CHAPTER SIX
Reliving the old kill is a satisfying addiction.
San Antonio, Texas
Monday, November 27, 5:15 p.m.
Kate and Mazur sat in the conference room and watched the video footage of the shooting on a big screen.
The shooter’s camera jostled in time to the steady beat of footsteps as he walked toward the driver’s side window. Dashboard lights silhouetted Gloria Sanchez’s body as she held a cell phone to her ear.
“Are you all right?” the shooter asked. “Looks like a flat.”
She glared at her phone before looking up. The closed window muffled her voice. “I’m safe in my car and can wait until help arrives.”
“Want me to change the tire?” The footage ended. Neither spoke, but simply stared. Kate hit “Replay” and leaned in, scrutinizing every move the killer made. She listened to not only what he said, but also his tone of voice, accent, and inflections. She played it again. This time she closed her eyes.
“You’re not alone. I’m here for you.”
The voice jostled dark memories buried deep inside her, a connection she quickly dismissed as improbable. Whatever familiarity she felt must have likened back to the Richardson tapes.
“What were Richardson’s tapes like?” Mazur asked.
She opened her eyes; she realized he was staring at her. She cleared her throat. “Very much like this. However, in three of the five cases, there is no audio.”
“The cases that he can’t be linked to.”
“Correct.” She rewatched the footage. “On all the first five tapes, the shooter stayed with the victim until she died. I believe on some level Richardson was concerned about how the world saw him. He’s worried about his legacy.”
“Why no audio on three of the five tapes?”
“Could be intentional. Could be technical issues with the tapes. Only Richardson can say for sure, and he’s not talking.”
Mazur drew in a breath. “A few kind words are supposed to negate putting a slug in a woman’s chest?”
“We’re dealing with psychopaths. There’s often impairment in a psychopath’s amygdala, the almond-shaped portion of the brain that generates emotion. They don’t feel guilt as we do, and so they focus solely on what makes them feel good. Period. If looking like a knight in shining armor makes him feel better, that’s what he’ll do.”
He sat back and shook his head. “I know one of the videos with audio was leaked.”
The detective had done more digging than she’d realized. “To a reporter by the name of Taylor North.”
“That would have given this guy a blueprint.”
“And North has done a good job of unearthing a great many case details during his investigations. He’s visited all the jurisdictions and spoken to as many people as he can. He knows this case as well as law enforcement.”
“What’s his angle?” Mazur asked.
“Attention. Book deal. Movie deal. I’ve no idea.”
“This murder should be a boost to Taylor,” Mazur said. “The Samaritan case faded away after the Richardson arrest. Once the details of the Sanchez murder get out, he’ll be back in the spotlight again.”
“That makes sense,” she said.
“How much did you interface with Taylor?” Mazur asked.
“He was at each press conference ready with a question. He asked me for several interviews, but I declined them all.”
“Whoever committed this murder wants you involved. He’s calling you out. Could Taylor be involved?”
“He had solid alibis for the murders I’ve yet to link with Richardson.” She shook her head. “Maybe we’re all overthinking this. Maybe it’s as simple as Martin Sanchez ordering a hit on his wife. He wouldn’t be the first spouse to kill his wife and try to blame it on someone else.”
“Believe me, that idea is still in play.”
“I’ve spoken to all the other victims’ families. And an interview with Mr. Sanchez will help me to gauge his guilt or innocence.”
“I’m happy to set it up. Let me talk to Palmer.”
Mazur caught Detective Palmer as she passed in front of the conference room and updated her on Kate’s request to speak to Sanchez. He reentered the conference room. “Ready to talk to Sanchez?”
She looked up from the screen. “Is Detective Palmer joining us?”
“She’s going to check with the Forensic Department and ask them about the bullet. She’s also going to track down the sketches of those Samaritans who didn’t kill their victims.”
“You think this killer might have been making a practice run in those cases?”
“We need to look at this case from all the angles,” Mazur said.
“Understood.” She followed Mazur down the hall and into the elevator. The doors closed.
As they rode the elevator down, she was aware of Mazur looking at her. But neither spoke as they stepped off the elevator and crossed the lobby to the parking lot.
The sun hung low on the horizon and cast a rich burnt orange over the buildings of San Antonio. She’d forgotten how stunning the sunsets could be in Texas. The big open sky. Land as far as the eye could see. Bright bold stars. There were many magnificent places in this country, but none quite possessed the beauty of Texas. She missed that. Out here, of all places, she could breathe.
This newfound nostalgia was ironic. Living in San Antonio had not been a particularly joyful time. There had been happiness in her family when her father was alive, but after his death, the family had splintered. Maybe if he’d died in a normal way, such as a heart attack or cancer, the Haydens would have fared better.
Mazur parked the car in front of the Sanchezes’ home and shut off the engine. “We’re here.”
She looked up at the five-thousand-square-foot brown adobe-style home. The rock and cactus gardens were neatly manicured, with a stone path that cut through the center of the yard.
