The Survivor (5 page)

9:30 A.M. THURSDAY

K
ariss exited I-45 and headed toward Montgomery County Law Enforcement Center, where the sheriff’s department was housed. So many bail-bond establishments lined the road, she wondered how they all stayed in business. But for the incarcerated, these establishments provided a way for friends and family members to get them out of jail whether or not they deserved a get-out-of-jail-free card. The complex Kariss wanted was on the far side of the tree-lined railroad tracks that divided the city. She laughed. So who was on the wrong side of the tracks?

At the county sheriff’s office, Kariss explained to one of the clerks that she was a writer and wanted to use, as the basis for a novel, a twenty-three-year-old cold case in which Amy Garrett had been the victim of a violent crime.

“Excuse me while I search for those records.” The young Hispanic woman left the front desk.

Kariss reached into her purse for her Kindle, one of the toys she hadn’t yet destroyed with her body’s overload of electricity. But she had trouble concentrating because her attention remained fixed on the door the receptionist had disappeared through. Finally the young woman returned.

“The original officer assigned to the Garrett case is here and will speak to you.”

What great luck. Kariss had feared the officer might have retired by now.

Kariss was shown back to an office, where a graying man
stared at a computer screen. When she stepped into the room, he looked up, pushed back from his desk, and limped over to greet her. Now she understood why the officer was at the station.

He reached out to shake her hand. “Sergeant Bud Hanson.”

“Kariss Walker. Thank you for agreeing to talk to me about Amy Garrett.”

He sat and motioned for her to do the same. “Amy’s case is one I’ve never forgotten.” He reached inside a drawer and pulled out a small framed photograph of a smiling, freckle-faced little girl. “This is Amy at age ten, about a year after the assault.” He pointed to the picture. “She’s wearing a turtleneck to cover the scar on her neck, but she looks like a normal, happy kid.”

Kariss stared at the younger version of the woman she’d met yesterday. The photograph reminded her of the one Tigo had in his desk drawer—a photo of Cherished Doe, the little girl who’d been killed and remained unidentified for years, until he and Ryan solved the case last year.

She returned the photo and thanked Sergeant Hanson. “I met Amy yesterday. She’s a wonderful woman.”

“I haven’t given up on finding the man who assaulted her. And I’m not retiring until I see him cuffed.” He studied her as if expecting a rebuttal. “So you’re writing a book about her?”

“I’m exploring the possibility.”

“Amy and I talk every few months. Is it a biography?”

“A novel.”

He frowned. “She mentioned that a couple of months ago. Frankly, I don’t recommend writing any kind of book, especially a novel. I’ve told her that.”

“Why?”

“A novel needs an ending, and Amy’s story doesn’t have one. The assailant is still out there somewhere. Since we’ve never found him, I assume he left the state. But we don’t know.”

“So you think a novel might cause him to remember what he didn’t finish?”

“You’re right there, little lady. A psychopath can keep
his instincts hidden for years until a trigger drives him to kill again. Being reminded of his failure could be the tipping point that draws him out of hiding.” He leaned forward. “Twenty-three years ago, when I saw Amy in that field, I believed she was dead. Her little throat had been slit from ear to ear. Only by the grace of God did she survive the attack. Of course, you can read all the details in newspaper archives at the county library. The story’s also online.” He shook his head as though remembering. “If that happened today, we’d have DNA and advanced technology to nail the guy.”

“Were there any clues?”

“None. We combed the area. Springtime. Tall grass. We were on our knees, praying and looking for anything to find Amy’s attacker. I think all of us adopted her. We guarded her outside her hospital room. We returned countless times to the scene of the crime, and we beat ourselves up because we couldn’t find him. All these years, and the memories still rush over me.” He clenched his fist.

“I’m sorry.”

“Talk her out of this,” he said. “She’s putting her life in jeopardy. Tell her to keep journaling. She doesn’t need a book. Once a psychopath, always a psychopath.”

Kariss considered what little she knew about Amy, and her admiration and intense respect for Amy grew. The little girl had fought to live, and her courage increased Kariss’s desire to write the best possible novel, to be another cheerleader for the survivor. But Amy didn’t believe she’d be exposed to danger. Could Sergeant Hanson be overreacting?

10:05 A.M. THURSDAY

“Where did you go last night?” Tigo repeated the question to Ian Yeat for the third time.

“I had things to do.” No eye contact, only a belligerent attitude that seemed to seep from the pores of his skin.

