by Mary Burton
CHAPTER TWENTY
Thursday, June 28, 5:00 a.m.
Dawn was approaching when Hayden and Brogan made it back to Austin. They parked down the street from a closed Second Chances.
Climbing out of the SUV, Hayden glanced around the quiet street that looked dingy as dawn broke.
Two days’ stubble darkened Brogan’s chin, and the fatigue in his eyes surely mirrored his partner’s. Murder investigations typically ran nonstop for at least the first forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Mix in the cold cases of three dead women and a missing teen, and they were now looking at a much more arduous investigation.
Brogan straightened his tie. “Do you think Jack Crow killed that girl all those years ago?”
“I’d like to believe not, but there’s no telling. I do think it was that ranch that was weighing on him when he called me.”
“But someone beat you to him.”
“Yeah,” Hayden said.
“If Jack Crow hadn’t been tortured, I could have bought the theory that Dirk snuffed his old man and then tried to kill his sister for the land.”
Hayden shook his head. “The old coot stirred up one hell of a hornet’s nest. And we’re going to keep stirring until all the bees are accounted for.”
Brogan looked toward Second Chances. “I’d like to bring Garnet into the station this morning and ask him a few questions. Maybe he, Delany, or Heather have other properties we don’t know about. There are none under Delany’s name, but Melissa Savage is searching property records for Garnet, as well as for Heather Sullivan.”
“He has Paige Sheldon’s flyer in his bar,” Hayden said.
“Hiding in plain sight,” Brogan said.
Hayden drew in a breath. Neither Ranger expected Garnet to cooperate when they knocked on his door. But if they could link Garnet and Heather to the ranch, it would be enough for a judge to sign a search warrant for his financial records.
Hayden approached the front door and tried the door handle. It was locked. “I can’t wait to hear what this guy has to say.”
He peered through the front window, but didn’t see any signs of activity. On the bar there were several cases of bottled beer that looked like they needed to be stocked. He reached for his phone and dialed the bar’s number. As they stood there, the telephone rang, but no one answered.
“Do you think he took off?” Brogan asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s have a look around the back.” They rounded the street corner and cut down the alley that ran along the building. They passed a dumpster piled high with trash and broken bottles. A lone rat scurried along the brick wall.
Hayden passed a black pickup with Texas plates registered to Garnet and touched the engine hood. It was cold. “If he’s inside, he’s been there awhile.”
Brogan moved to the back door covered with chipped green paint and tested the handle. It didn’t turn. “It could be stuck and not locked. My toolshed door does the same thing sometimes. I just have to put my shoulder into it.”
As Brogan tightened his grip on the door, Hayden nodded toward the security camera posted in the alley. “We need to be smart about this. If this case ends up in court, I don’t want to see Garnet or Sullivan walk because of an illegal search.”
Brogan released his grip on the handle, but a deepening frown telegraphed his frustration.
“I want to find Paige Sheldon as much as you do.” Hayden reached for his phone again. “I’m calling for a search warrant so we can search that bar.”
In Second Chances, Garnet heard the Rangers rattling the door, but by then his hands were tied to a chair in his basement and there was a gag shoved in his mouth.
He should have bolted right after Faith had visited the bar, but he thought the cops might be watching. He had played it cool as he’d gone to the basement, cleaned out his safe, and grabbed his passport. He had closed up the bar a half hour early and, when he thought the place was cleared out, had made a break for his car.
Jesus. He remembered the day Faith had been born, remembered handing her over. And he’d trusted Crow to take care of the dead woman and the other baby who had been on the verge of dying.
Fuck you, Jack Crow, was all he could think as the man who’d clubbed him unconscious two hours ago in the alley reached for a hammer. “They’ll be back soon. I don’t have much time, so with your permission, I’d like to start.”
Garnet twisted his hands, trying to break the zip ties that were as unyielding as steel. The man was young, midforties, nicely dressed, and didn’t look like the sort of guy who did this kind of work.
When the man pulled the gag from his mouth, Garnet rasped, “Who the fuck are you? And what do you want?”
A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That’s a fairly bossy tone for a man in your situation.”
The hammer came down hard on his right index finger. Bone shattered and pain rocketed through his limbs like white lightning. “Where is it?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Garnet choked on a scream.
The hammer cracked over the knuckles of his left hand. More pain sliced through him, stealing his breath. His heart rattled so hard against his chest he thought he cracked a rib. “You know. The package. You didn’t give it to Crow. If Macy had found it, we’d all know by now. And you didn’t give it to Heather. Where is it?”
“Where’s Heather? What did she say?”
“Sadly, not enough. Hopefully, you’ll do a better job of talking.” He slammed the hammer on another knuckle.
Garnet screamed as the pain vibrated up his arm. “Okay, okay,” he wheezed. “I’ll tell you.”
The hammer skimmed gently over his broken and bent knuckles. “Thank you.”
He tried to move his fingers but they didn’t work, and any twitch or wiggle hurt like a bitch. “Look, I know that I got greedy with the money. I realize that. I won’t ask for more.”
