Deadlock (10 page)

5:35 P.M. WEDNESDAY

Bethany shut down her computer, ready to end the day. Slow progress with the case, but Paul Javon had been arrested on aggravated domestic assault charges and would see a judge in the morning. Carly consulted her uncle’s attorney for legal counsel and gave him Pastor Lee’s name. Paul Javon could be convicted for continuous violence against the family, which meant a heavy fine or two to ten years in prison.

She saw Thatcher leaning against the doorway of her cubicle. How could one man look so good?

“Want to grab something to eat?” he said.

They could discuss the case. Not a bad idea. “Can I run home and change clothes first?”

“Sorry. I’m on a time crunch.”

He must have a date. “We can make it another time. Breakfast? On me?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. What was his problem? The cases? Had SSA Preston given her the ax? Did Thatcher need to talk?

“Know what? We can go now. In fact, I’m ready.”

“Bethany, I have a gig. That’s the reason I can’t go later.”

“What kind of a . . . gig?”

“Not many people know this, but I’m part of a band. When I can, I join them.”

She hadn’t seen that coming. “What do you play?”

“Guitar.”

“What kind of music?”

“Country-western.”

“My fav. Count me in.” She grabbed her purse from her desk drawer. “I have jeans and boots in my truck. Leftovers from a western-day event at church. Won’t take but a minute to change.”

“Sure, but you don’t have to do this. You’ll be alone while I warm up with the rest of the guys and while we’re playing sets until midnight.”

“I can handle it.” Watching Thatcher onstage with a guitar would be priceless. She’d be sure to snap a few pics. “I’ll get into character.”

“Hat too?”

“I draw the line there.” She laughed. “I can hardly wait.”

“Right. Hope you aren’t disappointed.”

At a local restaurant, they ordered chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and rolls, with a salad to balance it out. Thatcher let her know the evening could change on a dime. “Although there are lots of agents on this case, we could get a call.”

Time to focus on the murders. “Wish we were making more headway.”

“Three days into it, we have an abuser in jail.”

But not the killer. “Maybe a few days and assault charges will loosen his tongue.”

“I doubt it.”

At seven thirty, they pulled into the parking lot of a huge country-western club in west Houston. It often hosted big names from Nashville. Impressive.

Three men unloaded equipment from a van parked in front of the rustic entrance. “The rest of the guys are here,” Thatcher said. “Ever been to this club?”

“No. Do you play here often?”

“Depends on how you look at it. My schedule means I might have to replace myself at the last minute. But I have someone who can fill in.” He released his seat belt. “This is a great stress reliever. I want you to keep what happens tonight to yourself. Only two other agents and SSA Preston know about my hobby.”

“Okay. If I want to blackmail you, this would be it?”

“Right.” He feigned irritation, but his lips curved into a smile.

“I wanted to take pics, but I’ll restrain myself. Who are the agents?”

“Grayson Hall and Laurel Evertson. We graduated from Quantico together. Also, Daniel Hilton, Laurel’s fiancé.” They exited his car, and he grabbed his guitar from the trunk. Two of the band members waved. “I’ve never brought a girl to a gig.”

Bethany laughed. The confident agent who flirted with the ladies seemed uncomfortable. “Why did you invite me?”

Thatcher stared at her. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s a way for you to get to know me better. I’m a risk taker.”

“Not so sure I’m ready to unleash much more of my inner personal life.” He already knew about her dad and brother. The rest was boring.

Inside the dimly lit club, a jukebox played the latest Keith Urban. Alcohol assaulted her nose, and she ordered a Diet Dr Pepper. She eased into a seat near the dance floor and watched Thatcher and the three guys set up equipment and warm up. He introduced her as a friend. Curiosity coursed through her about his guitar-playing expertise.

By eight thirty, the club was filled. Weird. Most places didn’t pack a crowd until ten or ten thirty. Two cowboy types approached her for the extra seat, but she told them it was saved for one of the band members.

The band picked up their instruments. Thatcher took center stage. She started. Was he the lead singer? Thatcher Graves a singing cowboy? She drew in a breath. What if he was terrible? What would she say?

At the strum of his guitar, a blonde with more curves than Bethany would ever own made her way to Thatcher. She said something and he snickered. A moment later he shook his head. Maybe some of the office chatter was true.

Thatcher played a few chords. “Thank you for joining us tonight.” He strummed the opening bars of a tune, and the crowd applauded. “So is this what you want to hear?”

