Cut and Run

by Mary Burton

  “And you are?”

  “Fred Owen. Paige’s stepfather.”

  “May I come inside?”

  “Sure. Of course.” He stepped aside. “What do you know about Paige?”

  “Fred, who is it?” A woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt stained with blue paint rounded the corner. “What’s going on?”

  “Texas Rangers, here about Paige.” The man hugged his wife close. “This is my wife, Vivian. Please tell us what you know, Ranger Hayden.”

  Inside, Hayden was greeted with the scents of pine cleaner and baking bread. “You a cook, Mrs. Owen?”

  “Never much to speak of, but since Paige vanished, I’m cooking her favorites all the time just in case this is the day she comes home.” Vivian scooped up the small dog and then clasped her husband’s hand, her knuckles turning white with tension.

  “Smells nice,” he said.

  “Just say what you have to say, Ranger Hayden,” Vivian said. “We’ve been expecting a visit like this for months, and now that you’re here, I just want you to spit it out.”

  “We have evidence suggesting that Paige has been held captive since she vanished.”

  Vivian’s eyes filled with tears, and she nestled close to her husband, who wrapped his arm around her. “How do you know?”

  “We believe we found the location where Paige was being kept. But when we searched it, Paige wasn’t there.” He refrained from telling them about the manacle and the blood.

  “Why wasn’t Paige there?” Vivian asked.

  “For whatever reason, her captor moved her. By what we found, it was fairly recently.”

  “What about the baby?” Vivian asked.

  “There was no sign that she’s given birth,” Hayden said.

  “Where was she held?” Fred asked.

  “A remote location in the Hill Country. For now I can’t say exactly where.”

  “How did you even know to look in this place?” Fred countered.

  “Your daughter’s name came up in another case. Another law enforcement officer was interested in her case.”

  “What does he say about all this?” Vivian demanded.

  “The officer, a female, passed away before we could ask her.” He hated lying to them about Macy Crow, but until he knew who was behind all this, he would stick to the story.

  Vivian drew in a sharp breath, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “What kind of case was she working on?”

  “I can’t say.” He chose his words carefully.

  Vivian looked up at Fred, shaking her head as more tears fell. “Paige and I had a terrible fight. I was so disappointed when I found out she was pregnant. I yelled and said awful things. She finally lost her temper and left. What I wouldn’t give to take back those words.”

  Fred patted his wife’s shoulder. “Paige wasn’t easy on you either. She wasn’t perfect.”

  Vivian’s eyes filled with tears and frustration. “But she’s just a kid, and we can’t find her, Fred.”

  “I know. The Rangers are getting closer.” He hugged his wife tight as she struggled with the news.

  “How long was she gone before you started looking for her?” Hayden asked.

  “Two days,” Fred said. “We thought she was at her friend Brittany’s house.”

  “Why did you think that?” Hayden asked.

  “First I called her cell and she didn’t pick up. She also has the Find My Friends app, and I could see that she was at Brittany’s,” Fred said.

  “That made sense because that’s where she always goes,” Vivian said. “Always.”

  “What’s Brittany’s last name?” Hayden asked.

  “Russo. Brittany Russo.”

  Hayden scribbled down the girl’s contact information. “Okay.”

  “We’ve told all this to the Austin police. Brittany told the police Paige never contacted her,” Vivian said.

  “What happened after you called Brittany?” Hayden asked.

  “Brittany said she wasn’t there, so I drove over, thinking she was lying,” Vivian said. “I called the phone and heard it ringing in the bushes. That’s when I really panicked.”

  “I started calling all her friends,” Fred said. “No one had seen her, so I contacted the police.”

  “She’s a teenager,” Vivian said. “She lived on that phone. She would never have tossed it away like that.”

  “Paige can be headstrong, but it’s not like her to ditch her phone and completely ignore her mother,” Fred said.

  “What about boyfriends, new friends?” Hayden asked.

