The Survivor (9 page)

6:45 P.M. FRIDAY

T
igo and Ryan sat in Linc’s office, discussing what they knew about the Yeat bombing. Too many ragged edges had set the stage for a lengthy investigation. More questions and a deeper scrutiny of established facts lay ahead in the days to come.

They’d eliminated Joanna’s dress designer as a suspect. She was confined to a wheelchair and depended on her caregiver to transport her to her clients. The woman lived an exemplary life and contributed to many of the same charities as the Yeat Foundation. She’d had no idea anything was troubling Joanna.

Linc stared at an oil painting of Teddy Roosevelt that hung on his office wall, as if the twinkle behind the president’s spectacles held answers to the puzzling case. “Strange how you think you know a man, a family, and then you realize the perfect family is waist-deep in mud.”

Tigo remembered one of Teddy Roosevelt’s sayings—“Speak softly and carry a big stick.” That certainly fit Linc.

“Jonathan never mentioned any problems in his marriage. And I never observed any tension between them. Yet I find it hard to believe he didn’t know Joanna planned to divorce him.” Linc shook his head. “A man knows when the light’s out.”

“So you think the idea of her having an affair doesn’t make sense?” Tigo said. “Ian gave us a good description of the man he’d seen with her. We don’t have a solid ID match to anyone in our database, but we’re looking for him.”

“Guess anything’s possible. The man Ian saw at the mall
could be a lover. You said Jonathan’s assistant, Vanessa, was clueless about the divorce, right?”

Ryan nodded. “You saw my notes from the interview, and her body language didn’t indicate she was lying.”

“What else do you two have for me?” Linc said.

Tigo nodded at Ryan to continue. His partner was definitely in think mode.

“You witnessed our questioning of Collins.” Ryan reached for his iPad and swiped his finger across the screen. “We’re tailing him. Carolyn Hopkins hasn’t been found yet. Her records state she has family in Arkansas, which gives us a lead.” He glanced up from the screen. “But I don’t think there’s anything solid there unless she’s working with someone.”

Linc nodded. “Keep on it. Who had access to Semtex or motive to hire a bomber?”

“Semtex is the key,” Ryan said. “I’ve done a little snooping. All the two-bit bad guys out there would have shot or knifed Jonathan. Tigo and I have decided our guy had money. Plenty of it. And that means a vendetta. But the information we’ve discovered about Joanna confused our theory. I’m not letting go of anything yet.”

“I think we’re chasing two storms,” Linc said.

Tigo nodded. “We’re researching every angle. I’ll take time this weekend to brainstorm what we do know. See what we’ve missed or need to follow up on. The gun dealer Hershey may know something.” He nodded at Ryan. “Want to question him on Monday?”

“It’s a plan.”

Linc frowned. “The funeral’s tomorrow afternoon.”

“I plan to be there.” Tigo waved away Linc’s protest. “A few things don’t add up, and observing the family and friends could answer those questions.”

“All right. I’ll be doing the same thing,” Linc said. “I’ll be playing more than one role. This funeral will be hard on my family. Alexia referred to us as her aunt and uncle.”

In other words, Linc would not only be at the funeral in a professional capacity but would also be grieving the deaths personally.

“I’ll focus on the family,” Tigo said. “See if anyone lets something slip.”

“Good idea. I’m banking on employees and business acquaintances not suspecting me of gathering evidence. Yvonne and I will be there for the duration, so you and I can compare notes later.”

Tigo nodded. “I’m thinking the family will be on their best behavior, and I want to meet Joanna’s sisters. Follow up on a few comments Curt made.”

“The sisters attend Taylor’s church too. Darena and her husband are members. He’s a deacon. I’ll reserve my opinion of that situation until you meet her.”

“Tigo, call me after the funeral,” Ryan said. “I’d join you if I didn’t already have family obligations.”

“Why don’t you call me instead? I don’t want to interrupt anything.” Tigo knew Ryan and Cindy needed to work through the problem with her mother’s care. The couple had lined up a babysitter and planned to spend Saturday night at a hotel.

“Thanks.” Ryan gave him a grim look.

Tigo figured the happenings at home must be wearing on him.

Tigo debriefed on the long day. “We visited the high school this morning and again this afternoon to meet with the boys’ basketball teams. Questioning the kids was useless. Zilch. The players are a loyal brotherhood, and Curt and Ian are two of their own. None of them spoke a derogatory word about the Yeat boys. Parents urged their kids to share information, but the atmosphere was as if nothing had happened.”

“Another dead end?” Linc eased back in his chair.

