CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I’ve found my bait; now it is time to build the trap.
San Antonio, Texas
Wednesday, November 29, 6:00 a.m.
The shrill ring of the phone woke Kate. She sat up straight; the papers that had been draped over her chest fell to the floor. She blinked and looked around the unfamiliar room. She’d been in so many rooms like this over the years that there were plenty of times when she woke up and looked at the phonebook on the nightstand to see what city she was in.
She snatched up the phone. “Kate Hayden.”
“Jerrod Ramsey. Did I wake you?”
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, surprised she’d slept so late. “No. I was up.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and her fingers through her hair.
“What’s the status of the San Antonio shooting?”
“We get the ballistics back today.”
“What’re your thoughts on the case at this point?”
She pushed the hair from her eyes as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She rose and rolled her head from side to side, trying to work a kink from her neck. “The victim was in deep financial trouble and had terminal cancer. Husband likely having an affair.”
“And what do you think?”
She rubbed the back of her neck, chasing away an odd feeling. She moved toward the closed curtains and peeked through to check the weather. “When I’ve all the data points, I’ll call. Evidence, not opinion, leads. Has Nevada had any luck with Sara Fletcher’s abductor?”
“Not yet.”
She rubbed the worn edges of the Wonder Woman bracelet. “Has she spoken yet?”
“No. Which is all the more reason why I want you back there. You’ve got until five your time today, and then I’m calling you in so you can work with Nevada on the Drexler hunt.”
A weariness settled on her shoulders that she’d not felt in a very long time. “I’ll update you today.”
“Good.”
He rang off, and she tossed the phone on her bed. She stripped off yesterday’s clothes and stepped into the shower. She ducked her head under the hot spray, savoring the heat pulsing on her tired muscles.
She toweled off and set the coffeepot in the room to perk. While coffee dripped into a paper cup, she dressed in her last clean outfit, which was simply a navy-blue version of the other. Simplicity in wardrobe cut down on daily choices and kept her mind focused on the puzzle. Hair dried and makeup applied, she packed her belongings into her suitcase. She was sipping her coffee when her phone rang. Detective Mazur’s name appeared.
“Detective. Have you gotten the ballistics report?” she asked.
“Good morning to you, too.”
Blinked. Felt like a computer processing unexpected data. “Good morning.”
“That sounded as if you were in pain. Pleasantries can be a challenge, can’t they, Agent Hayden?”
She heard the laughter in his voice. There was a time she could have accepted good-natured ribbing about her stiff demeanor. But there wasn’t anything in this day or the hours ahead that was remotely amusing. “There’s a plaza in the center of the city. See you in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
She packed up her backpack, left her room key on her dresser for the maid, and made her way down the elevator. She checked out at the front desk and hurried to her rental car. She loaded her suitcase in the trunk and tossed her backpack in the front passenger seat. Behind the wheel, she started the engine. She paused to again familiarize herself with the knobs and buttons. Satisfied, she drove to the plaza.
She found Mazur leaning against his car. His head was bowed as he checked his phone.
As she approached, he typed a message. He hit “Send” and looked up. “I haven’t eaten breakfast yet this morning. Been busy with a last-minute homework assignment with a teenager who needed a rundown on my side of the family for an American history project. There’s a diner over there.”
“That would be good. I’m hungry.”
“So you’re now eating and perhaps sleeping regularly?”
“Badly on both counts,” she countered.
He pushed away from the car and walked beside her. “Seems to be a hazard of law enforcement.”
“I’ve been terrible at both most of my life.”
“Because of your father’s shooting?” He slid the question in as if it were perfectly natural.
She looked at him. “Most likely. I’m a fairly easy puzzle to figure out.”
He opened the diner door and as she passed said, “Your idea of easy and mine are different.”
A hostess escorted them to a booth in the back. He took the seat that placed his back to the wall and faced the front door. She sat, and a waitress approached and offered coffee to both.
“How’s the hotel?”
