Hayes Carson was also in his office, on the phone and exasperated when John knocked and walked in. Hayes motioned him into a chair.
“I don’t care who he knows in Washington,” Hayes was growling at someone on the phone. “Yes, I’m aware that the traffic light is out. I’ve called the power company. They’ve promised to get on it just as soon as they finish restoring the other twenty very important outages, one of them at our hospital! In fact, Copper Coltrain raised the devil and insisted that the hospital had to have priority. Which it should.” He paused and started smiling. “Say, why don’t you tell him that Dr. Copper Coltrain insisted on having power restored there first and that’s why the traffic light is still out? He might like to air his grievances to the doctor. Yes, I’m sure it would make an impression.” He laughed. “I’d like to be a bug on the wall, too. Tell him. You bet.”
He hung up. He glanced at John, who was leaning against the door facing him with his arms folded over his chest.
“Somebody had a wreck,” John guessed.
“Our newest ranch owner, in fact,” Hayes said. “He slid through the traffic light and wants to blame us because he doesn’t know how to use his brakes in several inches of snow. He’s been yelling at my deputy.”
“So you referred him to Dr. Coltrain.” He shook his head. “Cruel and unusual punishment. Copper will have him for lunch.”
“On a toasted bun,” Hayes agreed, nodding enthusiastically, “which is why I suggested it.”
“Wicked.”
Hayes laughed. “The guy is from New York City. He bought the ranch through a local Realtor, stocked it with Holsteins and plans to sell his beef to selected overseas markets.”
John stared at him. “Holsteins are dairy cattle,” he pointed out.
“Apparently the rancher learned his craft by watching old B movies about ranching on YouTube. He’ll go bankrupt and leave, and somebody who knows how to raise cattle will snap up the property.”
John laughed. He and Hayes both owned cattle ranches. They knew cattle. No cow-calf producers around Jacobsville would stock Holsteins for beef. Milk, maybe.
“What can I do for you?”
“It’s what I can do for you, actually,” John said. “I’m here to give you an affidavit since I found the body outside town.”
“Nasty crime scene,” Hayes replied quietly. “The murderer was making it personal. Stabbed ten times, beaten in the face until she was almost unrecognizable. Hell of a thing. Do you have any idea why someone would do that to her?”
“A good one. Colter Banks is working a cold case... You remember Melinda McCarthy?”
“That case.” Hayes grimaced. “I never bought the suicide theory.”
“It’s not a theory anymore,” John told him. “Our witness, the dead woman, called in a tip on the McCarthy case. She said that her boyfriend was involved, and that it was murder. The senator’s daughter had something on a high-level person in law enforcement. They shut her up because she threatened to tell.”
Hayes whistled. “Any luck tracking down the boyfriend?”
“Sure. We found him late yesterday in an alley in San Antonio. Dead.”
“Some cold case,” Hayes pointed out. “Is there a stupidity epidemic going around? Because there’s two murders tied to one case, and it’s going to encourage people to start asking questions.”
“We’re already asking them. Cash’s cousin is the state attorney general. If we get any threats to shut down the investigation, he’ll call Simon Hart and we won’t have any more roadblocks. It seems Cash is also related to a US senator.”
“Calhoun Ballenger.” Hayes nodded. “He was targeted by a dirty politician with ties to the drug lords over the border. That is, until some of the drug lords were mysteriously blown up with a hand grenade. The survivors ran afoul of El Jefe.” Hayes smiled sheepishly. “My father-in-law. So when the dirty politician was arrested, Calhoun was appointed as interim senator until the general election—which he won.”
“You guys have some pretty intimidating relatives,” John pointed out.
“It helps when we get stonewalled. The other US senator from Texas, Fowler, is the father of Cy Parks’s foreman, Harley. He’s married to Alice,” he reminded John.
“Alice Mayfield Jones Fowler.” John sighed. “How would we manage crime investigation without her?”
“I’m not sure we would. I called her in after my deputy worked the crime scene and ascertained that the EMTs weren’t really needed. Alice came down from the San Antonio crime lab about the same time the coroner did. She found a few things, too,” Hayes added. “Let me show you.”
