The Survivor (12 page)

3:30 P.M. SUNDAY

T
igo watched Carolyn Hopkins, who was seated across from him. The years of drug and alcohol abuse, along with a belligerent attitude that came with a total of six years in prison and an aversion to rehabilitation, had hardened the woman’s features. Her bloodshot eyes and slurred speech indicated she’d recently dived into the devil cocaine, her drug of choice, according to her record. This type of interview always challenged Tigo, seeing what it took to draw out the truth. But she’d stretched his patience to the limit. In the past thirty minutes, Hopkins had pleaded the fifth so often, Tigo wanted to toss her rear back in jail.

He gave Ryan a smile before focusing on her again. “You’re a lousy liar, Carolyn. Your stories don’t line up. Which tells me you’re guilty of murder.”

Carolyn brushed a strand of strawlike hair from her face, revealing fingernails bitten to the quick. “I despised Jonathan Yeat, but I didn’t plant a bomb in his car.”

“What did he do wrong? Didn’t he give you a job after you were released from prison?”

Lines splayed from the corners of her eyes. “He paid diddly. Then took the job away. Called it cutbacks due to current economic times.”

“What did you do for him?”

“Cleaned toilets and swept the floors. Got paid barely above minimum wage.”

Not enough to finance a drug habit. Tigo picked up her work record. “You’d been warned about absences.”

“Some days I didn’t feel work was important. People shouldn’t have to clock in if they’d rather be doing something else.”

Tigo had met people with her type of work ethic before. “Did you want Jonathan Yeat dead?”

“Nice thought, Agent Harris, but I didn’t do it.” She paused and rubbed her nose. “I was on the road to Arkansas for a family reunion.” She leaned in closer, giving Tigo a clear view of wrinkled cleavage.

“If you didn’t plant the bomb, then who did?”

“Do I look like a walking Wikipedia?”

“You broke your parole by leaving the state, and you have a stolen gun in your possession. That says you know more than you’re telling us.”

Her lips trembled. “I needed protection.”

“From who? Your pimp?”

“Business associates.” Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead.

“Special Agent Steadman and I can help you there. Because violating your parole will get you all the protection you need. Even a guard and three squares for as long as you’d like, probably longer.”

She played with a strand of hair at her temple. “You think you’re so smart.”

“I’m sure of it.” He watched her gaze dart around the interview room. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll see the judge goes easy on you.”

“If I had a name, I’d give it to you. But I don’t know nothin’.”

“What about Semtex?”

“No clue what that is.”

“Really? So you aren’t going to help us. Hey, I heard you had a kid.”

“She’s in a foster home where she belongs. So don’t pull the ‘be a good mama’ routine. I’m not buyin’ it.”

Tigo stood. Pathetic. Carolyn didn’t care about anything or anyone but herself. “We’re done here until you’re ready to talk.”

“You sending me back to Huntsville?”

“A limo is waiting.”

“You’re signing my death warrant.”

Tigo leaned on the table and captured her attention. “Your choice.”

She pressed her lips together.

Who was she afraid of? What would it take to make her talk?

5:25 P.M. SUNDAY

Kariss walked through the security gate of her community and returned the guard’s wave, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. Even with an umbrella, the slow drizzle chilled her to the bone, but it matched her disheartened mood. After her parents had left, Kariss decided to take a walk while Vicki rested and attempt to sort through the thoughts warring against her heart. As the cold splatters of rain pelted her umbrella, she pondered the situation. She’d used Tigo’s past to shape her future, but not in the way her loved ones believed.

What if her parents knew the truth about Tigo? She wished she knew the circumstances. Losing a baby and then having his wife leave him had to have been horrible, but why hadn’t he told her? Had enough time passed that the two could talk without arguing? Then there was the problem of his lack of faith. Why did love have to be so hard?

Living alone wasn’t so bad. Kariss had lived as a single since graduating from college and had adjusted quite well. Her habits were like cured concrete. Those things that ordered her life would be difficult to change. But her life was empty.

She missed Tigo, and swapping words on a phone game wasn’t going to make her feel any better. Just before leaving her condo, she’d used the first R in regret to play T-R-U-T-H. Together, she and Tigo sounded like candidates for group therapy. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she typed a text.

When he didn’t respond, she walked back to the security gate, where the guard waved at her again.

“Miss Walker, I have a delivery for you,” the white-haired man said.

On a Sunday?

“I didn’t know anyone had died.” He handed her a funeral wreath covered in lilies. “I’m real sorry.”

Kariss startled. “There must be a mistake.”

“Take a look at the card. Maybe that will help.”

She opened the envelope and read the typed note.

Ice pelted Kariss’s veins. Edgar Allan Poe.

5:30 P.M. SUNDAY

T
igo sat in his recliner with his secure laptop and listed what he knew about the Yeat bombing. Months before, he’d done this kind of work at his mother’s bedside. While she was unconscious, teetering near death, he’d labor over his latest case, often sharing with her what puzzled him … and his dilemmas about unsolved aspects. Close to the end, he’d talked to her about Kariss. His mother’s inability to communicate hadn’t mattered. He knew she cared. Now her absence left an ache in his heart. He missed her and hoped she’d died knowing how much he loved and treasured her.

