Deadlock (3 page)

10:40 A.M. MONDAY

While Bethany waited for Thatcher to join her in the FBI lower hallway, she lifted the Diet Dr Pepper to her lips, like the classic commercial
 
—10, 2, 4, and anytime in between when she needed a burst of energy. Liquid courage trickled down her throat. She’d made a fool of herself. By noon she might be back in the civil rights division. Still, she believed pressing Paul Javon and his younger daughter would provide faster results than interviewing their pastor. A whole list took precedence over speaking to the pastor, one being to transcribe the notes she’d just taken into a spreadsheet. At least in the car, she could concentrate on FBI and HPD reports on her phone.

She reached for her phone to read the text from
Mamá
, sent when she and Thatcher were discussing the case.

Lucas released from jail. Says he needs money.

Let her brother get a job and earn a living honestly instead of armed robbery, which only got him eleven months.
Mamá
and
Papá
would hand over whatever he needed. She glanced at the text’s recipients. It went to her sisters too. No surprise. Baby brother’s actions were always justified. She closed her eyes while guilt assaulted her for not responding. Then she texted her mother.

I know a contractor who needs workers

Lucas is fragile & can’t take a job right now. How much will you give?

None

I’m really sad & disappointed

Exasperation caused her to drop her cell back into her purse. She’d concentrate on her new assignment and pray Lucas had learned something in jail besides new ways to con everyone in his universe.

10:56 A.M. MONDAY

While Thatcher and Bethany walked to his Mustang in the FBI parking lot, he phoned Nick Caswell, Ruth’s son and only living heir.

“Dr. Caswell, I have a few questions for you,” Thatcher said. “Do you know Alicia Javon, or had your mother ever mentioned her?”

“I don’t recall the name, but I’ll look into it and ask my wife. Why do you ask?”

“Alicia Javon was murdered yesterday, and there are some similarities between her case and your mother’s. At this point we’re compiling history on both women for the past six months. If you can get your hands on a list of all those who had contact with your mother, including services at her home, that will expedite the investigation. I’ll send a follow-up e-mail later on today with specifics.”

“Whatever it takes. Shouldn’t be too tedious since I managed her affairs for the past year.”

“Thanks. Was your mother religious?”

“Depends on the season of the year. I’d say more generous than religious.”

Thatcher thanked him and set the phone aside. “Nick’s an orthopedic surgeon, a good man.” He pointed to his car. “There’s my ride.” She hadn’t said a word, and from the look on her face, her mood could be served with shaved ice.

Once he pulled onto 290, he chose to try breaking her chill. “How about an interrogation?”

She swung his way. “With the pastor?”

“No, us.” He chuckled. “Hours and days of work are ahead of us. We need to know each other on a personal level.”

“I really wonder if a Q & A is necessary.”

Why was this woman so private? Unless his reputation with women had her cautious. “If we’re in a shoot-out, I want to know my back’s covered.”

“Makes sense. What’s your plan?”

“You’ve proved yourself an outstanding agent in the civil rights division. Why transfer to violent crime?”

She blinked. “The challenge.”

“Really?”

“I’m not a stranger to violent crime.”

“I see where you were raised. Any killings affect you personally?”

“All of them.”

“How?” Textbook answers didn’t let him inside the real agent, the one who was influenced by life’s curveballs to work a murder.

She moistened her lips. “Where I grew up, a boy’s arrest is his initiation into manhood, and blood in the streets is a fact of life.”

Tough girl. “Revenge or justice?”

She lifted her gaze. “Justice.”

“What’s your favorite candy?”

“What?”

“Humor me for a moment.”

“None.”

“Do you have a dog?”

“No.”

“Why a Ford pickup?”

“I’m short. Helps me see better.”

“Siblings?”

“Three sisters and one brother. I’m next to the youngest. I threw in the extra for more points.”

He laughed. She could lighten up. “Your name isn’t Spanish.”

“My parents wanted the best of both worlds for their kids.”

“Hobbies?”

“The FBI.”

“Why the FBI?”

“Why not?”

“This isn’t a test. Our quirky traits make us unique.”

She remained stiff. “You’re asking weird questions. Am I winning or losing?”

“This isn’t a game. From your answers, I can’t bribe you with candy to enter my notes into the computer. I can’t show up at your door to walk your dog so you’ll bring me coffee in the mornings. We both drive Fords. You have a large family, and you hate to lose. Diet Dr Pepper is your beverage of choice, although I think it tastes like bad medicine. You’re performance-oriented, and your reasons for choosing a career in the FBI and specifically violent crime are private.”

Her eyes flashed. “In other words, a certain amount of familiarity between us is necessary. I’m not used to a partner being privy to my personal life.”

