CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I am my brother’s keeper.
San Antonio, Texas
Tuesday, November 28, 7:15 p.m.
Mazur might not have been a genius like his older brother, Sebastian, a prosecutor in Chicago, or have the physical strength of his bull-in-a-china-shop brother, Samuel, a detective in the Windy City, but he did have the power to persevere. He’d done it several times when he’d been deployed in the Middle East, and he’d done it when his son had died and his ex-wife had announced the move south with his only kid. If he wanted something badly, he did what it took to overcome any obstacles.
Today he wanted the I-35 shooter. The Samaritan copycat or accomplice had pulled the trigger and killed Gloria Sanchez.
He stood with Kate and Detective Palmer just outside the press briefing room. The buzz of conversation on the other side of the door told him the media had shown up in large numbers. Good. He wanted the attention.
The firm click of boots connecting with tile told him the chief had arrived. The chief had no tolerance for bullshit rising in the ranks and enough backbone to support the men and women who worked under him. When Mazur had approached him about the news conference, he’d given his consent.
Chief Saunders’s gaze swept over Dr. Hayden and moved to him. “Detective Mazur. Agent Hayden.”
The chief wrapped a large hand around Kate’s. She didn’t shy away from the strong grip or the height difference, and he continued, “So, this nut has communicated with you?”
“Yes.”
“How do you want to play this, Agent Hayden?” the chief asked.
“Your department is the lead in this investigation,” Kate said. “Give a brief of the facts as you know them, and then introduce me. I’ll make a short statement so that whoever sent me that text knows he’s been heard.”
“And then what, Dr. Hayden? The shooter is just going to come running from the crowd to confess his sins?”
“I’ll make a few remarks designed to irritate him. Hopefully that will smoke him out.” She pulled a sheet of paper from a leather notebook. “Talking points to consider.”
“What about Richardson? He had any regular visitors in jail?” the chief asked.
“My boss called the jail, and they told him that the doctor has had no visitors or any kind of correspondence,” Kate said.
The chief glanced at the notes and frowned. “Painting a target on your back, Dr. Hayden?”
“It won’t be the first time.”
“Detective Mazur,” the chief said. “You going to keep this gal alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I suggest you stick to my talking points,” Kate said.
The chief arched a white brow as he shook his head and looked to Mazur and Palmer. “Does this sit well with you two? You’re the investigating officers.”
“It’s an opportunity we might not get again, and Dr. Hayden is right,” Mazur said, looking to Palmer.
Palmer nodded her agreement. “This is our best play.”
“What if the killer turns out to be someone the victim knew?” the chief asked.
“We’re chasing that angle, too,” Mazur said.
“All right,” the chief said. “I’ll play along at your dog and pony show.” He rolled the notes into a tight cylinder and, clenching them in his fist, walked out into the room. Mazur, Palmer, and Hayden followed.
The chief stalked up to the podium and stared down the room of two dozen reporters.
Dr. Hayden stood next to Mazur and Palmer behind the chief. Her face was as unreadable as always. She didn’t sway, fidget, or shift her stance. If this bothered her, she gave no sign of it.
The chief cleared his voice and began the briefing. He named the victim and explained where she’d been shot. “There have been some media reports suggesting this case is linked to the I-35 killings, also known as the Samaritan killings. The San Antonio police are working closely with the FBI, specifically their profiler, Dr. Kate Hayden.” Several reporters called out, raised their hands. He pointed to a dark brunette in a blue suit.
“Do you know where Mrs. Sanchez stopped and how her car broke down?”
“We do,” the chief said. “But I won’t share those details at this time.”
The reporters fired more questions, all of which zeroed in on the details the chief would not confirm. Finally he held up his hands. “Let me turn the podium over to Dr. Hayden.”
She moved up to the microphone, thanked the chief, and looked at the reporters, never flinching from the bank of cameras. She adjusted the microphone, paused, and then ran through the stats of the cases along I-35 before focusing on the Gloria Sanchez case. “We have solid evidence linking Dr. Richardson to two of the five killings and expect to link him to the other three. At this time, we’re still trying to determine if or when this killer might have been in contact with Dr. Richardson. We have several leads regarding clandestine communication, but I can’t discuss them now.”
