No Escape (21 page)

He’d barely vanished from the room when Del said, ‘Come on in the kitchen, Jo, and let’s have some tea. I also made cookies this morning when Brody called.’

Jo followed Del into the kitchen, willing herself not to glance at the pictures on the wall. ‘Brody called this morning?’

‘Said he’d be close by, and it was time for him to grab his belongings.’ Del pulled two glasses from the cabinet. ‘He didn’t tell you he was coming, did he?’

‘No, ma’am. He did not.’

Del chuckled. ‘My guess is he figured you wouldn’t come with him if he did. That boy is a sly one.’

Jo accepted the glass. She’d never been good at dancing around difficult subjects in her work and refused to now, even though the stakes were personal. ‘What has he told you about me?’

Del didn’t bat an eye. ‘I’m thinking all of it, seeing as he did not paint himself in such a good light.’

She sipped her tea, savoring the cool liquid on her dry throat. She remained silent, not sure what that meant.

‘He told me about the baby that you lost.’ She shoved out a breath. ‘He told me you two married, but he wasn’t much of a man during that whole time.’

Indignation on Brody’s behalf reared. ‘He was twenty-one.’

‘That’s a man’s age. His dad and I both told him we were disappointed. I wanted to track you down after the divorce, but he said no.’

To know strangers talked about one of the most personal and painful moments of her life unsettled her. ‘When was this?’

‘When he filed for divorce he needed money for the lawyer. He came to us and told us everything. It was right before he went in the service.’

She stared into the coppery depths of her drink. ‘I’d forgotten he’d agreed to cover all legal expenses.’

Del snorted. ‘That was about the least he could do, considering how good and well he mucked things up.’

‘It was not all Brody’s fault, Del.’ No false modesty here but the truth. ‘We both should have been more careful.’

‘Bad things happen to us all. That’s par for the course. It’s how we handle those bad things that measures our worth.’ She sipped her tea as if she needed a break from the emotions. ‘But I will give my Brody credit. He’s done his level best to be an upstanding guy.’

‘I know.’

‘Polite and polished, you are. But you don’t believe those words.’ Del smiled. ‘I suppose Brody aims to fix that too.’

Before Jo could ask for clarification, Brody and his father returned to the kitchen. Son favored father in height, weight and bearing. Only the elder’s gray hair and sun-etched skin set them apart as father and son.

Nick Winchester extended his hand to Jo. ‘Real glad to meet you, Dr. Granger.’

She took his hand. ‘Jo, please.’

Nick cleared his throat. ‘I hear you two were at the funeral of Christa Bogart.’

Jo glanced to Brody.

‘Dad used to be military police and did twenty years with Austin police. He follows my cases,’ Brody said.

Nick accepted tea from Del. ‘I’d bet my last dollar the killer was there today. Too much fuss and attention made over the poor girl for him to resist.’

As Brody accepted tea from his mother, Jo accepted the shift in conversation with gratitude. Work was safe. She could distance herself from the emotions. ‘I agree. He’d be enjoying tremendous satisfaction knowing he was the cause of it all.’

Nick studied her closely. ‘Any theories on who might have done it?’

Jo shook her head. ‘I wish I did know. I suspect whoever did this is driven by lots of strong emotions, including a need to win his father’s approval and a need to make his own mark in the world beyond his father’s identity.’

Brody sipped his tea. The easy, relaxed charm had hardened into a hunter’s steely determination. ‘Got folks rooting around in the key players’ pasts. If any of these guys were Harvey’s protégé, there’d be missing time in his past. Harvey kept the kid hidden for several years and that would have created a hole in his history.’

‘You think you’ll really find this guy?’ his mother asked.

‘You can bet your life on it.’

He’d not meant to hunt today. He’d only cruised the Austin city side streets because he’d been restless, and the four walls of his office were crushing. Even his skin squeezed so tight he couldn’t draw in a deep breath.

It was the funeral that had thrown him off. So much sadness and grief.

