Authors: DiAnn Mills
4:00 P.M. MONDAY
Thatcher pressed Send on an e-mail to Nick Caswell requesting in detail the information discussed earlier. He copied Bethany and leaned back for some think time. The Caswell case kept turning up cold, but deepening the investigation and comparing the findings with Alicia Javon’s case sparked hope. Had to keep digging.
Thatcher noted Mae Kenters’s arrival thirty minutes before the scheduled hour. She was a pleasant, robust woman who swallowed with every word. Her apparent nervousness didn’t mean she harbored information about a crime. Many people were uneasy in an FBI interview, as though simply being in the building meant they were accused of a crime. But instinct wouldn’t let him close the file on her. He’d asked Bethany to lead out, sensing Mae would appreciate a female agent.
Bethany smiled. “I commend your hospice work. Certainly not a career where I’d excel.”
“Thank you. I gain a lot of self-satisfaction in ministering to the suffering and their families. It’s what God has purposed me to do.”
Bethany patted a file. “Ms. Kenters, we have HPD records here of your statement regarding Ruth Caswell’s death. I’m going to read it aloud. At this point, we aren’t going over your testimony unless you’ve remembered a detail.”
Ms. Kenters listened through the reading. “No, ma’am. Nothing’s changed.” Her hazel eyes clouded.
“Were you close to Mrs. Caswell?”
“Oh yes. We’re more than nurses for our hospice patients. We’re counselors and friends.”
“What kind of things did you do for her other than nursing?”
“I read Scripture and sang hymns.”
Bethany sighed. “I hope I have someone like you when I pass.”
Something unrecognizable flickered in her eyes. Thatcher made a mental note.
“Had Mrs. Caswell mentioned being upset with anyone?” Bethany said.
“No. She was a sweet lady who lived her beliefs until she no longer breathed.”
“Was your break always at the same time?”
“Pretty much. With her medication, she normally slept, and I took advantage of the time to brew a cup of tea.”
“Did anyone else know your schedule?”
“No. I always had my cell phone with me, and it monitored Ruth’s vitals.”
“What about sound?”
“Just the vitals.”
“So you didn’t hear anything?”
Ms. Kenters pressed her lips together before speaking. “I’ve gone over this before with HPD, and I have nothing to offer.”
Bethany tilted her head. “I’ve found posing questions in different ways and at different times often shakes a memory.”
“Not for me. I’m straightforward. Remember everything.”
“I have only a few more. Have you ever volunteered at Noah’s Loft?”
“What is it?”
“A women’s shelter.”
“No, ma’am. I’m pretty busy without adding more work.”
“Are you involved in any volunteer work?”
“I help out in the nursery at church.”
Bethany smiled. “I do too. The toddlers.”
“I care for the newborns.” Ms. Kenters relaxed. “Not much different between them and many of my hospice patients. Both need care either coming into this world or leaving.”
Bethany should have brought up babies sooner. Good job.
“I have a photo I’d like for you to see.” Bethany opened the file and displayed Alicia’s pic. “Do you recognize this woman?”
The woman stared at it with a blank expression. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you.”
“Special Agent Graves and I appreciate your willingness to assist us.” Bethany replaced the photo. “Ms. Kenters, are you afraid for your life?”
Bethany had picked up on her fear too.
The woman blanched. “Should I be?”
“The killer could think you saw him crawl through the window.”
“But I didn’t.” Ms. Kenters touched her throat. “I had a nightmare. Must be what you sense from me.”
“May I suggest counseling to help you through the tragedy? I recommend not going out at night alone. In the meantime, I’ll make sure the media is informed you have no idea what the killer looked like.”
Bethany’s strategy hit the excellent mark.
“Thank you,” the woman whispered.
“Thanks for the clarification and your time today. An agent will escort you to a waiting area. I’ll join you momentarily.”
After the woman left, Thatcher slid into the same chair Mae Kenters had occupied. “You were outstanding.”
“But?”
He smiled. “My gut tells me she knows more than what she’s saying.”
“I work on facts, and her responses line up with previous interviews.”
Thatcher studied her. Bethany thought they were finished with Mae Kenters. But the woman showed fear in every movement.
