CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
He loves me, he loves me not.
San Antonio, Texas
Thursday, November 30, 1:00 p.m.
They arrived at Sanchez Motors and found Martin in Gloria’s office. He was talking to Lena, and they appeared deep in discussion when a salesman from the floor announced their arrival.
Martin thanked Lena, who nodded to the cops before she left. He came around his desk. “I’d rather talk with Mr. Bennett present.”
“That’s your choice,” Mazur said. “We don’t want to push you. Just had a quick question about Rebecca Kendrick.”
Martin’s eyebrows drew together, and he folded his arms over his chest. The subtle gestures gave away more than he’d intended. “Rebecca Kendrick worked here last year after she was released from prison. She was one of Gloria’s protégés.”
Immediately Mazur noticed Sanchez’s closed posture. “That’s what we’ve learned. Looked like they were close, based on the evidence we found at Rebecca’s apartment.”
Sanchez took a small step back. “What were you doing there?”
Mazur spoke as if the woman were still alive. “We’re trying to learn more about her relationship with Gloria and another employee by the name of William Bauldry.”
“Bauldry? What does he have to do with all this?”
“What can you tell us about him?” Kate asked.
“Worked hard enough. I wasn’t a fan of having him, but he turned out to be a good employee. He left about five months ago.”
“Why?”
“Said he didn’t need the money and wanted to do other things. Where’s Rebecca?”
Mazur locked his gaze onto Sanchez. “She’s dead.”
The man’s face instantly paled, and he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “What?”
“She was found this morning.”
“How?” His face constricted with pain. “Was it drugs?”
“Had she gotten back on drugs?” Mazur asked.
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “She swore to me she was clean. I worried about that, but she swore.”
“Then why did you ask about an overdose?” Kate asked.
Martin cleared his throat. “She was doing so well. I wanted to see her succeed. But I know it was a struggle for her.”
Kate leaned in a fraction. “You two were having an affair.”
“What? Why would you say that?” Sanchez took another step back.
“When I first saw her I thought she could have been Gloria’s sister. They look a lot alike. But they aren’t related. She’s simply your type. Men who stray often find a woman who reminds them of their spouse when she was younger.”
Martin cleared his throat. “No. You’re making assumptions.” He drew in a breath as he retreated behind the desk. “I need you to leave. I’m calling Bennett.”
Mazur didn’t budge. “Don’t you want to know how she died?”
The man stood silent, blinking.
“She was murdered.”
“Like Gloria?” he whispered.
“How do you think?” Mazur pressed.
Martin lowered to his chair. “I don’t know!”
“Did you hire William Bauldry so you could be with Rebecca?” Mazur pressed.
“What? No!”
“Maybe Bauldry got a taste for killing again and then decided to go after Rebecca,” Mazur said.
Martin shook his head as the color drained from his face. “Get out!”
Kate sat silent, staring out the front window of the SUV as the endless horizon of dry Texas scenery passed by as they headed northeast. She’d received word from the warden at Bastrop that Richardson had volunteered his time at the prison. He’d never been on the payroll and had visited as part of a church group. She felt like a fool for having missed the connection. They were now driving there. As much as she wanted to remain objective, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was now responsible for not only her father’s death but the deaths of Gloria and Rebecca.
“You need to get out of your head,” Mazur said.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“You’re playing the blame game,” he said. “I’m a master at it. That’s how I know you’re doing it now.”
She released a breath and looked at him. “What do you blame yourself for?”
“There’re a couple of cases that went sideways that I’ll never forget.” His jaw tensed. “But I never go to bed now without wondering if I could have saved my son if I’d woken up the night he stopped breathing.”
When he spoke, all the lightness she’d come to associate with him vanished. Kate knew there was nothing she could say.
“I’d have moved heaven and earth to save Caleb. And you’d have done the same to stop Bauldry from shooting your father.”
She tugged at the center button on her jacket. “Logic and emotion never mix well.”
“No, they sure as shit don’t.”
They made the rest of the hour-long ride in silence. At one point, he turned on the radio, allowing a country-music song to drift lazily around them.
They arrived at the Bastrop Federal Correctional Institution, and after passing through the guarded main entrance, parked. Inside, they showed their identification and secured their weapons in lockers for visiting police.