Jonathan pounded the kitchen table. “What was so important that you had to sneak out of your home and away from those who were here to protect you? Whoever killed your mother and sister is still out there.” The lines in his face looked like a war zone. “I don’t need another family member dead.”

“Right, Dad. Don’t play the hero for me or the FBI. It’s lame. It sucks.” Ian settled back in his chair and lifted a can of Dr Pepper to his lips.

Jonathan stood, his composure gone. “I’m trying to be understanding here, but what are you talking about?”

“When were you and Mom going to tell us about the divorce?”

Tigo watched a play of emotions scatter across Jonathan’s face. Was the divorce a surprise to him? Tigo studied him … Jonathan had had no clue about Joanna’s decision.

“I learned about it when you did.”

“Liar. You—”

“Shut up, Ian.” Curt, who’d been watching his dad and brother, jumped to his feet. “You aren’t the only one grieving Mom and Alexia.”

“Time out,” Tigo said. “Sit down. I’ve heard enough.” He shot his best intimidating glare at Ian. “I’m not your dad. I asked a question, and I want an answer now. You can cooperate, or we can take a drive to the FBI office.”

Ian licked his lips and rubbed his face. “It’s too complicated.”

“I’m a smart guy.”

“I can’t. It’s private.”

Tigo counted to three and nodded at Ryan. “Let’s go. Haven’t formally interrogated a kid in a long time.”

“Wait.” Sweat beaded Ian’s forehead. “Okay, I went to see a girl. She lives in our subdivision, about a ten-minute walk.”

Tigo recognized a lie when he saw one, and Ian had the
darting gaze to go with it. “Wrong. Start all over, and this time tell me the truth. My patience’s worn thin.” He jabbed his finger in Ian’s face. “I know how to get the truth. A stint in the Middle East with the marines taught me how the other side extracts information.”

“Do you need a lawyer?” Jonathan said to Ian, throwing a curveball. Did he think his younger son had information about the bombing?

“No. I …” Ian narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I killed Mom and Alexia?”

“I want the truth. We all do,” Jonathan said. “You were up to no good last night. We all know that.”

Something told Tigo this wasn’t the first time the kid had broken a rule.

Ian stared at the can of Dr Pepper. “One of the guys from school texted me. I went to his house to talk to him. He said he heard his parents talking about Mom screwin’ around, and he’d seen her at the mall with another man.”

“Talk or fight?” Tigo’s eyes locked onto Ian’s.

“Does it matter?”

“Until two thirty?” Tigo said.

Ian drew in a breath. “I wasn’t going to come back. Took him a while to talk me into going home.”

Tigo believed he spoke the truth. “Why weren’t you going to come home?”

“I … I’d seen Mom with that guy too. I didn’t know him. Anyway, after I saw them together, I asked her about him.”

Tigo leaned in closer. “When was this? I need the whole story.”

Ian cast Jonathan a helpless glance. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Now’s the time, son,” Jonathan said in a gentler tone.

Ian waited a few more seconds before beginning. “About two weeks ago, on a Saturday afternoon, I needed to ask Mom something, so I looked for her in her office. She was talking on
the phone, and the conversation was loud, so I stood outside her door and listened.” He took a deep breath. “She told someone, ‘You won’t get away with this’ and ‘You won’t ruin my family.’ Then she didn’t say anything for a while. I started to knock, but then I heard her say, ‘I’ll meet you at the food court at the mall. Twenty minutes.’ I backed away from the door and went to my room. When I saw her leave, I followed. Took your car, Dad …” Ian paused and looked at his dad.

Tigo glanced at Jonathan. At sixteen, Ian probably had a driver’s license, but he couldn’t legally operate a vehicle without adult supervision.

“Go on, son,” Jonathan said, frowning. “You followed your mom …”

Ian nodded. “I watched her and this white man. She couldn’t see me. She was upset and finally left. It took me a while to confront her, but when I did, she said it was none of my business. That was last Sunday. We had a big fight. I’d never seen her that … weird. Maybe scared. I thought she was afraid I’d tell you she was messin’ around. I said some bad things. Never had a chance to apologize.”

Tigo pieced the story together. Joanna had problems with a man who’d obviously threatened her. She’d met with him, and Ian witnessed it and then confronted her on Sunday. She filed for divorce on Tuesday and had been killed with his sister on Wednesday. “This kid you went to see last night … Did he say anything else?”

“He just wanted money not to tell anyone about seeing them together. I’ve been thinking. Maybe she thought going to a busy place would keep her safe?”