6:35 P.M. MONDAY
Bethany drove the few minutes home from the FBI building to her apartment. When she was assigned to the Houston office, she chose housing close by. Made sense. Still did. No reason to live close to her family with the hurricane-like problems between them. Reuniting with
Mamá
and
Papá
meant supporting Lucas and worshiping God in their church.
Papá
believed his denomination held the keys to heaven, and the rest of the family sided with him. She was estranged, shunned, and saw no hope of reconciliation. Truth was the only superglue that could mend the cracks in her family. Why did she keep thinking about it? She was such a type A personality even her blood type was A+. A fixer. A crusader. Perfectionist.
After a hectic day of studying reports, conducting and arranging interviews, creating a spreadsheet and graphs, combing through paperwork, and examining HPD write-ups on the victims, her head spun with the cacophony of data. No wonder. Although if today was an indication of how she and Thatcher complemented each other, she’d be back in civil rights before eight in the morning. Seemed like she stubbornly insisted on her own way too much of the time. If given the opportunity to prove herself, she’d apply herself.
Thatcher Graves
—not at all what she’d expected and not at
all like the rumors. She’d heard the worst about him and had her shield ready for the overconfident womanizer. Today’s Q & A revealed a couple of commonalities. Her brother was off-limits for discussion, and so was Thatcher’s dad. The questions they’d tossed at each other had helped relieve some of her tension. Tomorrow they planned to give it another whirl during lunch. As long as they were still partners then.
The moment she stepped inside her apartment, her parrot greeted her. “You’re lookin’ good, girl.”
“Thank you, Jasper.” By habit, she looked for the piece of paper on the floor indicating if someone had been inside her apartment. Intact. She walked to his cage, opened it, and he perched on her hand. “Did you miss me?”
He leaned his head against her cheek. “Like a toothache.”
She laughed. “Anything else?”
“Hide the gun. Hide the gun.”
“Okay, Jasper.”
“Call the cops.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Order pizza.”
“Not tonight.” She kicked off her so-called comfy shoes and dropped her purse on the table. Jasper had been a part of her life for the past eight years
—her sidekick, who could be sassy. And incredibly quick in picking up phrases. “I’m changing clothes.”
“Can I watch?” His previous owner must have taught him that line.
“Not nice, Jasper.”
“Sorry. Jasper’s sweet.”
“Yes,” she said. “Jasper’s sweet.”
He rode on her shoulder to her bedroom, where she set him on her dresser. She unbuttoned her jacket and pulled out the pins holding her hair in place. The moment she released them, the throbbing around her scalp diminished. Couldn’t wear the thick mess back too often.
She drew in the fragrance of lavender and vanilla, fresh and feminine. Her two-bedroom apartment was her sanctuary, soft colors of pale green and peach throughout. Every piece of furniture was white, pure and clean like she wanted her life. Accessories dipped into her love for distressed metals, mostly black with dried flowers.
The door to her closet wasn’t completely closed. Odd, but she’d been scattered this morning. She slipped into sweatpants and a T-shirt while her stomach protested its empty condition.
Mamá
had met her at the park yesterday and sent home frijoles and chiles rellenos.
Mamá
wanted her reconciled to the family, but Bethany refused to sacrifice her principles. A quick trip to the microwave and into her tummy. Of course
Papá
had no idea the two had met or he’d have been furious. He claimed his God blessed the meal, not Bethany’s, as though she contaminated his food.
In the kitchen, she scraped
Mamá
’s gift onto a favorite yellow, red, and green plate, covered it with wax paper, and stood on tiptoe to slip it into the microwave. While it warmed, she fed Jasper a tortilla smothered in peanut butter, his favorite, and allowed him to perch on her shoulder for a while longer.
Other things besides Jasper held priority this evening, beginning with the two murders and the killer’s or
—as she believed
—killers’ motive. Her mind raced with Thatcher’s request to the FIG regarding a psychological profile with what they knew about the crimes. Perhaps an update? At the moment she saw no link between the two. Thatcher’s reasoning of both women being murdered by a serial killer frustrated her.
I’m so predictable. First day on the job, and I want to make an arrest.