“You weren’t investigating a murder. My weakness could be your strength and the other way around.”

“You might be right.”

Getting her to loosen up was like shooting blanks at a moving target. “For the record
 
—red licorice, no dog, drive a Mustang, only kid, enjoy country-western music, and my dad offered me ten grand if I joined the FBI.” He grinned. “I like sports, and it’s how you play the game.”

“I play to win.”

“Figured so.”

11:57 A.M. MONDAY

After battling Houston traffic from the FBI office to University Boulevard, Thatcher stood with Bethany in the office reception area of Alicia Javon’s church with Pastor Lee. Dark caverns shadowed beneath the aging man’s eyes. He represented truth, but he seemed hesitant to meet with the two agents. Perhaps the idea of a murdered church member scraped raw against a message of love and forgiveness. His shoulders held the weight of too many people expecting too much from one man.

“Would you rather come to our office?” Thatcher said.

Pastor Lee sighed. “We can talk now for a few minutes.”

Once seated in the pastor’s office, Thatcher sensed the man’s barrier in his reluctance to make eye contact. Walls were built to protect, not hide, and he saw fear and exhaustion in the pastor’s demeanor. Thatcher understood the horror of spilled blood when life flowed to nonexistence. He experienced the inevitable finality every time an innocent person walked into death’s trap. Right now, he needed to soothe Pastor Lee’s nervousness. They were on his side.

“Pastor, our job is to find out who killed Alicia Javon,” he said.

Red rimmed his eyes. “The family and my members are suffering. Paul suggested a memorial service right away since Alicia wished to be cremated, and we have no idea when you people
will release her body.” He paused. “Can’t you let us go on with our lives?”

Thatcher leaned toward him. “We don’t ignore a murder. The person responsible for Mrs. Javon’s death has possibly killed another woman and is free to kill again. Is that what you want? What if the killer is a member of your church? Even someone you respect?”

Pastor Lee’s drawn features paled. “The thought makes me ill. I’m sorry about my lack of cooperation. I’ll help you.” He closed the door to his office. “Are you recording this conversation?”

“Can we?”

“I prefer not.”

Thatcher could have persuaded him without using shock tactics, but he was in what-works mode, and that meant dealing with Pastor Lee’s difficult emotions. “We appreciate your time in this tragedy.”

“Alicia’s family is in bad shape. I was at their hotel until two this morning.”

“That’s why we’ve got to work together to find the killer. Special Agent Sanchez and I are committed to ending the murders.”

The man glanced at Bethany. His features hardened. Did he have a problem with a female agent? Or a Hispanic? His church was upper-crust white bread. . . .

“We understand how you’d like to put this behind you,” Bethany said. “The sooner this case is solved, the easier everyone will rest. Special Agent Graves will ask the questions, and I’ll write your responses.” She pulled a notepad from her purse and opened it to a clean page. The woman with huge dark eyes and inches-long lashes wore professionalism in one package, and she must have seen the revulsion for something in Pastor Lee.

“I want this nightmare ended,” the pastor said. “With closure, the Javons can grieve without fear.”

“Have they shared their apprehension with HPD?” Thatcher said.

“Yes, of course. I think that’s natural when a loved one is murdered. However, none of the other family members have been
threatened. Neither was Alicia. They were an excellent Christian family.”

There were holes in the story. Every family had its share of dysfunction, and the Javons were at the top of the list. “We’re ready to get started.” Thatcher nodded at Bethany, and she clicked her pen.

“Pastor Lee, we’re looking for a connection between Alicia and another recently murdered woman. Do you know Ruth Caswell?”

“Other than hearing her name as a victim, no.”

“Did Mrs. Javon ever confide in you about concern for her life?”

“Never.” He folded his hands into a tight fist.

“Anyone who might be upset with her? A situation at her place of employment, here at church, or in the community?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Was she active in your church? Did she hold a leadership position?”

“She led a Tuesday night Bible study at a women’s shelter.” The lines in Pastor Lee’s face softened. “I’ve been told the women loved her.”

“The facility could be housing the killer’s family or girlfriend,” Thatcher said. “What is the name of the facility?”

“Noah’s Loft. It’s located in the northeast part of town,” Pastor Lee said. “Her group wasn’t just a Bible study, but an outreach built on enriching the lives of each resident through faith. She supported them in every way possible. Even helped them write résumés so they could find jobs.”

“What about her husband?”

“Paul is a good man. A deacon.”

“I see Paul Javon is unemployed. Did they have any problems, marital or otherwise?”

Pastor Lee swiped at his nose. Did he have any knowledge of Paul Javon’s earlier interview? “Not any more than anyone else.”

