No Escape (19 page)

‘We have Tammy and most likely Brenda.’

Brody hooked his thumbs on his belt. ‘But we don’t have any remains for Susan Carson.’

He covered the remains of the final body. ‘According to my records, she went missing ten years ago.’

‘That is correct.’

‘Carson was petite, standing just over five feet. Judging by the long bones, all three of these victims were over five foot six inches. She’s definitely not one of the three.’

‘Smith gave us two of the three lost victims but not the third.’ Brody shook his head. ‘Why am I not surprised he’d hold back?’

‘Are you certain Susan was one of his victims?’

‘We found her wallet in his house along with a piece of jewelry.’

‘It’s a safe assumption he killed her.’

‘Yeah.’ Brody sighed. ‘Who the hell is the other victim?’

Brody had kept in touch with Tammy’s parents and sister because they’d been so involved in the Smith trial. The three had sat stoically in the back of the courtroom every day of his trial. Deeply religious, the family had often been seen praying during the trial, and the only sign of emotion he’d ever witnessed from them had been the day the medical examiner had discussed asphyxiation. Tammy’s father and mother had wept as their surviving daughter tried to comfort them.

Now as he pulled up in front of the small adobe-style home, he wasn’t sure what to expect when he delivered his grim news. Yes, Tammy had been found but now whatever hope they’d harbored that she might be alive and return home one day would vanish.

He parked and moved up the sidewalk past a couple of tricycles with grim determination. Tammy’s parents had both died in the last year, both taken by cancer. That left Tammy’s sister, Logan, as the family’s sole survivor.

He rang the bell. Inside he heard the rush and clamor of young children followed by a mother’s lighthearted warnings. ‘Scoot or no ice cream.’

The door snapped open and the instant Logan Myers’s green gaze met Brody’s, the laughter died. A red-checked towel in her hands, she quickly finished drying her hands. ‘It’s been awhile.’

He touched the brim of his white hat. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

She pushed open the screen door. ‘I see your name in the paper from time to time. Congratulations on getting that Rangers star. I’m glad you’re doing well.’

Right now, he didn’t feel fine but ham-fisted and lacking. ‘Thank you.’

Logan pushed her hand through disheveled, brown hair. ‘The place is a mess but come on in and have a seat.’ The children he’d heard through the door turned out to be two towheaded twin boys who were about five. They halted in their tracks when they saw Brody and stared at him wide-eyed.

‘Afternoon, boys.’

The boys glanced at their mother and back at Brody.

Logan tucked her towel in her apron pocket. ‘Travis and Tyler, I’d like you to meet Texas Ranger Brody Winchester.’

Travis grinned. ‘A real Ranger?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Brody said.

Tyler raised his thumb to his mouth before thinking better of it. ‘Are we in trouble?’

Logan shook her head. ‘No one’s in trouble, boys. The Ranger is here to talk to me about some old business.’

‘Does he have a gun?’ Travis said.

‘I do,’ Brody replied.

‘Can I touch it?’

Brody shook his head, smiling. ‘No, sir. You got to be a might bigger before that can happen.’

Travis cocked his head. ‘I’ll be six next month.’

Brody considered the new bit of information. ‘No, I don’t believe that will be old enough.’

‘What about your hat?’ Tyler said.

Brody squatted. ‘I don’t see how that could hurt anything. Have a look.’

The boys scrambled close, each staring at the hat as if it were solid gold.

‘What’s that around the band?’ Travis said.

‘A silver concho. Belonged to a man who was a Ranger for thirty years. He gave it to me.’

‘You ever shoot a bad guy?’

‘Do you have a horse?’

Brody grinned at the rapid-fire questions.

Logan gently touched each boy on the head. ‘Okay, you two, you’ve seen enough. Now, I need you to scoot on to your rooms and I’ll be in presently.’

When the boys didn’t budge, Brody raised a brow as he stood to his full six-foot-four frame. ‘Sounded like an order to me, partners.’

The boys’ eyes widened and they turned and ran to their rooms.