Bastrop was a minimum-security prison a little under two hours from San Antonio. The fact that William, a convicted murderer, had been placed here spoke to the influence his father had wielded. Without his old man’s pull, William would have been slated for a maximum-security prison twice the distance away, with all solitary units and strict conditions.
The Bastrop warden, Jim Smith, a tall, lean man with a gray swatch of hair, greeted them on the other side of the locked doors.
Smith shook their hands. “Welcome.”
“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Kate said.
Mazur shook his hand. “Detective Theo Mazur. You spoke with Agent Kate Hayden on the phone.”
“About William Bauldry. I’ll help you if I can.”
“We’d appreciate that,” Mazur said.
Smith guided them down a plain hallway toward an office at the end. Inside he nodded to his administrative assistant, a plump middle-aged woman, and offered each a chair in front of his large wooden desk.
The walls were covered with pictures of the warden and several key Texas politicians. There was a collection of well-read books that dealt with prison reform, psychology, and law. A plant sat in need of watering on the credenza behind his desk, but there were no personal pictures. Not surprising. Most who worked in the prison system revealed as little as they could about their private lives. Prisoners had a great deal of free time to think and scheme against their jailers.
“What do you want to know about Richardson and Bauldry?” He motioned for them to take a seat before he sat behind his desk. “Mind telling me first what’s prompting all the questions?” Smith asked.
“We have two murders that we’re investigating,” Mazur said. “One is a Samaritan copycat; the other is a look-alike of the Soothsayer case. In both cases William Bauldry’s name has come up.”
“I know William committed murder when he was a kid, but he was one of the few I never saw reoffending. From day one William was one of our best inmates. And to be perfectly candid, I was worried. We don’t house violent offenders, but his daddy knew important people and pulled strings. You know how it goes.”
“He never gave you any trouble?” Mazur asked.
“Didn’t so much as look at anyone crossways. In his last two years, he helped my administrative assistant with filing. He was a big help, and I was actually sorry to see him go.”
“When did Richardson and William see each other?” Kate asked.
“They never had a formal appointment—that’s why I didn’t get right back to you. Took some digging to find the connection. Richardson was here to give motivational speeches. William’s good behavior earned him the job of setting up for prison events. Richardson was just one of many programs we had for the prisoners.”
“Did they get time alone?” Kate asked.
“Sure. There was always a guard in the hallway, but there were times when they were alone. I know William enjoyed talking to Richardson. William is very intelligent.”
“Warden Smith,” Mazur said. His grin was easy, natural, as if he and the warden were old friends. “We aren’t here to second-guess you. We both know you run a tight ship.”
“Did Richardson ever give William anything?” Kate asked.
Frowning, the warden shook his head. “That’s forbidden.”
“How long did Richardson visit this prison?”
“About a year. The men in his group spoke highly of him. He was very effective with the men.” He shook his head. “Do I have a problem here? Are you trying to say I let something slide?”
“No.” Mazur said. “We’re just gathering information, sir. We’re trying to connect a few dots.”
The warden’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his expression had turned guarded. “As I said, William was a model inmate. He checked books out of the library weekly, and as I understand it, he read every book we had in stock. He was one of the success stories.”
Kate’s temper scraped against her skin like nails on a chalkboard. She remembered how her father’s body twitched when the bullets cut into his flesh. “Did William have any visitors?”
“His brother visited in the beginning but not in the last ten years. However, his sister continued to come several times a year.”
“Sister?” Kate asked. “He didn’t have a sister.”
“Well, half sister is more like it. She said they had the same father.”
“What was her name?”
He moved to his desk and checked William’s file. “Gloria. Gloria Hernandez.”
Gloria Hernandez, now Gloria Sanchez. As Nina’s daughter, she had grown up in William’s house. They had been close as kids. Were they half brother and sister, or had that just been a story they told?
Mazur scrolled through his phone and pulled up Gloria’s picture. “This her?”
The warden leaned in. “Yes, I believe it is. Though she didn’t wear makeup or jewelry like that. She was always modestly dressed.”
“How often did Gloria visit her brother?” Kate asked.
The warden checked several pages in the file. “Two or three times a year ever since he was first incarcerated.” He squinted and he checked an entry. “Five times during his last year.”
“Did you two ever speak?” Mazur asked.
“Sure. I make it a policy to know something about regular visitors. She was always nice. The two of them liked to play chess when she was here.”