He glanced down the hallway that led to what had once been her bedroom. She’d wanted him to consider mentoring teen boys who were headed down the wrong path, but he hadn’t pursued it—yet. Probably a topic to bring up with Ryan, since his church had a large youth group, and some of the kids lived in Hispanic neighborhoods. Tigo could relate to the pressures, do the big brother thing. Someday soon he needed to act on it.

Turning his attention to the Yeat case, he pushed aside his loneliness to concentrate on finding who’d bombed the car. Forensics hadn’t turned up anything further, but the investigators were still sorting through rubble and running diagnostics. This bad guy knew how to cover his tracks.

Before spreading out his notes on the table, he made a list of suspects and noted whether follow-up had been done or needed to be done. The interviews and various reports were
only a click away, and somewhere in all of this mess was a bad guy who’d made a mistake.

No one else fell under Tigo’s scrutiny. But with the right connections, any of these suspects could have accessed Semtex. Roger Collins and Carolyn Hopkins most likely knew how to make a bomb or had a source with those skills. The other suspects would have had to find an explosives expert to do their dirty work. Tigo’s informants were working on leads.

He started another list for anyone who might be withholding information. Two people made that list.

Jonathan didn’t have a partner in his firm. The interviews with contractors and subcontractors indicated an allegiance to a man who’d built his commercial construction company with integrity. Even those companies in direct competition with Jonathan’s company cleared investigation. But the killer had overseas connections somewhere.

Tigo rubbed his face, frustrated with the complexity of the case. Going undercover was more to his liking. When he was undercover, all he had to do was catch someone in the act of breaking the law. He saved his documents and texted Ryan.

A few minutes later, Ryan called. “Who do we interview first?”

“I’m thinking about going to church.”

“What?”

“Pastor Taylor Yeat’s church. There’s a Sunday-night service at seven o’clock.”

Ryan chuckled. “Got it. I’ll drive. Pick you up in a few minutes. Grabbing my keys now.”

“What are our chances of talking to a couple of sisters tonight?”

Tigo heard the hum of Ryan’s garage door opening and the sound of an engine roaring into action. “The conversation you overheard was pretty toxic.”

“I also want to find out why Vanessa Whitcom didn’t attend the funeral. She’s a church member too.”

“And here I thought you wanted a dose of God’s Word.”

Tigo smiled, understanding that Ryan wanted him to step into Christianity with both feet. “I’m sure I’ll get it. One way or the other.”

“I prefer sooner rather than later. Did you see what Vanessa
turned over on her desk when we walked into her office?” Ryan said.

“Missed it.”

“That’s why you have me. You were too busy carrying her cranberry slush and turning on the charm. Anyway, it was a photo of Jonathan, and she laid a pad of paper over it.”

“Interesting. This thing weaves tighter and tighter. I wondered if she had more than a loyal interest in him.” Tigo typed “Possibly in love with Jonathan” after her name on his list.

“Right. Did Linc have anything to add after the funeral?” Ryan interrupted himself with a moan. “A car’s stalled in front of me.”

“We have plenty of time. Linc suspected Taylor and his wife were having problems, but he didn’t think the man was stupid enough to have an affair, and certainly not with Darena. She must have quite a reputation.”

“Gives hypocrite a whole new flair. I hope you aren’t judging all Christians from a few rotten apples.”

Tigo laughed. “I do understand the difference.” He remembered his mother’s strong beliefs … and those of Kariss’s family. “I’m wondering if Darena hated her sister enough to hire a killer. I also wonder if Joanna had approached her about the affair.”

“I imagine so.”

“We’re going to raise a few eyebrows tonight,” Ryan said. “Let’s find out who doesn’t want to cooperate. See you in a few.”

Tigo’s phone alerted him to a text from Kariss. He typed out a response.

He needed time to think about her text.

6:40 P.M. SUNDAY

K
ariss dropped the funeral flowers into the trash bin but kept the card. Her insides knotted. Why the flowers had been sent was obvious, and the who was Baxter Garrett. As she walked into the house, she decided she wouldn’t mention it to Vicki. She’d just pretend everything was fine. She smiled at her sister, who started chatting away about their parents and Rose.

“With all that’s been going on, I didn’t ask about yesterday’s meeting with Dr. Garrett,” Vicki said, changing the subject. She lifted Rose to her shoulder and patted her back. “Did I ever tell you I attended one of her seminars?”

The announcement took Kariss by surprise. “When was this?”

“Last December when you were in New York visiting your publisher. Her talk about dealing with violence helped me forgive Wyatt.”

But Kariss wasn’t so sure Amy had forgiven her abductor. Yesterday afternoon her tone had been matter-of-fact, even dismissive at times, but Kariss had sensed an undercurrent of raw emotion behind the controlled facade. “I’m glad, sis. She’s helped a lot of women.”

“Because of her, I decided to continue counseling.”

Kariss despised the physical and mental trauma her sister had experienced over the past year—a divorce, an unplanned pregnancy, Wyatt’s criminal involvement and subsequent death.
Everything. Vicki deserved peace in her life. Kariss could use a little too.