  “She broke up with her boyfriend last year, before she got pregnant. She said all along the baby wasn’t his, but she never would tell us who the father was. Anyway, we went to see Derek, her ex-boyfriend, and he swore he’d not seen her in months.”

  “What’s Derek’s last name?” Hayden asked.

  “Smith,” Fred said.

  “Did you check her social media accounts?” Hayden asked.

  “We did,” Vivian said. “It took me a whole day of trying to figure out her password, but I did. Buddy two thousand. Our dog and the year she was born.”

  “What did you find?” Hayden asked.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. The account is still open, and I check it several times a day, thinking she might post something there.” She rattled off the username, which Hayden wrote down. “The account hasn’t been active since the day before she vanished.”

  “What about before?”

  “It all seemed normal. She wasn’t out partying with friends because she was pregnant, and I think that was frustrating for her. You know how girls like to dress up and pose for the camera.”

  “What about friends other than Brittany?” Hayden asked.

  “There’s Su Morgan. The two of them liked to go out a lot.” Vivian provided Su’s contact information. “I’ve talked to her every day for the last three months, and she’s heard nothing from Paige.”

  “And she never told Brittany or Su the name of the baby’s father?”

  “They swear she didn’t,” Vivian said.

  “How far along would Paige be now?” Hayden asked.

  “Thirty-nine weeks. The baby is due any day.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I have dreamed of the worst possible scenarios, but I never thought in my heart that she might be dead. She’s my baby, and I would know if she was gone.” She closed her eyes and then shoved out a breath. “The last few nights I’ve worried about her giving birth alone. I had to have a C-section when she was born, and if we’d not been in a hospital, one or both of us would have died.”

  “All right, ma’am,” Hayden said. “I’ll have a look at your daughter’s social media posts.” He flipped the page in his notebook and then asked, “What about letters or threatening calls? Was anyone harassing her?”

  “No.”

  “Did she use drugs?” Hayden asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Vivian said. “And after she went missing, I tore her room apart. There wasn’t a square inch that I didn’t search. I found condoms but no drugs. She was a good kid, Ranger Hayden. But I think not as grown-up as she believed she was. She was also very naive.”

  “Has she had any legal trouble?” Hayden asked.

  “A speeding ticket last year, but we had an attorney take care of it.”

  “Okay,” Hayden said. “One last question. She ever been to a bar called Second Chances?”

  “When I went through her room, I found matches from Second Chances,” Vivian answered. “I even went by the bar and spoke to the owner. He said he hadn’t seen her but put up one of the flyers I gave him. Is the bar related to her case?”

  That was an important tidbit Garnet hadn’t mentioned. “I can’t say yet.”

  “How does this help with your case?” Fred asked.

  “I’ll know better once I meet with local police tomorrow to compare notes.” He especially wanted to know if there’d been other blond, pregnant teen girls who’d vanished. Healthy infants could be s
old for a lot of money.

  Vivian gripped his arm. “She’s running out of time, Ranger Hayden.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know. We’re doing our best to find her.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Wednesday, June 27, 7:30 p.m.

  A quick search on her phone told Faith the Second Chances bar was on Third Street. It took only minutes to cross town and park near the small place that looked like the typical dive bar. Small windows and a plain front door led to a dimly lit interior that, combined with a collection of round tables made of reclaimed barnwood, fell short of cozy.

  All the tables were full, and piped-in country western music added a buoyancy to a room that might not have fared so well in daylight. The woman behind the bar was young, with a shock of red hair pulled back in a ponytail that could not calm the curls. She was smiling as she pulled a draft and then poured a shot of whiskey, all in one fluid motion.

  Faith found a spot at the end of the bar. If there was anyone who didn’t look the part of a Second Chances customer, it was her. She settled her purse between her legs and tried to pretend she belonged.

  The woman came up to her, wiped the wet bar, and set down a paper napkin. “What can I get you?”

