Lawman (16 page)

So far, there were no suspects who matched the DNA found under the child's fingernails. They were checking long lists of sexual predators who were out on bond or parole, but nothing had surfaced so far. Nor was the canvassing of the dead child's neighborhood doing much good.

“You'd think with houses that close together, somebody would have noticed a stranger skulking around in the dark,” Marquez told Garon irritably.

“Someone did,” he reminded the other man. “Sheldon. But he couldn't give us a good description. An older, bald man with a limp. I've seen six people who fit that description today.”

Marquez perched on the edge of Garon's desk. “I've had one of my patrol officers talk to a couple of his informants,” he said. “One of them did time for child rape. It's possible the perp bragged about his crime.”

Garon's dark eyes flashed. “I want to catch this guy.”

“So do I,” Marquez agreed. “But he's been at it apparently for twelve years, if that note he sent the newspaper isn't just exaggeration.”

“One child a year,” Garon said aloud. “And never any witnesses who could give a positive description. There was stranger DNA in at least one case, this last one, but no match when we ran it through VICAP. And the trace evidence from the Del Rio killing was likely stolen.”

“Maybe the perp has never done time,” the younger man mused. “He's smart, and he knows it. He wants us to look like fools.”

“Or maybe he's in a written report from some other law enforcement agency that never made it into the database. We need more information about this child,” he said after a minute. “We need to know how she would have reacted to an intruder.”

“You mean, was she the sort of child who'd fight and scream, or was she a placid child who did what she was told?”

“Exactly. And we need to work those similar cases, and find out about the other children who were abducted and murdered. We need to know how he's choosing them. The task force has worked hard, but we all have other duties as well. Everybody's working overtime, and we're going backward. We need more information.”

Marquez's eyes narrowed. “Well, all the children were female,” he said suddenly. “And none was older than twelve.”

“Very good,” Garon replied. “He also had to have a way to study the children before he abducted them. That means he probably had access to them in one way or another. Maybe he works with children.”

“Maybe he was a teacher or volunteered in after-school activities,” Marquez murmured.

“Or at church,” Garon added reluctantly.

Marquez nodded. “Or took photographs of children for yearbooks.”

“He's an organized killer. He took the instrument of death, in this case the red ribbon, with him to the crime scene. He was careful not to leave anything at the crime scene that might implicate him.”

“Except for the evidence under the last child's fingernails.”

“He must have missed that.”

“Probably he's so confident now that he's getting sloppy,” Garon returned. “He thinks we're stupid. He doesn't think we can catch him, so he's relaxing his technique a little. Pity there weren't any living witnesses,” he added. “We'd be ahead of the game if we knew anything about him.”

“We don't usually get breaks that good,” Marquez agreed. “Although his writing to the newspaper did give us more than we had. Now we know for sure that he's killed twelve children.” He hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

He studied the older man. “You aren't seeing Grace anymore.”

Garon's eyes flashed. “That's personal.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Grace is like a little sister to me. She hasn't had an easy life.”

“Grace wants a husband, but I don't want a wife,” Garon said evenly, with ice dripping from his deep voice. “To keep seeing her under the circumstances would be stupid. And cruel.”

Marquez nodded. “I see.” He turned away. “I'll do some more research on the victims.”

“Our big problem with VICAP,” Garon said quietly, “is that often police departments won't take the time to send in information on unsolved murders in their jurisdiction. There could be many other cases with similar signatures—the age and coloring of the victim and the red ribbons—but we won't know about them because they aren't in the data base.”

Marquez paused. “Most of these killings took place in Texas and Oklahoma. Only two similar killings were found in Louisiana. Every state has organizations for retired police officers, and Internet sites. We might put out the information and see if we get a reply. Some retired lawman might remember red ribbons in a murder case.”

“Good idea. It's worth a try, at least.”

Marquez nodded. “I'll get to work.”

“I'll add it to the agenda and e-mail it to the rest of the task force.”

Garon wondered if Grace had been crying on Marquez's shoulders. They'd known each other most of her life. Maybe Marquez had other feelings for her than he was willing to admit. Either way, Garon was growing impatient with her recent “accidental” meetings with him in town. He hoped he'd gotten the point across at the fishing pond.

 

B
UT THE FOLLOWING
Friday, there was a performance by the San Antonio Symphony Orchestra at the Jacobsville High School Auditorium. Garon invited Jaqui to go with him. She dressed in a scanty little black number that emphasized her lush figure, and she clung to him like glue. He wasn't really interested in her, but he didn't want to be seen without a companion. Especially in Jacobsville.

Just as they started into the auditorium, Grace walked in, all alone, in the blue wool dress she'd worn the last time she went out with Garon.

She saw him and stopped in her tracks, looking surprised.

Garon knew damned well she wasn't. She'd tracked him here. He turned toward her with fury in his whole look.

“Again?” he asked curtly. “Why the hell can't you stop following me around?” he demanded. “What does it take to convince you that I'm not interested?!”

Grace swallowed, hard. She felt people staring at her. She'd scrimped and saved for this ticket, and now the evening was spoiled. She flushed, backing away from the hot flash of Garon's temper. He was intimidating when he looked like that.

“Stalking is against the law, Grace, in case you didn't know,” he added icily. “I could have you prosecuted!”