“Probably so,” Tigo said. “Did you give this kid money to keep quiet? That’s blackmail, Ian.”

His gaze flew to Jonathan’s face. “I took three hundred dollars from Dad’s stash.”

“Give me the kid’s name, and we’ll handle it,” Tigo said. “We’ll get your dad’s money back. I need for you to come with
me to the FBI office. Our artist there can make a sketch of the man you saw with your mother.”

“Okay.” Ian’s eyes filled with tears. “Dad, I’m sorry. I was going to tell you. I’m sure that guy killed Mom and Alexia.” He buried his face in his hands. “I never told her I was sorry.”

2:00 P.M. THURSDAY

T
igo picked up his iPhone. He studied the Buzz Lightyear phone cover that showed his hero striking a pose. “To infinity and beyond.” Right. His relationship with Kariss had taken him nowhere.

She’d given him the phone cover a week before Thanksgiving. The week before everything went wrong.

They’d spent Thanksgiving with her parents in Texas City. Wonderful family. Her mom was almost as good a cook as his own mother had been. They’d laughed. Teased. Played football in the backyard. Kariss had acted strangely from the time he’d picked her up that morning until he brought her home, but he figured she’d tell him when she was ready. Vicki had gone to bed, exhausted by new motherhood, and left the two of them alone. He suggested watching a movie, not wanting the day to end. “Tigo, we need to talk,” she’d said.

He’d been right. “Sure, babe. What’s up?”

She walked into the living room and sat in a chair, not on the sofa where they normally planted themselves. No smile. What had he done?

“This must be serious,” he said.

“It is.”

“Tell me so I can fix it.”

“I hope you can.” She took a deep breath. “When were you going to tell me about your marriage?” Her gaze bored into his face, and he sensed her anger.

Heat rose from his neck. “When the time was right. Didn’t think it was important.”

“You and I were nearly killed. We’re friends and we’re in a relationship. That means honesty.”

Hard to trust his own heart with another woman after Erin’s betrayal … even a woman as good as Kariss.

“Tigo, I need an explanation.” Her voice was flat, cold.

“Who told you? Ryan or Linc?”

“Does it matter?”

“Are you looking for a reason to stop seeing me other than the church thing?” He’d flung the last two words at her.

Kariss blinked back tears. “Is that the way you see it? What else have you kept from me?”

“You’re not my wife, Kariss. We’re dating.”

“Not anymore.” She’d stiffened. “I’m finished.”

She’d stuck by her word. If Tigo could shove aside his ego, he’d see that she’d been right. Yeah, they had a few things to work out as they got to know each other.

The Christian thing was an issue. Tigo remembered his mother’s urging him to seek God. She’d married an unbeliever and ended up being left to raise Tigo alone. So much junk for Tigo to sort out … A future without Kariss meant diving into his work and abandoning those things he’d always wanted.

Solving crimes that centered on senseless murders only reminded him of the unfairness God allowed in the world. Tigo had become cynical, but he didn’t want to be.

3:00 P.M. THURSDAY

Writing Amy’s story consumed Kariss’s thoughts. She’d returned from Conroe, plugged in her laptop, and then decided to go for a three–mile run in hopes of reducing the adrenaline that zipped through her veins. Between Sergeant Hanson’s recollection of
Amy’s attack and a trip to the library, where she’d read the newspaper accountings, Kariss was definitely into Amy’s story.

Sitting at her computer now, she pushed aside the reality of a horrible cold case and focused on the craft of writing. She’d been in this place before when she fictionalized the story of Cherished Doe, the little girl found dead with no identity. The passion she had to defend abused children still stirred her heart. Always would. She understood why Sergeant Hanson couldn’t forget Amy’s case. She’d had her own experience with a child in danger.

While working at a day-care center during her college years, Kariss had tried to save a toddler who’d been trapped inside the building when it caught on fire. The little girl had died, and Kariss still bore the physical and emotional scars. A few months ago, she’d recognized the need to unpack the guilt and accept forgiveness—mostly of herself. Although she hadn’t been blamed for the child’s death, the idea that she could have done something more had stalked her for years. And she’d deserted God in the aftermath.

Sometimes she believed her issues had dissipated. Other times, like today when reading about Amy’s horrendous attack, the old memory tapes replayed. Perhaps Kariss hadn’t fully embraced what it meant to forgive and forget. What she did know was children deserved a chance to live normal, happy lives. When that didn’t happen, someone should be held responsible.