“I wish I could change what happened Friday morning,” Kariss said. “My prayer for you and baby Rose is for a sweet life filled with blessings.”

Vicki glanced away, her eyes moist. “We can’t change the past, so we move on.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not frail, and I’m working through my mistakes with Wyatt. The shame and guilt still jump into my mind. Nightmares rake at my heart. It’s hard to trust again when you’ve been hurt.” She smiled. “Listen to me. I’m talking in idioms. Like one of the characters in your novels.” She sobered. “Although you’ve never admitted it and the media reports never indicated it, I know in my heart that Wyatt set you up to be killed.” Her expression turned grim. “See, I said the dark ugly for you. No reason for you to harbor guilt either, and don’t tell me it’s not there.”

“It does raise its head now and then.”

Vicki dabbed at her eyes. “Sit down before we start behaving like hormonal teenagers again. This all started when I asked about your meeting with Amy Garrett.”

Kariss formed words to respond intelligently without alarming her sister. “Not well. There’s enough dysfunction in her family to start a reality show.” She told Vicki about Baxter Garrett’s crazy behavior, leaving out the threat.

“Odd … she’s the victim, and he’s the one who hasn’t dealt with the tragedy.”

“My thoughts exactly. Strange how tragedy affects people differently. Puzzling.”

“Maybe God wants you to be her friend and write her story.”

Kariss was glad her sister’s suggestion matched her own beliefs. “I agree. Amy doesn’t have any close friends. After all, who would she confide in? With her education and experience, she probably wouldn’t want to bother anyone with personal problems and wind up looking inept. And she must trust me, because she gave me her personal contact information.”

After eating Mom’s fried chicken leftovers, Kariss opened her Kindle and read a few more chapters of
In Cold Blood.
Ever since Amy mentioned that her assailant had quoted lines from the novel, Kariss had wanted to reread it.

When the creepiness of the psychological narrative got the best of her, she powered off the Kindle and decided to call Amy. Didn’t make much sense switching from a fictional nightmare to a real one, but at least here she might be able to offer a listening ear.

Amy answered on the second ring. “Kariss?”

“Yes. I’m checking on you.”

Amy laughed, but it sounded forced. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Good news. My parents promised to keep Baxter away from both of us.”

As though their son were in grade school? “You’re sure?”

“I assure you, it’s handled. He came by my office again after you left, so I called the police,” Amy said. “Then he arrived at my front door. Called the police again. Sorry. That’s more info than you need.”

“No problem. Tell me, what kind of vehicle does Baxter drive?”

“Hmm. Usually one of my dad’s company-owned vans. He does the maintenance on various commercial and privately owned office buildings. Why?”

“I thought I saw him, but I must be mistaken. This guy was in a black pickup.”

“Oh … Baxter has a black pickup.”

Kariss’s throat constricted. “Special-order rims?”

“Just a plain truck. He couldn’t afford anything else.”

Kariss didn’t know whether to be relieved or continue speculating. Amy could be wrong about the rims. And why hadn’t she or her parents tried stopping Baxter in the past?

“Kariss, I’m concerned. You’ve seen behavior in my brother that no one in my office has a clue about. Please promise this
stays between us. My practice could be severely handicapped if any of Baxter’s issues leak out.”

“Promise. I’m blessed with a sister who not only listens but gives wise counsel. I value my relationship with her, and I hope you can have the same trust in me.”

“I do,” Amy whispered. “You’re an answer to prayer. Strange, but I knew it the moment we met in the coffee shop and split the oatmeal-raisin cookie.”

A veil of peace draped over Kariss. “Will you be able to sleep tonight?”

“My door is quadruple-locked.” She laughed, but Kariss didn’t think it was funny. “And I have a German shepherd, Apollo, who is fiercely devoted.”

“I’ll start working on transcribing our conversation and get back to you, then.”

“Great. You know, in our professions we both have to be cautious. I’m wondering if the woman befriending me wants free counseling, and you’re wondering if your new friend wants a free book.”

“Or worse yet”—Kariss laughed—“you’re wondering whether the woman you’ve asked to write the next bestseller has a clue how to write.”

“I once knew a tarot reader who wanted to offer her services to my clients. Said we could team up and handle all of their issues.”

“I was in the bathroom at a writer’s conference, and a woman shoved her manuscript under the stall door,” Kariss said. “She attached a note written on a piece of toilet paper that said, ‘I dreamed I was supposed to give this to you, and you’d help me get it published.’”

The tension between Amy and Kariss had eased. A few moments later, they ended the call with a decision to announce the writing project on Facebook and other social media. Kariss would also contact her agent and ask her to pitch the story to
potential publishers. Amy was taking a risk, and she knew it. But courage took many forms, and Dr. Amy Garrett wanted her story written.

Kariss brewed a pot of coffee and headed to her office. She couldn’t rest until the conversation she’d recorded was transcribed. In the morning she’d work on deepening characterization and toying with plot.

She glanced at the clock. Would Tigo call? She thought about the lily-covered funeral wreath and the card … No point involving him. He might misunderstand.