“The car business has been very good to the Sanchez family,” Mazur said.
“Have you checked their financials?” she asked.
He cocked a brow. “The judge signed the order about three this afternoon, so we should have numbers later tonight.”
“All is rarely what it seems.”
“Very true.”
Out of the car, the evening air had cooled to a comfortable seventy degrees. They moved along the path to the large ornate, hand-carved front door. “Are the Sanchezes from this area?”
“They’re local. Both were born to immigrants who worked hard and made good. Sanchez’s first wife died in a car accident, and eight months later he married Gloria.”
“Have you looked into the first wife’s death?”
“Dr. Ryland is reviewing her autopsy report.”
Mazur rang the bell, and seconds later it opened to a young Hispanic woman wearing a simple white dress. Long black hair was coiled at the base of her neck.
Mazur held up his badge as Kate reached for her own shield. “I’m Detective Theo Mazur. I spoke with Mr. Sanchez yesterday. Is he here?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, sir. He said you would return; please come in.”
They followed the woman down a long well-lit hallway that opened up to a large room that overlooked the rugged terrain in the distance.
There were two gray-haired men in the room, but Kate sensed immediately that Sanchez was the shorter man on the right. His hands were thick and calloused like a man comfortable around a car engine, and though the fabric of his clothes was expensive, they were simple. He was from humble roots and looked slightly out of place in the richly decorated room.
The taller man wore a hand-tailored charcoal-gray suit. His red tie was fashioned into a Windsor knot, his watch was gold, and his shined shoes were made of fine leather. He could only be the lawyer.
Hanging on the wall was a tall portrait of Gloria Sanchez. She was dressed in a red gown. A diamond necklace encircled her neck. Her eyes stared boldly at the artist. The portrait exuded the woman’s confidence and total comfort with the trappings of wealth.
The shorter of the two men moved to greet Detective Mazur. “Detective.”
“Mr. Sanchez,” he said.
“I’d like you to meet my lawyer, Roger Bennett. I called him a few hours ago.”
Mazur didn’t comment, but Kate knew he didn’t like the addition of an attorney who represented an added layer between Mazur and his investigation.
“This is Dr. Kate Hayden,” Mazur said. “She’s with the FBI.”
“FBI?” Bennett asked. “So it’s true what I’m hearing.”
“What are you hearing?” Mazur asked.
“That Mrs. Sanchez might have been murdered by a serial killer,” Bennett said.
Mr. Sanchez gasped and shook his head. “When Bennett first suggested this idea, it seemed too far-fetched.”
Bennett shrugged. “I know you don’t want to hear this again, Martin, but Gloria’s case is very similar to the Samaritan murders.”
“That suspect is in jail,” Kate said.
“Or maybe not,” Bennett said.
“I’d like to ask your client a few routine questions, Mr. Bennett,” Kate said.
“I’d like to help,” Sanchez said.
When Bennett nodded, Mazur asked, “Mr. Sanchez, can you tell us about your wife’s trip? You said she was traveling to Laredo to see her mother.”
Sanchez looked at his attorney, and when Bennett nodded, he said, “Yes, that’s what she told me. She was on the road so late because she’d worked a long day at the showroom. I never met a harder-working person than Gloria.”
“And did she normally call the nursing home to let them know she was coming for a visit?” Mazur asked.
“Not every single time. Sometimes she surprised them. It was important to her that the staff stayed on their toes. She liked surprise inspections.”
“Where did she stay when she was in Laredo?” Mazur asked.
“She has a condo there,” Sanchez said. “It was easier for her to stay in the same place. In the last year, she had to be in Laredo for days at a stretch because of her mother.”
Mazur pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket and made several notes.
“Was there any reason to go to Laredo other than to visit her mother?” Kate asked.
“We do have friends there, but her primary reason was her mother. We had a dealership there but closed it several months ago. It wasn’t profitable.”
“How was your wife feeling when you last saw her?” Mazur asked.
Sanchez’s brow wrinkled. “Fine. Why do you ask?”
“The medical examiner theorized she couldn’t have been feeling well,” Mazur said.
“Why?” Sanchez asked. “She looked fine on Sunday.” Again he looked to his attorney, but the man shrugged.
Kate found Sanchez’s reaction interesting. He seemed genuinely taken aback with the question. “Did you know your wife was sick?”
Sanchez shook his head. “What do you mean sick?”
“She had cancer,” Mazur said. “According to the medical examiner, it was advanced.”
Sanchez shook his head, the color draining from his face. “No. She would have told me. The medical examiner has made a mistake.”
“The medical examiner was certain,” Mazur said. “She was a very sick woman.”
“She’d not been to any doctors. She wasn’t taking medicine. How could she have been sick?” Sanchez’s brow furrowed as the weight of their words sank deeper. “She got tired, but she worked so hard.”