Mazur knew Kate’s last comments were meant to catch the killer’s attention. They didn’t have much on the killer at this stage, but no one outside of the investigating team knew that. He shifted his body forward a fraction toward Kate, but said nothing. He wanted her to understand that he had her back.
“Evidence suggests this case is connected to the others,” Kate said.
“How can you be sure?” another reporter asked.
“I can’t discuss the details now.” This new murderer was killing in the style of Richardson for a reason. “I can tell you that I believe this killer is a white male in his midthirties to midforties. I believe he either is underemployed or has no job at all. My guess is that he lives with family, or is very dependent on family money, and that he has no romantic interest in his life.”
“In Oklahoma, you said the killer might be impotent. Did that turn out to be true?” the brunette asked.
“Yes.”
“Any physical description of this killer?” another reporter asked.
“So far, no.” She raised her gaze directly to the camera. “We have gas station footage of someone loitering around the victim’s car and are still analyzing facial images.” Not true, but the shooter didn’t know that.
A dozen hands went up, and she answered more questions, many a reiteration of what she’d already said. Over the rumble of questions, a loud, deep voice from the back shouted, “How did Richardson make contact with this apprentice?”
She shifted her gaze and stared at the tall, bulky man with dark hair and brown-rimmed glasses. For a moment she didn’t speak before she said, “Mr. North, you’ve been at this long enough to know I can’t share specifics.”
Mazur’s attention zeroed in on the man in the back. Mr. Taylor North was the reporter who had followed this case so closely. Nothing remarkable about him at first glance. A second look revealed an intense gaze locked on Dr. Hayden.
“Can you tell us more about what you saw in the gas station footage?” North asked.
“No comment,” she said.
“When you were brought into the original case, it took you almost a year to catch Richardson. Three women died while you headed the case,” North said. “Do you really think you’re the person to solve this case? How many innocent people are going to die before you crack it?”
Kate didn’t waver. “Are those rhetorical questions?”
“No. I want to know,” North said.
She drew in a slow breath. “I’m the best person for this job. Evidence led me to Charles Richardson. And it’ll lead me to this killer. I strongly urge all motorists to check their vehicles before traveling on this interstate, and I’m here to make sure no more women die.”
“What does it feel like to be back in San Antonio, Texas?” North challenged. “Have you been back since you and your father were gunned down here?”
She didn’t blink or flinch, but he saw her right hand clench the podium until her knuckles whitened as she said, “That has no relevance here today.”
“Are you worried about the man who shot you coming after you again?” North asked.
“No. He is irrelevant.”
Kate Hayden gave the appearance of cool detachment, but he saw the way she still gripped the edge of the podium.
More questions rumbled from the crowd, including several more from North, but from everyone’s vantage point other than Mazur’s, she was rock solid.
Other reporters fired more questions, which were mostly a repeat of what had already been asked. Kate answered them all and gave no hint of frustration.
When the conference was finished and the press escorted from the room, he turned to her. “What’s the deal with North? How did he end up knowing so much about you?”
Carefully she stacked her papers. “Mr. North is my number-one media fan. He believes if he insults me enough I’ll blow a gasket and give him a quote.”
Mazur wondered where she stowed all the emotions. He’d seen her reaction behind the podium, so he knew they were there. “He sure got down here fast.”
“He monitors all activities on I-35. The shooting would have hit his radar almost immediately. I suspect he wasn’t far away and knows I’ve worked all the cases.”
“He doesn’t bother you?”
“I didn’t say that. He has a talent for finding the raw nerve. But he won’t bully me into a quote.”
Mazur found he liked Kate’s professional style more and more. “And that bit about analyzing facial footage from the gas station. We never saw his face.”
“I never said I didn’t lie to the media, Detective Mazur. I know the traits liars project, which makes me very good at deception. I can play their game, too.”
Shaking his head, he grinned. “Well played, Kate.”
She checked her watch. “Who’s watching the burner phone left at the crime scene?”
“Calhoun. She’s plugged it into a charger and will call if anyone texts the number.”
“Good. I think it’s now time that we paid a visit to William Bauldry’s house,” she said. “Time to see what he’s been up to.”
“You can handle that?” Mazur asked.
“Of course.”
Mazur angled his head as he studied a very genuine expression. “That a truth or a lie, Kate?”
