Deadlock (7 page)

10:45 A.M. TUESDAY

Thatcher and Bethany sat across from Carly Javon at a table in an FBI interview room. He handed the young woman a bottle of water. Her tangled, auburn hair indicated more of a crisis than the absence of a hairbrush. When Thatcher had met her at the Javon home, he’d noted an attractive young woman who sharply resembled her mother. She also had a pronounced limp. His suspicions about the family grew. Yesterday she endured tough questions, but her appearance wasn’t unkempt. What had happened?

Carly uncapped the bottle of water with shaky fingers and took a drink. “Thanks. It’s good and cold. This is being recorded, right?”

“Yes.” He allowed his eyes to speak caring into his words. “You have a limp.”

“Temporary.” She replaced the cap, avoiding him. “I fell down the stairs.”

“Like your mother?”

She picked at chipped, deep-purple nail polish. “We’re both clumsy.”

“Did you both fall the same way?”

She snapped to attention. “Are the injuries relevant to finding her killer?” Her trembling lips betrayed fragile emotions.

“Depends if your mother’s broken arm was the result of a push.”

“It’s not important.”

“Were you pushed?” Thatcher said gently. “Agent Sanchez and I think you were hurt like your mother was.” He nodded at Bethany to continue the interview. This needed a woman’s touch, and she had the expertise from her years of working civil rights.

“Carly, most people have families who love and support each other,” she said. “Then there are nightmare families. We don’t want to tell anyone about the dysfunction. Sometimes we ignore it. Will it to go away. It’s not an argument or a difference of opinion, but an evil grip.”

Thatcher heard sincerity in his partner’s words, and Lucas Sanchez’s name bannered across his mind.

“Is your home a nightmare?” Bethany said. “You’re not alone. I’m right there with you, and I’m a good listener.”

Carly slipped a tangled strand of hair behind her ear. No eye contact.

Bethany leaned in. “We can’t help you or solve your mother’s murder unless you’re honest with us.”

She lifted a tear-glazed face. “I understand. That’s why I’m here, to do whatever I can to find my mother’s killer. It’s just hard.”

“The truth frees us from pain.”

“I hope so. Dad thinks Mom’s been lumped into a serial killer’s pile, and no one cares.”

“We do. Lots of people do, and we’re not stopping until the killer is found. Right now, Agent Graves has more questions.”

How could he get Carly to admit her father had caused her injury? Would she press charges against him? “Were you out late last night?”

She shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking. I look awful, but I haven’t been partying. I spent the night with my aunt. Too tired this morning to shower, fix myself up. Then there’s the memorial. Guess I’ll fix myself up for the service, for Mom.”

Depression? “I thought your family was staying at a hotel?”

“Too close for me.” She focused on the water bottle. “Even when Dad’s in a good mood, I can’t stand being around him.”

“Why?”

“We’ve never gotten along. It’s worse since Mom’s gone.”

“Are you saying since she died, he’s taking out his anger on you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I act more like Mom. Must be a reminder.”

“Did your father have anything to do with the death of your mother?”

“He might have.” She breathed in deeply. “But I can’t figure out how.”

“What makes you think so?”

“He has a horrible temper. After he lost his job, he exploded over the smallest things. It got worse the longer he was unemployed.” She took another sip of water. “He can act like the best dad and husband in the world. You saw how he offered information, cried, behaved like he really cared. The weird thing is he can snap into rage at a moment’s notice.”

“In what way?”

“In the beginning, he just yelled. Then he started shoving Mom around. Then used his fists.” Her face hardened. “Mom always forgave him and could calm him down even when he was hitting her. If he was mad at me, she stood between us.” A painful memory seemed to hold her captive. “I never understood why she took it. She could have kicked him out. I’d have helped her.”

“I’m sorry.” And he meant it. “Did your dad push your mother down the stairs?”

She nodded. “Mom never wore flip-flops. What a lie.”

“And you?”