Hayes led John back to the locked evidence room. “San Antonio crime lab’s got most of it. I kept this back for my own investigation.” He pulled out a small piece of paper with writing on it.
“I saw one similar to that at the scene of the male witness’s body,” John said at once. “Same sort of paper.”
“I can’t decipher the writing,” Hayes began.
“If you’ll trust me with it, I’ll take it up to Longfellow at the crime lab,” John said. “She deciphered the other note. It was the same handwriting. I’d bet money on it.”
“In that case, if you’ll sign for it, it’s yours. But I want it back when it’s processed.”
“You have my word,” John promised. “Now, if it just has something useful written on it!”
“Alice got some trace evidence, including what looks like animal fur. Just a couple of hairs, but it might help if it can link to somebody’s pet.”
“Imagine a murderer keeping a pet,” John muttered.
“You never know. It’s a long shot, but it might pan out. She also got a partial shoe tread pattern in blood from the dining room. The murderer or murderers apparently knocked over a chair while they were beating the woman. The print was under the chair. I guess they missed it.”
“Lucky for us.”
Hayes nodded.
“I’d bet money we’ll trace it eventually to one of two gangs in San Antonio. We’ve got a gang war going. Just like the one that happened about the time Melinda was killed. The Department of Public Safety was tasked with helping law enforcement in the city handle the gang problem last month. A lot of arrests were made, but that effort’s concluded. SAPD Captain Hollister has set up a new task force to help deal with the teenage gangs and I’m on it. It’s bad up there.”
Hayes frowned. “Speaking of Melinda’s murder, there was a young man who died about the same time. Don’t you remember? He was found in an apartment near hers. Drug overdose. But his family said he’d never used drugs.”
“Great memory, Hayes. Son of a gun!” John pulled out his cell phone and checked his notes. “The victim’s name was Harry Lopez,” he said. “He had wolf tattoos on his arms.” He hesitated. “Funny, how familiar that name sounds.”
“There must be a hundred Lopezes in San Antonio,” Hayes chuckled.
“Yeah. I guess so. Anyway, Lopez left behind a sister and a brother. They might know something. I’ll tell Banks.”
“Let me know what you find out. And don’t you lose that,” he chided, indicating the clue he’d given John.
“I never lose evidence,” John chuckled.
He gave Hayes the pertinent facts of the case and watched the sheriff’s fingers fly over the keyboard on the computer while he inputted the data.
“You’re faster than me,” John noted.
Hayes chuckled. “That’s why I’m doing this instead of asking you to.”
When they finished, Hayes turned the computer screen around and let John read what he’d typed. John made one correction. Hayes made it, printed out the information on a form for John to sign and date.
“Hey, Fred, come notarize this!” he called to a deputy nearby.
“I’m going to start charging. I am, after all, a notary public,” Fred said with mock haughtiness. But he chuckled and brought his seal. He watched John sign and date the statement and pressed his seal into the paper, making the affidavit admissible in court.
“Thanks for coming by so promptly,” Hayes said. He shook his head. “Brutal murder. Really brutal.”
“Brutal means personal,” John said. “I’ll keep in touch. If I find anything, you’ll be the first to know. I’d appreciate knowing anything you did find out.”
“I’ll keep you in the loop,” Hayes promised. “The crime lab should have something shortly. You’ll go to the autopsy?”
“I will.”
“Get all the evidence you can. I’ve seen hairs solve crimes.”
“Me, too.”
“I could send one of my deputies up to observe,” Hayes said deliberately with a wicked glance in Fred’s direction.
“Not me,” Fred called from his desk. “I have an urgent appointment whenever the autopsy is scheduled!”
“He’s squeamish,” Hayes told John.
“I am not squeamish. I just faint when they start cutting up dead people,” Fred replied. “I also break out in hives. Honest.”
“I could send Marlowe, our newest investigator. He served in the Marines overseas. Nothing fazes him,” Hayes chided.
“I’ll drink to that.” Fred nodded. “Thanks, sheriff.” He grinned. “See? That’s why we work for him. He has a marshmallow for a heart.”
“Not when you point a gun at him,” John said with a wicked grin.
