No Escape (4 page)

‘Born in Texas and graduated from Oklahoma University summa cum laude. His professors and many of the principals and teachers he worked with respected him. When he had a long-term sub assignment, lots of parents raved about him and requested he be hired permanently. But he refused all offers. He drifted around Oklahoma and Kansas for many years and then returned permanently to Texas twenty years ago.’

Brody threaded the car in and out of traffic and soon they were headed east toward the municipal airport. ‘I asked him why he moved back, but he never answered. My theory is that he wanted more space, more land and better weather, which makes for a longer killing season.’

‘He was in his late forties when he moved back to Texas.’

‘That’s right.’

She stared out the front window, rifling through the facts she had on Smith. ‘His primary burial ground was his backyard but another is suspected.’

‘When he was arrested in the suspected disappearance of Tammy Lynn Myers three years ago, we got a subpoena to search his house and grounds. It didn’t take much poking around the backyard to see that the land had been disturbed many times. We spent weeks in that backyard excavating ten bodies. However, we never found Tammy Lynn Myers. We also found evidence in his house that suggested there were at least two other victims. They were also never found.’

‘The medical examiner believed that the victims were buried alive.’

‘Most of the bodies were so decomposed there was no soft tissue to examine. Then we unearthed a body believed to be his second-to-last victim, a woman he killed weeks before Tammy. The medical examiner found dirt in her lungs and stomach, clearly indicating she’d ingested dirt as she tried to breathe.’

A shiver traced her spine, as she thought about those women so desperate to breathe. ‘He never fought the charges.’

‘No. In fact, he was helpful at times.’

‘He was sentenced to death.’

‘And has used the last two years filing every appeal he can.’

‘He confesses, then fights,’ she said. ‘It’s always about control with him.’

He clenched his jaw, making a muscle by the joint flex. ‘Looks like the cancer is the game changer now. It’ll kill him before the executioner.’

‘Karma has its own justice.’

Without comment, Brody pulled through the gates of the small municipal airport and followed the winding, flat road past the main building with a control tower and then toward the hangars on the north side of the property. He parked beside a hangar. ‘I asked them to gas up the plane before I left this morning, so the preflight shouldn’t take too long.’

‘Can I help?’

‘Naw, hang tight. I got it.’ They climbed out of the car, and he unlocked a small door that led into the hangar, closed it and seconds later she heard the gears of the big hangar door grinding as the metal slid up and back. Inside the hangar stood a Cessna 150. The single prop, two-seater was painted white with red and black stripes. Brody took his white hat and jacket and tossed both in the back luggage section of the plane. He attached a hook to the aircraft’s front wheel and easily pulled the plane out of the hangar. Within minutes, he’d inspected the plane’s exterior as if he had done the preflight check a thousand times before.

He opened the airplane door for her and waited as she climbed the awkward step into the plane. After closing the hangar door, he slid behind the yoke of the plane. His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned over and grabbed another preflight list kept tucked by the seat. The Bronco was spacious compared to the cockpit.

He put on headphones and handed her a set before he primed the engine with the choke and then turned the key. The propeller turned once and stopped, but when he cranked the key a second time it turned and caught, quickly sending the propeller spinning so fast it vanished from sight.

Grateful for the loud hum of the engine that would make any conversation difficult, she settled back in her seat, put on her sunglasses, and for the first time since she’d seen Brody standing at the base of her climbing wall, allowed her mind to still.

As he spoke to the tower, he taxied to the runway and swung the plane around so that it rested on the runway’s numbers and faced due east. Without tossing her a quick glance he gunned the engine and the two were hurtling down the runway. Halfway, he pulled the controls back and the front wheels lifted effortlessly off the ground. Her stomach flip-flopped and she was glad now she’d had a small breakfast.

Out the side window, she could see the square, functional buildings of the airport quickly growing smaller and smaller. As they gained altitude, the crystal-blue horizon stood in stark contrast to the brown earth savaged by drought. Glancing at the air speed, it didn’t take much calculating to figure they’d be in West Livingston within the hour.

That gave her sixty minutes to prepare herself for seeing one of the most vicious serial killers in Texas history.

Saturday, April 6, 3:00
P.M.