  “Bourbon, neat.”

  “Ah, the lady knows the wisdom of not ruining a good bourbon with water or soda.”

  “I’m a purist,” she said, smiling.

  “Be right back. And sorry for the delay. We’re shorthanded tonight.”

  “No worries.”

  The waitress took her order to the bartender, who filled a shot glass. “We also have menus if you’re hungry. Nothing fancy, but tasty.”

  “Thanks. Just a bourbon for now.”

  “You look familiar,” the woman said.

  “I’ve never been in here before.”

  “I could have sworn I’ve seen you. But then I’m new at all this and don’t remember the faces as well as the boss.”

  Had she seen Macy? Or had she caught Faith on television a few weeks ago? “Maybe I’ve got that kind of face.”

  “The boss would know. He’s good with faces. Never forgets one.”

  Then he would remember Macy. And he would notice her. She sipped her bourbon, certain if she asked about Macy or started showing pictures, she’d only raise suspicions.

  The waitress was summoned by a customer at the other end of the bar, leaving Faith to stare into the mirror behind the bar and watch the crowd behind her. No one seemed to toss her a second look. She was just another woman at the bar.

  Saloon doors that separated the front end of the house from the kitchen swung open, and a man in his late fifties pushed through. He was fit for his age and had a full head of hair. If not for the crow’s-feet around his eyes and the deep laugh lines running the length of his face, he could have passed for a decade younger.

  He crossed behind the bar, grinning. “I can take over, Jill. Why don’t you check in on your tables?”

  Garnet looked at Faith’s drink and then her face and froze. That split second told her he’d seen Macy before. But he quickly covered up his shock with a very charming grin. “Can I freshen that up for you?”

  “Still working on this one. Thanks.”

  “What brings you in here?”

  “Heard friends talking about it and thought I’d stop in for a drink. Long day.”

  “Really. And what do you do?”

  “I’m a medical examiner.”

  “Wow. That’s an intense job.” He held out his hand. “Danny Garnet.”

  “Faith McIntyre.”

  “I’ve seen you before, Dr. McIntyre.”

  “Not in here.” She raised her bourbon to her lips and took a small sip.

  “Maybe on television. I bet you get interviewed a lot.”

  “Occasionally.”

  He was studying her closely. Was he recalling Macy or simply flirting? “You don’t look like a medical examiner.”

  “What do they look like?” she deadpanned. Any comment that could be made about her profession, she’d heard it.

  He laughed, smelling the trap. “You’re a beautiful woman, Faith McIntyre.”

  A woman in a red dress several spots down summoned Garnet. Promising to return, he moved to the woman and freshened her drink. The woman in red leaned forward, giving him a full view of her ample cleavage. He wasn’t saint enough not to look, although whatever she was offering didn’t seem to appeal at the moment. But he was charming in the way he shook his head and kept his eyes on her before he patted the bar in front of her and moved down the row to a cowboy ready to cash out his tab.

  She could read the dead well, but with the living she was out of her depth. She pulled a twenty from her purse, set it on the table, and rose.

  Garnet noticed her standing but was on the other end of the bar. That gave her time to leave before he could stop her.

  She’d taken a big risk coming here. It was important to her to help Macy in any way she could. And if that meant flushing out whoever had hurt Macy, then so be it.

  After Hayden left the Owens’ home, he placed another call to Detective Lana Franklin. He checked on the status of the missing persons files.

  “I’m pulling files now,” Franklin said.

  “Can you have this for me by morning?” he asked. “I know I’m pressing, but we’re running out of time.”

  “It will be done.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  His next call was to Brogan, who had located Sam Delany at the Huntsville Prison, three hours northeast of Austin. If they hurried, they could be there before midnight and back in Austin before daybreak. Hayden picked up Brogan fifteen minutes later. They grabbed burgers at a drive-through and soon were on TX-290 toward Huntsville, Texas.

  “Delany is a lifer,” Brogan said as he settled back in his seat.