“I’ll concede that,” Fred agreed at once.
Hayes Carson had been in two gun battles during his time as sheriff. He’d been shot three times. The third was an attempted assassination that failed. Hayes still had limited use of the arm that had been injured, but it didn’t stop him from doing the job. He had nerves of cold steel.
“You won’t need to send anyone,” John told Hayes as he was leaving. “I’ll make sure we have whatever we need. SAPD will send a detective from their homicide squad as well. Between us, we’ll get something. Even if it’s just a hair,” he added with a smile.
“Good luck.”
“We could use some. Well, I’ll go to work and see what I can find out about the victims,” John said. “See you, Hayes.”
“You take care of my clue,” Hayes said firmly.
“I will.”
* * *
John puzzled all the way back to San Antonio about the violence of the murder. Profilers in the FBI often said that the more personal a murder was, the more brutal it was. The first person on his suspect list was Rado, but he had no probable cause to even interrogate him. There were no connections to the gang leader. At least, not now.
He left the note with a technician at the crime lab, who signed for it. Longfellow wasn’t in, but she was expected back the next day, he was informed. Then he went back to the office and knocked on the lieutenant’s door. He was invited in.
“Something?” Lieutenant Gadsden Avery asked, dark eyebrows arched.
“Something. The note on the latest victim’s body came from the murdered woman outside Jacobsville,” he said, dropping into the chair Avery motioned to. “It was a confession that she’d spoken to law enforcement and a request for the victim to go and see her in a hurry. I’ve got another note, in the same handwriting. I dropped it off at the crime lab on the way here. I asked them to have Longfellow look at it—she can read the writing—but she’s off today sick.”
“This whole thing is one big tangle,” Avery said with a rough sigh. He leaned back in his chair and propped his boots on his desk, hands behind his head as he stared at John through narrowed, piercing gray eyes in a tanned lean face. “If Melinda McCarthy was murdered, and I think she was, whoever’s involved at the federal level is going to make pursuing an indictment very, very difficult.”
“It may be political suicide to push it,” John said.
Avery grinned. “Let them try. We have enough high-level connections to put even a senior DEA agent against the wall. If all that fails, and we get threatened, I’ll ask Cash Grier to go speak to them.”
“Grier has a way with words,” John said on a laugh.
“That’s not all he has a way with. One of my friends got caught for speeding in Jacobsville a couple of years ago.” He let out a whistle. “My friend said Grier didn’t say a single bad word or even raise his voice. It was the way he looked at him. It sent my friend rushing to the police station to pay the fine. Now, if he goes through Jacobsville, he watches that speedometer like a hawk.”
“They tell tales about Grier,” John mused.
“And most of them are true,” the lieutenant replied. “So. Where do we go from here?”
“I’m going over to talk to Marquez at SAPD. His detective on scene was going to backtrack and see if he could find any friends or acquaintances who were willing to go on record about the two victims. I want to see what he found, if anything.”
“Want a hint?”
John nodded. “Anything would help.”
“Go talk to Cal Hollister instead.”
He frowned. “He’s heading up the joint gang task force. Is that why?”
“No. Hollister has ties to a minister who used to be a merc. The minister works in the center of Los Diablos Lobitos gang territory. But the boys leave him alone. They know what trade he used to practice, and they don’t provoke him. They say he can walk into the darkest alleys at night and nobody touches him. That’s mainly because of his connections. He’s friends with the leader of Los Serpientes in the city. If anybody harmed the priest, he’d have not only the Serpientes to deal with, but many of the priest’s old friends as well. They won’t take the chance.”
“I’ve heard about the priest. Never met him.”
“Get Hollister to introduce you,” Avery advised. “The priest is bound by oath not to disclose anything he hears in confession. That’s probably why he’s still alive. Well, that, and his contacts. But he might be able to tell us something about any connections the victim had, if there are any. He knows most of the Lobitos gang, and the latest victim here was a member.”
“It might be the break we need,” John said, encouraged. “Thanks, lieutenant.”
The phone rang as the older man was about to speak. He answered it, put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, “This is going to take a while. I’ll talk to you later.”
John nodded and left the room.