Carly shifted in her seat. “I forgot you were recording this.”

“No one’s going to hurt you. Take another drink of water.” When she did, he continued. “I know these questions are difficult, but we have to get to the bottom of what happened to your mother. Did your dad cause your accident?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“What else can you tell us?”

Carly glanced at Bethany.

“Go ahead. It’s safe here.”

“Dad’s controlling. He checked the car mileage when Mom went to work, the grocery store, church, to volunteer, or whatever. If it was a tiny bit over what he expected, he went ballistic.”

“Did your mother complain, argue with him?”

“Sometimes. Another thing
 
—Mom caught him having an affair. Not sure how she found out.” Carly toyed with the bottle cap. “They had terrible arguments.”

“Did she threaten divorce?”

“Yes. He beat her until she passed out, and he had to take her to the ER.” Carly’s features were like stone. “Why did she let him do that to her?”

“Maybe she hoped he’d get better,” Bethany said. “They were in counseling. Did you see any improvement?”

“No. Made it worse. Guess he could play the good guy for only so long.” She bit her lip hard.

“Does your dad own a gun?”

“I don’t think so.” She took another sip of water. “Something’s not right. He demanded we go with him to the concert, and then Mom’s murdered.”

“He forced you and Shannon to go with him?”

“He threatened to hurt Mom.”

Thatcher admired the young woman’s struggle to be strong. “Her death is not your fault.”

Her shoulders slumped. “My aunt and uncle said the same thing, but I can’t get past it.”

Thatcher had investigated too many family relationships that erupted into violence. “What size shoe does your dad wear?”

Carly gave him a quizzical stare. “Thirteen.”

That diminished the likelihood of Paul Javon’s being on the
Caswell premises when Ruth was killed. The shoe imprint there indicated an eight and a half.

“Do you suspect the woman your dad’s been seeing?” Bethany said.

Her face was a swirl of fiery emotions. “I hate the thought of Dad planning Mom’s death. But I suspect him and his girlfriend.” For a moment it looked like she’d weep, but she regained her composure. “I don’t know her name or what she looks like.”

He’d let Bethany continue. Carly appeared more comfortable with her.

“Another question
 
—did your dad leave during the concert performance?”

She glanced away. “I don’t think so, but I was sitting beside Shannon, not him.”

“Did your mother talk to you or Shannon about the girlfriend?”

“I’m not sure Shannon knows. I overhead Mom and Dad arguing.”

“Would the woman’s information be on your mother’s phone? Maybe a photo?” Bethany said.

“Remember, Dad said her cell was lost. Thought the killer took it.”

Thatcher recalled that the call logs of Alicia’s and Paul’s phone numbers indicated nothing out of the ordinary. He motioned to Bethany for him to pose a question. “Do you believe your father may have a burner phone?”

“Possibly. Maybe I can find it.”

“Not a wise move,” he said. “Don’t go there.”

“I have to.”

He nodded at Bethany rather than argue and upset Carly.

“You aren’t equipped to solve your mother’s murder,” Bethany said. “You’re of no help to her or your family if you’re hurt.”

She offered a faint smile. “I’m moving out this afternoon. He knows about it, just not when, and he’s not happy. Told me I had
to pack and move when he could supervise what I took. Also told me I had to give him my key.”

Naturally. Her father realized Carly had the guts to tell the truth about their family issues. And now he wouldn’t have someone to take out his frustration on.

“Are you moving into an apartment?” Bethany’s voice trailed soft, caring.

“No, with my aunt and uncle.”

“Promise us you’ll be careful.”

“I will, and I made a copy of the house key. Left it at my aunt’s house. He might change the locks though.”

“Carly, that’s dangerous. I strongly advise you to let us handle the investigation.”

“I don’t care. I heard him threaten Mom too many times. He knows how she died.” Her eyes darkened. “Mom left her inheritance to Shannon and me, and he’s trying to fight it. We’re supposed to pay for our living expenses and reimburse him for what Mom spent on our education and our cars. He won’t get a penny from me.”