“Chess?” Kate asked.
“She was very good. I watched a game between the two of them once. She was William’s equal, if not better.”
The three talked another ten minutes before Kate and Mazur thanked the warden. Outside the prison, the warm air coaxed the chill from her bones. She was silent as she and Mazur walked toward his car.
In the SUV, she released a breath. “William and Richardson were connected. And Gloria visited William on a regular basis.” She could easily have taken instruction from William and made additional contact with Richardson.
“Was Gloria really his half sister?”
“My mother said Gloria got into trouble in high school and William’s father spoke to my father and the charges were dropped. It’s the kind of thing a father would do for his daughter.”
“That’s the kind of thing a father does do for his daughter.”
“William never said a word to me, but I do know the family was very loyal to Nina.”
He reached for his phone and typed a text. “I’m asking Palmer to check Gloria Sanchez’s birth certificate.”
“I doubt William’s father is listed, but it’s worth checking.”
“Think the Soothsayer might have been a case that Richardson studied?”
“It’s the kind of case that would appeal to him.”
“So William could have learned about the case particulars from Richardson.”
“Very possible.” Her phone rang. She noted the number was blocked. “Agent Hayden.”
“It looks like you’re visiting my old haunts.”
William’s voice slithered down her spine. She looked toward Mazur and mouthed William Bauldry’s name. “I did. The warden had some interesting things to say. Do you have a GPS on the car?”
Mazur raised his phone and mouthed, “Trace.” He got out of the car and immediately dialed a contact at the phone company for a triangulation on the incoming call as he searched around and under the car for a tracking device.
“I don’t know anything about a GPS. I wish we could talk about it, but we don’t have time. I’ve about thirty seconds. I’m guessing Detective Mazur is already tracing my call.”
Lying to him would make him angry and her look foolish. Her best play now was to make him believe he had something to prove to her. “You know how it works.”
“Why are you so determined to find me, Katie?”
“There’s so much we need to talk about. Seventeen years is a long time.”
“A lifetime.”
“I understand you and Dr. Richardson were good friends.”
“I wouldn’t call us friends. I helped him with this and that. Fascinating man.”
The calmness of his tone stoked her anger. “But the time you spent alone with him would have given him time to tell you about the women he murdered along I-35.”
“That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”
She hesitated, wishing she could see his face as she delivered this line. Quickly she ticked through the Samaritan case. She knew all five murders had been carried out with the same weapon, which had never been recovered. Had Richardson realized his mistake when he’d texted authorities from his secretary’s computer? Had he asked William to send Gloria to take it? “Did Gloria get the gun from Richardson for you?”
He was silent a beat. “You have been busy.”
The edge in his tone told her she’d struck a nerve. “She was your half sister.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve figured a few things out.”
She gripped the phone and closed her eyes, and she concentrated on keeping her tone even. “Why won’t you face me, William? We can talk like adults. I know teenagers make mistakes that they regret.”
“They do.”
“Then tell me where you are. We can talk about your life, Gloria, and Dr. Richardson. I’d like to see you.”
“I see you all the time.”
A jolt shot through her nerves as she looked around the car’s interior. “What does that mean?” She checked her watch. Could he see her now, or was he bluffing? “I want to talk to you in person.”
“We’re talking now. What do you want to know?”
Directness was a technique she used in interviews, but she understood revealing some of what she knew came with a risk. “Why kill Gloria Sanchez if she was your half sister and she stood by you all these years?”
“That’s a bold question.”
“Did you turn on her like you turned on me?”
He was silent for a moment. “Blue eyes laughin’,” he said, quoting the Elton John song. “Remember how we used to sing it? It was our silly song.”
“Why did you gun down Gloria?” She was now operating on an educated guess, doing her best to make him miscalculate.
A heavy silence lingered as she glanced down at her watch. Either give me something or just hang up.
“Blue eyes ain’t laughing now, Katie. You’re trying to get under my skin, just as you did in high school. I’m not bad. I am good.”
The line went dead, and Mazur shook his head. He held a GPS tracking device in his hand. “Found this under the back bumper.”
“He’s monitoring us.”
“We need to check your rental car.”
“Right. What about the trace?”
“The trace wasn’t successful. We have him narrowed to a few hundred miles, but that’s not going to help.”