The gray walls of Livingston State Prison loomed as Jo stared out the backseat window of the Department of Public Safety’s trooper car. Brody had called ahead from the plane and arranged for a trooper to meet them. He now sat in the front seat next to the officer and she in the back.

The tall fence topped with curled barbed wire surrounded the prison. Rain droplets now dripped on the window, turning a cool day into a raw one. She’d been in prisons before to interview suspects. She was no novice. Understood the ropes. And still a deep trepidation had wormed its way under her skin and left her edgy and nervous.

Brody caught her gaze in the rearview mirror. He sat tall. Strong. And if he’d been anybody else she might have made a joke to slice the tension. A laugh would’ve gone a long way right now. But she didn’t want to laugh with Brody. She didn’t want any kind of connection or link to him. It had been fourteen years since she’d seen him, and until this morning she’d believed all the emotions attached to their relationship were long dead and buried. But like a beast stirring after a long slumber, too many unwanted emotions were awakening.

Damn it.

Worrying over what she felt or didn’t feel for Brody Winchester was not how she’d planned to spend her first real day off in two weeks.

‘You okay?’ Brody said.

‘Never better.’ She tossed him a
whatever
smile that she saw often from the teen girls in her support group. However, she sensed hers didn’t mask her worry. She considered a pithy comment, but then rejected it, knowing more often than not her quips sounded more bitchy than witty. ‘I’m still trying to wrap my brain around why Smith requested me. And I can’t believe it’s simply my connection to you.’

The officer in the front seat, a tall, burly man with a crew cut and a full black mustache, didn’t comment but she noted the subtle stiffening in his shoulders when she’d said, ‘my connection to you.’ She could only imagine what he’d now speculated.

They passed through the first checkpoint and then a second before she and Brody got out of the car. A breeze blew from the west, cutting through her jacket and chilling her skin.

Brody offered thanks to the officer and then escorted her inside where they passed through another metal detector. A female officer searched her bag while Brody checked his gun with the guards. Fifteen minutes later they found themselves in the warden’s office.

As they entered the austere office, a mid-sized barrel-chested man rose. He had a thinning shock of red hair brushed back off a wide, ruddy face. He came around his desk, smoothing his hand over his blue plaid tie, before he extended it to Brody. ‘Brody. Heard you were coming.’

‘No rest for the wicked,’ Brody said.

‘That would be you,’ the warden said, smiling. He shifted his gaze to Jo. ‘I’m Larry Maddox, warden here at Livingston. Dr. Granger?’

She smiled and accepted his calloused hand. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Warden. And please call me Jo.’

He nodded. ‘Jo it is. And I’m Larry.’ He hooked his thumbs in his thick belt. ‘I hear Mr. Smith wants to have a chat with you?’

She frowned. ‘He does and I am surprised.’

‘Not much surprises me anymore.’ He shook his head. ‘I hate to see you dragged all the way out here for a wild-goose chase.’

‘You think this trip is a waste of time?’

‘Mr. Smith is one of our wilier inmates. Been known to jerk some chains, as I’m sure Brody has told you. He’s likely gonna do that to you.’

She’d considered that. ‘Well, I’m here, so I might as well talk with him. How is his health?’

‘Not too good these last couple of weeks. He had a surge in energy yesterday and that’s when he called this meeting. Hospital doc says that kind of energy boost often comes before the end.’ His frown deepened. ‘A word of advice. Don’t let him get in your head. He’s good at it, and he will try. The man likely wants to inflict one last bit of pain before he leaves this world.’

She arched a brow. ‘I’ve interviewed men like him before.’

Warden Maddox shook his head. ‘No doubt you’ve talked to your share of bad guys, Dr. Granger. But this one is dangerous. A whole new level of evil.’

An unexpected chill passed over her body. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Larry eyed Brody as if to say,
You’ve been warned
. ‘Then let’s get this show on the road.’

With Brody steps behind her, Jo followed the warden down the long, narrow, gray hallway to the interview room.

The warden stopped at the interview room’s entrance. ‘Smith was clear he only wanted you and Winchester in the room.’

‘Both of us?’ Jo said.