Bethany shook her head. “Would he come after you at your aunt and uncle’s home?”

“My uncle would shoot him. He has a gun.”

Sounded like spontaneous combustion.

“Could we have their names and contact information?”

Carly pulled a piece of paper from her purse. “Already have it for you. If something happens to me or Shannon, you’ll arrest Dad, right?”

“He’ll be here later this afternoon for further questioning. I don’t think he’d come after either of you when he knows we suspect him of having information about your mother’s death.”

Carly wrapped her fingers around the water bottle. “I’ve seen him angry. I know what he’s capable of doing.”

“If we gave you the date of Ruth Caswell’s death, could you confirm your father’s whereabouts?” Thatcher valued Bethany’s
investigative skills, and he’d agreed to scoping out the concert area of Rice University, but these cases had serial killer stamped all over them.

“I can try.” Carly pulled up her phone’s calendar while Bethany provided the date and time. A few seconds later, she lifted her gaze. “He was at home when Mrs. Caswell was killed. I remember because he had bronchitis and kept us awake with his coughing. Does that mean he’s no longer a suspect in connection with Mom?”

Thatcher continued before Bethany discounted his theory. “Does the name Mae Kenters mean anything to you?”

“No, sir.”

“Agent Sanchez and I, along with the entire FBI, aren’t resting until we find answers.”

“I figured you’d not walk away. You come across as a bad
 
—well, you know what I mean, but you’re the kind of guy who’ll find out what happened to Mom.” She swept a look at them. “Both of you.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m concerned about your plans today. Is your uncle helping you move?”

“Yes, sir. Dad and Shannon are going to dinner tonight. He’ll be furious I packed up while he was gone, but I’m not stupid. I’d like to search my mom’s room.”

Thatcher believed her father had the temper to do serious damage. “You’re not a trained investigator.”

She lifted her chin. “Won’t do any good to try to stop me.”

Talking down her stubbornness was like punching a brick wall. At least she had her aunt and uncle’s help in making the transition. “What about Shannon’s safety?”

“She’s afraid of Dad. Will do whatever he asks.”

“If anything goes wrong, call us or 911. Just move your personal belongings and stay clear.” He stared into her eyes. Frightened and alone, no matter how brave she tried to be.

“Yes, sir.”

Bethany and Thatcher thanked Carly for her assistance and escorted her from the building. They watched her drive away from the visitor parking area.

“Paul Javon was involved in his wife’s death,” Bethany said. “No doubt in my mind. I’m filing for a search warrant in case he decides his cooperation with us is over.”

11:50 A.M. TUESDAY

Bethany hurried with Thatcher to the Rice University security office. Her heart thudded at the prospect of arresting Javon for his wife’s murder. Had he excused himself in the middle of the concert? She hoped so, and soon they’d have access to the university’s security cameras.

“You really think this is going to seal it for Javon?” Thatcher said, opening the door to the main office.

“I do. He has all the characteristics and motive of a wife killer. Trust me on this
 
—any coincidence to Ruth Caswell’s murder is contrived.”

The two viewed the camera footage on the university’s system. The three Javons entered the concert building one hour before the murder and left together after the concert was over.

“Can we see the fire exit?” she said. But it revealed nothing. “The restrooms?”

“Bethany, it’s not possible.” Thatcher pointed to the screen. “He couldn’t have left the hall without this camera catching him.”

Thatcher was right, and she’d wasted his time. Shaking her head, she stepped away from the computer. She’d been so sure Javon had killed Alicia. “This proves he was here,” she said. “But I’m not convinced that he didn’t hire someone to kill her, like his girlfriend.”

1:15 P.M. TUESDAY

Bethany reviewed the status on the search warrant for Danford Accounting. The judge hadn’t ruled on it, the process of a slow system. She and Thatcher had gotten takeout for lunch in order to discuss interviews. They’d subpoenaed Mae Kenters’s cell phone records and pored over security camera footage from Ruth Caswell’s and traffic cams near the Javons’ home.

