The Survivor (15 page)

12:30 P.M. MONDAY

T
igo frequently needed information found only on the streets, but his informants often needed a little encouragement. This was especially true of the man who’d helped the FBI save Kariss’s life and close down a gun-smuggling operation last summer. A face-to-face accompanied by cash for past services would sweeten the conversation.

Tigo and Ryan left the FBI office dressed in torn jeans, black T-shirts, and baseball caps. Tigo drove his latest junk heap, a ‘77 Ford Taurus he’d named Swiss Cheese because of all its bullet holes. He drove to the southeast part of town to talk to Hershey, the informant, who operated a gun shop. Sometimes legal and sometimes not. The man had skirted the law with his gun trade for the past decade. Supposedly he’d ended his lucrative career of modifying vehicles so they could transport illegal weapons into Mexico, but Tigo would tackle the downside of Hershey’s dealings another day.

Outside the gun shop, African-American gang members played rap and talked trash. Every nerve in Tigo’s body was on alert.

“I love this part of our job,” Ryan said.

“Don’t you know it.”

“Want to take on a few of these guys?”

Tigo chuckled. “Hershey might not appreciate us running off his customers.”

With their Glocks tucked into the waistbands of their
jeans, Tigo and Ryan exited the car and buzzed the alarm for Hershey to unlock the door. Once inside, Tigo waited for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

“You’re bad for business.” Hershey’s voice came from a rear corner.

“Hey, Hershey,” Tigo said. “Miss me?”

“Come back in six months and ask me again.”

Tigo laughed. “Turn on a light so I can see your ugly face.”

“Yeah. At least I got friends.”

“Mine don’t have records.” A light flipped on. Hershey leaned against a dirty glass display case and waved. “I see you brought your partner, the one who always has his fingers resting on his Glock.”

Ryan laughed. “You got my game.”

Tigo stepped up to the counter and slipped Hershey his payment.

“What’s up?”

“Who’s selling Semtex now that Pablo Martinez is dead?” Tigo said.

“Ask me something easy.”

“You’re the expert.”

“Not this time. But I’ll see what I can find out.”

“We also want to know who’s buying.”

“That’ll be harder.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“What I do know is this guy covers his tracks and eliminates the source.”

“All we need’s a name.”

“Call me in a couple days.”

“How about tomorrow?” Tigo said.

Hershey shook his head. “I’ll call you.”

Tigo nodded toward the door. “What’s going on outside? I counted a dozen men, all gang members. Are you having a sale?”

“Nosey, aren’t you? Couple of guys killed in a fight last night. Gang stuff. Does that suit you?”

“Maybe. Find out who’s selling and buying Semtex, and I’ll add a few more dollars to the next envelope.”

Hershey smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Never did.

3:00 P.M. MONDAY

Tigo had received a text about the FBI picking up Baxter Garrett at eleven thirty that morning, but he and Ryan had been busy until now. Garrett had been in a black pickup outside of his sister’s office in a no-parking zone. When he emerged from his truck, he took a swing at a female agent.

Not good for a man who’d possibly bombed his sister’s car.

Nor was it good for a man suspected of running a car off the road and threatening a woman.

Tigo and Ryan met with Garrett in an interview room. The suspect reeked of body odor, and his clothes were covered in mud. Garrett was tapping his hand on his knee. He crossed his legs. The tapping continued. He uncrossed his legs. Sweat dripped down his face.

After Tigo introduced himself and Ryan, he offered Garrett a bottle of water.

“Why am I here?” Garrett uncapped the bottle. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You’ve been a busy boy,” Tigo said. “And you need a fix.”

“What are you talking about?”

Garrett spat the words. “What’s your drug of choice?”

Garrett smirked. “What I do is none of your business.” He took a long drink of the water.

“Wrong answer, buddy. We have a list of questions.” Tigo picked up a printout of Garrett’s priors. “You’ve been arrested for possession and assault and battery. Got a temper, I see.”

“I was never convicted. Do I need my lawyer?”

“Your choice.”

Garrett narrowed his brows. “Bring on your questions. I haven’t done anything to break the law.”

That’s a joke. “Let’s start with Friday morning around eight twenty. A black pickup ran a car off the road. Happened in the Tomball area. The car contained two women and a baby. Where were you?”

Garrett twisted in the chair. “Running errands for my father. Documented and witnessed. I’ll even give you the numbers to reach the witnesses.”

Tigo vowed to follow up personally. “You own a black pickup.”

“So do lots of other people.”

True. Tigo’s truck was black. Most guys preferred black because it gave off a mysterious, macho image. But Garrett’s truck had a dent in the right rear bumper. Unfortunately, it didn’t have custom rims, and the license plate numbers didn’t contain a V or an 8. “We’ll need to check out your alibi. Let’s move on. You threatened Kariss Walker on Saturday afternoon and assaulted her this morning. Explain that.”

Baxter leaned in. “For the record, on Saturday I simply gave her my opinion about her writing my sister’s story. This morning she assaulted me for no reason.”