The microwave signaled her food was warm. She lifted it onto the counter. The smell of beans, peppers, and beef ushered her home. In the morning on the way to work, after
Papá
left for the shop and Lucas would still be asleep, she’d call
Mamá
. Maybe they could talk
—really talk
—about her brother.
After she’d eaten, she called Elizabeth, her friend and director of Noah’s Loft, and confirmed Saturday’s first volunteer assignment. Actually she wanted to ensure her friend would be there.
“Yes, you’re on the schedule for one o’clock.” Elizabeth’s voice rang soft yet clear. “And we can really use you. How did your new assignment go today?”
“Crazy. Hectic. My head’s spinning.”
“Is your new partner young, old, married, single?” Elizabeth, the eternal romantic.
“Extremely good-looking if I could get past his personality. I made a huge mistake early on. But I plan to do better tomorrow.”
“Rather you work violent crime than me. Seriously, Bethany? I’ll take my residents and their problems any day over your job.”
“Are you short on volunteers now with Alicia Javon’s death?”
“You have no idea. I miss her already. She volunteered three days a week, and the women and kids loved her. We all did.”
“I’m working her case.”
“Do you think one of the residents might know something?” Elizabeth’s voice grew cold.
“She could have mentioned a fear or a stalking.”
“I shudder at the thought. Please don’t tell me you want to use my precious ladies on your first day of volunteering.”
“I care about oppressed women,” Bethany said. “You haven’t told them about my agent status, right?”
“Not a word. I promised you I’d keep your job a secret.” Elizabeth’s tone grew chillier.
“I don’t want to jeopardize my relationship with those women or the investigation.”
“Do you think that’s fair when they’ve gone through so much?”
Bethany’s stomach churned at the idea of upsetting her friend, but a murder needed to be solved. Actually two. “I’m not there to make arrests.”
“But you want to question them about Alicia.”
Bethany didn’t want to argue with her. Elizabeth protected
the women and children at Noah’s Loft like a mother hen. “You respect what she did for the residents, but you don’t want her murder solved?”
“It’s complicated.”
“You love the residents and you want to keep them safe from those who’ve mistreated them, just as I do. You spend hours preparing them to enter society as strong and independent women. But when a killer steps in with his agenda, you hesitate?”
“That makes me sound horrible. No one here would hurt her.”
Bethany wished she had the words to relay her passion for ending the killings. “Talking to them allows me to make sure Noah’s Loft is free of predators. I’ll ask if any of them want to share about Alicia. You and I could do this together.”
After several seconds, Elizabeth sighed. “All right. I want Alicia’s killer found too.”
Bethany ended the call and stared at her cell phone. Had she just imposed on her good friend, the one who listened when her family treated her like three-day-old fish, the one who accepted her odd ways and left-brained thinking? She texted Elizabeth.
I care about u, dear friend. Sorry about pushing my agenda
Bethany placed her dishes in the dishwasher. Her phone alerted her to a text.
No problem. I understand. C U Saturday.
Yes! Thnx. U know me better than anyone.
I’m ur friend. And I want Alicia’s murder solved.
I’m doing all I can 2 find him.
No need 2 prove anything 2 me. I know ur faith and ur heart 4 God.
Bethany’s heart was heavy for far too many things. She quickly slipped into workout gear. Running six miles on the treadmill to alleviate some of the stress made sense, but sweating didn’t alter the reality of wanting to help solve a murder while getting used to a partner who swore his gut told him more than his brains.
8:10 P.M. MONDAY
Thatcher lowered his garage door and cut the engine to his car. What a day. A heavy workout had only succeeded in making him more tired. Leaning back against the headrest, he closed his eyes to focus on a total reliance on God to overcome the machinery of work tension.
Two murders. Two bodies with no obvious link. Yet something tied the victims together tight enough to get them killed. He mulled over the stolen items
—antique guns, a Bible, and heirloom jewelry. What did they have in common? Unless the killer had connections, he’d have to hold on to the goods until the smoke cleared. Religious agenda might help the psychological profile.
Mae Kenters, caring hospice nurse, was concealing information. He wanted to explore her actions on the security camera footage. Nick Caswell said tonight he’d never believe Mae had anything to do with his mother’s death.
Time and evidence would reveal the truth.