Hot breath smelled of mint and cigarettes. “The problem is you asked for more money and then you got really stupid and you made threats. And threats cannot be ignored.”
“I won’t make any more threats.”
“I know that,” he said softly. “Where is the package?”
When he raised the hammer again, Garnet shook his head, his gaze on the blunt end. “You were right to go to Jack Crow. I gave it to him.”
“What was it?”
“Recordings. I wore a wire when I met with my clients. I needed to prove I wasn’t ever in this alone.”
“Crow never said he had tapes.”
“He wouldn’t. That’s why I gave them to him. Crow kept his word.”
He paced back and forth, considering what he’d just learned. “Now the question is, If the tapes weren’t in Crow’s trailer, where did he put them?”
“He never told me what he did with them,” Garnet said. “I told him to hide the package of tapes real well.”
“And that is what Jack Crow did. He hid them so well there’ll be no finding them.” He gently tapped the hammer in the palm of his own hand. “Why did you return to the ranch?” he asked Garnet.
Garnet blinked and drew in a breath to fight unbearable pain. “What?”
“Don’t lie. I know you were out there. I know about Delany and the land held in his name. Why did you go back there?”
Shit. How could he have been so stupid? As he considered an answer that sounded right, the hammer rose. Garnet sucked in a breath, braced as he shouted, “Okay, okay. I’m selling another baby.” Sweat poured off his forehead, and he was pretty sure he’d pissed his pants. “When the money was cut off, I needed to make up the cash somehow. There was a girl. And I locked her in the same room that we used years ago.”
“The cops didn’t find her out there.”
“I moved her after Macy came by. She said she was a teacher, but she had the look of a cop.”
“She is a cop. FBI special agent.”
“I knew she’d be trouble.”
“She won’t be trouble again. I took car
e of that.” Without warning, he brought the hammer down on Garnet’s left index finger. His scream echoed in the basement room. “I’m hoping we can be friends. And friends help each other, don’t they? Are you my friend, Garnet?”
“Best fucking friend,” he said.
“Exactly. I want to know where you’ve stashed your latest little baby maker.”
Garnet looked up through bloodshot eyes. He was screwed every which way to Sunday. If he’d just kept his damn mouth shut, he could have gone to a new town. Heather and he could have found themselves another baby mama.
“Where did you get this one?” he asked.
Garnet shifted, wincing at the slightest move. “She came into the bar after she had a fight with her parents. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”
“How long have you been holding her?”
“Since early May.”
He smiled as he scratched his chin. “Garnet, you’re quite the businessman. How much do babies go for?” he asked.
“What?”
The man glanced at the hammer and then at Garnet. “How much for a baby?”
“A hundred grand if I do it right.”
“Really? That’s a hell of a lot of money. Do you have a buyer?”
“Yeah. In Arizona.”
“A hundred grand from a client in Arizona? You really think you’re getting that much money for a baby?”
Sweat stained his shirt, and Garnet realized he was losing consciousness. “Yeah.”
“How much were you paid for the other ones?” he asked.
“I thought you knew,” Garnet said.
“My client only gives me the bare-bones details. But I find it’s to my advantage to fill in all the missing pieces.”
Garnet stared at the guy, shaking his head. The client would do anything to keep the secret.
“Garnet, tell me how much you got for the babies. And remember, we’re best friends and don’t hold anything back from each other.”
“Twenty-five grand for each of the first two and fifty grand for the last.”
“Why did you get more for the last one?”
Garnet’s entire body throbbed with pain and agony each time he tried to move a muscle. “It was a boy.”
“But you didn’t sell Macy? You said she was sick?”
“The mother had a bad delivery. I knew she was in trouble, and that’s why I called Crow. He wouldn’t ask questions. He barely had time to wash his hands before the first baby arrived. He laid the baby in its mother’s arms, but then the mother started screaming again. And there was so much blood. He saw the second baby, who came out feet first. She was blue and barely responsive. Much smaller than the first.”
“And the mother?”
“She bled out right there. There was nothing Crow could do to stop it. Crow took pity on that little baby. He didn’t have to. He was always too soft for his own good.”
“So you left with baby number one?”
“Yeah. Crow said he’d bury the mother and child.”
“And the rest is history.”
Garnet watched as the man pulled first a lighter and then a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. The man inhaled deeply a few times and then held the filter to Garnet’s lips. Garnet drew in a lungful of air but found it impossible to hold the smoke in when his body hurt so much.
“Confession is good for the soul, isn’t it, Garnet?”
“Yeah.” Garnet swallowed, ready to sell his soul to get out of this alive. “Look, there’s a bag by the door. It’s got the down payment cash from the sale of the baby.”
“I noticed that while you were unconscious.”
“Take it. Take the girl. Sell the baby and leave me.”
“Where is the girl?”
Lies sprang to mind, but Garnet chased them away. “There’s a house in town. Not five miles from here. I have a basement room.”
“How far along is she?”
“Less than a week from delivery.”
“I need an address.” He pulled out a pencil and paper. “Ready when you are, Mr. Garnet.”
Garnet rattled off the address.