When he broke into a song, Bethany shivered to her toes. Never had she imagined the clear, low tones coming from him. She didn’t recognize the song, but with the chorus of “When all my dreams come true, they’ll all be about you,” the crowd roared, and so did she. His voice gave her goose bumps.

She listened and kept smiling. Couldn’t help herself. Had he sung professionally?

After the first twenty-minute set, he joined her with a glass of water.

“Okay, you blew me away,” she said. “You might have missed your calling.”

He took a long drink of water, and she saw him from a different angle. Definitely a unique persona from Special Agent Thatcher Graves. This was a carefree nature she’d seen only glimpses of in the few short days they’d worked together.

“At one time, I recorded on a label in Nashville. Helped me through college. I wanted to continue with the music while practicing psychology, but my dad didn’t approve of either career choice. He was right. The FBI is where I belong.”

Another small hint of the real Thatcher Graves. “So when you can’t make a gig, which one of the guys fills in?”

“Female singer. No competition.”

“You’re really good. I’m glad I came.”

“Just keep it to yourself.”

“I will. Ever work undercover with the band?”

He grinned. “Maybe. But not tonight.”

The blonde from earlier moved closer and finagled her way onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thatcher, I’m hurt. You haven’t called me in weeks.” She kissed him, but he turned away.

“I’ve been busy. Can’t you see I’m with someone?”

Bethany avoided the scene and watched a waitress deliver a pitcher of beer and glasses to a table beside them. The shadow of an Hispanic man in the far corner captured her attention. For a moment she thought it was Lucas. . . . Should she excuse herself for the ladies’ room? Check out the man at the far table?

The man stood, much too heavy for her brother.
Get a grip.
Lucas had better things to do than stalk his sister.

The blonde laughed. “Since when did you go for a Mexican?” she said. “She must be really good.”

He scooted her off his lap and onto her feet. “Insulting my date doesn’t make you look good.”

The blonde swore and walked off.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “She just confirmed all the gossip you’ve heard. The new Thatcher hasn’t surfaced enough yet.”

“Who is the new Thatcher?”

“I’m trying to show it.”

By twelve thirty, they were driving back into town. Exhaustion pelted her body, and she’d be tired in the morning. Yet tonight had been worth it, and she was filled with admiration for Thatcher’s talent. Women were all over him tonight, but he didn’t seem interested. Maybe one day she’d ask to tag along again.

“I have the country-western band going. So what’s something unusual about you?” he said.

“Nothing you could blackmail me about.” Actually there was plenty about her brother and family she wouldn’t want told. “I have an African gray parrot. His name’s Jasper, and he has a huge vocabulary.”

“Does he sing?”

“Sometimes. He does a mean head bob to salsa.”

Her phone buzzed with a text, and she took a quick look.

Bethany, u keep bad company. Guess u will live & die with Graves.

6:45 A.M. THURSDAY

Thatcher invited Bethany for coffee at Starbucks near the FBI office. They both ordered breakfast sandwiches and black coffee. Two things in common this morning, except he added a scone.

“Are you sleeping any better?” He blew into the hot coffee. Usually he requested an ice cube to cool it. This morning his mind spun in too many directions.

“Sort of.”

Which explained why he received texts all hours of the night. “So you think we should concentrate on Alicia’s death.”

“The Caswell murder keeps turning up cold. Nothing from Mae Kenters or the traffic cam footage gave us a lead.”

“I don’t give up, remember? I believe the murders are a serial killing.”

“Gut instinct doesn’t stand up in court. Paul Javon has motive oozing out his pores. Ruth Caswell hadn’t been beaten. In fact, she didn’t have a bruise on her.”

“Aren’t we feisty this morning?”

Her face softened. “I only meant we needed evidence. Can you tell me more about your reasoning?”

“The same method of execution and the two plastic scorpions link the cases. Alicia’s broken arm was prior to her murder.” Thatcher sipped his coffee. “The majority of serial killers pick
their victims at random. They kill because they can. The psychological gratification is their key. Most serial killers satisfy the blood demon, pacifying their craving for a while, and then lay low for months. Not in our cases. Have you analyzed it all?”

“Just shoving information into my head’s data bank.”

He nodded. “Anything kicking around in your head?”

“I’m thinking . . . constantly. Everything about Javon points to him shoving Alicia out of the way and devising a plan to eliminate his daughters for the eight mil. If I could only find proof.”

“I want to bring in Shannon. She’s the aloof one. Carly seems to protect her, and I’d like to know why.”