Kate noted his voice inflection and facial expressions appeared genuine. “The doctor thinks it was a matter of time before she was going to be really struggling.”
Tears glistened in Sanchez’s eyes. “I don’t believe it. What kind of cancer?”
“Uterine,” Mazur said.
He cleared his throat. “No. She had the flu last month and a bad cold a couple of months before that, but not cancer. She would have told me.”
“But she didn’t tell you?” Kate said. Why wouldn’t a woman share such grave news with her spouse?
Sanchez shook his head slowly as he made the sign of the cross. “Gloria hated any kind of limitations. Cancer would have been no exception.”
Bennett placed a comforting hand on his client’s shoulder. “My client can’t speak to the motives of his late wife.”
“Were you having marital problems?” Kate asked.
Sanchez looked as if he’d been struck. “Why do you ask that?”
“You still aren’t wearing a wedding band,” Mazur said.
He curled his fingers into fists. “After I found Gloria, I forgot to put it back on.”
“Your fingers are perfectly tanned,” she pressed. “If you wore it even some of the time, there would be a tan line.” He certainly wouldn’t be the first married man who didn’t want to broadcast his status. Was he having an affair? Did Gloria know? Was that why she didn’t tell him about the cancer?
Sanchez stiffened but didn’t answer.
“Your wife was wearing a very expensive engagement ring,” Kate said.
“Gloria’s ring is a five-carat yellow diamond. She loved the way the light caught it. I gave it to her three years ago for our twentieth wedding anniversary. It was very expensive.”
“What worries me is that the killer didn’t take the ring or her wallet,” Mazur said. “Robbery wasn’t the motive.”
Bennett shifted. “This certainly feeds into the serial killer theory. Which makes me wonder why a judge signed off on a warrant for the family financial records.”
“I’m working all the angles,” Mazur said.
“I did not kill my wife,” Sanchez said slowly for effect.
“What was the financial state of your business?” Kate asked. “You said you closed the Laredo dealership.”
Sanchez raised his chin. “The economy hasn’t been kind the last year.”
“That’s not what you told me at the crime scene,” Mazur said.
“Appearances were very important to Gloria. She wouldn’t have wanted you to know the truth.”
“And perhaps why she didn’t want you knowing she was sick?”
Sanchez mumbled a prayer. “Maybe.”
“Why did you close the Laredo shop?” Mazur asked.
“In the late spring, Gloria ran the numbers and said we might have to cut back on staff. Honestly, I was happy about cutbacks. I’m a simple man at heart. I like to work with my hands. Gloria was the one with big dreams.” He shook his head, and tears glistened bright in his eyes. “Why wouldn’t she tell me she was sick?”
“I don’t know,” Kate said.
He dropped his face to his hands and sobbed. “God, this is all too much.”
“You told me yesterday that she called you from the road and said she was having car trouble,” Mazur said.
“That’s right. Why do you ask?”
Kate knew where Mazur was headed. In the killer’s tape, Gloria never mentioned having called her husband. Wouldn’t a frightened woman tell a strange man this, even if it weren’t true?
“My client has had enough for today,” Bennett said. “I’m not going to stand here while you go on a fishing expedition.”
“I understand you and your wife have a daughter,” Kate said.
“Technically, Gloria was Isabella’s stepmother. But Gloria and Isabella were very close.” The shift to his child sharpened Sanchez’s tone.
“How old is she?” Kate asked.
“She’s twenty-two.”
“Does she live here?”
Sanchez closed his eyes. “She’s in prelaw at Georgetown. She comes home from time to time.”
“Where is she now?” Kate asked.
“She’s on her way home. I called her this morning. Her flight was delayed,” he said.
“I’d like to talk to her when she arrives,” Kate said.
“Why?” Sanchez challenged. “She wasn’t here when Gloria died. She’s coming home to grieve for her stepmother and to support me.”
“My questions are strictly background,” Kate said. “And I’ll do my best not to upset her.”
When Sanchez readied to speak again, Bennett laid a hand on his arm, silencing him. “I’ll want to be present when you speak to Miss Sanchez.”
“Her first name is Isabella?” Kate asked.
“Yes,” Sanchez said.
“And her biological mother was your first wife, who died in a car accident?” Kate asked.
“Selena’s death was a devastating blow.” Sanchez was clenching his jaw, an indicator of aggression. “And I don’t see how her death is relevant now.”
“That’s enough with the questions,” Bennett interjected.
Sanchez laid his hand on his lawyer’s arm. “Gloria’s death has torn me in half,” he said. “But Detective Mazur, I won’t let you traumatize my daughter.”
As if the man had not spoken, Mazur glanced to Kate and in a pleasant voice asked, “You have any more questions? I’ll stay as long as you need to be here.”
“I’ve no more immediate inquiries for Mr. Sanchez,” Kate said. “But I do want to talk to Isabella. I’ll return when she’s home.”
Mazur nodded. “We’ll be back.”