Logan smiled after them. ‘I could use you around here more often, especially at bedtime when no one is able to listen to a word I say.’

Brody smiled. ‘Happy to help.’

She extended her hand to a well-worn sofa. ‘Have a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee or a soda?’

‘No, ma’am.’ He sat, his large frame not quite fitting on the sofa. He waited until she’d taken a seat across from him in a Lay-Z-Boy before easing onto the edge of the couch. ‘I’ve come to tell you we found Tammy’s body.’

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them for a moment. ‘I saw on the news last week that they’d found Christa Bogart in a shallow grave and I’d wondered. But every time I hear a story like that I wonder if Tammy’s also been found.’ She raised her gaze to him. ‘I’m tired of wondering but I can’t help myself.’

His hat dangled on the edges of his long fingers. ‘It’s natural.’

A bitter frown twisted her lips. ‘Funny you should come here today. I heard on the news that Smith died. Heart attack. Cheated the needle and cancer.’

Brody had kept Smith’s death under wraps until the midday news. No telling what Robbie would do when he got wind of Smith’s death, but Brody hoped it forced a mistake.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She met his gaze, all hints of softness gone. ‘I’m sorry they weren’t able to execute him properly. I’d have had a front row seat for that.’

He’d seen mixed reactions from those who’d witnessed executions. Some experienced vindication while others remained as hollow as ever. But there was no point in telling her. No one understood until they lived it.

‘I don’t suppose you know how she died.’

‘No, ma’am. The medical examiner wasn’t able to determine cause of death.’

‘Like the others, most likely.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She twisted the folds of her apron in her hands. ‘Tammy made her share of mistakes, but she was trying to get herself together. I thought she’d made it.’ She was silent before straightening. ‘Well, I appreciate you coming to tell me.’

Case closed. Killer dead. And still inadequacy gnawed at him because he knew Smith’s legacy continued to kill and destroy more families like the Myers family. ‘I wanted to see it through.’

‘Thank you.’

Smith had skirted justice. But he’d be damned if his apprentice would.

The news of Smith’s death didn’t reach Robbie until late in the day. He’d been busy all day with work, away from TV and radio. The first time he’d heard the news he’d been driving home.

Stunned and not sure if he’d heard correctly, he’d frantically punched buttons, trying to find another station that was reporting the news. When he couldn’t find one he’d rushed home and went straight to his computer. He’d searched Smith’s name and immediately the prison’s news release popped up.

Convicted Serial Killer Harvey Lee Smith died in West Livingston prison of an apparent heart attack.

Robbie sat back in his chair and stared at the screen. Smith had never had heart trouble. But, of course, since the cancer, maybe he’d weakened.

Blinking back tears, Robbie remembered that Smith didn’t approve of emotion.
Keep your feelings hidden, boy, even in private. You never know who is watching
.

Biting the inside of his mouth, he focused on the physical pain. But his emotions wouldn’t be corralled and he was left with a burning sense of sadness and loss. Harvey was dead. Harvey was dead.

There’d been a time when he’d thought the indestructible Harvey would live forever.

Harvey had plucked him from a rancid hand-to-mouth existence. He’d given him an education. A purpose.

There was so much he owed Harvey. So much he wanted to give in return. And though he’d killed and shown Harvey he could man up, a deep sense of lacking would not lift from his shoulders.

Robbie tapped the keys of his computer. Harvey had always wanted to connect with that damn kid of his, and as much as Robbie resented the old man’s love for that child, he knew Harvey had suffered for not knowing his kid.

He searched her name on the Internet. Dr. Jolene Granger. Images of Jo Granger popped up and he stared at them for a long, long time.

‘Sure I’d like to see her,’ Harvey had once said. ‘But a scorpion’s nature doesn’t change. Sooner or later I’d turn on her.’

Robbie smiled as he traced her face on the screen. ‘I can give you this last gift, Harvey. I can see to it that you and your baby girl are together forever.’

Tuesday, April 16, 9:00
A.M.