“Danford said Alicia originally wasn’t going to leave Paul until Shannon graduated from college.”

He typed into his phone. “I’ll arrange it when we get to the office.”

She nibbled on her sandwich. “Why is it you know more about me than I do you?”

“I assumed the office gossip filled you in.”

Her dimples masked the tough-girl agent. “I haven’t seen that side.”

He chuckled, realizing his reputation would haunt him forever. A report came in on both phones. “We have camera footage at Ruth Caswell’s prior to Mae Kenters leaving the room for her break.”

“Inside and outside the home?”

“Right. I’ll want to zoom in on this at the office.”

They finished their breakfast and were walking to the parking lot when another text alerted Bethany, and she snatched it. She paled and glanced around them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Odd text.”

“It obviously shook you up. A blocked number again?”

“Yes. Was Lucas at Starbucks? I always make sure to notice who’s inside a place when I enter, but I didn’t see him.”

“What did he say?”

She handed him the phone.
Drank 2 red-I b4 u arrived. Always 1 step ahead of u. Watch 4 me when you least expect it.

“Lucas wasn’t in the coffee shop. And it really bothers me the sender knows every step you take.”

She shook her head. “Wouldn’t be the first time he kept tabs on me. He’s been at this since I was a freshman in high school. Don’t waste your time on my brother. We have more important things to do.”

Thatcher’s protective nature urged him to say more, but she’d take offense. Didn’t stop the apprehension.

10:37 A.M. THURSDAY

At the office, Bethany noted Shannon Javon had a 4:15 interview today. The young woman could very well lawyer up. Odd, her father’s lawyer phoned earlier stating his client had volunteered to take a polygraph. Fat good that did when it wasn’t admissible in court.

Paul Javon had jail duty until Monday. When the judge heard “person of interest” regarding the serial murder case, he added mandatory anger management classes along with ninety-six hours of community service. Javon pleaded innocent to domestic abuse charges, but Carly’s battered body and testimony proved otherwise. Shannon refused to affirm her sister’s allegations against their father. But maybe she’d have time to think about it before their afternoon interview.

The security camera footage at Ruth Caswell’s home prior to the crime failed to implicate Mae Kenters. Another dead end. Another point for the cold-case side.

Her computer alerted her to an e-mail from
Mamá
. Never uplifting news.

I’m too upset to call, so I’m sending an e-mail. If your brother comes to your apartment, don’t let him in. He’s gone off the deep end. Around nine this morning, he
came back from a motorcycle ride. Stone drunk and high. Said he needed money. When we explained we didn’t have cash at the house because of giving him money the day before, he said bad things and punched a hole in the living room wall. I don’t know where we went wrong with him.

Your
papá
went to the bank to draw out a few thousand dollars. He says the more we give Lucas, the more he’ll see how much we love him and change. Sorry to bother you. I only meant to warn you.

Don’t let your
papá
know about this. I’m deleting it from my Sent file like you showed me.

Instead of responding to her mother’s e-mail, she pressed in her parents’ landline number and hoped
Papá
wasn’t around to answer. Her brother had played the role of a bully his whole life. Why couldn’t her parents see that?

Her mother answered.

“
Mamá
, are you okay?”

“I think so. Your
papá
’s in the garage banging on something. Isn’t going to work until after lunch. He called Lucas and left a voice message telling him the money was here.” She sniffed, and Bethany envisioned her sitting alone in the kitchen.

Papá
only worked in the garage when he was upset.
Mamá
cleaned house. Her brother broke the law. Bethany went shopping.

“Are you afraid?”

“Of my own son? Never. He’s so hurt and troubled. Jail did that to him.”

“He was this way before jail.”

“He has nothing but his motorcycle. Life’s been so unfair to him.”

Bethany swallowed her frustration. “It’s his fault he has no money or a job. You’ve helped him so many times he feels entitled. I bet he’s never thanked you or
Papá
.”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you. Just be safe.”

“I’m not letting him inside my apartment, and I can take care of myself.”

“You call us to come get him. No point in involving the police.”
Mamá
gasped. “You wouldn’t shoot your own brother!”

A dull ache mounted in Bethany’s skull. “At least in jail he wasn’t drinking or fighting.”

“I should hang up before your
papá
comes in.”

“Right. For a moment I forgot I’ve been excommunicated from the church and my family.” Bethany stopped herself before saying more. “I’m sorry. I’m being disrespectful. I love you, and I appreciate your letting me know about Lucas. Does he have the same cell number?”