“He’s already on the move again.” She ran her hand over her head.
“Think of this as a chess game, and you’re letting him have the small pieces while you keep your eye on winning the game.”
“I want to talk to Martin Sanchez again and see if he knows anything about these visits, then take another look at my father’s murder file.”
“Why?”
“There’re notes in the files that William wrote to me. I’d like to read them again.”
“Why?”
“Something he just said.”
Kate’s nerves were on edge from her earlier conversation with William when she and Mazur arrived at Sanchez Motors, where they found Martin in the back office. He was alone, sitting behind his wife’s desk, staring blankly at stacks of papers that had grown since their last visit.
Martin rose. “Detectives. I’ve said all I’m going to say to you. You need to leave.”
“I’m not here to talk about Rebecca. But I do have questions about Gloria’s life before she married you. What do you know about her family?” Mazur asked.
The question caught him by surprise. “Not much. She lived with her mother.”
“Did you ever visit their home?” Mazur asked.
“No. She said her mother was a domestic, and it embarrassed her. I met her mother, of course, but it was never at the house where she worked.”
“Do you remember the name of the people Nina Hernandez worked for?”
“I did some asking around because Gloria was so evasive. Nina worked for the Bauldry family. They were good people.”
“Gloria ever talk about the family?” Mazur asked.
“Never.” He tugged on his shirt cuffs.
“What about her father? Did she ever talk about him?” Mazur pressed.
“How does this have anything to do with her death?”
“It might be critical,” Kate said.
Martin sighed. “I asked, of course. She said she never really knew her father. She was born out of wedlock and was deeply troubled by that.” He dropped his head into his hands. “It’s not what you think about Rebecca and me.”
Kate softened her voice. “How was it?”
When he looked up at them, tears glistened in his eyes. “I loved Rebecca. I wanted to marry her. But she was worried about hurting Gloria. She actually liked Gloria and appreciated all that she’d done for her.” He wiped away a tear. “Who would kill her?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out. Have you made funeral arrangements for your wife?” Kate asked.
“Yes.” He lifted his chin a notch. “The service will be on Saturday afternoon.”
It wasn’t her place to judge Sanchez, but given that he’d lost two women he’d loved in a matter of days, it was hard not to acknowledge his pain. “If we learn anything new, I’ll call.”
Martin sank back into his chair looking lost and broken.
“Should I call your daughter, Isabella?” Kate asked.
“Isabella,” he whispered. “Thank God I still have her.”
“I’ll be in touch,” she said.
Kate and Mazur left him, neither speaking as they made their way to his car. Twenty minutes later, they arrived in their precinct conference room. Her father’s murder files were waiting for them. “You sure you don’t want me to go through them first?” he asked.
“No.”
He angled his head. “But this is very personal.”
Her backpack slid from her shoulder to a chair. She traced her finger over the murder book. “I’ll be fine.”
He jabbed his thumb toward the door. “I’ll be right back with coffee. And if I can score a doughnut or two, I’ll grab them.”
“Thank you.”
When the door closed behind him, she sat in front of the book. Carefully she smoothed her hand over the vinyl top. She drew in a breath and opened it.
The first page was a form that detailed the basics of the case. If she didn’t look at her father’s name, then she could distance herself from the facts as she had done so many times before.
When she turned the page, there was a series of sketches done by the investigators. The crude drawings showed the parking lot, the position of their car in relation to the two others in the lot, and the buildings that ringed the area. And, of course, the alley where the shooter had been waiting.
The next page was the autopsy report, and this time she could not control the rush of emotion that burned through her body. Unshed tears stung her eyes and her hands trembled as she skimmed over the autopsy pages to the notes she hoped were still there.
When she saw the two handwritten letters addressed to her, she could only stare. It took several deep breaths before her heart steadied.
She read the first note:
Katie;
I love you. You’re my Angel of Mrcy. Please call me. I’m not bad. I am good. Without you, I am weak and broken.
William
Clearing her throat, she read the second:
Katie;
Your enduring silence left me in darkness; but now it makes me angry. I know now everything you told me was a lie. Everything we shared was an illusion. You don’t deserve to live.
William
She wasn’t sure how long she stared at the precise lettering written in blue ink on white linen paper. She didn’t even hear the conference door open and close.
“Kate.”
