. “I didn’t blow up the Yeat car.”

“Where are you keeping the Semtex?” Tigo said.

“I don’t have any of the stuff. Look, you can’t pin this on me.”

“We can if you’re guilty. We have witnesses who saw you with Joanna at the mall, and the testimony says you two were arguing. Then she’s killed. Give us a full confession, and things will go easier.”

“I don’t know any more than what I heard on the news.” He rubbed his forehead. “Search my place. You won’t find any explosives.”

“Since when does a smart man store kilos of Semtex in a trailer?” Tigo said. “Did you bomb Dr. Amy Garrett’s vehicle too?”

The man shook his head. “Never heard of her. I’m innocent.”

“Maybe you’ll remember after a few days in jail.” Tigo picked up his Blackberry. “I’ll check on your reservation.”