Shoving those thoughts aside, Kariss focused on Amy’s story and allowed possibilities and plot twists to mingle with her creative juices. The idea took a bend in the road when Kariss thought about the man who’d tried to kill Amy. After twenty-three years, the assailant might no longer be alive or might be too old to care. Amy claimed to feel safe, but was she being naive? An icy chill swept over Kariss. The man could have gone on to kill other victims and might still regret Amy’s survival. Kariss needed to have that discussion with her to
make sure she understood the full picture. The assailant might never read the novel or connect it to Amy, but Kariss and Amy needed to be realistic about the risks if they were going to work together.

She checked her email and scrolled through the list of what she wanted to read. One subject line, “True Story Alert,” caught her attention. Although she didn’t recognize the sender, she read the contents.

She recognized the Agatha Christie quote. It made no sense, so she pressed Delete.

Her iPhone alerted her to a low battery. She connected a cord from her laptop to the phone and allowed the devices to sync. As the process began, Kariss stared at the computer screen, as if daring herself to look at the pictures from the past twelve months. Her attention swung to the office door and hallway. Good thing Vicki was in Texas City for the day with Rose. If her sister discovered Kariss viewing photos, she’d ask about Tigo again.

Kariss could take a quick look before returning to work. A glimpse of the past would only take a moment. What would it hurt? She clicked on the file, and the screen came alive with memories she knew she should forget.

She was such a fool.

But there she was looking at the history of a relationship gone south. Special Agent Santiago Harris had touched her heart, and she was supposed to be snatching it back.

Kariss and Tigo’s first photo together had been taken at the Houston Zoo near the Africa exhibit. She smiled at the screen. When it had started to rain, they’d walked across the street to the Houston Museum of Natural Science to visit
the butterfly center. When a blue morpho landed on Kariss’s shoulder, Tigo had kissed her. His grin captured her as much now as it had then.

She studied another picture, snapped at Ryan’s house with his family and Linc’s. Tigo and Kariss had been invited to a barbecue there for a Labor Day celebration. They looked so happy together. Kariss believed in happily ever after—after all, she wrote suspense with a touch of romance—but it obviously wasn’t meant for them.

She clicked on another photo and covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. They’d been at the mall near her house and had stopped at the Disney store, which was Tigo’s favorite. He had picked up an obsession with Buzz Lightyear, as though his little-boy days hadn’t stepped into adulthood. He wore a watch with Buzz on it, kept a box of Buzz Band-Aids in his truck, and quoted Buzz lines from
Toy Story
—but only when it was just the two of them. Kariss had snapped pics of him drooling over Buzz T-shirts, pajamas, stuffed toys, and a child’s plastic plate and cup. He said he was practicing for when he had a son.

Sobering, the thought reminded Kariss of Tigo’s child, who’d died. It had been a miscarriage … She doubted that Tigo even knew the baby’s gender. But after his comment in the Disney store, Tigo’d had a good opportunity to tell Kariss about his past. Instead, she’d had to learn the truth from someone else.

Kariss sighed and clicked on another photo. Tigo had decided they needed a hobby, so he’d bought mountain bikes for them.

“Houston doesn’t have mountains,” she’d said. “Only anthills. Are you planning road trips too?”

“They’re trail bikes. You’re going to love this.”

“What part? Pedaling in one-hundred-degree temps or the damp rain in winter?”

“Spoilsport. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“On my treadmill. It’s called iFit, and it’s powered by Google Maps.”

He laughed. “We have helmets too.”

She groaned. “I hate those things.”

“Messes up your hair?”

He had her on that one. “What color is mine?”

“Metallic green. Mine’s black.”

“I’m surprised yours doesn’t have a head shot of Buzz.”

“Don’t think I didn’t try.”

Staring at the computer screen, Kariss realized those moments were gone now. Just when they’d started to know each other, Kariss had learned the unthinkable.

Vicki had snapped a pic at their parents’ home in Texas City on Thanksgiving Day. All of her siblings and nieces and nephews had been there. Mom had baked a carrot cake, and Tigo called it “crack cake.” Mom had sent a huge piece home with him to satisfy his addiction. That evening is when it all ended.

Kariss knew she should get rid of the reminders forever, but the absence of smiling faces wouldn’t erase how she felt about Tigo. The longing made her ache. And writing suspense novels was a poor substitute. It only put her mind in another place for a while. But she knew what God would say, and there she found the courage to stand her ground.