“Not exactly,” Tigo said. “Before we visited with Vanessa, we learned a few things from the school counselor. Ryan has the dialogue in his notes.”

Ryan relayed what had transpired. “Usually it’s the mother who makes excuses for her child’s actions. This time we have
a reversal. The counselor told us off the record that Ian threatened a female teacher in the parking lot last spring. Curt stepped in as usual, and Jonathan persuaded the teacher not to press charges.”

Linc’s features were a mass of frustration. “Don’t let this thing slide. My son called just before you two arrived. Gave me an earful about Curt covering for Ian. Confirms what you found out.”

Tigo grinned to relieve the tension, which could have been split with an ax. “Curt isn’t doing his brother any favors. Neither of those kids are choir boys, are they?”

“Heaven help Jonathan if we learn that one of his sons had a hand in killing their mother and sister.”

9:35 P.M. FRIDAY

Kariss pulled her laptop into bed with her and leaned back against a mound of pillows. Exhaustion had hit her early tonight, and she was relieved her mother slept in the guest room near Vicki and Rose. Mom had the baby monitor, so she’d hear any move either of them made. Like a child, Kariss believed having her mother close by meant the world was safe. She knew better, but she’d not go there tonight.

A writing how-to article needed to be edited, but first she wanted to check email. Keeping up with incoming messages could be an addiction. But when they filled her in-box, she found it overwhelming until she responded to questions and concerns. She hadn’t posted on Facebook and Twitter about the accident in case the driver of the pickup followed her on social media and was thinking he’d gotten away with his bullying.

She had 123 new messages since early this morning. Not bad for a Friday. Definitely manageable. Fortunately, most made their way into the Junk folder.

Halfway through the list, an email with the subject line of “Amy Garrett” caught Kariss’s attention. Perhaps Amy had
more than one email address. This one had S. Todd as the sender. Kariss opened the message, expecting to read an insight about the writing project.

Irritation swept through Kariss. She detested anyone telling her what to write or not write. Threats made her furious … though cautious. She responded to the message.

She pressed Send and finished working through the remaining emails. A delivery-failure message popped into her in-box. The S. Todd address wasn’t a legitimate address. Now what was that all about? Leaning back against the mass of pillows, Kariss thought about various scenarios. The sender could be someone who worked at Amy’s office, a person who cared for her and didn’t want Kariss to dredge up old memories. That made sense. The process had the potential to damage the reputation of Freedom’s Way.

Kariss thought that scenario made the most sense, and she’d ask Amy about the email when they met tomorrow afternoon. Kariss doubted the Garrett family would make a threat. Even so, she understood that her dogged attitude could get her into trouble, and she’d learned a valuable lesson last year while researching the Cherished Doe case.

Or had she? Here she was again, writing a book from a cold case in which a violent crime had been committed and not paying any attention to the warning signs. But she also believed in helping crime victims find healing, and this was her way of helping Amy and other victims find it.

JANUARY 19

10:00 A.M. SATURDAY

T
igo stood in the back of the crowded church and scanned those who were attending Joanna and Alexia’s closed-casket funeral. Many solemn kids. Three counselors from the school district who were available for grieving students and parents. Many tears.

Jonathan appeared to be holding up. He’d swiped at his eyes a few times, but his brother, Taylor, stood right beside him offering support. The closest thing Tigo had ever had to brothers was Linc and Ryan, and he’d do just about anything for them.

Men and women hugged Jonathan. Curt wept openly, and Ian clenched his jaw. The boys’ reactions could be their method of expressing sorrow, or it could mean something else—regret or fear of getting caught. Tigo thought well of Curt, but Ian was another matter. Would the older boy cover up evidence to protect the younger?

Why did Tigo feel this family knew more than they had admitted? Attending funerals wasn’t his normal mode of investigation, but his gut was telling him that many of the answers were right there with the Yeats. The killer could be among those gathered in the church, and that knowledge kept Tigo’s senses on alert. The investigation had already uncovered a dysfunctional family that held grudges, lived with shame, and hid secrets.

But the immediate family’s response to the service wasn’t all Tigo was looking for. He had studied the initial video footage of the crime scene and now searched the crowd for someone who might have been at both places. Tigo also planned to attend the meal after the graveside service, which would allow him to mingle … and listen.

Media had mixed reports. Some concentrated on an ex-employee who sought revenge, and others focused on Jonathan as a do-gooder who neglected his family. Mike McDougal had taken the latter stance at Channel 5 and in his weekly blog. Tigo had no use for McDougal, whose writing slanted toward defamation.