“I think we should attend Alicia’s memorial service,” Thatcher said.

Disbelief rattled her nerves. “Are you kidding? I don’t think the killer will get a case of the guilts and confess.”

“Depends on the motive. I’d like to see who’s at the service.”

“By making a grand entrance?”

“Not exactly.”

Realization hit her and she slid him a sideways glance. “Are you suggesting we do the incognito thing and observe who enters the church?”

“I am.”

“Your gut instinct says we’ll see someone unusual?”

“You got it.”

“I so disagree. We could work more efficiently by laying out both deaths, working with Quantico on analytics. Examining the current evidence. The security cam footage review is tedious work.”

“Didn’t you say we could work organically?”

The man would drive her crazy. “In the sense of working together, not chasing a rabbit trail. Except . . . the killer could be at the church to toss off suspicion. Like whoever Javon hired to kill his wife.”

“This will give us a list of who attends Alicia’s compared to Ruth Caswell’s funeral. Might lead us in the right direction.”

So they were back to his serial killer theory. “I have no faith in your speculation, but you’re on.”

Forty minutes later, they parked his Mustang far enough from the church so as not to attract attention. Thatcher used his binoculars and snapped photos with his phone while she jotted down his comments
 
—mostly nonessential to the case.

“This feels like a rejected script from an
NCIS
episode.” He snapped another pic.

“Which one?”

“Oh, you watch it.”

“For laughs. Why are so few people here? I expected the church to be packed since the Javons are Houstonians.”

“Paul has limited it to invited guests only. I see a man checking IDs at the door. Wanna bet our names aren’t on the list?” Thatcher said.

“I only bet on sure things,” she said a little more sharply than she intended. “But it does look unlikely.”

“I’ll let you ask him this afternoon. Might make our interview a little lively.”

Pastor Lee stepped outside the front of the church and shook hands with Felix Danford. Thatcher indicated she record the exchange.

“I’m curious why Danford’s on the elite list,” Thatcher said.

“Because Javon’s afraid of what he might say.”

“Another question for the afternoon.”

The photos would have to be run through the FIG before anything substantial resulted from comparing both services. And
Javon probably wouldn’t tell them a thing because he had too much to lose.

“A day and a half into the job and neither of us are bleeding.” He swung a smile her way.

No wonder he had a reputation with the ladies. Definitely off-limits between FBI guidelines and her stipulation of not getting involved with a gamer.

The only things they had in common were sending Lucas to jail and a commitment to bring in killers.

5:45 P.M. TUESDAY

Bethany stood outside an interview room with Thatcher and observed Paul Javon. With Carly’s revelation about him having an affair, Bethany wanted a confession to all his underhanded activities. Drama led the way with his dabbing beneath his eyes, burying his face in his hands, and glancing around the small room.

“He’s ensuring we catch his grief on camera,” Thatcher said. “But I don’t buy it.”

“I’m relying on his temper to take precedence in the interview. Alicia’s memorial service lasted all of thirty minutes. Incredibly sad for a woman who’d been well loved.”

“Maybe his display is for a postponed dinner with Shannon. Why don’t you lead out? He obviously prefers bullying women, and I’d like to see him lose control.”

The two entered the interview room. Javon stared up with red-rimmed eyes, wearing sorrow like a medal of honor. He indicated he and Shannon had a dinner date later. Didn’t want to leave his daughter alone. No mention of Carly.

“How can I help you?” Javon said, his words syrupy. “I admit the past few days have been a nightmare. Media want interviews, and I’m not up to it, especially when I have nothing new to say about HPD’s and the FBI’s ineptitude at finding my wife’s killer. Is this necessary within a couple hours of Alicia’s memorial?”

