No Escape (8 page)

Marissa motioned for an assistant with a video camera. ‘Shoot this.’ When the camera was rolling, she slowly cut the bindings enough to release the wrist. Rigor mortis had long come and gone so the arm moved with relative ease. Though the skin had darkened and slipped, it was possible to make out a butterfly tattoo.

Jo’s eyes narrowed. At first with the decomposition she wasn’t sure but the longer she stared at the image the more certain she became. ‘I’ve seen it before.’

‘Where?’ Brody said.

‘I volunteered to help find a missing girl.’

She studied the girl’s pale face, forever frozen in panic and fear. She couldn’t imagine what it felt like to have the earth crushing the air from your lungs. ‘We were looking for a girl named Christa Bogart. Twenty-two years old. Went missing about a month ago. A local businessman started the
Find Christa!
campaign.’

Brody frowned. ‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure Christa had a butterfly tattoo. If you can clean her up, maybe get prints, you might be able to confirm this is Christa.’

‘We’ll get on that ASAP.’

She leaned closer. ‘What’s that in her hand?’

Marissa leaned closer. ‘Looks like a silk flower.’

‘A Texas bluebonnet,’ Jo said.

Brody’s jaw tensed. ‘The classified ad read: BLUEBONNETS.’

‘How did Smith know that she was here?’ Marissa said.

Jo took a sip from the water bottle. ‘I don’t think he knew for sure. I think he rightly guessed if his apprentice was indeed killing that he was going to follow in his footsteps and use a burial site they’d visited before. It would have been a place this killer knew, was familiar with and therefore felt safe here.’

‘But if he’d chosen another site,’ Marissa countered, ‘he might not ever have been caught.’

Brody rubbed the back of his neck. ‘He sent a message to Smith through the paper, and Smith sent one back when he sent us here.’

‘I suspect Smith knows Robbie as well as Robbie does himself.’

‘They’ve not seen each other in a decade,’ Brody said.

‘That will add variables to the equation, but Smith made Robbie. Programmed him. If we want to find Robbie, we need to talk to Smith again.’

‘I’ll see what I can arrange.’

When the DPS officer dropped Jo off at her house, it was ten minutes to seven on Sunday evening. Brody had stayed at the crime scene but she’d opted to leave, knowing she’d done all she could for now. She had enough time to shower quickly and hustle into town and make her dinner appointment with Lara and Cassidy.

Hair wet and no makeup except mascara, she made it to the restaurant ten minutes late. A miracle.

‘Well, you look like something the cat dragged in,’ Cassidy said to Jo.

Jo slipped into the booth at the casual, vegetarian Austin eatery, doing her best to look cheery and not fresh from a hurried shower and a crime scene. Sitting across from her was Cassidy Roberts, a tall brunet. Sleek, well dressed and wearing a turquoise bracelet and earrings, Cassidy looked like a successful art gallery owner. And beside her was Lara Church, a petite blonde, wearing a loose top, jeans and no makeup. She looked like an artist. Several of her photographs hung in Jo’s house. The two women were first cousins.

Jo had met Lara and Cassidy last year when she’d been asked to consult on a case. And somehow the three of them, an unlikely trio, had become friends. Tonight they were celebrating Lara’s upcoming wedding to Texas Ranger Jim Beck.

Jo accepted a glass of wine from Lara. ‘Cassidy, be grateful I took the time to shower.’

Lara frowned. ‘Jim told me you were at the crime scene.’

Jo took a liberal sip of the wine. ‘Yes.’

Cassidy leaned forward, a colorful turquoise bracelet jangling on her wrist. ‘You were at a crime scene?’

‘I was.’

‘I can’t believe you emerged from behind your desk,’ Cassidy teased.

‘It’s been known to happen,’ Jo said.

‘Can I ask for juicy details?’ Cassidy asked.

Lara sat back in the booth and sipped her wine. ‘No, you can’t, Cassidy. I’m willing to bet what she saw wasn’t nice.’

Lara’s controlled tone served as a reminder that she had survived a horrific attack last year. She was far too acquainted with crime scenes.

Cassidy frowned. ‘Sorry, Lara. Insensitive of me.’

Jo smiled. ‘I’d rather talk about fun things. Like Lara’s wedding.’

Lara’s smile warmed. ‘Now that is a subject near and dear to my heart.’

They chatted about the upcoming event, which was to be casual and held at Lara and Jim’s country house. Lara had emphasized from day one that this was to be a stress-free event.