Jo’s support group meeting for the at-risk teen girls had gone well last night. She’d had a good turnout and the girls had been in high spirits. Two of the pregnant girls had talked about making an adoption plan for their babies. Jo had listened and offered to put them in touch with a good social worker if they were serious.

She’d hoped Sadie would show but, not surprisingly, the girl didn’t make the meeting. By the time Jo had arrived home, she’d been dead on her feet and still her sleep had been restless.

Yawning, she blinked and refocused on the open case file on her desk. She needed to get her work done so she could slip out in an hour. Today was Christa Bogart’s funeral.

When the receptionist buzzed her phone, she was actually glad for the interruption. ‘Dr. Granger.’

‘Yes?’ She pulled off her reading glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.

‘There is a Ranger Brody Winchester here to see you.’

Jo sat straighter. ‘In the lobby now?’

‘Yes. He’d like to see you.’

‘I’ll be right down.’

She hung up, rose and tucked her already smooth blouse into her waistband. Moving toward the door, she peered at her reflection in a small mirror. Her gaze looked a little wild. She moistened her lips.

‘Good Lord, Jo. What the devil has you riled up? He’s here on business, just the way it should be and always will be.’

She found Brody standing in the lobby chatting with the receptionist. Sammy, normally jaded and aloof, grinned up at Brody as if she were about to melt. Brody listened as she talked and managed a funny quip or two.

Jo’s own excited heart slowed a beat. She’d forgotten that Brody could be a charmer. He’d certainly charmed her in college, and like Sammy, she’d willingly lapped up every honey-coated word. The memory cooled her excitement so much that when she spoke her voice had a chill. ‘Ranger Winchester.’

The easy laughter faded from his gaze. ‘Dr. Granger.’

Aware Sammy watched them closely, she hid all traces of emotion. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Got an idea I’d like to run past you.’

‘My office is this way.’

‘After you, ma’am.’

She moved toward the hallway, her shoulders tense and tight as she listened to the steady footfall of his feet. In her office she resisted the urge to move behind her desk, but offered him a seat on the couch as she took the chair beside it.

Instead of sitting right away, he walked around her office and studied the diplomas on the wall. ‘I always knew you were smart, Jo. But to see it up here in black-and-white, well, I see that I underestimated you. Summa cum laude. That is something. Brain cell for brain cell, I always knew you outgunned me.’

‘I’ve read some of your interviews with suspects. You’ve gotten confessions when no one else could.’

He grinned. ‘You’ve been keeping up with me, Jo?’

She sat back in her seat, aware that body language telegraphed more than words. And she wanted to tell Brody that he did not get to her. ‘Sure. I’ve read lots of reports written by the Rangers.’

He faced her, his white hat dangling from his fingers. ‘Which of my cases did you read?’

Too many of them. ‘Did you come here to talk about the past?’

He grinned. ‘No. But now that I’m here, it’s a topic worth exploring.’

‘I don’t think much about the past.’

‘Not even a little?’ His tone teased.

She crossed her legs. ‘Tell me, what did you come by to talk to me about?’

He took the seat on the couch and tossed his hat to the side. Staking a claim. This close she could smell the hint of the same aftershave he’d worn in college. ‘Christa Bogart’s funeral is this morning.’

His statement extinguished that flicker of giddiness in her belly. ‘I know. I’d planned to go.’

‘Good. So am I. I want to see who shows up.’

With effort, she relaxed deeper into her seat. ‘You think the killer might attend?’

‘It’s been known to happen.’

‘Sounds reasonable.’

‘I’d like you to come with me.’

‘I’ll be there.’

‘Better if you are at my side. I can get your feedback as it comes to you.’

‘You know how to read people. You don’t need me.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re better with people than I am. I’m good at browbeating and can be tricky when I want to be. But most folks go on guard when they see me coming. Not you, though. You disarm people.’

She laughed. ‘You charmed a smile out of Sammy who hasn’t smiled at me in the three years I’ve worked here. You do fine with people.’

He winked. ‘Well, you got me there. I am good at charming the womenfolk. But a funeral’s a different beast altogether. Highly emotional time. A lot of raw emotion. That kind of situation takes a special kind of finesse. The kind you have.’