The explosion occurred one day after Joanna’s appointment with the attorney, a highly reputable man who had an impeccable family law practice. Nothing had turned up there.

Or was there a compelling motive none of them had uncovered?

Tigo’s attention shifted to Taylor Yeat as he came forward to give the eulogy. The pastor spoke a few words then stopped, overcome with emotion. He took a deep breath and moistened his lips. A man handed him a bottle of water. After a long drink, he thanked those present for their patience. “Alexia was a blessing to Joanna and Jonathan, a gift to all who knew her. She danced. She sang. She played softball and loved to go fishing. Alexia had her mother’s beauty. I …”

While Taylor continued to speak as a family member and pastor, Tigo scrutinized the crowd. Grief increased at each mention of Alexia, a child caught in the middle of an ugly plot. Curt broke down. Ian wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Jonathan sobbed, his anguish rising to a thunderous roar.

A child didn’t deserve to die before having had the chance to live. How could a righteous God justify this? Tigo focused on Taylor, who struggled through his roles of pastor, brother, brother-in-law, and uncle.

“Joanna and my brother were role models for all of us.
Many of you sought them out for counseling regarding anything from finances to parental guidance to marital help. Joanna always had her Bible open with scriptures underlined, but she seldom had to read the passage. She had them memorized.

“Beloved friends and family, today we mourn Joanna’s and Alexia’s passing and the terrible circumstances that have brought us together. Many of you have expressed the need to have the guilty person found, and I’m right there with you.” Taylor wiped his brow. “Joanna would ask us to forgive as Jesus instructed. I admit, it’s a difficult task. I’m trying, but I’m telling you it’s not easy. We can rejoice in the understanding that Alexia and Joanna are with Jesus, and one day we’ll see them again.”

In the meantime, Taylor was asking these people to forgive a murderer. Tigo understood the principles of Christianity, and at times he accepted the theology. But the Jesus-in-your-heart seemed to cripple him, as though believers used their faith as a crutch instead of using logic to think through their problems. Tigo’s heart beat not with forgiveness but with a resolve to find the killer.

A knot formed in his throat. Linc and Ryan were pillars of strength. But Tigo simply didn’t get it, and tragedies like this made him so angry with God. At times he wanted to walk away from finding who God really was and live life his own way. Yet he’d promised his mother he wouldn’t give up.

After the graveside service—where Tigo shivered in the January cold for more reasons than the plunging temperatures—he drove to Jonathan Yeat’s home for the meal. This would last until midafternoon, but the time would be worth every moment if Tigo found a clue about the person who’d planted the bomb. Outside the gated entrance, he spotted Linc, Yvonne, and their college-age son. He hurried to join them. Because of the crime scene, the crowd had to park on the street and display ID before entering the property.

Tigo again realized his suit coat provided little warmth in the forty-degree temps and freezing rain.

“Did you see anything unusual?” Linc murmured.

“Not yet.”

“One of Jonathan’s key employees isn’t here—his executive assistant, Vanessa Whitcom.”

Her absence surprised Tigo after she’d sworn devotion to Joanna and Jonathan. “I’ll look into it.”

“Are you two talking about the investigation?” said Yvonne, a lovely African-American woman who always reminded Tigo of a runway model. Almost as attractive as Kariss. Now why would Tigo think of her when he had work to do?

“Yes, honey. We’re talking about the case,” Linc said. “It’s who we are.”

Yvonne peered around her husband’s side and said to Tigo, “I want to talk to you about Joanna. Perhaps later on. I’ve been trying to make sense of this, and I might have some insight.” She smiled at her husband. “This isn’t anything you haven’t already heard. Sometimes another perspective opens doors we haven’t thought of.”

Linc squeezed her waist. “Thanks, honey. Go ahead and talk to Tigo now, and I’ll begin my own investigation.” He kissed her cheek and walked to the house with their son. A police officer stopped Linc, and he pulled the officer aside, no doubt giving instructions about keeping the agents’ identification private.

Yvonne shivered. “It’s cold. Nasty day for a funeral. Though it’s not as if sunshine would have made it any more bearable … Let me get right to the point.”

Tigo noticed she used the same verbiage as Linc—probably the years of marriage.

“I want to know the smallest thing, so bring it on,” Tigo said.

“Joanna had been distant for the past six months or so. Refused dinner invitations. Said she was worried about Ian. But she wouldn’t say why.”

That made sense.

“I learned from my own son that Ian had been giving his parents trouble. But I thought Joanna and I were friends. Why wouldn’t she tell me about it unless she was embarrassed?” She shrugged. “Joanna prided herself on helping others. Could be she didn’t have a solution for him.”

