When I Knew You (26 page)

I thought of the scene on the news with Trent at the controls of the track hoe, the bones falling down the pile of dirt. "So, was the body Javier's?" I asked. "The real Javier?"

Robert nodded. "Kati, if you hadn't alerted the family in Chicago, we never would have been able to ID him. They got in touch with the university who handled the recovery of the body on the Rocking B Ranch," Robert said. "The remains are a match for the Chicago Bonita family." He flipped open the file and pulled out a single sheet of paper. "And this is a charge from the grand jury, based on the blood on the shirt and the evidence you gathered from the water company to reopen the case of your mother's accident. They still had a sample of blood from the accident scene that didn't match yours, Antonia."

"It was Trent's," I said.
 

"Right," Robert said. "He was managing Beautiful Living Waters at the time."

William's eyes glinted with recognition. "Beautiful Living Waters. That was the name of the water company, right? Their truck was stolen right across the street from the accident."
 

"Yes," I flipped open my phone and opened the photos I took off the picture from the wall of Beautiful Living Waters warehouse. I enlarged the photo which showed Trent Bonita standing next to one of the delivery trucks, his smile broad and one hand on the driver's door as if he was about to get in. I showed it to William. "The company was part of the holdings of the Bonita family."

He handed the phone to Willie, who shook her head. "That asshole had some balls. Why didn't anyone see the connection?"

William scoffed. "That family could cut off any investigation they wanted in this town. At least back then they could."

"The blood from both Antonia's accident twelve years ago and from your encounter with Trent matched," Robert said. He pulled a second sheet out. "And this is a copy of the warrant to collect DNA on Javier Bonita—that is, Trent's father. Based on the second test we ran, the blood you..., well, let's call it 'gathered,' shows he's a potential descendant match to the DNA on record for the Texarkana serial killer."

"I knew it!" William shouted, pounding the table. "That guy was nothing like the Javier the family in Chicago talked about. I mean, he fit the description and the timeline, but I left that ranch feeling like I'd met the devil himself. I figured that woman in Chicago was better off without him."

Robert continued, flipping through a few other sheets of paper. "The main suspect in the Texarkana Moonlight Murders was a Caleb Mayhan." He pulled out a photo of a young man and slid it across the table to Mom and me. This photo was considerably larger than the ones I'd seen in Mom's files and looked like a police booking photo. The man looked similar to the photo I'd seen of the real Javier, with a similar build and dark sunburned skin. His eyes, though, had that flat look I'd seen on Trent and Eliah.
 

"Mayhan left Texarkana after they didn't have enough evidence to hold him. This was before DNA was being used. The case went cold. But in the late 90s there were grants that gave us the money to test cold cases, to see if any matches came up on the DNA database. I was part of that effort in Texas and the Moonlight Murder serial killer case was one of a dozen I had submitted for review. That's how I met your mother initially." He smiled at her, then continued. "Antonia, if you hadn't been so curious about cold cases—and that one in particular because of the dates involved—we never would have investigated it further. I was never a fan of civilians getting involved in these kinds of situations. I told her that and she was ... " he shrugged.

"Unimpressed?" I offered.

"That's a kind way of putting it," he said, squeezing Antonia's hand. "Anyway, the DNA testing took another year after her accident. At the time, there was no match in the database. Our main suspect, Mayhan, had disappeared off the face of the earth."

"To become Javier Bonita," Willie said quietly. She rubbed her father's shoulder. William reached up and patted her hand, his hand shaking.

"Would appear so," Robert agreed. "They are still looking for cause of death on the remains of Javier. It certainly appears that Mayhan took over Javier's life. Or at least the part where he inherited all that property."

 
I stared at the paper in front of me in silence for a minute, then looked at Robert. "So, it's over?"

"It'll take a while, Kati. We have to get DNA from old-man Bonita to prove it's a DNA match with the serial killer case. That's likely to be a tall order, but his son's DNA is a good start. That should give us cause."
 

"Could he get away with this? I asked incredulously. "Even with the real Javier Bonita's body on his land?"