The warden shrugged. ‘Don’t pretend to understand Smith’s mind. Likely he wants the arresting officer front and center when he gives his last big speech.’

Brody shifted his stance but didn’t speak.

Jo flexed her fingers. ‘The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll know.’

Brody opened the door and this time walked in ahead of her. His gaze swept the small room, roaming over the glass partition that separated the prisoners from visitors. On this side of the glass, there was a chair in front of a small desk and a phone resting in a wall cradle. His frown darkened. ‘Have a seat, Dr. Granger.’

Dr. Granger
. Sounded odd, overly formal, even a bit pretentious when Brody said it. But she realized since they’d met, he’d used her formal title when they’d been in front of others and when they’d been alone, he’d kept his words to a minimum.

She passed by him and took a seat in front of the glass partition. In the glass’s reflection, she could see Brody taking his post by the door. He didn’t lean against the wall but stood straight, his hands clasped in front. In her home he’d been edgy but now his muscles all but snapped with tension. Brody knew dark facts about Smith, had witnessed events that he’d most likely not share with her because she was technically a civilian. She suspected that knowledge now preyed on his mind.

Jo refocused her gaze into the other room and the door on the opposite side of the glass. For several seconds she stared at the plain door, barely breathing as her heart thumped hard against her chest. The case of unexpected nerves had now grown annoying. Smith couldn’t hurt her, and the sooner she stopped giving in to this ridiculous case of anxieties, the better.

The second hand on the wall clock moved in slow motion. Her heartbeat pulsed against her neck and wrists. Finally, the knob that she thought would never turn did and in a blink it rotated, and the door opened. She flinched but settled immediately as wheelchair-bound and shackled Smith was wheeled in by a guard.

In all the pictures she’d seen of Smith, he had been a robust and muscled man with dark, thick hair, penetrating green eyes and a sly smile that suggested he knew many secrets. However, the cancer had left him fragile, a good seventy pounds lighter and his ebony hair had grayed and thinned. His once-attractive face was lean and lined, but the green eyes, though sunken, reflected curiosity. And his trademark smile, hinting of dark secrets, emerged.

Smith’s gaze flickered to Brody and back to Jo before he focused on getting settled. The guard waited behind him as he adjusted his shackles and carefully folded his thickly veined hands on the table.

Jo had sat across from her share of hardened criminals, most covered in tattoos, scars and piercings. But Smith’s appearance could only be described as mild, gentle. Even if he wasn’t sick, she doubted anyone would have crossed the street to avoid him and most women would have joined him in a steel, soundproofed elevator without a second thought. Likely, his victims hadn’t sensed their extreme danger until it was far too late.

He picked up the phone on his side of the partition and in a clear, deep Texas drawl, he said, ‘Thank you for coming, Dr. Granger.’

‘Mr. Smith.’ She could have said that his request was a surprise. She could have asked why he’d wanted to see her. She could have asked how he was feeling. But she’d learned to say only what she absolutely had to say when she dealt with prisoners. They had the better part of twenty-four hours in a day to pick apart whatever you said and spin it a thousand different ways. The less said, the better.

He smiled, showing even, white teeth. ‘You must be wondering why I asked you to visit me here today.’

‘I was told you had something to tell me.’

‘That is correct.’ A slight cock of the head. ‘Would you mind if I spoke to an old friend? I’ve not seen Ranger Winchester in some time.’

‘Please, take as long as you like.’

‘I do appreciate your patience, Dr. Granger.’

Having his gaze off of her gave her a moment to gather her thoughts and to assess him and the situation.

‘Ranger, it’s been a year at least?’ Smith said.

Brody’s stance relaxed, and whatever anger he’d had for Smith vanished like ice under the hot sun. ‘It’s been eleven months, Mr. Smith. Last time I was here was right after your sentencing.’

‘That’s right. Hot spring day from what I remember. Time crawls and then in an instant too much of it has passed.’

‘That it does, Mr. Smith. That it does.’

Jo thought about the fourteen years that had passed since she’d last seen Brody. Those years had indeed passed in a blink.

‘They are keeping you busy, Ranger. I’ve seen you in the news. You are always the man behind the speaker at the podium, but I know your role is never minor.’