  “So who’s paying his property taxes?”

  “He’s clearly fronting for someone,” Brogan replied.

  “And our job will be to convince a lifer to give this guy up.” The lights of Austin faded in his rearview mirror. Hayden pressed on the accelerator as he ate fries and sipped from a soda. “Any word on Dirk Crow’s BOLO?”

  “There’s been no sighting of the man. The guy has lived in the middle of nowhere for years and knows every rock to crawl under. Hell, the guy could be in Mexico by now.”

  Hayden finished his burger, balled up his trash, and tucked it in the bag. “Think Melissa Savage is working this late?”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s a real night owl.”

  Hayden dialed her number, and she picked up on the second ring, sounding alert.

  “I’m in the car with Brogan, and we’re headed to Huntsville. You’re on speaker.”

  “Understood,” she said.

  “Tell me you’ve found something on that surveillance footage.”

  “My eyes are crossing. I’ve reviewed ten days’ worth of footage from a dozen different establishments near the Crow property and Second Chances.”

  “And?”

  “Dirk Crow comes and goes from the salvage yard daily until two weeks ago, and then he goes AWOL.”

  “That fits with his story of being in San Jose.”

  “Maybe. Satellite imagery of the salvage yard property shows that it’s not fully enclosed with fencing. There are patches that are large enough for a car to pass through. Your killer could have come in that way.”

  Hayden tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “Continue.”

  “Early Sunday morning a green sedan pulls onto the salvage yard lot. The driver is wearing a hat and sunglasses, and his face is turned. He knows there are cameras.”

  “The driver is male?”

  “If I had to bet, yes.”

  “I came by the lot Sunday afternoon and found Crow dead,” Hayden said. “We know from the autopsy that he’d not been dead long. So whoever this driver was, his arrival coincided with Crow’s murder only a few hours before I arrived. Is the car seen exiting the yard?”

  �
�It is at one p.m. I was able to enhance the footage and caught a partial plate. I’ve notified patrol, and as expected it was listed in the database as stolen.”

  “Whoever killed Crow and hit Macy is sounding more like a professional. The playing card with Crow suggests a type of signature. None was found with Macy because he didn’t have time. Perhaps that attack wasn’t planned.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know Crow had kids,” Brogan offered.

  “Melissa, what about the cameras around Second Chances?”

  “Based on Macy Crow’s ATM receipt, I did locate her three blocks from Second Chances five minutes before she was hit. The dark truck that was identified as stolen passes behind her. I’ve taken a freeze-frame of the driver. It’s only a partial and it’s fuzzy, but I’m trying to enhance it as much as I can. That’s going to take some time.”

  “Anything else?” Hayden asked.

  “Still piecing it all together,” she said.

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Count on it.”

  Hayden hung up. “Brogan, see what you can pull up on Josie Jones.”

  “Will do.” As Hayden drove, Brogan accessed the database for arrest records. “Not much in her file. She was arrested a day after her eighteenth birthday, and there is a note from the arresting officer, who noted that the judge of record was Ryder Templeton.”

  “I know Templeton. He was a buddy of my father’s.” At eighty-five, Judge Templeton was still active in Austin politics, never missed a UT football game, and met his buddies at his favorite bar every Thursday for a beer.

  Hayden checked the time and, taking a chance, dialed Judge Templeton’s number. The phone rang twice, and then he heard his father’s friend say, “Well, as I live and breathe, Mitchell Hayden. How are you doing?”

  “Doing very well.”

  “Glad to hear it. Let me say again how sorry Leticia and I were to hear about Sierra.”

  He didn’t remember the judge and his wife of forty years at the funeral, but he didn’t remember much of that day. “I appreciate that.”

  “So, boy, seeing as you’re not one to call and just chat, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m working on a case and came across the name of a Josie Jones. She was arrested for stealing in 1987, and her arrest records tell me she appeared in your court.”