"There are enough lawyers between him and the law right now. Add to that the fact that he owns most of the judges in the county, both here and in South Texas. So we've got some work ahead of us." He shook his head. "But you got Trent Bonita, Kati. Not only for your Mom's accident twelve years ago, but for felony kidnapping, car bombing, murder of his brother, and attempted murder of you and Antonia in the stadium." He leaned back in his chair. "Plus that jerk will never be governor, which is possibly the biggest win of them all."

"But the imposter?" Mom asked quietly.

"Toni," he said gently touching her hand. "We have Caleb dead to rights. The facts are irrefutable. The evidence is mounting. It'll take a while, maybe a couple months, but it is over."

I looked at Mom, and she smiled. Some parts of this would never be over, but at least now we were safe. "So it's over, right?"

Robert sighed. "Yes. It's over. Except for one thing." He slowly pulled out a third piece of paper and put it in front of me. His face looked pained. "You'll need to turn yourself in."

"What?" Mom rose to her feet, her face turning red.

I pulled the paper closer, reading my name near the top, right under the word Warrant. "It's about Eliah, isn't it?"

Robert grimaced. "You need to come in for questioning about the car bomb. Fortunately, Willie here has an eyewitness who saw one of Trent's men working on the truck. But you didn't stick around after the explosion, and the local law enforcement frowns on that kind of thing. Not to mention Homeland Security."

"Homeland Security?" Willie said incredulously. "That's a little overkill, isn't it?"

Robert shook his head. "My dear, that was a bomb. You're lucky you don't have the FBI here."

"This is ridiculous," Mom glared at Robert. "You have to do something about this. Kati can't go to jail."

"Look, your friend Gustav is already working on it. He hired some big shot defense attorney, Terrance Jimenez, who swears he'll have you out in a couple of hours." He patted Mom's hand. "It will be fine. Kati will be out in no time."

Chapter 29

The Bonita political machine might have been wounded, but even in its death throes it managed to keep me in the El Paso County jail long past a few hours. When the officer came to let me out two days later, I didn't much care how or why; I was being let out, I was just grateful that it was over.

Freedom is like that. It blinds you, makes your stupid and slow on the uptake.
 

"Aren't you are a lucky one, getting out of here early," said the guy who handed me back the items I'd had in my pockets when they booked me—a cell phone, my wallet, and the tape Antonia had made for me.

"I'm not sure I'd call it luck. More like lawyering." I tried to power up the cell phone, but it was dead. I shoved it, along with the rest, into my pockets.

"Yeah, I heard you had Jimenez. I saw him earlier," the guy looked around. "Probably went out to get the car for ya."

The light outside was bright, bleaching the sky and the sidewalks by the jail. A man stood near the door and called to me. "Are you Katarina Perez?"

 
He was dressed in an expensive suit, his tie loosened and his dark hair was clearly a dye job. He was an older man, with a tightly trimmed beard and dark sunglasses.
 

"Nice to meet you, at last," he said, his smile reassuring. "I'm Terrance Jimenez. I worked on your release. Let's go, everyone is waiting for you."

I knew Jimenez was working on my case, but I stood there for a moment, hesitating. "Where is Gustav?"

He turned away and I heard the truck behind him beep softly and the lights flash, acknowledging that it was open. "Gustav is at the courthouse, filing the final paperwork personally," he said over his shoulder. "When I was contacted that we had secured your release, I came to make sure there were no further efforts to keep you from your rightful freedom." He glanced at me and gave me a slight smile. "I find that taking care of things like this oneself is much more effective." He opened his door and climbed in." Come, Ms. Perez. We shouldn't keep them waiting."

I went around the truck and stepped in the passenger side. It was a large ranch truck— high profile and pure luxury on the inside. Satellite radio, backup camera, soft leather seats, climate controls, the whole nine yards. I clicked on my seat belt, elated to be going home.
 

Jimenez snapped in a small black device into the seatbelt buckle, effectively shutting off the ringing of the seatbelt alarm. I'd seen the old ranchers use those on the ranch back at the ropes course where I worked, a way to avoid buckling up over and over when they were feeding cattle and jumping in and out of the truck dozens of times.