Cassidy sipped her wine. ‘Jo, have you bought your dress?’

So much for no stress. ‘Not yet.’

‘What?’ Cassidy asked. ‘My God, woman, the wedding is six days away.’

‘That’s enough time.’ Jo tossed a silent appeal to Lara. ‘Right?’

Lara indicated her own worn jeans and white peasant top. ‘Don’t ask me. Cassidy is our fashionista.’

‘Mine was ordered and altered weeks ago.’

Jo snatched up a handful of nuts from the bowl on the table. Her stomach had settled and she was now hungry. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll have something to wear by next Saturday.’

Lara cringed. ‘Jo, don’t worry over the dress. I don’t want this to be a burden. The wedding is casual. You don’t have to drive yourself crazy. I think you’d look amazing in green but, really, wear whatever.’

Cassidy sat back, her arms folded over her chest. ‘And I don’t know where you heard that weddings aren’t stressful. They were designed to drive people crazy.’

‘I’m not going there,’ Lara said. ‘I am not.’

Cassidy pushed long fingers through her dark hair. ‘Well, Jo will be if she thinks she’ll find a dress in less than a week.’

‘She can wear whatever she wants,’ Lara said. ‘Now can we talk about food? I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and I am starving.’

Jo studied the vegetarian menu. ‘I’m so hungry I could eat tofu.’

The women laughed and Cassidy was able to flag their waitress. The young girl arrived at the table as Jo scanned her menu. She listened to Lara and Cassidy’s order before raising her gaze. The instant she saw her waitress she froze. She wore jeans and a green T-shirt that read:
F
IND
C
HRISTA
!

It was after eleven when Jo climbed the steps to her front door, her mind ticking through tomorrow’s agenda at the office. She considered tomorrow’s unread files, brewing a pot of coffee and squeezing more work out of the day.

As she moved to unlock her front door, her neighbor Ted Rucker called out. ‘Are you on the seven-day-a-week work schedule again? Thought you were going to cut back.’

Managing a smile, she shoved her key in the lock and turned it. ‘I know it doesn’t look like I’m cutting back, but I really am. This weekend was the exception.’

He shoved back a lock of thick, blond hair with long fingers and laughed as he walked toward her with a large chocolate Lab. ‘Isn’t that what you said the better part of last year?’

Jo descended the two porch steps and scratched the Lab between the ears. ‘Hey, Greta. And I meant it. I planned to take this weekend off but work came looking for me.’

‘You could have said no.’

‘I could have.’ It had never occurred to her to say no to Brody. He’d asked, and as if she was a naïve eighteen-year-old she’d come a-running. Not good.

Concern darkened his gaze. ‘You look beat. Where the heck did you end up?’

The night air here smelled so sweet compared to the crime scene. ‘I can’t get into the details. But it was a crime scene.’

‘You at a crime scene? I can’t picture that.’

‘Why not?’

‘I remember the look on your face last fall when I buried that dead dog. I thought you were going to be sick.’

A wry smile twisted her lips. ‘Safe to say, I survived, and I’ve provided my professional opinion to the powers that be.’ She patted Greta one last time. ‘By the way, if you see a sparkly little blond hurricane knocking on my door again, pretend you don’t know any details of my life.’

He grimaced. ‘I spilled the beans to your mother, didn’t I? I should have known. Mention of Winchester’s name about sent her into orbit. That’s why Greta and I happened by. We came to apologize.’

‘We?’ Jo smiled at Greta as she wagged her tail. ‘I always took Greta for the silent type.’

Rucker shook his head as he scratched the dog between the ears. ‘She can be a real blabbermouth at times.’

Jo chuckled. ‘Did Greta say anything else to my mom?’

‘Only that you looked a little stressed.’ He grimaced. ‘She shouldn’t have said that either.’

‘No harm, no foul. You and Greta need not worry. My mom might have blown a gasket, but she’s likely forgotten all about it now.’

‘Why did the mention of Winchester tick her off? Old boyfriend?’

Boyfriend. She and Brody had gone straight from one strong sexual attraction to married. They’d never really dated. And she’d certainly never called him her boyfriend. ‘Yeah, sorta like that.’

He leaned close as if they were coconspirators. ‘No relationship between you two now?’

‘God, no.’

‘That mean you’re gonna finally stop breaking Greta’s heart and go on a date with me?’

‘Last time we talked it was coffee.’

‘Greta says I needed to man up and offer dinner. She says there’s got to be a night when you’re not working or chasing that group of teen girls.’