“Doesn’t matter. The job has to be done.”
Mazur didn’t speak to Kate as they drove across town to William Bauldry’s house. She was glad for the quiet and the time to process the press conference and settle her thoughts regarding Bauldry. Dealing with Bauldry again bothered her very much, but feelings had no relevance in her line of work.
They parked in front of a large adobe-style home. “I’m doing the talking,” Mazur said.
“But I know him. I should lead the conversation.”
“You know him too well. You’re not impartial regardless of how many times you say it out loud.”
“I’m objective and can handle myself.”
“This is my case. I do the talking.” Steel underscored the words, and it gave her enough pause to take an emotional step back and see his logic.
He walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The chimes echoed in the house. Footsteps sounded, followed by the click of several locks, before the door opened to a young woman. She was small, in her midthirties, and her blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She wore a black shirt and slacks.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Mazur held up his badge. “I’m here to see Mr. Bauldry.”
“He’s in New York right now,” the woman said. “He’ll return in two weeks.”
“When did he leave?” Mazur asked.
“A week ago.”
“Do you have a number for him?” he pressed.
She stood ramrod straight, but the tilt of her chin betrayed some of her nerves. “I’m not at liberty to give out that information, but I can give him your name and number when he calls in.”
Mazur gave her his card. “Who are you?”
“Mr. Bauldry’s housekeeper. Elizabeth Lopez.”
“Have him call me as soon as you give him the message.”
“Yes, sir.” The woman moved to close the door, but Mazur blocked it with his foot. “Tell Mr. Bauldry he will not want to make me wait long.”
She paled, nodded, and closed the door, and Mazur turned from the entrance, his jaw pulsing.
He inspected the large home. “Looks like Bauldry landed on his feet.”
“It’s family money,” she said.
“Do you think he’s in New York?” Mazur asked.
“No. William hates crowds. He couldn’t handle the packed hallways of high school. New York would be the last place he’d go.”
“Where else could he be?”
“Bauldry has a brother, Jeb, outside town,” she said. “Jeb might know where William is.”
“That’s all he has in the way of family?”
“That I know of.”
“Let’s pay him a visit.”
Twenty minutes later they arrived at Jeb Bauldry’s house, located twenty miles outside of town on a sprawling ranch. Bald cypress trees lined an aggregate driveway that led through stone pillars toward an arched entrance.
“The family is more well off than I imagined,” Mazur said.
“The old man made his money in oil in Houston. Invested wisely in real estate. Jeb then took over and had his father’s knack for making money. He avoided the market meltdown in ’08, then bought stocks afterward for a song and rode them higher. If you have investments, he’s the man to see.”
“Only investment I have is my condo in Chicago, which I’m still trying to sell. If I can’t see it or touch it, I don’t want it. What about you?”
“I’m in the markets.”
“I bet with your brain you can see the trends.”
“Sometimes.”
“So what are you going to do with your millions?”
That prompted a smile. “I’ve no idea.”
He paused. “First, you didn’t discount the millions. Second, how could you not know?”
“Work gives me the most pleasure.”
He shook his head. “All work and no play . . . how does that go?”
“I’m the first to admit I’m very boring. If you want excitement, find someone else.”
Mazur rang the bell, and they waited in silence until the front door opened. Both showed their badges.
“Agent Kate Hayden to see Mr. Bauldry.”
“One moment, please.” The woman left and returned. “Yes, he’s waiting for you in his study. Right this way.”
They passed along polished marble floors through an arched passageway that led to an open room. A bank of windows opened up onto a lush stand of grass. The woman steered them to an office.
Jeb Bauldry rose and came around a large hand-carved desk. His gaze locked on Kate.
“The last time we saw each other in person was at my brother’s sentencing.”
“Yes,” she said. She’d felt sorry for the family dealing with the wake of their son’s violence. Bauldry senior had died a year later of a heart attack, and Mrs. Bauldry had passed five years ago from cancer.
“I supposed you’ve come about William.”
“Yes,” said Mazur. “Is he here?”
“I haven’t heard from him in months. The family has had almost no contact with him since he went to prison.”
“Have you seen him in the last year?” Kate asked.
“I have. And he’s a different person now, Kate. He’s not the troubled young man he used to be. My father saw to it that he had doctors while in prison. He would never hurt you again.”