“According to Miss Walker, Saturday’s opinion escalated to a few threats, and this morning you grabbed her.” Tigo narrowed his eyes. “You said you were going to teach her a lesson.”

“She lied.” He nodded at Tigo and Ryan. “We were chatting. Friendly. Joking around. And it was raining. She started to fall, and I reached to help her. Just being a gentleman. This will end up biting her in the rear. I’m filing charges against her.”

“She beat you to it. We saw the email you sent her.”

Garrett lifted his chin. “I didn’t send her an email. She thought it was me, and I let her believe it. Helped my case.”

“Your case?”

“Exploiting my sister’s tragedy makes the Walker woman no better than the cops who failed to bring in the guy who
hurt her.” Garrett’s entire body shook. He opened his mouth to continue speaking but couldn’t utter a word.

“Why did your sister phone the police twice on Saturday afternoon?”

“We … we had a misunderstanding. But we worked it out.”

Tigo picked up the police reports. “Not according to Amy Garrett’s testimony. What were you doing outside the office building of Freedom’s Way this morning?”

Garrett sneered. “Duh. It’s my sister’s office, and whoever bombed her car might be hanging around.”

“Finding him is not your job.”

“Well, the authorities didn’t find who slit her throat when she was a kid, so I don’t have any reason to believe they’ll find who planted the bomb in her car.”

“Did you do it?”

Baxter pounded the table. “Are you deaf? I’m her brother. I protect her. It’s what I do.”

“Calm down, Mr. Garrett.” Tigo had seen that wild look plenty of times before, and it read clearly unbalanced and addicted.

“Someone forced my sister to make those calls. She’d never have contacted a cop about family business. We handle our own problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It became our business when Dr. Garrett’s car was bombed and you assaulted Kariss Walker and then resisted arrest.”

Baxter scowled. “That Walker woman is behind this. Fine. My folks will bail me out.” He pointed at Tigo. “Kariss Walker is a moneygrubbing user. Why didn’t the cops pick me up instead of you guys?”

“Guess you’re just lucky.”

“I want to talk to my lawyer.”

Tigo would do everything possible to keep Baxter off the streets for a few days, but he’d probably be out on bail
in twenty-four hours. “Understand you will appear before a judge for assaulting Miss Walker.”

“Right. You’re wasting taxpayers’ money running down an honest man. I’m my sister’s bodyguard. I clean up what your type fails to.”

4:15 P.M. MONDAY

K
ariss listened to her cell phone ring for the third time in the past twenty minutes. She knew the caller. Both previous times he’d left a voice message, but if she turned off her phone, she might miss something important. There was only one way to stop this annoyance.

“This is Kariss Walker.”

“Ah, the great writer emerges to respond to the peons of the universe.” Mike McDougal never failed to deliver a heavy dose of arrogance. “I knew I’d get your attention sooner or later.”

Preferably never. “What do you want? Aren’t you busy enough with Channel 5 and your blog? What’s that called?
McDougal Snorts
?”

“Very funny.
McDougal Reports
is up to ninety thousand followers.”

“Are there ninety thousand people in the Houston area with poor taste? Make it short, Mike. I have things to do.”

“And to think, I called just to see how my ex-girlfriend was doing after her car accident.”

His syrupy words hadn’t worked for a long time. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“I saw you were run off the road. Who’d you tick off? I bet you’re onto another story. I heard the execs at Channel 5 tried to get you back.”

“They tried, but I was afraid you’d have to work for me.”

“You’re running down a big one, aren’t you? Is this one as good as the Mexican gang and gun-smuggling case?”

Kariss wasn’t going to discuss any of the past or the present with Mike, but with him, anything but his agenda was a moot point.

“We’d make a good team again. Remember when I helped you learn the ropes for Channel 5?” he said.

“Not interested. And for the record, I made my own way.”

“You were green and naive, Kariss. You owe me for your career. All of it.”

“Your ego just popped a blood vessel in your brain.”

“Are you still seeing that FBI/bodyguard type?”

Now what did she say? “My personal life is none of your business. So—”

“You must have broken up. I’m so sorry. Not really. How about dinner? You can tell me all about it. I might even let you cry on my shoulder. Or more, if you’re sweet.”

The thought of Mike’s hands on her made Kariss cringe. “No thanks. This conversation is over. Don’t call me back.”

“Will I need to write about your cold treatment on my blog?”

“Go for it. Won’t be the first time.” Kariss ended the call.

Mike called back, leaving a message again. Three calls later, Kariss finally turned off her phone. No doubt their conversation would be twisted into an unflattering, libelous blog in the next
McDougal Reports.

4:30 P.M. MONDAY

Tigo stared at his computer screen as though the answers to all his problems would magically appear. He didn’t know what irritated him more—Joanna’s and Alexia’s unsolved murders or Baxter Garrett’s threats to Kariss and his possible
involvement in running her car off the road. Both involved crimes against the innocent, and Tigo hadn’t managed to nail anyone for either case. The best he could hope for was a quick lead from Hershey.