She scanned the menu. “Like a million others. Very predictable and different enough that I stubbed my toe on a chair.”
“I can’t imagine being on the move all the time.”
The waitress filled the stoneware mugs and took Kate’s order for a western omelet, while Mazur ordered pancakes. He sipped his coffee and waited until the waitress was out of earshot before asking, “Has Sara Fletcher spoken yet?”
She was oddly touched that he’d remembered. “No.”
“And Drexler?”
“Still on the loose.” She thought about the girl lying in her hospital bed, pale, emaciated. Her eyes had seen things that no human should ever see in a lifetime. Pivoting the conversation back to him, she said, “You seem off.”
He set his cup down carefully. “My ex announced she’s moving to Washington, DC.”
“You haven’t been here long, so I’m assuming she hasn’t either.”
“Another big promotion is in the works. She’s one talented attorney.”
“Is she taking your daughter?”
Absently he tapped his thumb on the table. “She’s going to let our daughter finish out the semester here with me.”
“And then she moves to Washington in January.”
“Yeah.”
Pain, loss, and longing huddled around the word. “You would find the area around Washington an acceptable place to live. I’ve connections in law enforcement there.”
“I didn’t say I was moving.”
“You’re a dedicated parent. Each time you speak of your daughter, it’s clear you love her very much. I’d wager you’ll be there by spring.”
He shook his head. “You can’t be sure of that. Hell, you just met me two days ago.”
“I had your priorities figured out after the first two hours I met you, Detective.”
He shook his head, a pained smile on his lips. “I’m not saying I’m going to make a move. But keep this under your hat.”
“Of course.”
The waitress arrived with their food, and they both sat back, each momentarily lost in thought.
“There’s more evidence that Martin Sanchez was having an affair,” Mazur said when the waitress left again. “He called a Rebecca several times a day for the last year. It makes sense. Man kills wife to be with mistress. But somehow I keep going back to Bauldry.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know. Hate to say it’s a gut feeling, but that’s about all I have right now. He’s been out of prison eleven months. Has he contacted you at all?”
“No.”
Mazur picked up his fork and stared at the stack of pancakes. “Could Bauldry and Richardson have crossed paths?”
Her brow knotted. “Dr. Richardson did consulting work with several prison systems. He studied criminal behavior and profiled dozens of serial killers.”
“Did he visit Bauldry’s prison?” Mazur asked.
Kate frowned. “Bauldry was in Bastrop Federal Correctional Institution near Austin. Because my father was a prosecutor, it became a federal case.” She thought back through Richardson’s professional associations. “I don’t remember Richardson being at Bastrop. Maybe I missed something. I’ll check with the detectives in the local jurisdictions who are still digging into Richardson’s past and see if he visited the facility.”
“I’ll have Palmer make some calls.” Before she could respond he pulled out his phone and typed a text. The phone chirped with a response almost instantly. “She’s on it. Why did Richardson develop a taste for killing?” Mazur asked.
“He had a history of violence as a child. All his cruelty was directed at animals. He also had a history of frequenting prostitutes, who reported he could be violent.”
“And Bauldry?” Mazur asked.
“There were problems of animal abuse in his past that came out at his trial. His parents did an excellent job of hiding his issues.” She stared into the depths of a half-empty cup. “It’s been seventeen years.”
“That kind of crazy is forever. He keeps a picture taken of the two of you in the cabin.” He stabbed a section of pancake. “Palmer won’t get back with me for at least an hour or two, and we’ve got every cop in the area looking for Bauldry. Come down to Laredo. One way or another I have to prove or disprove Martin Sanchez as the shooter.”
“Sure.”
Traffic headed south to Laredo was heavy, but Mazur was glad for the time alone with Kate. He liked being with her, especially breathing in her soft scent and watching the way her brow wrinkled when she was working a case. More and more he wanted to peel off that damn suit and see the woman beneath it.
She was silent, lost in her thoughts. He was learning that silence was almost a constant condition. He sensed she was thinking a few moves ahead of herself, but right now he needed her focused on the moment at hand.