She’d been avoiding Rucker’s dates for months, using her busy life as an excuse. But now she wondered why she’d been putting him off. Her mother had attributed her monastic life to Brody. How many times had she heard, ‘He ruined you for all other men.’ That was, of course, not true. She had dated other men. But in the last couple of years she’d been so busy, she’d not made time for dating. Brody was a professional colleague, at best.

She studied Rucker’s smiling face, noting it was a nice change from Brody’s perpetual scowl, which she’d seen a lot of in the last twenty-four hours. ‘Rucker, I’m slammed this week and I’ve a wedding to attend on Saturday but I am open weekend after next. We can grab dinner downtown.’

He grinned. ‘It’s a date.’

Monday, April 8, 5:00
A.M.

Brody woke early, the clock on the nightstand glaring in red back at him. He shoved a hand through his hair and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Around him he surveyed the unpacked boxes, dirty clothes piled on the floor and collection of pictures that leaned in a neat stack against the wall. He’d made the move to Austin from Houston three weeks ago after an unexpected transfer had landed on his desk. In the last three years, the Rangers had bounced him all the way from El Paso to Brownsville. Most times when he settled in a new place he unpacked immediately. He liked order. But this go-around he’d not found the time to organize his apartment. The chaos grated on his nerves but nonstop action at the office had stolen all his time.

He’d rolled off the mattress, still sitting beside the bed frame he’d not assembled, and grabbed clothes he’d managed to pick up from the dry cleaners Saturday morning. A hot shower went a long way to making him feel human before he dressed. At his dresser he picked up his gun, cell phone and badge before he moved into the kitchen. He didn’t have many groceries but had managed to pick up coffee and bagels. He rinsed out the mug he’d used yesterday, snagged a bagel and headed to his car.

The drive into Austin took less than twenty minutes. However, this morning instead of heading to the off ice, he drove toward the medical examiner’s office, grateful to miss morning rush-hour traffic.

Sitting at a stoplight, he shrugged his shoulders, working the kinks from his neck and back. Fixing the damn bed had to be priority number one as soon as he had a spare minute. As a Ranger he’d spent enough time sleeping in bad motel beds, cars and bedrolls in an open field. When he’d been younger his body had been more forgiving. It took the abuse he tossed its way. Not so much anymore. He needed to get his bed together and get his routine back.

His folks lived in Austin and they had offered to put his place together or lend him their spare room, but he’d declined. Lord knows they’d not deny him. Hell, they’d jumped through lots of hoops to get him raised and educated. But going back to that wasn’t right.

When he’d been in Jo’s house, he’d been struck by the home’s comfort. Not fussy, high-priced furniture but comfortable and clean. Her walls had been lined with bookshelves stocked full of well-creased books. Jo had always loved her books, even in college. When he’d first come into the tutoring center she’d been sitting in one chair, feet propped in another, reading. It had been a book on math theories. He’d known instantly he was out of his league.

But that message hadn’t reached his dick. From the moment she’d first explained that mumbo-jumbo English literature, his Johnson had pulsed hard. She was pretty but not a stunningly beautiful woman. Not like the cheerleaders and sorority girls who hung around the team. She’d worn no makeup, a gauzy peasant top that silhouetted full breasts while hiding a narrow waist, and god-awful shoes old women favored. And yet his boner made it damn near impossible to think.

He’d figured all the crap that had crowded between them fourteen years ago would have tempered his reaction to her, but when he’d seen her climbing on that damn wall, he’d been right back in the past – dumbfounded and rock hard.

Shit.

Better to let that one go, son. You scorched that bridge a long time ago.

A horn beeped, Brody spotted the green light and punched the gas. Minutes later he reached the medical examiner’s office.

Brody pushed through the stainless swinging doors connecting to the autopsy room and found the pathologist, Dr. Hank Watterson, talking to his assistant. Both dressed in scrubs, they stood in front of a gurney holding a sheet-clad body. Watterson, in his late thirties, had joined the medical examiner’s office last year. From Colorado, he’d gone through medical school on an Air Force scholarship.

‘Ranger Winchester,’ Watterson said, glancing up. He wore heavy rimmed glasses, his sandy blond hair brushed back off a narrow face etched with deep laugh lines around his mouth and forehead.

Brody extended his hand. ‘Dr. Watterson.’

Dr. Watterson glanced at the clock. ‘Beck is sending Santos to work the case with you. And Santos called and said he’s running late. Traffic on I-35.’