“Don’t call him. It would only upset him more.” Her mother hung up without a good-bye or indicating Lucas had a different number.

An hour later, Bethany picked up her cell phone for the third time. Should she call Lucas or leave the situation alone? He’d hammered their relationship perhaps beyond repair. Her twenty-seven-year-old brother had a track record of poor choices, abandoned children, and multiple incarcerations. Bethany sighed. He was the son
Papá
had always wanted and could do no wrong. He
 
—

Stop going over the situation.
The past didn’t have to dictate the future. Either she was committed to Lucas’s betterment or not. Just not in the same way as her family.

She stared at her phone. Elizabeth had repeatedly told her she’d never be the one to help Lucas see the light. He held too much malevolence against her. The only prayer she could muster was “Help.” Could he strike back any worse than he already had? His texts were annoying, but stealing
Abuela
’s brooch was low.

When no message came from heaven, she pressed in his old number.

He answered on the third ring. “Why are you bothering me?” He compared her to something too vile for her to think about.

“I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“What do you think? Finally got out of jail, where they treated me worse than a dog. Does that answer your question?”

Jail wasn’t designed to be a five-star resort. “Are you at the shop?”

“None of your business. Look, I have stuff to do. Don’t call me anymore. You destroyed my life, remember? The rest of my family cares. They’ll give me whatever I want. You have no part in my life.”

“Because I want to help you stay out of jail?” Her heart sank to her toes.

“Aren’t you the righteous one? This is your fault. The only reason you’re not in my shoes is because you have your fancy FBI job. You never had to scrape for a living. You’re nothing but a nosy
 
—”

“Hey, enough.”

He swore. “I see your type on every street corner. Sleep around with any man who’ll help you get to the top.”

The typical irrational Lucas response to anyone who tried to reason with him. But his lies hurt, and she refused to get into more of a verbal battle.

“No answer, huh?” he smirked.

“Lucas, stop the texts, and I want
Abuela
’s brooch returned.”

“No one gives me orders. Since you’re such a good FBI agent, work on your and Special Agent Graves’s obituaries. He has the same nowhere future.”

Her stomach lurched. “Are you threatening FBI agents? It’s a federal offense.”

“So have me arrested. Won’t be the first time.” He hung up.

4:20 P.M. THURSDAY

Bethany escorted Shannon Javon from the reception area to an interview room where Thatcher waited. Not one word from the young woman until she was seated.

“This is ridiculous,” Shannon said. “I’m only doing this for Carly.”

This was the docile sister? Or was it a tough-girl act? “How is she?” Bethany poured sweetness into every word.

“AWOL. She belongs at home.”

“Why?”

“Dad wants her there when he returns.”

“So he can knock her around, or has he started on you?”

“He loves us, and with Mom gone, we need to be united as a family. The lies you people feed her have to be stopped.” Shannon’s fingernails were bitten to the quick.

“What lies?”

“The ones Carly keeps telling about our parents’ relationship. She told the judge that Dad had contacted his attorney about their wills, requesting Carly and I be removed from Mom’s inheritance. She even said Dad wanted to know if our trust funds reverted to him in the event of our deaths.” She sobbed. “You influenced Carly to make our dad look evil.”

“Shannon, we had nothing to do with your sister’s testimony. Remember she took an oath to tell the truth. We have the court report. Special Agent Graves, would you like to read Paul Javon’s response to Carly’s claims?”

Thatcher nodded. “Your father admitted to the accusation. You were there.” He picked up the court’s proceedings. “He said Alicia had consulted an attorney about a divorce and he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t leave him penniless with his disability. In addition, your father said Alicia was turning you and Carly against him. Is that true?”

Shannon’s shoulders lifted and fell. “She wasn’t turning us against Dad. Please tell me why I’m here. The nightmare doesn’t stop.”

Sympathy washed over Bethany. She recognized a weak young woman. “Are you holding back any information about your mother’s killer?”

“No, ma’am.”

“What about the name of your father’s girlfriend?”

Shannon blanched. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told the judge
 
—I never heard Dad mention another woman.”

“Did he have unexplained time away from home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did your father abuse your mother?”

Shannon squeezed her fingers into her palms. “I refuse to answer such a question. You have Carly’s statement. No matter how I respond, I hurt a family member.”

“Do you believe your father had your mother murdered?”

Tears filled her eyes. “Are you insane?”

Bethany bored the young woman’s face with a firm gaze. “Yes or no.”

“My father is all I have left. Conversation ended.”