Kate’s focused on showing no reaction, but it was harder than she’d anticipated.
“Has he mentioned Dr. Hayden?” Mazur asked.
Jeb drew in a breath. “My mother visited William while in prison. I wasn’t happy about it, but he was her son and she couldn’t abandon him. She said he mentioned you often.”
“What did he say?” Kate asked.
“He was desperate to reach you and get your attention. I don’t blame you for ignoring him, but it troubled him deeply.”
“Makes perfect sense that I wouldn’t engage him in a dialogue.”
Jeb was silent for a moment, clearly rethinking the consequences of his comment. “We were all devastated when he shot your father. Our family grieved just as much as yours.”
“I doubt that.”
He shook his head. “No one has pity for the shooter’s family. No one. I struggled for years to get beyond what William had done. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I was punished.”
She wasn’t going to get into a discussion on who suffered most. “Where is William now?”
“I assume he’s at his house. That’s where he’s basically been holed up since he got out of prison.”
“He wasn’t there when we paid him a visit,” Mazur said. “Does he have other properties?”
“There’s the ranch. It’s fifty miles west of town. He was never crazy about it as a kid, but that would be the only other place I’d imagine him going. Why are you asking about William? Has he approached you?”
“His name came up in an investigation,” Mazur said. “We just want to talk to him. We think he might have valuable information.”
She suspected he’d avoided the mention of murder, knowing the word could likely silence a man worried about legal troubles. “I can’t help you. Feel free to check the ranch. We don’t keep staff out there since Mom passed. She was the one who loved that place most. But I can give you a key and permission to investigate.”
“That would be helpful.”
“Are you going to arrest William?”
“Right now we simply want to talk to him.” Mazur was smooth, made it sound like they were looking to have a friendly chat and catch up.
Jeb moved to his desk and retrieved a key from the center drawer. “The place is a little rustic. It was Mom and Dad’s first home, before Dad made his money. I guess that’s why William likes it. Reminds him of simpler times.”
Mazur accepted the key. “Does the family have a place in New York?”
Jeb’s brow furrowed. “No. All our business is in Texas. Why do you ask?”
Mazur rattled the key in his fist. “I don’t know. It’s a big city. A good place for a guy like William to hide.”
“That would be the last place William would go,” Jeb said.
“Why would his housekeeper, Elizabeth Lopez, tell us he was in New York?” Mazur asked.
“She must have been mistaken,” Jeb said.
“I’m not debating that with you now. If William is not at this cabin, where else would he be?”
“It’s anyone’s guess. William is smart. Knows how to set up dummy corporations that own multiple properties. If he doesn’t want to be found, it’s going to be tough to find him.”
Kate was silent as Mazur drove on TX-173, bracketed by grassy flatlands and scrub trees and endless barbwire fencing. The sky was full of stars and the landscape full of scattered barns and farmhouses. A few trucks and cars passed them, but for the most part this stretch of road was quiet and dark.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at the entrance to the Bauldry property, marked by twin stone pillars and metal struts that supported a sign that read “Stone Horse Farm.”
Dust kicked up around the car as they drove another ten minutes down a dirt road that ended at a one-level ranch built over one hundred years ago. It had a tin roof, a wraparound porch, and stone chimneys that hugged both the east and west sides of the house. The house was dark, the only sign of movement caused by the wind rustling through the trees near a horse corral.
Mazur left his car running and headlights shining into the house as they both got out of the car. Drawing his weapon, he moved in front of her and took the five stairs first. Kate also drew her weapon, and they stood on opposite sides of the door. He pounded on the door with his fist and called out, “Bauldry! San Antonio police!”
Silence answered them. It didn’t appear that anyone was here, but a smart cop assumed trouble waited behind the door. A dark house and a man who didn’t want to be found created a ripe scenario for trouble. Mazur banged again on the door, then tried the doorknob. It twisted open.
“It’s common for folks out here to not lock their doors,” Kate said.
“I never trust an unlocked door.” He raised his gun and pushed open the door. Again silence. With the headlights shining into the house, now he had enough light to switch on the lights in the porch and main room. Reddish-brown tiled floors ran throughout a large den and into a connected kitchen. Twin guns hung over a stone fireplace, faded red Navajo rugs warmed the floor by a leather couch, and a collection of deer antlers adorned the wall. Off to the side stood a wide-screen television.