‘Always an accident on that stretch of road.’ He eyed the still, white sheet that draped the body of the fourth victim they’d found yesterday. ‘A few minutes here or there won’t make much difference.’

Dr. Watterson reached for a file perched on a stainless-steel table. ‘I gave Beck a preliminary rundown when he called this morning. Want to hear it?’

‘Shoot.’

‘We’ve not analyzed the skeletonized remains yet. We’re waiting on dental records and X-rays. But I hope to get those in a day or two.’

‘That’s fast.’

‘When Harvey Lee Smith’s name is attached to a case it gets bumped to the front of the line.’ Watterson moved toward the stainless gurney holding the sheet-clad remains of the most recent body. He reviewed the stats. ‘She was in her early twenties, stood five foot six and weighed about one-twenty. I’ve identified three tattoos: the butterfly, which I understand Dr. Granger spotted on her inner left wrist. She also has a tattoo on her back right shoulder blade. It’s the initials CTB. Pierced ears and belly. An old scar on her right hand that was stitched. Blond hair, though her natural color is darker. No implants or any visible surgeries.’

‘Jo thinks we have Christa Bogart.’

‘I was able to get a partial print from her right thumb and index fingers. I’ve sent both off for analysis.’ Brody shifted his stance as the doctor reached for the sheet and pulled it off the victim’s face. ‘Should have an identification in the hour.’

‘There was a significant amount of dirt in her nostrils and mouth – consistent with being buried alive. Her fingernails were caked with dirt and her skin marked with rope burns as if she struggled and tried to dig at the dirt around her. When I open her up I’ll check her lungs and stomach for dirt.’

Brody shook his head. ‘Hell of a way to die.’

‘She was not sexually assaulted. No vaginal bruising. No semen. No foreign DNA on her body.’

‘She was missing for several weeks before she died.’

‘Yes. But whoever had her did not assault her physically.’

The doors to the autopsy room opened to a frowning Santos. ‘Traffic is a bitch this morning.’

‘That’s what you get for living in San Antonio,’ Brody said.

‘I’d be up in Austin but my sister, Maria, is a senior in high school. Don’t want to uproot her.’

‘She lives with you?’

‘Has since our folks died five years ago. All my gray hair can be traced right back to raising a teenaged sister.’

There’d been times over the years when Brody had tried to imagine Jo’s and his kid. Those thoughts always came around the time of her due date in May. If their daughter had lived she’d have been thirteen. ‘Can’t imagine what it’s like.’

‘Some days I swear it’s the worst and other days the best.’

Brody tried to picture himself as the father of a teenage girl now. He couldn’t imagine how differently his life would have been. ‘Sounds like she’s lucky to have you.’

‘Cuts both ways.’

The Rangers shifted their attention to the body. Within minutes, Watterson made the Y-incision in the victim’s chest. The doctor added more details to the victim’s profile. She’d not had children. Organs healthy and normal. Fit Christa’s profile.

Santos studied the dead woman’s face. ‘Now that she’s cleaned up, even with the decomposition, she looks like she could be Christa.’

Brody reached for his cell and dialed Austin police. ‘Let’s see where they stand on the prints.’ Seconds later he was connected. ‘Detective Royals, this is Sergeant Winchester with the Texas Rangers. The medical examiner sent over prints and pictures this morning of a Jane Doe in the morgue. Have you had a chance to look at them?’

‘Just did. Looks like we have a match. You found Christa Bogart.’

Brody nodded. ‘Thanks, Detective. Once I’m done with the medical examiner I’d like to catch up with you and your files.’

‘Anytime. I’m sorry she wasn’t found alive. The community put out a hell of an effort to find her.’

‘I’ll keep you posted.’ He closed his phone and relayed the news.

Santos tipped back his head, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. ‘Christa Bogart vanished without a trace about a month ago.’

Brody shifted his gaze to the doctor. ‘Do you have an approximate time of death?’

‘Based on decomposition I’d say about a week ago. But I can’t give you an exact time.’

‘A week ago,’ Santos said. ‘What happened to the other three weeks?’

‘The killer held her. But according to the doc he didn’t sexually abuse her,’ Brody said.

‘Whereas Smith did abuse some of his victims.’

‘According to his confessions.’

‘Could we have someone who’s a copycat?’ Santos asked.

‘If not for the way her body was bound, I’d be thinking that too. But we’ve got knots exactly like Smith’s. And that was never released to the media.’