She cocked a brow and, unable to resist, said, ‘You’re good at flirting and fighting, where my specialty is …’

A smile teased the edges of his lips. ‘You’re good at seeing details I don’t.’

‘The funeral is not for another hour and the church is close.’

‘If we leave now we’ll get there early and can watch folks as they arrive.’

‘Leave now?’

She didn’t want to go anywhere with him. The less they saw each other, the better. This was not a date. It was work.

His gaze winked with the satisfaction of a fisherman who’d caught a big one. ‘You’ll be back in plenty of time.’

‘All right. I’ll go early.’ She rose and moved toward her jacket hanging on the back of the door. ‘Where do you want to meet at the church?’

Grabbing his hat, he stood. ‘No sense taking two cars when one will do the trick. Besides, we can talk in the car on the way back about what you saw.’

She could argue with his logic and sound petty and small. Instead, she slid on her jacket, fastened the center button and grabbed her purse. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I knew you’d be a team player, Jo.’

‘That’s me. Team player.’

He opened the door for her and waved to Sammy as they waited for the elevator. ‘I’ll have your girl back before you know it, Miss Sammy.’

The woman’s grin broadened. ‘See that you do. She’s one of our best.’

‘Can I get that on tape?’ Jo said to Sammy.

Sammy laughed. ‘No way.’

The doors dinged, opened and Jo stepped onto the elevator, wondering what alternative reality she’d entered. A week ago if someone had painted this scene she’d have laughed. But there it was: Sammy smiling and Jo stepping out with her ex-husband.

It took less than ten minutes to drive to the church, a simple clapboard, whitewashed building. The sign out front listed Sunday’s sermon J
ESUS
W
ANTS
Y
OU
! along with a list of hymns.

As Brody predicted, they arrived early enough to get a seat in the back by the door. Jo settled on a wooden pew and stared at the front of the church, shaped like a cross. It was a good-sized sanctuary, likely able to seat a thousand. Pews filled the right and left wings and all the way back to the double doors, now wide open to allow the arrival of mourners. A large wooden cross dangled over the red-carpeted center stage at the church’s front. A grand podium was positioned to the right and beside it a large glamour shot of Christa. There were no flowers in the church, and Jo remembered that Christa’s sister had requested that flower monies be donated to the Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

Brody removed his hat and settled beside her so close his shoulder brushed hers. The deliberate move was most likely about economy of space.

She eased back, Brody’s shoulder touching hers, and focused on the task. ‘Do you really believe he will come?’

Brody kept his gaze on incoming mourners. ‘I do.’

‘Why?’

A half smile tugged the edge of his lips. ‘Do you ever accept an answer at face value?’

‘I do when it’s complete.’

He lowered his voice and leaned closer to her, his gaze still trailing everyone who entered. ‘Because, Dr. Granger, if Robbie is our guy, he’s had one hell of a week. Not only did we find his kill, but his mentor died.’

‘He’s feeling a lot of emotions,’ she added. ‘Some good and some not so good. Here he not only sees the power of his actions, but here he also can mourn, not for Christa but Smith.’

‘Right on the money, Doc. Right on the money.’

A group of women entered. Jo remembered them from the search. They’d worked with Christa. Dressed in black, they dabbed handkerchiefs to their red eyes as they searched for a seat. More like them followed until soon people packed the church. Jo and Brody were forced to sit so close her thigh brushed his. She’d forgotten about the raw power leashed in his body. The times they’d made love before she’d gotten pregnant she’d savored that power and the power of feeling safe and protected.

Safe.
She’d not been safe. She’d been playing with fire. And been burned. She drew in a breath so deep it caught Brody’s attention.

‘Everything okay?’ he whispered.

‘Yes, fine.’

His gaze bore on her a beat before he turned back to the crowd. ‘See that couple?’

Jo followed his line of sight to a young, attractive man wearing a dark suit and the woman leaning heavily on his arm.

‘That’s Christa’s boyfriend, Scott, and her sister, Ester.’