* * *
He hated the idea of Hollister, because the man knew Sunny far better than he did. She wasn’t attracted to the police captain, however, which made the visit at least tolerable.
“What can I do for you?” Hollister asked with a smile.
“I need an introduction,” John began.
Hollister’s blond eyebrows arched. “Does Sunny know that you’re trying to meet other women?” he teased.
John glared at him. “I need an introduction to a priest,” he clarified.
“That sounds ominous,” Hollister replied, tongue in cheek.
“I don’t need one for myself.” John took an exasperated breath. “There are two new related murders...”
Hollister sat forward. “One in Jacobsville, badly mutilated, and one, a member of Los Diablos Lobitos, in an alley here in the city,” he said, quickly serious. “I know. We’ve got men on the street trying to find any friends or family or acquaintances of either victim. We’ve also got as many officers as we can spare going door to door around the crime scene looking for witnesses.”
“Thanks,” John said.
Hollister nodded. “We all have to work together to get these gangs stopped. We’ve had our share of murders recently.”
“Yes, we have.”
“The priest. Which one?” Hollister asked.
“The one who used to be a merc,” John replied.
Hollister’s face closed up. His eyes narrowed, glittered.
John knew the man didn’t like to talk about his past. He respected that. “He works in the area where Los Diablos Lobitos operate. He has a friend who leads the local Serpientes gang. We need the contact. You don’t have to go with me. If you could just write a note of introduction...”
Hollister’s lips made a thin line. He drew in a harsh breath and pulled a sheet of letterhead out of the drawer.
He wrote something, signed it and placed it in a sealed envelope. On the envelope, he wrote Father Eduardo Perez, Catedral de Santa María.
He handed the envelope to John and gave him the address, which John put in the notes app on his cell phone.
“Listen,” John said softly as he put his phone in its holster, “I know you don’t talk about the past. But there’s a dead kid, two wounded kids, two murdered adults, and I think they all tie in to this one gang and a cold case involving the death of the daughter of a state senator. This...” he indicated the note “...may help me catch the perps, before they can do it again. Whatever I find out, I’ll share with you.”
Hollister relaxed, just a little. “I don’t like remembering,” he said.
“We all have things in the past that hurt us. Things that sting from time to time.”
Hollister smiled sadly. “I lost everything,” he said tightly. “Including a woman I would have died for.”
John didn’t speak. His black eyes were curious.
“Not Sunny. In case you wondered,” he added suddenly.
John laughed. “Am I that transparent?”
“She’s a sweet woman. And I’m partial to blondes. But there was never any sort of spark there. She...reminds me of someone I lost.”
That made sense. John recalled that Hollister was a widower and concluded that he was speaking of his late wife. He smiled back. “Okay.”
“I’ve never seen Sunny as happy as she is lately,” Hollister added. “She smiles. She laughs. She was the saddest person I’ve ever known, before you came along.”
John beamed. “Yeah. It’s that way with me, too. I love just being with her.”
Hollister sat back in his chair. “You’ll let me know, if you dig up anything?”
“Certainly.” John got up. “My lieutenant thinks Father Eduardo may know something about the cases. I hope I won’t get him in any trouble with the gang by going over there.”
“You won’t catch any Lobitos gang members within a city block of the church,” Hollister said with pursed lips. “When Father Eduardo first settled into the parish and started watching out for victims of the gang, Lobitos decided that he was an interloper and they were going to get him out. They walked into the church with weapons drawn.” Hollister let out a whistle. “The emergency room was full. And I mean full! Eduardo stayed with the victims while they were treated and advised them to leave his parishioners alone in the future. They listened. One man against seven armed gang members. They still talk about it, even today.”
John laughed. “Okay. Now I really want to meet this guy!”
“He’s unique, I’ll say that for him.”
“Thanks again,” John said. “And I’m sorry I had to ask for this.” He held up the envelope.
Hollister’s face was hard. “I made a lot of mistakes in my past, did a lot of things I wish I could undo. Eduardo and I have a history. He’s been a good friend. He’ll help you. He has no fear of Los Diablos Lobitos. In fact, it’s sort of the other way around,” he added whimsically. “Tell him I’m free most Friday nights if he wants to go watch them do the tango at Fernando’s.”