‘I hope they’re treating you well here,’ Brody said.

‘They are and thank you for speaking to the warden on my behalf. I do appreciate the opportunity to spend more time in the library. I do love reading books and newspapers.’

‘Glad I could be of help. I understand your health is not well.’

‘No, I’m afraid it’s not good. Not good at all. The doctors say I have weeks.’ No hint of self-pity lurked behind the words.

‘I assumed your time must be getting mighty short. It’s not often you request visitors.’

Jo always considered herself an expert at couching her emotions. But as she listened to Brody’s relaxed cadence, with no hint of the anger she’d heard in the hallway moments ago, she realized she was in the presence of a master manipulator. If she’d only just met these two, she’d bet they were good friends.

‘Well, I am glad you are doing well,’ Smith said, avoiding the comment. ‘But if you don’t mind, Sergeant Winchester, I’d like a word with Dr. Granger.’

‘By all means.’

Smith shifted his gaze back to Jo. ‘I’ve read about you in the newspapers. You were involved in that case last year. What did the paper call that killer?’

She sat silent, knowing he wasn’t looking for an answer.

‘The Interstate Killer. That’s right. Left the bodies along Interstate 35. Interesting fellow.’

Jo had no intention of discussing an old case. ‘Mr. Smith, I understand you summoned me here to discuss the location of three bodies.’

He smiled and pulled in a labored breath. ‘Cut to the chase. Direct. I do like that about you, Dr. Jo Granger.’

She resisted the urge to shift in her seat. ‘I’ve always found direct works best.’

He leaned forward a fraction. ‘I agree. But as much as I’d like to cut to the chase, I don’t want this interview over before it really gets started. I don’t get visitors very often.’

He flexed the bony fingers of his right hand and she thought about those same hands holding a shovel and burying his victims alive. She tried to imagine the horror of being dragged away from the world, terrorized and then lying in a shallow grave as this man heaped dirt on your body and finally your face. She tried to imagine fighting for air as every cell in your body screamed for oxygen.

Smith was charming, and he was pure evil. Though she wanted to remind Smith she didn’t care a whit for him or this chat, she thought about the three families that had lost loved ones but had never found their bodies. They’d gone for years without closure, and if she could play this game a little longer she might be able to give them some sense of peace.

Taking a cue from Brody’s behavior, she leaned into her elbows, the phone pressed to her ear. ‘What would you like to discuss, Mr. Smith?’

‘You.’

‘Me?’ She kept her smile fixed and polite, but tension banded the muscles in her back. ‘Why would I be of any interest to you?’

His dark gaze sharpened. ‘My directness has made you uncomfortable.’

‘No, not at all. However, your interest in me is a surprise.’

‘On the contrary. You’re a bright woman, Dr. Granger. You graduated top of your class from UT a year ahead of schedule and what scholarships didn’t pay for, you paid for yourself by working as a beautician.’

Discomfort slithered over her skin. ‘You know a lot about me. Why the interest?’

‘I admire your intelligence. I find there is less and less of it in the world, and when I see it I give credit where credit is due.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Your parents should be proud.’

Discussing her life was one matter, but bringing her parents into the discussion was another. Her father, an electrician, had passed away five years ago. He’d never been thrilled about her choice of psychology as a major, fearing she’d never be able to make a living with such a froufrou degree. Her mother was a beautician and owned her own shop in Austin. Candace Granger had never earned her high school degree, and though she wanted the best for Jo, she didn’t understand Jo’s interest in school.

‘They were always supportive.’

Keen eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Did you find it tough being the only intellectual in a working-class family?’

Her grip on the phone tightened. ‘I’m not sure where this is heading, Mr. Smith.’

‘I see parallels between us. You see, I was the only one in my family to go to college and graduate school. My father was a truck driver, and he did not appreciate a son more interested in books than football. I often had to hide in the fields behind our farm when I wanted to read.’

Why had he seen fit to draw a parallel between them? Was it to feed his ego or to unsettle her? ‘Your academic career was distinguished.’ The career that followed wasn’t exceptional. His itinerant lifestyle had been part of the reason he’d stayed clear of law enforcement’s notice for so long.