He lacked remorse for Christa and her idiot fiancé, but the casket had conjured images of Harvey lying in a box. Harvey had never wanted to be buried. He’d wanted to be cremated. His mother had instilled a fear of burial in him. But the news reports had said he was to be buried in the graveyard reserved for the unclaimed bodies of prisoners.

How he’d wanted to travel to the prison and claim Harvey. Wanted to see his ashes strewn on the open land filled with bluebonnets. But to claim Harvey would mean undermining everything. And Harvey, for all his faults, did not want his protégé arrested and put in jail.

However, knowing he was doing the right thing and feeling it were two different matters. The logic his brain spouted didn’t soothe his heartache.

And so he’d pushed away from the computer, showered and carefully dressed in jeans and a dark hoodie.

When he’d gone into town to see Hanna he’d driven the red truck each time out of habit. Now he saw the folly of the move and knew the red truck could not leave the barn for a long, long time to come. So, he’d chosen a ’79 brown Ford four-door. He’d maintained the car well enough so that the engine ran smoothly and quietly, and fired each time he cranked the ignition. Reliable but not conspicuous that people might remember it.

As he drove into town he thought about Jo. He’d have taken her but with that Ranger shadowing her these days, he understood the wisdom of waiting.

No Jo today. But soon.

When he reached the street, he slowed the car’s pace and studied the girls on the street. They all dressed like whores. Short skirts. High heels. Makeup so thick it might as well have been a mask.

The girls were getting younger and younger. Some so young, they held little interest for him. Hanna’s womanly curves and full figure, for instance, had fooled him. He’d thought she was seventeen or older. It wasn’t until later when he’d taken the gold heart charm from around her neck that he’d seen the inscription with her name and birth-date. She’d been fifteen.

As he approached a light he spotted the woman he’d been watching for a couple of months. She wore a tight, short skirt, a halter and thigh-high black boots. She was a blonde, though he suspected the hair was a wig.

Glancing in his rearview mirror for traffic, he pulled to the curb in front of her. The windows in the car weren’t electric, so he had to lean over the passenger side and manually open the window.

The woman spotted him immediately but she didn’t approach the car. He leaned over and rolled down the passenger window. ‘Sadie?’

Her head cocked.

He smiled. ‘Jo Granger sent me.’

Wariness gave way to curiosity. ‘You know Jo?’

‘She said you could help me find my sister. She’s on the streets for a couple of weeks, and I’m desperate to find her. Jo said you might be able to help.’

She pushed off from the wall and moved toward him. She smelled of soap. ‘What is your sister’s name?’

He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a photo. He’d snapped the picture of one of the girls in Jo’s support group. ‘Her name is Kelly. She’s fifteen. And she’s pregnant.’ The false story spun from him as if it were the truth. ‘My mother is frantic to find her. She’s a good kid. Just met a bad guy.’

Sadie took the picture.

‘I heard about Jo’s group and I went,’ he continued. ‘She’s really great. So calm. Makes me think I’ll find Kelly.’

‘I think I’ve seen her,’ Sadie said.

‘Really?’

‘A few blocks from here.’

‘Look, I’m from New York. I don’t know anything about Austin. Jo said you’d help me.’

Her jaw tightened and released as she studied his car and him. Getting into his car went against every bit of her nature. But he could see the mention of Jo’s name had touched her.

She opened his car door. ‘I’ll tell you how to get there.’

He grinned, his relief real. ‘That would really be great.’

‘It should only take us a few minutes.’

Or maybe a little longer.

Tuesday, April 16, 5:00
P.M.

The drive from his parents’ house to Jo’s office had been quiet, but the underlying tension that had simmered between them for the last week and a half had eased. Small progress, but progress nonetheless.

Brody hung his jacket on the back of his door, tossed his hat in a chair. As he rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie, he stared at the victim case files in the center of his desk.

His phone rang. He picked it up. ‘Winchester.’

‘This is Elaine Walton from Social Services. You asked me to search records for a Nathanial Boykin.’

He sat forward in his chair. ‘That’s right.’