We pulled out of the parking lot and hit I-10, heading toward the house. I looked out the window, not in the mood to talk. Last time I'd seen Gustav as I was being booked, he swore I'd only be in the jail for the afternoon, maybe overnight, tops, but I honestly expected to be out in hours given all the evidence. The sound of the jail doors slamming shut that first night had unnerved me to the core. He called the second day, swearing that Jimenez, the lawyer he'd hired, was hard at work and that he was certain everything would be handled that day. The second night I was starting to panic, wondering what was going on in the outside world, terrified that this was going to be my new life, always hoping that release was going to happen the next day. Now that I was out, all I wanted to do was camp out under the stars, with only a sleeping bag between me and the desert air.

Lost in thought, I didn't register at first that we were exiting the freeway early.
 

"You're going the wrong way," I said, turning to the Jimenez.
 

His freckled hands on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening and for the first time I noticed the age spots, the arthritic swelling around the joints. He was much older than I'd thought at first, his skin sagged on his neck, there was a line of red ringed his neck like someone who worked outside, not in the fluorescent glow of a law office. A glint of silver on the keys in the ignition caught my eye and I saw a silver B with a curve beneath it. The Rocking B brand.
 

I turned back to the window, feeling felt light-headed. In my mind, I erased the tight beard and mustache, comparing it to the grainy photo I had of Javier Bonita. In the video where the body was discovered, he wore a classic straw stetson shading his eyes, but his grim expression was clear, the line of his nose sharp, his lips thin as a razor.

But of course, this wasn't Javier. He had never been Javier. He was Caleb. Caleb Mayhan from Texarkana, the man who had disappeared after the Moonlight Murders. The man who had taken Javier's place, his inheritance, and probably his life.

I tapped the door's armrest, focused on calming my breathing, swallowing the panic that clawed at my throat. "If you take a left up ahead we can go the back way. There's a ton of lights, but it's not too bad."

He kept looking straight ahead. "They decided to have a little get together to celebrate your release. The restaurant is right down here."
 

We turned down a side street and zig-zagged through a neighborhood. The streets were empty, it was the middle of the day and everyone was at work or school. He kept checking his rearview mirror.

 
Images flashed in my mind: the flames shooting out of my apartment, the rolling bottles of water crashing in the intersection, the blanket lying flat where Pilar's leg should be, the scar on Antonia's forehead. I was done playing dumb, done with all the games, done with the Bonitas destroying everyone I loved for their twisted ambitions.

"They will look for me, you know," I said evenly.

"I imagine they will," he said. His voice was sharper, irritated.

"And then they will look for you, Caleb."

He was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. "I haven't heard that name in a very long time." He glanced over at me. "And I imagine you didn't keep that little thing to yourself, did you."
 

"Didn't see much point."

"Doesn't matter. They can't get to me," he replied, then turned down another street. "Never have been able to get to me." He pulled onto Montana Street, usually a busy four-lane road, but at this hour it was nearly empty. He checked the rearview mirror, then smiled. "You see, I have a gift. I can hide in plain sight. And now I have a flipping army of lawyers. They love this shit."
 

We were picking up speed now, heading east toward the desert. There were hundreds of roads out in the desert, hundreds of places to dump a body where the coyotes would rip it to shreds. Right now my fear was still under control, I could think, but just barely. It was now or never.

"He trusted you, didn't he?" I asked, watching the speedometer. My timing had to be perfect. I only had one shot at this. We were going over 50 now, five miles over the limit. Fast enough.

"Happy little Javier?" He scoffed. "Nah. He didn't trust me. He just didn't watch out for me. I guess you could say he underestimated me." The speedometer read over 65.

"That's funny," I said. "My Mom and I, we both know that feeling." I lunged for the steering wheel, pulling it hard, straight down and the truck turned sharply.
 

The truck was tall, and the sudden turn at that speed did exactly what I thought it would. It swerved wildly, as Caleb struggled to wrest control back from me. It wasn't hard;, he was stronger than me. Which was perfect.