She was too embarrassed to stay. She turned and left the auditorium. Her heart was cutting circles in her chest. When she got outside, she had to stand for a minute to get her breath. She was shaking all over, and she hadn't realized it until just now.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she walked quickly to her car, got in, and went home. It was the longest night of her life. She didn't sleep at all.

 

S
HE WASN'T CHASING
G
ARON
. She wished she knew how to make him understand, and stop accusing her of things she wasn't doing. But she didn't know how. Obviously she couldn't phone or write him, because then he'd really have a case against her for stalking. She just couldn't seem to win. This was just the last straw.

She grew paler and thinner. The stress of his rejection was giving her sleepless nights and causing other health problems that she kept to herself. But she didn't miss work, despite the fear that he might turn up and start trouble again.

She went to the kitchen at Barbara's Café early on the next Monday and started cleaning and preparing everything that would be on the menu.

She loved cooking. It was one of a few things she was really good at. This job had fallen into her lap. Barbara paid good wages, and even though it was a part-time position, it paid most of the bills. Along with what she made at the florists', she could live.

“I'm opening the doors,” Barbara called to her. “Ready?”

“Ready!” Grace called back, smiling.

 

I
T WAS A BUSY DAY
. Superior Court was in session, and Jacobsville was the county seat of Jacobs County, so there were lots of people in town for cases on the court docket who would have to get lunch there. The café did a roaring business when court was in session. Barbara took the orders and handed them to Grace, who filled them and brought the food out. Usually there was one other girl, but she was out sick today.

There was a take-out order with no name, sandwiches and chips. She got them together and bagged them, then walked out to the counter, where Barbara was adding up bills.

“There's no name,” Grace began.

“Oh, that's for Garon Grier,” came the unexpected reply.

Grace felt her heart sink. Before she could speak, there he was, just coming in the front door, with Jaqui hanging languidly on his arm.

Grace started toward him with the bag, her heart shaking her.

His dark eyes seemed to explode in rage. “Good God, not again!” he raged. “Do you have radar? Every damned place I go, you turn up! How did you know I was coming here? Do you have someone spying on me, to make sure you don't waste an opportunity to ruin my day?” he demanded.

“You don't understand,” Grace began slowly, trying to reason with him despite the fear he was kindling in her.

“No, you don't understand!” he snapped, moving forward. “You're thick as a plank, Grace. I don't want you in my life! How many times do I have to say it before you believe it?!”

Grace moved back, quickly, her face stiff, her hands trembling on the paper sack she was carrying. He was scary like that, all authority and rage. Violence terrified her.

Barbara was suddenly beside her. She slid an arm around Grace's shoulders. “It's all right, baby,” she said gently. “I'll handle this. You go on in the back, okay?”

Grace choked, “Okay.” She handed the sack to Barbara and turned toward the back of the café, tears streaming from her eyes.

“This,” Barbara told Garon coldly, while all eyes in the place turned toward her, “is your take-out order. Grace was bringing it to you because that's her job. She works here! She's my cook!”

Garon felt the ground going out from under him. He hadn't known Grace was an employee, that she worked for Barbara. She'd never told him.

Barbara shoved the bag into his hands. She glared up at him. “Here. It's on the house. It's no secret around town that you've been giving Grace hell for so much as looking at you. Well, you're not picking on her in my place! I have the right to refuse service to a customer, and I'm exercising it. You are henceforth barred from this restaurant, Mr. Grier. I would like you to leave. Now!”

Customers started clapping enthusiastically. Garon looked around him and realized that there were no friendly faces in that crowd. He'd made enemies of the whole town because he wasn't willing to marry their resident spinster.

But arguing wasn't going to solve anything. He shrugged, put the carry-out order on a table, took Jaqui by the arm and left.

“It's no loss, the food here sucks anyway,” Jaqui tossed over her shoulder.

“I'm sure the food isn't everything that sucks around here,” Barbara told the other woman with a smug, demeaning smile.

Jaqui started to speak. Barbara slammed the door in her face. Her customers cheered. She grinned and went back to the kitchen to comfort Grace.

“Now, now,” she chided softly, wiping Grace's tears on a paper towel. “He's gone. You're safe, baby. Nobody's going to hurt you here.”

Grace sobbed into the comforting shoulder. For years now, Barbara had been a surrogate mother to her. Today, like a tigress defending her cub, she'd run the enemy out the door amid cheers from the audience. It was tragic, but funny, too. Grace always saw the humor in things. Involuntarily she started laughing.

“See?” Barbara asked with a smile. “It's not as bad as all that. You have to take your part, Grace. You can't let people walk all over you. Especially people like that arrogant FBI agent. You'll spend the rest of your life crying if you don't stiffen up.”

Grace took the paper towel and wiped her wet eyes. “I guess so. I'm not usually such a wimp. But I've been tired lately and I haven't felt well.” She touched her stomach, grimacing. “It's been a hard few weeks.”

“You just need some time off. I know you've got a little money put back, Grace, and I can help if I need to,” she added, serious. “You go and stay for a few days with your cousin up in Victoria. We'll all manage without you for a couple of weeks.”

“That's cowardly, running from the enemy,” Grace sniffed.

“Not when the enemy is stalking you all over town and accusing you of doing it,” she replied, nodding when Grace looked shocked. “We all know everything in Jacobsville. He's given you hell for weeks now. He's going to stop. He just doesn't know it yet,” the older woman added with a cold gleam in her eyes. “He'll wish he'd never moved here.”