Bethany pushed sympathy into her tone. “We want this solved quickly. I imagine Carly and Shannon are comforting each other, and we’ll do our best to expedite our questioning.” She placed his file before her. “A few things have come to our attention.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He folded his hands on the table.

“Per your words to Pastor Lee, anger issues have stalked you, but you found counseling, dealt with it, and took positive steps to save your marriage.”

“Correct.”

“I’m sure, in the midst of this tragedy, those issues have resurfaced. How are you handling the anger?”

He inhaled deeply. Her benefit or his? “By talking to Pastor Lee and being honest about my feelings to my daughters.”

“Could you explain how Carly received her leg injury?”

A muscle twitched beneath his eye. “She slipped on a wet spot in the kitchen. Why?”

Bethany stared into his face, stilling every emotion. “She told us she’d fallen down the stairs.”

Javon saddened his expression. “With all the turmoil, I’d forgotten.”

“We want to ensure she’s not being abused.”

His eyes flashed. “I’d never hurt my daughters.”

“Where did beating your wife fall within your specs for abuse?”

He stiffened. “I may need to seek an attorney if this inappropriate questioning continues.”

She’d succeeded in making him angrier. “We wouldn’t want to interfere with your citizen’s rights.” She paused and hoped he was worried about what she’d ask next. “Why were those attending the service today limited to invited guests?”

“You people find out everything.”

She plastered another smile. “We do.”

“The girls and I decided the best way to move on with our lives was to have a short, intimate memorial. When we’re able to cremate her, we’ll do something else.”

“Did Pastor Lee suggest this?”

“My idea.”

“Your idea . . . and your daughters agreed.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you own a gun?”

He smiled. “Yes, a .22.”

“The FBI team failed to find it during their search.”

“It’s in a repair shop. I’ll give you the phone number.”

“Thank you. Mr. Javon, how long have you been having an affair?”

He narrowed his brows. “What a ridiculous accusation.”

“Is it? We’d like her name, please.” She positioned her pen over a legal pad.

“Who concocted such a tale?”

“A reliable source. Special Agent Graves and I would like the woman’s name.”

He slammed his hand down on the table. “There is no other woman.”

“Is this a formal denial?”

“Most assuredly. I demand to know the source of your lies.”

She picked up his file and leafed through it. “Alicia wouldn’t be the first wife murdered for another woman. In fact, with Shannon and Carly inheriting the eight million dollars, I’m concerned about their safety.”

“I’m their father. It’s my duty to protect them. You have a poisoned mind.” He rose from the chair.

“Sit down.” Bethany dumped force into her words. “Special Agent Graves, do you have questions for Mr. Javon?”

Thatcher reached out to shake his hand. “I apologize for not sympathizing with your loss earlier. Sometimes Special Agent Sanchez jumps ahead in stressful situations.”

He sneered. “I noticed. Do you have a complaint department?”

Thatched nodded. “I’ll send you the information via e-mail. Do you have any idea who would implicate you in this tragedy?”

“I don’t. But trust me, when I find out, they will regret their actions.”

“Sounds like you’ve been set up. All leads are helpful in solving your wife’s murder.”

“I’ll handle the confrontation.” He tossed a chilling glare at Bethany. “My way.”

“By withholding information, we can arrest you for obstruction of justice in a murder investigation.”

He glanced away, then back to her, his eyes hard as stone. “I have no idea who’d suspect me of having a relationship with anyone other than my wife. I meant I’d ask around. Of course I’d give you any names.”

Bethany waved her hand. “Taking matters into your own hands could get you arrested.”

He laughed and arched his back. “Did the bureau need to fill a quota when they hired you? Or did you sleep your way into your role?”

At last, Javon’s colors had shown through.

“For your information,” Thatcher said, “the FBI recruits the highly intelligent and skilled into our ranks. Special Agent Sanchez is not the one under scrutiny.”

She shoved aside Javon’s filthy accusation. “Mr. Javon, your affair is why you were brought back in for questioning.”