A lie. Body stiffened.

“Normal couple. Volunteered in the church. Beautiful and talented daughters.”

“I don’t think you’re being honest about the Javons’ relationship.” Thatcher believed it was time to pull off the gloves. “If you are aware of anything about the case, now is the time to step forward.” Why would a man of God hold back anything that would help solve a murder?

“What I have is trivial.”

“We’ll decide the value.”

Pastor Lee stared at his desk. “The Javons were having marital difficulties. I counseled them. The last time they were in my office, I saw complete reconciliation.” He toyed with a pen on his desk. “I shouldn’t be telling you this
 
—their confidentiality is at stake. They’re upstanding members.”

“The law says when a crime has been committed, confidentiality no longer applies. You wouldn’t want to be held liable in Alicia’s death.”

His nostrils flared. “You’re making insinuations with no validation.”

Thatcher nodded for Bethany to take over.

“Pastor Lee, Alicia couldn’t defend herself from her attacker because her arm was in a cast. Her husband admitted to anger issues,” she said, her voice soft with a hint of her Hispanic roots. “What made you think the situation was improving?”

Pastor Lee waited before answering, no doubt to ease the red flaming his face. “They were in my office a week ago. They planned a trip together. They
 
—”

“What are you not telling us?” she said.

Pastor Lee’s shoulders rose. “I’ve told you everything. Paul and Alicia worked out their minor differences. If you don’t mind, agents, I have a memorial service to prepare for the Javon family.” He pushed back from his desk and walked to the door.

“What kind of marital difficulties?” Bethany obviously wouldn’t let this go easily. Persistence. Thatcher valued tenacity.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

“Special Agent Graves explained the repercussions of with
holding evidence in a murder case. You claim their problems were settled.” Her calm manner spread through the office. “Do you know the death stats on family violence? Over 200,000 domestic violence incidents were reported in Texas last year, and over 84 percent of abuse victims are women.”

Pastor Lee opened the door. “If you’re implying what I think you are, you’re making a ridiculous accusation. A man who fasts forty days for his marriage is a righteous man. Agents, have a blessed day.”

While Thatcher and Bethany walked to his car, he processed the pastor’s words. “He’s keeping information from us.”

“Counseling confidentiality is one thing, and I respect him for his boundaries. But his avoidance of responding to questions tells me the Javons’ relationship had hit bottom.”

“Intuition or fact?”

“I do have my feelings side and no room for those who protect the guilty.”

She had the SS syndrome, sweet sarcasm. So far Bethany Sanchez communicated like an FBI robot. Not a good set of traits when he relied on her to watch his back. “We’ll follow up on this interview. See if the good pastor will open up a little more.”

“Might take another body to convince him,” she said. “We should have stayed right there in his office and asked him to pray about his decision to protect a murder suspect.”

Thatcher swung her a grin. “I’m all over it.”

She returned a smile. “Where to now?”

“Alicia’s employment.”

She started, no doubt disagreeing with their next move.

“You have reservations?” he said.

She shook her head. “It’s my first day. But if we talk to Pastor Lee again, I want at him.”

“Are we changing roles, partner?”

“Probably not. Did you note he referred to the Javons in the present tense, while Alicia’s husband referred to her in the past?”

“Now that you mention it, the present tense seems to indicate Pastor Lee has no doubts about the couple having a solid marriage, which we know isn’t true.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know the whole truth. A man who abuses his wife, then fasts for his marriage is not about to admit he’s at fault.”

On this one, she had a good point.

Once on the road in Thatcher’s silver Mustang, they swung onto 610 north toward the Galleria area, where Danford Accounting represented many of the wealthy citizens of Houston. Up ahead, an overturned truck sent four lanes down to two, and traffic slowed to a crawl in the far right lanes. Add a blinding downpour to the mix. Not exactly what Thatcher needed today with a list of interviews glaring at him. Emergency vehicles and police cars swarmed the area.

“We could walk faster than this,” Thatcher said. “What I wouldn’t give for a siren.”

“You could always work for HPD.”

Thatcher had that one coming. “Ah, no thanks. I wouldn’t be able to keep the uniform clean.”

Bethany chuckled. “From what I’ve heard, you’d bankrupt the department in replacing them. Unless you worked undercover.”

“I’ll stick with the FBI. Hey, you did well back there, and I don’t blow smoke.”

“Thanks. Pastor
 
—” A text came through on her phone.

“For us?”

“I wish.” She stared out the window. “I apologize for the two personal interruptions today.”

“No problem.”

She kept her attention on the highway.

Something had Bethany unnerved, and his sources said she was always in control.