Again, Mazur shouted, “William Bauldry! San Antonio police!”
No response.
“Stay here,” Mazur ordered. He moved into the house slowly, constantly looking left, right, and up toward the ceiling as he went through the den and kitchen and into the two bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. He shouted to Kate, “All clear!”
Her weapon in her grip, she moved into the house’s center, noting the landscape oils on the walls, the rich brass light fixtures, and the ornate tile work in the kitchen. This might have been the senior Bauldry’s first house, but they’d clearly upgraded it recently.
“I’m in the bedroom on the right,” Mazur said. “Have a look at what I found.”
She found Mazur standing by a desk. Centered on top was a framed picture of Kate and William taken when they were dating. They both were smiling. His arm was draped over her shoulder, and she stood close to him. “He’s not forgotten you,” Mazur said.
“That picture was taken when we were in high school.”
“But the glass is freshly polished. And the image faces toward the bed.”
She didn’t want to touch the frame or get any closer to the image. “I remember the moment. The picture was taken at a concert near the Alamo.” She glanced toward William’s hand tightly clutching her shoulder. “I had to wrench free of his hold.”
“How did he react?”
“He was frustrated. Wanted to know why I was so cold to him. He was only trying to show me how much he loved me. He ordered my meal for me at dinner. I didn’t want to eat but he insisted and then was moody when I didn’t eat. He kept interrupting me and telling me I was wrong. I broke up with him shortly after.” An uneasy feeling clawed up her spine, but she pushed it aside. “Is there anything here that might link him to the shooting?”
“Nothing out in the open. If we want to search drawers and closets, it’s smarter to get a warrant.” He pulled out his phone and took a picture of Bauldry and Kate. “But that could change. I noticed a shed out back. I want to have a look.”
“Of course.” She followed him, grateful to turn her back on the room and step outside into the fresh air.
He retrieved a flashlight from the trunk of his car, and they followed a graveled path around the side of the house to the large shed. Mazur kept his gun drawn and the flashlight shining ahead.
At the shed, while she stood to the side, he pushed open the large sliding door. He shone the light inside the workshop, searching for any movement that would alert him to danger. But nothing moved. There wasn’t a sound.
His light landed on a vintage red truck that looked like it dated back to the forties.
“He’s always liked old cars,” Kate said. “His father has a large collection as well.”
“The advantage to old cars is they don’t have GPS, making them impossible to track.” He moved toward the truck and shone the light inside. “Where would he go if he’s not here?”
“I don’t know. His brother said he has many properties.”
He nodded toward the door and closed it behind him. As he stared out over the vast land and the distant horizon, he shook his head. “Finding him is like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
An hour later, Mazur dropped Kate off at the car rental place. As she pushed through the front doors, a clerk greeted her with a smile, which she made herself return. When given the choice of cars, her first inclination had been to choose white, but remembering Mazur’s earlier teasing, she chose red. Hardly rebellious, even though for her it felt a little that way.
When she arrived at her hotel, she went straight to her room. The instant she opened the door, she hesitated. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Normally she didn’t have cleaners come into her room. She hated having her space invaded. But today, she’d forgotten to remind the front desk.
She moved into the room, hand on her gun as she looked first in the closet and then under the bed. Nothing. In the bathroom, she reached for the shower curtain. Her heart pounded for reasons she could not quite explain. She tightened her hold on the grip of her gun and pulled back the curtain. Nothing.
She closed her eyes. “Not good, Hayden. Not good.”
Chocking it up to fatigue and too much work, she opted to go for a run. Sweat and fresh air were the best medicine for anxiety.
She changed quickly. Normally she didn’t carry her gun when she worked out. Its weight and bulk sometimes rubbed against her skin, but tonight she put up with the inconvenience. She clipped the gun at the base of her back and pulled an oversize T-shirt over it.
The night air was crisp. As a teenager, before things went wrong, she used to run. She’d loved the solitude. But now she had worry and stress weighing on her.
She grabbed her phone and shoved earbuds in before cutting through the lobby. With a nod to the woman working behind the desk, she headed outside. The run began slowly. But within minutes sweat beaded on her forehead and soaked her T-shirt.