“So you think Ian had something to do with this?”

“I hope not. I just wondered if she had information about Ian that she couldn’t tell anyone. Maybe he still knows more than he’s claimed.”

Unless the problem was another man. Joanna could have been seeing another man and then wanted out. The guy could have refused. Tigo would chew on it some more. See where it led.

“One more thing.” Yvonne lifted her chin. “She loved Jonathan, and this divorce thing is a cover for something else.”

“Any idea what?”

“No. You’re the FBI agent. I’m just a woman with intuition. Trouble was brewing in the Yeat household, but I have no clue what.”

Another person who shared his suspicions.

Once inside the over-ten-thousand-square-foot home, Tigo joined the people clustered in the formal rooms. The kitchen and dining room tables overflowed with food and beverages, and many people stood in line. Tigo paid his respects to Jonathan, Curt, and Ian and then slipped into the background to observe those in attendance. The Yeat men had been given instructions not to give away Tigo’s profession. In his opinion, the Yeat men walked a fine line of trust. While Tigo wove through the crowd, he heard sympathetic comments.

“I hate this for Jonathan and the boys.”

“Who could have done such a thing?”

“Why haven’t the FBI or HPD made an arrest?”

“We need to keep everyone in our prayers.”

“I was helping Alexia try out for cheerleading.”

Two African-American women stepped outside onto a covered patio. Earlier, Linc had pointed them out as Joanna’s sisters. A little cold for a breather unless their grieving needed to be private. After Curt’s and Vanessa’s comments about the animosity between the sisters, Tigo wanted to hear what they had to say. He grabbed a cup of coffee and exited through the front door, making his way around to the back of the home, where he could hear the conversation.

“I’d give anything to have five minutes with Joanna,” a woman said. “Maybe we could’ve made things right between us. Let go of the past and be real sisters. We were getting close.”

“Give me a break, Angela,” a second woman said. “You don’t think for one minute Joanna lived the holy life. Everything was a front so she could spend money and screw around.”

Tigo pressed Record on his Blackberry. The two had already given the case a new slant.

“I admit she had a few faults,” Angela said, “but when Dad tossed me out on my rear because I was pregnant, Joanna opened her home and paid my bills.”

“A few faults?” the second woman said. “She persuaded you to give up your daughter. You hated her for it.”

“Joanna’s gone. Why drag her through the mud?” Angela sniffed. A click indicated she’d opened her purse. “My baby was better off in a home with two parents who could provide for her.”

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that, and one day you’ll believe it.”

“Darena, how can you be so heartless?” Angela said.

“I’m just saying I thought Joanna had more sense than to get involved with a lowlife who would kill her and her daughter.”

“That’s enough. This is our sister and niece’s funeral. And you’re still acting like a fool. Jealous for no reason except that Joanna was beautiful and had a good life. Conjuring up smut today? That’s low. One of Jonathan’s ex-employees did this,
and you’re stupid to think otherwise. Jonathan was the target, not our sister or niece.”

“I was simply pointing out the facts,” Darena said. “You always were the gullible one, swallowing all Joanna’s piety. Since when did you become so sympathetic?”

“I should have defended her a long time ago instead of letting you walk all over me.”

“Don’t tell me you believed her crap too?” Darena laughed.

“She never did a thing to you but try to be a good sister,” Angela said. “You’re pathetic, and one day you’ll get yours. I’m not listening to any more of this.” The door slammed.

One of Joanna’s sisters despised her. Tigo turned to leave, needing to make his way back into the crowd to talk to the high schoolers. The patio door squeaked, and he hesitated.

“Hey, babe. You doing all right?” The male voice sounded familiar.

Tigo waited a few more moments so he could seal the man’s identity. He anchored his back against the side of the house and took a sip of his coffee. Who did that voice belong to?

“I’m fine, sweetheart. My sister is in total denial. Where’s your wife?”

“With Jonathan. I told her I needed to check on you, but I can’t be gone long. I know you and Joanna had your differences, but this is horrible.”

“So the tears were real?”

“Of course. Can’t believe you’d ask such a thing.”

“I’m sorry.” Darena’s tone dripped in sugar. “You and I have nothing to fear now that Joanna’s gone. Angela has no clue about us.”

“It’s the only thing about today that eases my mind. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Tigo kicked at a stone along the path loud enough to create attention. He stepped into the couple’s view. Darena gasped. The man took a step backward but not quickly enough.

Pastor Taylor Yeat was having an affair with Joanna’s sister?