Glancing at his Buzz Lightyear watch, he saw that time had raced ahead while he’d been accomplishing nothing. He pulled up the Yeat case to look for missing pieces. Ryan had agreed that the sisters needed to be interviewed separately. One of them might reveal something about Joanna’s college days.

So might Jonathan. What Tigo and Ryan had learned would devastate the strongest of men. How could a woman keep that kind of secret from a man she supposedly loved? But then, she’d filed for divorce, and he claimed to have no previous knowledge of her discontent either.

Tomorrow they’d also need to talk about Ian’s problems, even though the thought of Ian planning a horrendous crime could destroy what was left of Jonathan’s family. Tigo alerted Ryan of his plan to phone Jonathan about their newest findings, and his partner joined him.

“Maybe we’ll get a handle on this today,” Tigo said before pressing in Jonathan’s cell number.

“A lead would be good,” Ryan said. “I feel really inept right now.”

“I’m itching to go undercover, to get in a good fight.”

Ryan laughed. “Be at my house tonight and watch my two kids when it’s time for homework.”

Jonathan answered on the second ring.

“We have a new development,” Tigo said.

“An arrest or a suspect?” Jonathan sounded weary.

“A suspect. This is of a sensitive nature. Are your sons with you?”

“No. They’re with a tutor, trying to keep up with their classes. What’s this about?”

Tigo took a breath. He’d invested a lot of time and energy into this case, and it kept getting worse. Plus, he’d allowed
himself to become personally involved. Definitely a flaw. But Curt and Ian might never recover from this tragedy. “What do you know about Joanna’s college days?”

“Nothing really. We met four years after she graduated.”

Tigo figured as much. “She worked for an escort service owned by someone who called himself David Smith. He also photographed her.”

“Escort service … What kind of photographs?” Jonathan’s words seemed forced, as though he’d guessed the truth.

“The kind you wouldn’t want your sons to see.”

A heavy sigh, then a cough. “Joanna became a Christian during the last semester of her senior year in college. She asked me once if I wanted to know about her past. I said no. Didn’t matter who she was then.”

Tigo could only imagine how Jonathan felt.

“Are you sure you have the right Joanna?” Jonathan’s voice cracked.

“Our source is accurate. Recently David Smith had been in contact with her. Made threats. It was possibly the man Ian saw her with.”

“God have mercy on this family.” Jonathan paused, probably allowing the news to sink in. “Can you keep this from the media? I can’t let Curt and Ian find out.”

“We’ll do our best. No guarantees.”

Jonathan moaned. “That means I need to tell them. Some of her mood swings and behavior the past few months are making sense now.”

“Care to explain?”

“Lack of interest in family activities. Depressed. Pulled back from her church and community work. Distant from me.”

“Darena and Angela are next on our list to call.”

“Doubt if they know anything, considering their relationship with Joanna—or lack of. But if they do, I want a full report.”

Tigo wouldn’t tell him about Joanna confiding in Vanessa. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

“I’ll be at your office in the morning. I want to see the official report for myself.”

“How about one o’clock? The morning’s tied up. Do you have a bodyguard? We don’t want you taking any chances.”

“I do.”

Tigo ended the call, then contacted the FIG. He wanted the man who called himself David Smith found.

His next call was to Darena, the coldhearted woman who’d latched on to Pastor Taylor Yeat. Questions needed answering, and Tigo wanted to show Ian’s sketch of the man to her and Angela.

“Darena, this is Special Agent Santiago Harris.”

“What do you want? I’m about to leave work.”

“Good afternoon to you too. I need to see you at our office in the morning.”

“I work, remember?” The sarcasm was toxic.

“Be here at seven thirty. I’ll write you an excuse.”

“Wait. What is this about?”

“It will be in your best interest to be here.”

“I intend to bring my husband and our attorney.”

“Good for you. Do they know about your affair with the good pastor?”

Darena cursed.

“See you in the morning with your party face,” Tigo said.

After scheduling Angela and Taylor for back-to-back interviews after Darena, he typed an email to keep Linc informed of his findings.

“At least the morning will be entertaining,” Ryan said. “I think I could write a movie script from those three.”

“Wouldn’t make the Hallmark Channel.”

After answering some emails and taking care of some paperwork, Tigo gathered up his things and headed to the parking lot, en route to see Kariss. On his way, he phoned Jonathan again.

“Agent Steadman and I would like to go through Joanna’s
belongings,” he told Jonathan. A thorough search had already been conducted, but in view of new information, another look made sense.

“I understand.” Weariness was heavy in Jonathan’s voice. “When did you have in mind?”

“Is eight thirty tonight all right? With your permission, we want to search through Alexia’s personal items too.”

“Whatever you think will provide answers. But I admit I haven’t been in Alexia’s room since it happened.”

“You won’t be alone.”

“Are you a believer, Agent Harris?”

Tigo nearly moaned. “I meant Ryan and I will be with you.”