She flinched at the sound of Mazur’s voice. She looked up as he set down the brown to-go cup holder nestling two coffees and two glazed doughnuts.
“Sorry, I was lost in thought.”
Mazur looked toward the open book and the letters. “Bauldry wrote those to you?”
“Yes.”
“When did you give them to the cops?”
“Not until after my father was shot.”
“Why did you keep them a secret?”
“I was embarrassed. I had thought William was so good and wonderful, and then to find out I had been so wrong. What a fool.”
“Nothing in those letters said he planned to hurt you?”
“No. He never said outright that he wanted me dead.”
“So you’ve made a career out of finding the meaning in words.”
“More or less.”
He pulled out a chair beside her and handed her a cup of coffee and a doughnut. “So what does the note tell you now?”
“William Bauldry sent this latest Samaritan note to the police.”
“How do you know that?”
“He uses the term Angel of Mrcy in his letters. And just like the letter he wrote to me all those years ago, misspelled it. The use of the semicolon after my name, which isn’t a common punctuation mark to use, is consistent with the letters to me. And look at the use of the contractions. He doesn’t contract pronoun and verb when he speaks about himself in the positive, and when he speaks in the negative it is contracted.”
“He tried to fool us.”
“Or he’s simply testing me. He knows this is my job. This is what I do. He’s playing a game. He has now maneuvered me into this room, and I have relived the worst moment of my life.”
Mazur closed the book. “I’m going to enjoy seeing this asshole behind bars.”
“Not the descriptor I’d use, but I agree.”
When Drexler pushed through the motel room door, it was two o’clock in the afternoon and he was dog-ass tired. He’d had enough energy to find the Hayden house, and as much as he’d wanted to park and wait for her, he knew that was a sure way to get caught.
He’d slept in New Mexico, but the handful of hours hadn’t been enough to chase away the fatigue that had been dogging him for weeks. And now that he was in the city and around so many young girls, it would be even harder to slow down and rest.
All he could think about was making a box and locking one of the women inside. At first, they always screamed and pounded against the wood. They’d beg, plead. And finally, the pounding would soften to scratching, and then there’d be silence.
And when he finally opened the box and peered inside after a couple of days, none of ’em had much fight left in them. Instead, they were all so damn grateful for the scraps of food and the sips of water. Of course, he did put them back. Usually by the third time he took them out to play, he didn’t have to ask for their compliance. They gave it willingly.
Grateful.
That’s what he liked. The pure gratitude for each and every kind act he granted. And when he pulled the girls out of the box and asked them to spread their legs, they didn’t fight or fuss. They were willing to do anything so that he didn’t put them back in the box.
Of course, he always did. He let them out and played with them when it suited, and when they were no longer of interest to him, he just left them in the box and let nature take its course.
He sat on the edge of the bed and reclined back, releasing a sigh. As tired as he was, he was also hungry. There was a diner right across the street, but he needed to be careful. He looked different enough, but that didn’t mean he was safe.
His motel phone rang and he jumped. He’d ditched his cell in Utah, and no one knew he was here. He let the phone ring eight or nine times before it stopped. He moved to the side of the bed and sat down, staring at the phone, still afraid to pick it up.
As the seconds passed and the tension ebbed, the phone rang again. Tensing, he picked up the receiver. “Yeah.”
“We need to talk.”
Drexler didn’t recognize the voice. “Who the hell is this?”
“Someone who knows you like to watch Kate Hayden.”
A jolt of fear and adrenaline cut through him. “Who the fuck is this?”
“I bet you’re hungry for food and a woman.”
Drexler drew in a breath but said nothing.
“And a box to put her in, right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can’t have Kate, but I’ve another girl for you. A very pretty blonde.”
Drexler didn’t speak. Cops were smart. Those bastards were everywhere. “I’m not stupid.”
“You are if you drive by Kate Hayden’s house again. She’s off limits. But the lovely Isabella is ripe for the taking.”
Isabella. A pretty name. He closed his eyes. Temptation begged him to accept, but caution kept him quiet.
“We can work together, or I can call the cops.”
Drexler rose, the receiver pressed to his ear as he glanced toward his locked door.
“I have food. And I can tell you how to find the girl. And you just told me you’re not stupid.”
If he were real smart, he’d hang up. He moistened his lips. But the need to control was too strong. “What do you have in mind?”