Dr. Watterson bowed his head toward the body. ‘She showed no signs of malnutrition. No tooth decay. The only signs of restraint are on her wrists.’

‘He holds her, feeds her, doesn’t abuse her but doesn’t kill her. Why?’

No one had an answer. Yet.

‘And Smith never mentioned this Robbie guy before?’ Santos asked.

Brody thought back to the hours of Smith’s testimony. The old man had savored the attention after his arrest and had enjoyed sharing what he’d done. ‘During all the hours of confession, Smith never once mentioned Robbie.’

Santos shook his head. ‘Saying he did get a hold of this kid when he was twelve. Can you imagine how many ways that old bastard could twist a kid’s mind?’

‘The kid would easily come to believe that this is a sick kind of normal.’

Dr. Watterson completed his internal examination and closed up Christa Bogart’s body. ‘I’ll run a tox screen and see what comes of it. But it’s clear from the dirt in her stomach and lungs. She was buried alive.’

Winchester and Santos’s first stop after leaving the medical examiner’s office was Austin Police. They met with Detective Tom Royals, who’d handled the initial investigation on Christa Bogart. They joined Royals in a small conference room with a round table and metal chairs. Royals, a stocky man with a thick mustache and glasses, set a thick file on the table.

Royals opened the file. ‘Where’d you find her?’ He pushed the file toward Brody.

Brody thumbed through the thick file. ‘Buried in the ground on a farm about fifteen miles west of Austin.’ He recapped the details.

Royals sat back, shaking his head. ‘Shit. And you found three other bodies in the same location?’

‘Those murders are much older and we believe Smith killed them. Christa’s body caught us by surprise. What can you tell us about her?’

‘Worked as a secretary for a financial firm. Engaged to be married. No priors. Lots of friends. Well liked by coworkers. The night she vanished she’d come home from an office party. Checked in with her roommate, went into her room and vanished. I interviewed her roommate for hours, but she couldn’t give us any real leads. We found footprints near Christa’s window, but we haven’t connected them to anyone yet.’

‘What about the fiancé?’

‘Solid guy. Worked for the same financial management company. That’s how they met. Well liked and respected by peers. We dug into his past. Nothing popped up.’

‘He have an alibi for the night Christa vanished?’

‘He and Christa had been at the same party and when she left he stayed to drink with some of his coworkers. The bartender placed him on site until two in the morning.’

After another half hour of discussing the case with Royals, Brody and Santos left, starting their investigation at Christa’s apartment where her roommate still lived.

Winchester knocked on the front door. Several seconds passed before the shuffle of feet and the scrape of several locks against the front door. A young, short, stocky woman with blue-black shoulder-length hair greeted them.

Both Rangers showed their badges, and the girl nodded as if she’d done this a thousand times in the last four weeks. ‘Miss Brittany Long?’

The girl surveyed the two men carefully. ‘You’re the Rangers. The police called and said you’d be coming by to see me. Come on in.’

After an introduction, the Rangers walked into a small living room filled with half-packed boxes. One bedroom door was open but the other was closed and sealed with yellow crime scene tape.

‘You moving?’ Winchester asked.

‘Yes,’ Brittany said. ‘I wanted to leave right after Christa vanished, but the landlord wouldn’t let me out of the lease. See, I signed for both of us, which meant I was on the hook for the entire rent. I did all I could to get out of here but he said no, and I couldn’t afford all this rent and another place. Now my lease is up at the end of the week and I’m leaving. Rented another place across town that I’m sharing with several girls.’

‘What can you tell us about the night Christa vanished?’ Santos asked.

Brittany pushed her hands through her hair. ‘Didn’t the other cops tell you?’

‘They did, ma’am. But it wouldn’t hurt to hear it one more time.’

Brittany shrugged. ‘I’m so tired of telling this story.’

Brody thought about Christa’s body lying on the gurney in the medical examiner’s office. When he spoke his voice had a sharp edge. ‘One more time for our sake.’

‘It was a regular night. She was at a party with Scott, the guy she’s going to marry. The party had to do with her job. It was an anniversary party, I think. Ten years in business. Anyway, after it broke up she came home, and her fiancé went out drinking with some of the guys at the firm.’

‘What time did she get home?’ Winchester asked.

‘Midnight. And I remember the time because I was up reading. I heard her come into the apartment and looked at the clock. She poked her head inside my room, said good night and went to bed. I shut off my light and fell asleep. That was the last time I saw her.’