He wanted a ballistics report now, except he’d never get the lab to expedite the findings, not without solid proof to back up his serial killer theory. And he didn’t want another body. Once Thatcher had eaten, he’d wrestle with it more.
He opened the car door and dug for his house key. So much to do in so little time. But that seemed to be the cliché for every
violent crime case. He rode the elevator to his loft condo, then entered and breathed in the comforts of home. He’d chosen an open floor plan, no confining rooms for him. Since moving to the Hyde Park area of the Inner Loop, he’d enjoyed everything from the beautiful scenery to running along the bayou. But tonight, home failed to raise his spirits.
He turned the oven on broil and pulled out a pan and four pieces of last night’s pepperoni pizza. The business of getting to know Bethany Sanchez . . . No-nonsense and drop-dead gorgeous. How could a woman have such huge brown eyes? He hoped her performance-oriented perfectionism didn’t get them killed. Actually, they were survival skills from dealing with her family. To think her brother was Lucas Sanchez. Every law enforcement official in the city knew his name, and most had a few expletives to go with it.
After today, he questioned his instincts that a woman with her skills could term their partnership invincible. Despite the hunger gnawing at his belly and the dull ache at the base of his skull, he chuckled. Bethany obviously didn’t know her father had also threatened to slice him into little pieces for arresting and testifying against his son.
With the cheese sizzling on his pizza, he scooped up a hot piece and ate while standing at the counter. He focused on Alicia Javon. Felix Danford demanded a search warrant upon the advice of his attorney. Thatcher understood the reasoning behind the legal procedure. Or was there a hidden agenda? Neither of the interviews with Danford or the Javon family rang true. Body language spoke louder than words, and none of them were telling the truth. Was Alicia really a beloved wife, mother, and competent woman in the business world, or was there something else?
Paul Javon didn’t deny physically abusing his wife. But he also visibly regretted his actions and grieved her loss. Why did Alicia endure the beatings and continue to support him? Because of their daughters? But they were older, and why would they insist their
mother stay in an unsafe environment? The younger, Carly, shied away from her father’s touch. Thatcher made a note to request she come to the FBI office for further questioning, an interview Bethany wanted earlier in the day.
Could Alicia’s religion have played into her choice to stick it out? Had she or her worthless husband initiated the counseling? Definitely a question for Pastor Lee. Glancing at the time, Thatcher dug into his pocket for the pastor’s mobile number. Thirty seconds later he put his phone away. Pastor Lee hadn’t appreciated the inquiry, but he did state Paul initiated the marriage counseling.
A file came through from Pastor Lee with notes about the Javons’ sessions. Not much there. A few confusing sentences as if words had been deleted. But one thing surfaced
—Paul requested his wife end all volunteer work so they could spend more time together. He felt she neglected him. She agreed. In fact, Alicia consented and took the blame for every issue. So this justified the ongoing abuse? According to the pastor’s notes, Paul looked like a dutiful husband who had lost his job and needed his wife’s support. What a bunch of garbage.
Was Alicia’s volunteer work an opportunity to show her faith or escape her husband? The hefty inheritance from her parents’ estate looked like a killer’s motive. Although first conclusions in a case usually brought a timely arrest, something about Paul Javon as Scorpion didn’t make sense, which confirmed a serial killer on the loose. Why end the life of Ruth Caswell, an old woman who had only days left on this earth?
Thatcher pushed the questions aside until tomorrow. A good night’s sleep would help him find the connectors.
He picked up his phone to call Mom. The conversation with Bethany had reminded him of how much he valued his relationship with his only living family member. The dividing line with his dad had never been bridged, but Thatcher could make it up to his mother.
He pressed in her number. “This is your favorite son.”
She giggled, a sweet sound he’d always treasured. “I only have one.”
“And it’s me.”
“Good to hear your voice. How’s your new partner?”
“She has potential.”
“My evasive son. Do you have plans this weekend?”
Which meant, would he be flying to Tulsa? “On a big case, Mom. But soon.”
They chatted for a few minutes, then said good night. He wanted to tell her about a decision he’d made, but it didn’t happen. Too many times his choices upset her, and he had a feeling this one would send her over the top.