‘Search was a little tougher than I’d imagined. We had a fire about a decade back. Not so much damage from the flames as the overhead sprinklers. A lot of files were ruined.’

‘Did you find anything?’

‘It’s not much. A grainy picture.’

‘I’ll take whatever you have.’

‘I’ve sent it over. Should be there shortly.’

‘Great. Thank you.’

He didn’t have long to wait. Seconds later a picture addressed to him arrived in his computer in-box. He stared at the grainy face of Nathanial, son of Smith’s third victim, Ellen Boykin.

He couldn’t make heads or tails from the image. The kid could be anyone now. Picture in hand, Brody walked toward April Summers’s office. April had joined the Rangers three months ago as their newest sketch artist. He’d heard good reports. And he was hoping for a little magic now.

He knocked on the door and a petite brunet raised her head from a sketchpad. She wore heavy, rimmed, dark glasses that did not suit her slender face or pale skin. The glasses magnified dark eyes that narrowed with annoyance when he knocked.

‘Ms. Summers?’

She pulled off her glasses and shoved aside her annoyance. ‘Yes.’

‘Ranger Brody Winchester. Got a question for you.’

She tugged at the hem of her blue blouse as she rose. She was short, not more than five feet, but possessed an energy that reminded him of a pit bull. ‘What do you need?’

‘Got a picture of a twelve-year-old boy that was sent to me by Social Services. It was taken about twenty years ago. Mighty grainy.’

‘And you want to know what he looks like now?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She accepted the photo and studied it. ‘I have a computer program. I can run his picture through. Do you know anything about him? Habits and lifestyle choices affect how we age.’

‘All I know is that his mother died when he was twelve. She’d been a drug addict for years, but I don’t know if the boy picked up her ways or not. He was in foster care briefly before he vanished.’

‘Vanished?’

‘Case workers believe he ran off looking for his father. He didn’t like the family he’d been placed with and talked about finding his birth father. They searched for him a bit, but over time he was forgotten and vanished.’

‘He could have been living on the streets.’

‘Could be. Could have had a real hard life. But I’m betting on the fact that he didn’t have to scrimp and save but grew up in a decent enough home.’ Brody explained the boy’s possible connection to Smith who had said he’d seen to the boy’s welfare and education. ‘I’d assume he also had an education.’

‘I’ll come up with a few scenarios.’ She checked the clock. ‘I’ve got several in the queue before you, so it might take me a day or two.’

‘Faster, the better.’

As Brody strode back to his office his cell rang. He answered it as he stepped into his office. ‘Winchester.’

‘It’s Santos. I just received the report on that letter delivered to Jo’s house.’

‘And?’

‘She was right. Smith didn’t write it. Handwriting analysis said it’s one hell of a fake but Smith didn’t write it.’

Brody stood silent for a moment.

‘You still there?’

‘Yeah, I’m here. Call DPS for me. I want more patrols through Jo’s neighborhood. Smith didn’t write the letter but some nut did and he knows where Jo lives.’

Jo sat in the chair beside the couch in her office staring at the young girl who sat slumped back, her arms folded across her chest. The girl, fifteen, had dyed her blond hair an ink black, wore smoky eye shadow that matched her dark clothing. This was Jo’s second visit with Mindy, and she’d not made any inroads with the troubled teen who’d taken to stealing.

The girl had wrapped herself in layers and layers of makeup and anger, and Jo wondered what horrible secret required so many defenses. ‘Mindy, I understand that you don’t want to be here and that you don’t like to talk, but your parents are worried.’

Mindy glanced at her chipped red nail polish and said nothing.

Jo set her notebook aside and sat back in her chair. Mindy’s parents were affluent, straitlaced and a far cry from the girl sitting here. ‘I never fit in at my house. I wasn’t the Goth kid but the geek kid. My younger sister and mother were the beauty queens, and all I wanted to do was read.’

Mindy kept her gaze down.

Jo continued. ‘When I was a little younger than you I told my parents during dinner that I wanted to major in psychology one day. I’d finished a report on the subject and was fascinated.’ Jo released a breath. ‘They both laughed and said there were better ways to make a living.’