They arrived at the condo building where Gloria Sanchez kept her unit. They showed their badges to the guard at the front station. He was a burly man with thinning hair, but the creases of his uniform were sharp and crisp. He accompanied them up to her condo. It was empty. Tile floors were scuffed with bits of debris, and discarded packing boxes were scattered about.
“When did she move out her furniture?” Kate asked.
The guard stood by the door. “It was about two weeks ago, right after she sold this unit.”
“When did she put it up for sale?” Kate asked.
“About six weeks ago. The plan was to clean the place for the new occupants, who show up the first of December. The cleaning lady got sick on Sunday, so she never made it by. Mrs. Sanchez was scheduled to make the final walk-through with the new buyers on Monday morning. Of course, we all know what happened. Terrible.”
“We’ll let you know when we’re finished,” Mazur said.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be at my desk.”
Kate moved to the large bank of windows that overlooked the city, its green parks below, and the Rio Grande River. “The view is stunning.”
“Agreed.” He moved into the kitchen and found a couple of bottles of champagne chilling, cheese, and a box of crackers. The cabinets were empty. The trash can in the pantry closet was filled with paper plates, takeout boxes, and bottles of wine.
“How often did she come down here?” Kate asked as she entered the kitchen.
“About two or three times a month.”
He opened a drawer to crackers and ketchup packets. “This is not the place of a woman committed to an area.”
“It was supposed to be cleaned. No one was supposed to see it this way,” she said. “Appearances were very important to her. The cleaning lady got sick according to the guard. We should be seeing a spotless place.” Kate pulled out the trash can.
“I’ll get local police to send a forensic team here.” His phone chimed with a text.
She moved into the bedroom, and Mazur followed. There was an air mattress on the floor, a few rumpled blankets, and small trash can. In the can were several empty pill bottles with another woman’s name on the prescription. “Oxy. She was taking some high doses of pain meds and deliberately keeping it off the radar.”
“We both figured a cancer like hers would be tough to manage.”
“Did Ryland find any record of cancer treatment?” she asked.
“No.”
“She took pride in her appearance, and the chemo would’ve stripped her of her hair, health, and the ability to work,” Kate said.
“But she was spared all that when she was randomly killed by the Samaritan,” Mazur offered.
“I want to pay a visit to her mother’s nursing home.”
“According to my notes, it’s ten minutes from here.”
Less than half an hour later they were following the Lady of Lourdes facility manager, Sister Maria, toward the memory-care unit of the nursing home. The facility was clean and the staff friendly. Crucifixes hung on many of the walls.
“How long has Mrs. Hernandez been here?” Mazur asked.
“A couple of years.”
“How often did her daughter come to visit?” Kate asked.
“We haven’t seen her in over a month. And we heard the news of her death.” She made the sign of the cross. “Terrible.”
“Was Mrs. Sanchez current with her bills from you?” Mazur asked.
“Until three months ago she paid like clockwork. Then she wrote us a big check to cover the next five years. She said if her mother died before the five years to donate the money to someone else.”
“Did she say why she paid in advance?” Mazur asked.
“No.” She led them to the glass doors that overlooked the common area. “As I told you when you arrived, she doesn’t communicate.” She pointed, indicating a slender woman sitting in a chair staring sightlessly at her hands. Gray hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and she wore a pink housecoat with slippers.
When Kate looked at the woman, she hesitated as she stared at the lined, wrinkled face and the thick stock of hair. “I know her.”
Mazur looked at her. “How?”
She seemed to search for the answer. And then, “She was the housekeeper for the Bauldry family. Her name is Anita Hernandez.”
“Isabella called her Nina.”
“An endearment, I suppose.”
“She knew William Bauldry?” Mazur asked.
“Yes. She’d worked for the family even before William was born. He was very fond of her.”
“Has anyone else visited Mrs. Hernandez?” Mazur asked.
Sister Maria shook her head. “No. Just her daughter.”