“I’ll tell him.”
* * *
Father Eduardo was tall, powerfully built, with jet-black hair and dark eyes. He had scars on his face, and he looked like a man that no sane criminal would tangle with. John recalled what Hollister had said, that seven gang members hadn’t been able to take him down.
“Yes? What can I do for you?” Father Eduardo asked congenially.
John handed him the envelope.
The priest raised his eyebrows curiously before he opened the envelope and read the note. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Cal.”
“He said he’s free most Friday nights if you want to have supper at Fernando’s and watch the guests do the tango.”
“Amateurs,” the priest chuckled. “The tango is not for the weak of heart.”
“I know,” John said. “My people come from Argentina.”
“¡Compadre! So do mine!” Father Eduardo laughed. “Who are you?”
“John Ruiz.” He shook hands. “I work for the Texas Rangers. I’m investigating a string of gang hits in the city.”
“Oh, yes, we know about those,” he said sadly. “I have counseled survivors. I would love to see the gangs go the way of the dodo bird. Sadly, that is a pipe dream.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Come into my office. We can talk.”
He led the way through the cathedral, past a small group of people milling around the candles, lighting them for loved ones.
“I did that not long ago, at San Fernando,” John said, indicating the guests.
“You lost family?”
“My wife, three years ago. A heart attack.”
“I am most sorry,” the priest said quietly. He closed the door, and turned to John. His face was hard with memories. “I lost my wife and two sons to a man whose brother I killed while I was practicing my former profession. He murdered them in front of me while I was tied up and helpless. I took the collar soon after,” he said. He hesitated. His eyes asked a question.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I do know what your former profession was,” John confessed. “My lieutenant told me about you.” He cocked his head. “So did Hollister. Seven armed gang members it was, I believe...?”
The priest’s face lightened. “Yes, they thought it would be a simple matter to get rid of an annoying priest. They had no idea what I used to do for a living. It seemed to be a great surprise to them.” He smiled. “Two of them joined the church afterward.”
“I can see why. You seem to have a powerful ally.” He glanced up at the ceiling.
“Divine connections,” the priest agreed, smiling. “I do what I can for a congregation that defines the word poor,” he added. He shook his head. “It never ceases to amaze me, that in a country of such plenty, there are so many in need. We spend millions, billions of dollars, developing weapons that can never be used, biological and otherwise. What I could do here with just a fraction of that,” he said sadly. “I contacted a group of wealthy patrons and got them to provide clothing for a family of eight whose father lost his job. They found him another one.” He smiled. “I believe in angels. Some don’t have wings.”
“We have good people here in the city,” John agreed.
The priest sat down at his desk and invited John into a chair across from it. “What do you need?”
“I won’t ask if you’re squeamish,” John said, because he knew the man wasn’t. He pulled out his cell phone and went to the photo app. “I need you to look at these photographs and tell me if you’ve ever seen any of them before.”
He handed over the phone. It contained pictures of the Jacobsville woman, the well-dressed dead man who was in Los Diablos Lobitos and the Serpientes gang member who’d been killed. The photo of the woman was painful to see.
The priest crossed himself. “To do that, to a woman,” he said, wincing.
John was sorry that he’d had to include that photograph. Eduardo’s wife had been murdered. It must bring back painful memories. But he had to do what he could to catch the killers.
Eduardo turned his attention to the man in the photo. “Yes, this one is familiar,” he said, and John’s pulse jumped.
“How so?” John asked.
“His mother is my parishioner. I went to see her this morning. She could not stop crying. He was a good son, although he was certainly involved in the selling of drugs, and he belonged to the Lobitos. His name was Alberto. Alberto Fuentes.” He frowned as he looked at the photo. John was taking notes on his cell phone. “This chalk drawing beside his head,” the priest commented as he thumbed through the photos, “it’s the mark Lobitos leave at a crime scene.” He looked up. “They killed one of their own?” he exclaimed.
John nodded. “I have a suspect. I just can’t prove a connection.”