The couple all but hung on each other as if they could topple any moment. ‘They appear devastated.’

He studied them closely. ‘They do, don’t they?’

She heard the doubt in his voice as a group of folks arrived wearing the
Find Christa!
T-shirts. ‘Hundreds of volunteers helped search for her. Including myself.’

He cocked his head but his gaze remained on the crowd. ‘You mentioned that. What pulled you into the search?’

‘Tim Neumann, the guy headed this way now, sent out a mass e-mail. He sold me my house a couple of years ago. Apparently, he sent flyers to all his clients. It made sense to help.’

‘He was also helping Christa and Scott find their first house.’

‘He’s good. High energy. Personable. He had a way of keeping everyone motivated and working when the weather would have made it easy to stop. He’s the one that found Atticus last year and talked me into taking the cat.’

Tim hugged a young woman with long, brown hair and whispered something in her ear that made her smile as more tears flowed. He spoke to others, all willing to rally around him.

Jo’s neighbor, Rucker, entered the back of the church. However, the church was full and he was forced to stand with a group of latecomers in the back.

‘That your neighbor?’ Brody said.

‘Yeah. He was one of the searchers too.’

Brody studied the man a beat. An organist began playing ‘Amazing Grace’ and he shifted his attention to the front of the church. A choir, dressed in white, took center stage as they sang. The congregation rose and sang as the pallbearers entered with a casket draped in red roses.

Jo dug a hymnal out of the seat back in front and opened the book to the song. She held it up for Brody so he could see and he accepted the weight of the book. They sang and watched the crowd.

The pallbearers wheeled the casket to the front of the church as the minister, a tall, lean man with a thick shock of white hair, welcomed everyone with a prayer. The minister invited Scott and Ester up to the front to speak.

Ester’s hands shook as she unfolded a piece of paper and cleared her throat. Her lips were drawn and tight, and her voice broke when she read. Several times she stopped to collect herself. Scott wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him before dabbing her eyes and reading her prepared words about her sister. Jo noted Scott’s right hand at his side. He rubbed his thumb and index finger together. A self-comforting gesture.

The next hour was a parade of people who all had lovely sentiments to share about the young woman who’d had a generous heart, loved school and had been excited about her wedding, which would have been in this church if she’d not died.

When the service ended, Jo watched pallbearers carry out the casket as the mourners followed. Most, genuinely upset, kept their gazes toward the casket. There were some, especially among the
Find Christa!
group, driven by the event’s drama. That was to be expected. Any funeral or tragic event attracted those who coveted center stage.

Scott, she knew, had been a suspect. She had no reason to doubt that his anguish was real, but she’d also interviewed killers who were truly heartbroken after the explosive, violent moments that led to a loved one’s death.

When everyone had left, Brody escorted Jo into the bright sunshine. She removed sunglasses from her purse, and he settled his Stetson on his head. In the church they’d gone all but unnoticed but out here there was no mistaking a Texas Ranger. Several folks boldly stared at them while others whispered and pointed.

Talk around them didn’t turn to murder immediately, but as folks lingered and watched the casket being led to the hearse, several peered in their direction.

Scott stopped his march to the limo, whispered something in Ester’s ear and made his way through the crowd toward them. Several times he was forced to stop as someone offered him condolences. With each delay his face tightened with tension.

‘Ranger Winchester,’ Scott said, not tossing a slight glance at Jo. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m paying my respects.’ Brody made no move to introduce her, which gave her the opportunity to remain unnoticed by Scott.

‘I can’t have you questioning these people here today. They are all devastated by Christa’s death, and questions would heap trauma on trauma.’

Brody’s jaw tightened a fraction. He still didn’t like hearing no. ‘I’m an observer here today.’

‘What is there to see other than grief and sadness?’

‘You never know.’

Scott’s clenched fists at his side. ‘You don’t belong here. I want you to leave.’

Brody didn’t budge. ‘Can’t do that.’

Scott’s jaw clenched as he fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone. ‘I’m calling your supervisor.’

Brody didn’t flinch.