Many of the old streets and buildings hadn’t changed much in the last seventeen years. Sure, some businesses had traded hands, but the buildings and the street patterns had remained the same. Memories from the past flashed through her mind, and she recalled walking these streets with her mother, father, and brother. Before her father had died, they’d been a happy family. Her father had been the glue that held them all together. And with him gone, it all unraveled.
Her gaze settled on a too-familiar location. Breathless, she slowed her pace to a walk, pressing her hand to her side as she moved closer to the alley that she would never forget.
Usually she drove to chess practice alone, but that night her father offered to drive. It was dark when she came outside and saw her father standing by the car. As she approached him, William stepped out of the shadows. He hesitated when he saw Kate’s father, then raised his weapon before her father could wrestle the gun away. The pop, pop of the weapon was loud, and Kate flinched as time slowed to a crawl and every detail came into perfect focus.
Her father sank to his knees, stared up at her, his eyes reflecting shock, anger, and fear. He mouthed, “Run,” as the barrel swung toward her. Her life stilled. William fired.
The first bullet struck her in the thigh, tearing through flesh. The impact dropped her to her knees. The next rapid-fire shot hurled a slug toward her face. William never spoke as she tumbled back toward the ground.
She would later learn that a facial wound could bleed excessively, often looking far worse than it was. Unconscious and covered in blood, she must have appeared dead to William.
Her next memory was a siren blaring and William cursing her. “Why the fuck did you make me do this?”
The blast of a horn brought Kate back to the moment, and she realized several people were staring at her. Ducking her head, she turned and ran back toward the hotel. When she arrived, her hair and clothes were drenched in sweat.
She entered the lobby and was suddenly anxious for a hot shower to wash away the sweat and memories. She had just pressed the “Up” button on the elevator when she heard, “Kate.”
She stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. Activating mental armor, she turned to see her brother, Mitchell, crossing the lobby. It had been at least five years since she’d seen him. He was as tall and muscular as ever, but since his wife’s death he looked tired. Silver now wove through his dark hair. A Texas Ranger’s star pinned to his chest glinted in the lobby light, and he held his Stetson in his hand.
She didn’t speak as she rubbed the side of her neck. “Mitchell. Is everything all right?”
“Mom is fine.”
“How did you find me?”
“When I saw you on the news I figured you’d be staying close to police headquarters. I stopped by the police department and identified myself.”
Annoyance scraped under her skin. “And they gave you the information?”
“I’m a Texas Ranger. And I know a lot of those guys.”
Still, it didn’t sit well. “Right.”
“Mom also saw you on the news. She knows you’re in town.”
Guilt jabbed her. “I’ll call her.”
He traced the leather-and-silver-studded band of his Stetson. “Why haven’t you gone by to see her?”
Visiting the family home where her mother still lived always churned up bad memories. Whenever Kate did have free time, she invited her mother to come see her wherever she was staying. Her mother always agreed, never once pushing Kate to visit the house.
“I said I would call her and I will.” Her brother might be trained to interrogate, but she was adept at avoiding questions.
He glanced at the tiled floor and then looked back up. “Why’re you staying here and not at the house with her?”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?” He leaned in, towering over her. But she had been playing this game with him since they were kids.
Standing her ground, she shook her head, feeling an old surge of bitterness. “I’m not interested in revisiting the past.”
He ran his hand along the rim of his hat. For a moment, he didn’t speak. “I don’t remember exactly what I said after Dad died, but I know it was shitty. And I should have apologized to you a long time ago. Sierra’s death has made me see a lot of things differently.”
Her chin raised a notch. “You said I might as well have pulled the trigger myself.”
His brow knotted, and he shoved out a breath. “I was young. Angry. Hurt. I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you meant it, otherwise why say it?” Unshed tears choked her throat.
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry, Kate.”
She could still picture the hate in his eyes and the rage coating each of his words the last time they’d really talked before she left for college. “I’ll call Mom. The rest of this is unnecessary.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s necessary, Kate.”
“Why, Mitchell? Why after seventeen years is it necessary?”
The lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth had deepened. He was thirty-eight but looked a decade older.
“I was wrong. I wanted you to know that.”