Mindy looked up, and for a split second, hints of curiosity flickered in her gaze, before she looked back at her folded arms. ‘My mother wanted more than anything to enter me into a beauty contest. I did not want any part of it, but my mother is a stubborn gal. She finally got me to enter. Want to know how?’

Mindy shrugged a shoulder. Though she said nothing, her gaze remained on Jo.

Jo took that as a yes. ‘She promised me one hundred dollars. Said she’d drive me to the bookstore and let me spend the whole one hundred dollars on books.’ The memory coaxed a smile. ‘I jumped at the chance. And I let her spray my hair until it hardened like a helmet. She painted my eyes and cheeks. To be honest, I thought I looked more like a rodeo clown than a girl. I even managed a baton-twirling act. Though I must say I do throw a real nice baton. Boy, how I could make that baby spiral in the air. And did I say I convinced Mom to let me set the baton ends on fire?’

Mindy shrugged. ‘So what happened?’

Jo didn’t point out that this was the first time the kid had spoken in their sessions. ‘I gave it my all and I had come in … fifth place. Beat out by four perky, petite blondes. But I did win a ribbon for the talent.’ She smiled. ‘I received more applause than any of the girls that night when I threw my flaming baton in the air.’

‘Did you get your books?’

‘I did. Took me two hours of wandering in that store because I wanted to choose carefully. And the best news of all was that Momma shifted her pageant dreams to my younger sister. Who, by the way, loved every minute of her pageant days.’

Mindy rolled her eyes. ‘It was smooth sailing for you, and you never looked back.’

‘No, honey, I made some bad mistakes after that. Mistakes I couldn’t blame on anybody but myself.’

Mindy’s brow knotted. ‘What kind of mistakes?’

Jo checked her watch and realized they’d gone five minutes over their time. ‘I’ll tell you next week.’

‘What if I don’t come back?’

Jo shrugged as she rose. ‘I guess you’ll never know.’

The girl rose, pulling her backpack with her. ‘These sessions are lame. They aren’t helping.’

Jo put her hand on the doorknob and paused. ‘The choice is yours, Mindy. I’m not going to make you come back.’

‘My parents will.’

Jo opened the door. ‘Well, on the bright side, if you have to come back you’ll find out the next chapter in my story.’

The girl held her gaze a beat before turning to leave. As Jo followed, her phone buzzed. Ignoring it, she met the girl’s parents, offered suggestions and updates before escorting them to the elevator.

Back at her desk, she snapped up the receiver and dialed the receptionist. ‘I have a call?’

‘You have a call on line two. A Mr. Morris Gentry, attorney-at-law. He’s called four times today.’

She’d testified in court for clients and law enforcement and had dealt with her share of attorneys, but the name Gentry did not ring a bell. ‘Take a message.’

‘Sure.’

Her phone buzzed again twenty seconds later and she snapped it up, annoyed. ‘Mr. Gentry said this is in reference to Mr. Smith.’

‘Mr. Smith?’

‘That’s all he’d say.’

‘I’ll take the call.’ She punched line two. ‘Mr. Gentry, this is Dr. Granger. What can I do for you?’

A man cleared his throat. ‘I was the attorney for Mr. Harvey Smith. I assume you are acquainted with him.’

‘I am.’ She clicked through her memory. ‘And you defended him at his trial.’

‘That is correct, Dr. Granger.’

She picked up a pen and doodled circles on her blotter. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Before he was arrested three years ago, he contacted me and gave me a package, which I was to deliver to you at the time of his death.’

She held her breath. ‘What’s in the package?’

He hesitated. ‘I do not know. All I know is that I got his assurance that it contained nothing considered illegal.’

What did Mr. Gentry consider illegal? When she’d read the trial transcripts she’d judged his definition as relaxed. ‘Can you send it to me?’

‘You are to come to my office and sign for it personally.’

‘I don’t have time for that. Would you courier it to me?’

‘Mr. Smith was specific that I see you sign for it.’