“Rado,” the priest said with venom in the pronunciation. “I would give much to see him off the streets. Even with the old gang leader, the one now on death row, there was not so much blood spilled. Rado uses. It makes him more dangerous than a rational man.”
“I have noticed that. He broke a child’s arm—”
“Yes, David Lopez’s,” he interrupted. “He was... What is it?”
John’s caught breath stopped him before he could finish the sentence. “That name. Lopez. There was a Harry Lopez. Died of a drug overdose at the time Senator McCarthy’s daughter Melinda also died of one. Neither of them was known to use hard drugs. In fact, Melinda had just come out of rehab and was looking forward to getting her life back together. Everyone we talked to said that Harry Lopez had never been known to use drugs of any kind.”
“Harry Lopez.” The priest winced. “He was a good boy. One of the better gang members, if there is such a thing. He took excellent care of his sister and little brother, although he did it with money that was not legally earned. When he was killed, Rado took over the family. He put Tina out on the street and made her prostitute herself for him. She comes to confession.” His face hardened. “I cannot tell you what she told me. You do not know what I would give to tell you.”
“I can guess.” John studied his boot, where one long leg was crossed at the ankle over the other one. “Lopez. No, the case, that’s not why I remember the name. It’s something else. Tina Lopez. That name sounds familiar, but I had no contact with her when her brother was killed. Banks was working that case.” He frowned. “She’s a prostitute?”
“Yes. It is a sad life. She has great fear of Rado. He threatens her brother when she defies him.”
“The brother, what’s his name again?”
“David. David Lopez. He’s a troubled boy. They put him in an alternative school, hoping to straighten him out. Now Rado does this to him.” He sighed. “Lawmen and priests. The things we know and have to live with,” he added with a sad smile. “Not much different than being a merc. You see only the bad things.”
“You also see some good ones,” John countered. He smiled. “A man with a gun trading it for a collar, and changing lives for the better. That’s not one of the bad things.”
“Thanks, amigo,” the priest replied sincerely.
“Do you think Tina would talk to me?”
“Do you think crocodiles might speak English or learn to fly?” came the whimsical reply. “Just being seen with you might condemn her brother to death. She risks enough coming to confession. They stay away from me, and they know I never reveal anything I learn at confession. That’s the only reason she’s still breathing.”
“What a way to have to live,” John said.
“Agreed. But perhaps we may find a way to get Rado off the streets. If you want to talk to Mama Lupita, I can have her come here for confession and have you waiting in the office afterward. You might have to come in something a little less noticeable than your present attire.”
John chuckled. “I own a ranch in Jacobsville. I’ll come up in my work clothes on a Sunday. Any Sunday you like. I’ll even go to Mass first.”
“¿Es catolico?”
John laughed. “Toda mi vida,” he replied. “What is Mama Lupita’s last name?”
“Fuentes, like her poor son. He was Alberto, but they called him Al.”
“Criminals have parents just like everyone else,” John said. “A child commits a crime, and they say, that’s a kid with bad parents. But it isn’t always. You can do the right things, make the right choices and still have your kid end up in an alternative school,” he added bitterly.
“I do understand,” Father Eduardo said, and he saw a lot more than John realized.
“Would you like to get her here this Sunday?” John asked.
“I would. But would Saturday be better for you...?”
“Sorry, no,” John chuckled. “There’s a party at my boss’s house this Saturday. I’m taking my best girl. She doesn’t know it yet.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s a nurse,” John said. “With the kindest, sweetest heart I’ve known since my late wife. I’ve never known anybody like her.”
“A nurse. Well, it’s not a profession one chooses for the money. Like yours, and mine,” he added with a chuckle.
“That’s true, and she works at a children’s hospital,” he replied.
“Even better. She must have a very soft heart.”
John nodded. “Soft and very innocent.” He ground his teeth together. “I took a woman home with me a year ago. My son ran away from home. He said if I got involved with someone else, he’d run away and join a gang and I’d never... Oh, my God!”
“What is it?”
John stood up. “He ran away. He got mixed up with Los Diablos Lobitos. The woman he was staying with when I tracked him down was a prostitute with gang ties. Her name was Lopez. Tina Lopez!”