If he thought an apology would create some kind of family bonding moment, he was wrong. She appreciated the effort, but she couldn’t accept his forgiveness when she couldn’t forgive herself. “Thank you for the apology. Now, I’ve got to be going. I’ve an early call.”
“Are you close to finding this Samaritan shooter?”
Feelings were off limits for the two of them, but somehow murder was a safe subject. “We’re still waiting on the ballistics. I should have my answer by tomorrow or the next day.”
“Mazur is a good cop. New to the area but seasoned.”
His opinion of Mazur mattered more than it should. “Good to know.”
He pulled a card from his wallet. “If you need me, call.”
She flicked the edge of the card with her index finger. Her bruised feelings would have to wait. She lowered her voice. Her brother might have been an ass, but he had a reputation as a good lawman. “The victim knew William Bauldry.”
Dark eyes locked on her. “What?”
“William worked for the Sanchez dealership after he was released from prison. Detective Mazur and I have visited his home. His housekeeper said he was in New York.”
Mitchell shook his head. “That’s not his style.”
“No, it’s not. So we visited his brother’s home and the property near Medina. He’s nowhere to be found.”
“Jesus, Kate. You were just out running alone at night with this guy somewhere nearby.”
“I’ve dealt with men like him before. But with William lurking around, maybe you should talk Mom into seeing Aunt Lydia.”
His grip on the brim of his hat crunched the well-worn edge. “Mom won’t leave town until she sees you.”
“Talk to her. Convince her to leave.”
“Go see her.”
“I’m in the middle of an investigation.”
“I’ll try to talk to her, but go see her,” he said more softly. “She loves you.”
His words stung more than any insult. “I’ll talk to Mom.”
“What can I do?”
“I haven’t even proven it’s William,” she said. “There’re a dozen other reasons why Gloria could have been murdered.”
“You’re smart and you’ll figure it out. Dad said you have a gift. If there’s a pattern, you’ll see it.”
Fatigue was strengthening second doubts. She had to have more than a gut feeling about William. She needed facts. “Just keep an eye on Mom. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more but finally nodded. “You call me if you need anything.”
“Sure.”
“I meant it when I said I was sorry. I know I can be difficult. But we’re family.”
For Mitchell, this was a grand gesture. “Can I get the ‘I can be difficult’ on tape? Might be a good ringtone.”
His posture relaxed a fraction, but a smile was still too much to expect from either of them. “It’ll take a few beers before that happens.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.
“You take care of yourself, Katie.”
“You, too, Mitchell.”
Raymond Drexler hadn’t expected his life to turn to shit so fast. He still could not get over the fact that he had lost his sweet Sara thanks to the fucking cops and Kate Hayden. Nobody understood him.
He stopped in New Mexico and pulled into a truck stop. Keeping his head low, he bought a razor and scissors and went into the bathroom, where he showered and shaved his head and beard. After dressing, he put on an old ball cap he dug out of the lost-and-found bin. A few men passed by him, but he didn’t look up. He wasn’t the first man to shave and change his look in a place like this.
Tossing the razor and shaving cream back in his bag, he crossed the lot to his truck. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he skimmed his hand over his bald head. The new look would take getting used to. And without the beard, he wasn’t sure if he even liked his face without it. Shit, he felt naked.
Exhausted, he drove another hour south before fatigue forced him to pull over. He parked in the shadows of a deserted parking lot off one of the interstate ramps and slept for what he thought would be a quick catnap.
When he startled awake a glance at the clock told him he had slept ten hours. “Shiiit!”
For a few gut-wrenching seconds, he was convinced someone had spotted him and called the cops. He climbed out, took a quick piss, and started driving.
Up ahead, he spotted the “Welcome to Texas. Drive Friendly—the Texas Way” sign. Finally relaxing, he leaned back against the seat and rolled down the window as the truck crossed the state line. He enjoyed the warm air. He was tired of the snow and the frozen ground. The deep, soothing warmth of Texas appealed to him. He’d never buried anyone in the desert before.
He reached for a bag of half-eaten white powdered doughnuts and popped a whole one in his mouth. It was dry, but a swig of cold coffee washed it down just fine. The combination of sugar and caffeine hit the spot, giving him the boost he needed.
He pressed the accelerator and turned up the radio.
Eight more hours of driving and he’d be in San Antonio.