“I have memories of a quiet, attractive woman with gray hair swept into a bun. But I don’t remember Gloria. But by the time I was dating William, Gloria was in her early twenties and must have been married to Martin Sanchez. I never saw her at the Bauldry house.” Kate sat beside the old woman. Mrs. Hernandez’s head was bent, her fragile thin hands threaded and resting on an orange crocheted blanket. “Nina?”
Mrs. Hernandez’s gaze didn’t waver.
Kate laid her hand on the old woman’s hand. “Nina, it’s Katie. I used to date William. We’ve met before.”
The old woman mumbled but didn’t look up. Whatever was locked in her head wasn’t retrievable anymore. “Nina, do you remember William?”
The old woman’s brow knotted, but she didn’t speak.
Mazur turned to the sister. “If anyone else does visit her, will you contact me?” He handed her a card.
“Yes, of course.”
Leaving Laredo, Mazur knew this case reached way beyond a murder for hire. He and Kate drove back to San Antonio and pulled up to the criminal justice building. They made their way through the building toward the stairs to the Forensic Department. She kept pace with him as he moved quickly to the second floor.
Down the hallway, they found Calhoun sitting in front of a microscope, her blond hair tied in a tight ponytail.
“Tell me you have ballistics,” Mazur said.
“I do.” She looked up from the scope. “The weapon that killed Gloria Sanchez was used in the other five I-35 shootings.”
“Are you sure?” Kate asked.
“Have a look for yourself,” Calhoun said.
Kate took a seat and glanced in the viewfinder. She adjusted the focus a couple of times before she released a sigh. “Although both hollow points deform by design on impact, the copper jacket has very pronounced and identical striations that cut into it.”
As she stepped aside, Mazur looked into the microscope. The markings on the bullets matched. “I’ll be damned.”
“I personally spoke to every forensic technician who tested the ballistics in the Samaritan murders,” Calhoun said. “I also reviewed each of their findings personally. All are a match to the bullet that killed Gloria Sanchez.”
She laid an enlarged photo taken of the Sanchez bullet next to images from the other five cases.
Kate stood very still. “The gun was never retrieved. Richardson was working with someone else.”
Mazur’s phone rang, and a glance at the display had him frowning. He answered the phone. “Palmer, what do you have?
“I was called to a homicide on I-35. Really ugly.”
He glanced toward Kate. “A shooting?”
“No, a stabbing. It’s south of San Antonio not five miles from where Gloria Sanchez was found. I’m on scene now. You might want to bring Dr. Hayden. This is the kind of shit she deals with.”
“We’ll be there in less than an hour.” He nodded toward the door. “Another murder on I-35. Palmer wants you to see the scene.”
“Of course.” Within minutes, they were on the interstate headed south.
As Mazur raced down the highway, Kate’s phone rang. “My partner. I’ve got to take this.” She hit “Receive.” “Mike. Do you have Raymond Drexler?”
As she listened, the color faded from her face. “Thanks. Keep me posted.” She ended the call clutching the phone in her hand.
“What’s going on?” Mazur asked.
“Nevada received a call from a truck stop in southern New Mexico. The manager saw Drexler’s picture in the news, and he swore Drexler came into his store. Said he bought a razor and shaving cream. Nevada checked the store security-camera footage, and it offered a clear shot of Drexler’s face. My partner was calling me from a shower room reserved for the truckers at the site. There was hair in one of the shower stalls. Color fits Drexler. Plenty of samples for DNA testing.”
“New Mexico. He could go any number of places from there. Any idea where he’s headed?”
“My partner thinks he’s coming south. I’ve been in the news, and I ruined Drexler’s horror show at his farm.”
He glanced toward her as she stared out the window. “Cool as a cucumber.”
“Getting upset is a waste of time.”
He gripped the wheel. “I’ve seen some bad stuff, but this guy is really twisted. I don’t think I could be as calm as you.”
“You would do whatever you had to do to catch him, yes?”
“Hell yes.”
“Then if you needed to be calm, you would be.”