She didn’t like having her actions dictated by a dead man. But to ignore the package was to ignore possible evidence that could help with the current murder investigation. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

‘Good. Very good.’ He gave her his address.

The drive across town took twenty minutes, and by the time she parked, a half hour had passed. Gentry’s office was located in a high-rise with sleek glass windows and a marble foyer. A scan of the directory in the lobby and a punch of the buttons and she arrived at Gentry’s tenth-floor office.

The offices were as nice as the entryway, and she could see that Gentry’s practice was profitable. He’d garnered a great deal of publicity from the Smith trial and had shown himself to the world to be a quick-minded attorney.

The receptionist was as sleek as the office and the moment she saw Jo she announced her to Gentry. The attorney greeted her within seconds of her arrival.

Gentry was a short man in his midfifties with a thick belly and dark hair that had thinned considerably. But his suit wasn’t off the rack as it had been during Smith’s trial, but custom. Gold, monogrammed cuff links winked in the light from a large picture window behind his desk.

He extended his hand to her. ‘Dr. Granger. So glad you could come quickly.’

She accepted his hand, noting it was too soft for her liking. ‘You made it difficult to resist.’

‘I am following my client’s instructions.’

‘Understood.’

He escorted her into his office and to a plush mid-century modern chair by a chrome desk. Behind him, glass windows offered a spectacular view of the river.

‘Can I offer you coffee or tea? A soda perhaps?’

‘I’m fine. I need to collect what Smith left me and be on my way.’

‘Yes.’ He reached behind his desk and lifted a small beaten-up shoe box wrapped in duct tape. The box stood in stark contrast to the office’s sleek surroundings. A spider in a lush bowl of cream. A cancer. A reminder that no matter how much money Mr. Gentry had spent on his new life, it had been built on the back of something very ugly.

She accepted the box, noting it wasn’t too heavy. God, but she did not want this box. Did not want this morbid connection to a dead man who’d dedicated his life to evil.

‘I have a letter opener if you’d like to open it now,’ he said.

She stared at the secured lid. ‘Thank you, but I’d rather not open it now.’

His face frowned his disappointment. ‘You aren’t going to open it?’

‘Not now.’ As he continued to stare she added, ‘I was to sign for it but I don’t need to open it in your presence.’

‘ No.’

‘Excellent.’

He cleared his throat. ‘If you do not want the box I can take it for you, examine the contents and destroy it.’

She really looked at him for the first time. Keen interest sparked in his gaze. ‘What was Mr. Smith like when you represented him?’

‘Honestly, he was delightful. He was courteous. Kept up with the current events and was always curious about what was going on in the world.’

‘I would think he’d have worried about his defense.’

Gentry adjusted a cuff. ‘He never had a real interest in his case.’

‘Odd, considering the consequences he faced.’

‘Believe me, we had this discussion many times. I wanted him to be engaged and to worry about what could happen. But he didn’t care, as if relieved to be behind bars. As long as he could read and write he was happy.’

She dropped her gaze to the box and smoothed her hand over it.

He leaned forward. ‘Do you mind me asking you a question?’

‘You may ask.’

‘Why ask me to hold a box for you? Who are you to him?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Only once did he mention you. He’d been convicted and sentenced to death. I’d come to talk to him about appeals, but he showed more interest in an award you’d earned. It had been written up in the paper.’

She smoothed her hand gently over the rough cardboard as if it could bite. Finally she rose. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’ll let me know what is in the box?’

‘Why do you care?’

‘The most notorious serial killer in the last fifty years leaves a box in my charge. I’m curious. Curious enough in fact to have it X-rayed soon after he gave it to me.’

‘X-rayed.’

‘I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything really unseemly in the box.’ He dropped his voice a notch. ‘I’ve read how killers like him like to keep trophies. Body parts and such.’

Somehow she doubted Mr. Smith would have left her anything gruesome. It would have been rude, uncouth.

She signed the receipt stating she’d accepted the box and with it in hand, she left a disappointed Gentry. Outside the building, she inhaled deeply, savoring the warm air, which eased the chill seeping from the box.