“See? None of this was hard. And I really enjoyed chatting with you.” The man ground out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot and then pocketed the butt.
Without warning, the hammer landed on Garnet’s kneecap. As he opened his mouth to scream, the man shoved a bar cloth into it, muffling the sound. The man waited patiently as Garnet sucked in a breath through flaring nostrils. For several minutes the world shrank away, and it was just him, the pain, and this crazy motherfucker ready to beat him to death.
The man studied the hammer and its gore as if it were a piece of artwork. “I want you to understand that technically this is business, but honestly, I like hurting people. Especially my best friend.”
Olivia Martin, 1988
My name is Olivia Martin. I’ve read all of Josie’s words so many times that I’ve memorized them. I hear Josie’s voice inside my head, especially when I can’t sleep and the baby is kicking. I am so afraid. I want out of this box. I want to live. I don’t want you to read this after I’m dead. But I know the chances of living get slimmer every day.
Things I like. “Tell It to My Heart” by Taylor Dayne. “Wild, Wild West” by The Escape Club. Chocolate. Sunshine. The feel of grass. My mom’s burned spaghetti sauce.
Things I Hate. The streets. Cold weather. Loud cars. Vitamins. Beasts that smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thursday, June 28, 7:35 a.m.
Faith was able to speak to the principal at Kat’s high school and get the girl reinstated. Kat wasn’t happy about it, but Faith wasn’t trying to win a popularity contest with the girl. Kat might have had more innate intelligence than her teachers, but if she didn’t graduate high school, there was no chance she’d go to college. If there ever was a kid who could thrive with a degree, it was her.
Faith’s next stop was again the hospital, though this visit was quick because she had to get back to the autopsy suite. The first set of skeletal remains would be delivered today.
When she arrived at the medical examiner’s office and passed by the break room, Nancy held up a fresh cup of coffee for her, which Faith gratefully accepted.
Knowing her possible connection to the case would come up sooner or later, Faith said, “There is a possibility this set of remains belongs to my birth mother.”
Nancy stood stock straight for a moment as she processed what Faith had said. “How can that be?”
She could feel the foundation of her life rumbling and shaking. “I’m not exactly sure how all the pieces fit together. And when I do know how, I’ll explain it all to you.”
Nancy studied her. “You going to be okay?”
“Don’t worry about me. Give me five minutes to change, and I’ll meet you in the exam room.”
Faith changed into scrubs and ten minutes later pushed through the swinging doors of the exam room. Nancy stood at the head of a sheet-covered gurney.
Nancy tossed one last quizzical glance at Faith, who didn’t blink, and gently pulled back the sheet.
The skeletal remains were laid out in anatomical order, with the skull at her right and followed by rib bones, vertebrae, pelvis, femurs, and feet bones.
The bones were brown and brittle and looked as if they had been buried for years. Younger bones had a greasy feel and were sometimes referred to as green.
She stood beside the skull and stared into the sightless eye sockets. As she reexamined the skull’s facial structure, she affirmed the individual had been Caucasian. Josie’s mug shot showed she’d had a narrow face and high cheekbones, characteristics consistent with this skull. “I could take a snapshot of the skull and superimpose it over the picture I have of her.”
“How many images do you have of the woman you have in mind?” Nancy asked.
“Two.”
“Three would be better. The more angles we have for comparison, the better.”
“I know. I’m
looking for a quick affirmative to an identification that might take weeks.”
“Mind if I do the preliminary evaluation?” Nancy said. “You can check behind me to confirm.”
“Sure.”
Nancy cradled the skull in her hands. “The molar teeth are intact, which is a good thing. If we can extract DNA, the lab can test for mitochondrial DNA, which can be cross-checked against your DNA, Faith.”
“It’s a longer process, but accurate,” Faith said.
Nancy set the skull down gently and examined the lower vertebrae, searching for breaks, nicks, or fractures. She retrieved a magnifying glass and examined the ribs, again looking for signs of trauma. The thrust of a knife or blunt force could leave marks on the bone, but the cursory examination revealed no trauma.
“The victim’s pelvic bowl is wide, also suggesting female.”
The pubic bones separated during childbirth as the baby passed through the birth canal. It was during the birthing that ligaments could tear or bleed, and as the body healed, the bones remodeled, leaving small pits and marks on their surfaces.
“These bones are smooth,” Faith said.
“She may not have given birth,” Nancy said. “She may not be who you think she is.”
“Or she died right after the baby’s delivery, before her bones had the chance to heal. I can’t imagine giving birth in a place like that basement room at the ranch,” Faith said.
“Childbirth-related deaths are one in four thousand in this country, but out in the middle of nowhere with no medical equipment, the death rate would be so much higher.”
Faith thought about the magazines with the young girl’s handwriting crammed in the margins. Fury and frustration collided, but she now had to shift her focus to the victim’s long femur bone.
Sensing her uneasiness, Nancy reached for a tape measure and ran it along the length of the femur. “It measures about twenty inches. Extrapolating from that number, I would estimate this person was five foot five to five foot seven inches tall.”
