by Tim Kizer
The front doors opened, and a young dark-haired man came out of the house. When he got in the Mercedes, Mark started his car. He felt there was a connection between Taylor Cowley and Jeff and Sam, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
The Mercedes pulled out of the driveway and turned right. Mark followed it.
Cowley had gone missing before January 1 and returned home after that day.
Maybe Jeff and Sam had switched bodies with Andrew Broder and Taylor Cowley?
The Mercedes entered US-75 southbound and exited it five minutes later at Live Oak Street. Mark stopped following the car when it went into the parking garage of the Metropolis condominium complex on Liberty Street. Taylor Cowley lived in the Metropolis apartment complex.
Mark drove back to Broder’s house and made more inquiries about Taylor Cowley. He discovered that Cowley had changed his address two days ago and that he had bought his Mercedes from Logan Broder for seventy thousand dollars four days ago. Andrew Broder must have forced Logan to give his car to Taylor Cowley.
He needed to talk to Cowley’s parents and find out if his behavior had changed after his return.
Sam Curtis still hadn’t appeared when Mark went home at five o’clock.
2
Taylor Cowley’s mother lived in a three-bedroom house in Fort Worth, and judging by the furniture, she was not well-off enough to lend her son seventy grand to buy a car. Her name was Cindy Cowley. She was a short plump woman with a pleasant face and curly auburn hair.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions about your son, Taylor,” Mark said.
Cindy frowned. “Is he okay? Did something happen to him?”
“No. As far as I know, he’s fine.”
Cindy’s face brightened.
“Taylor was missing from December twenty-ninth to January third, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Did Taylor tell you where he’d been?”
“Yes. He said he was at his friend’s place.”
“What was he doing there?”
“He said they hung out.”
“Did he tell you the friend’s name?”
“No. I asked him for the name a dozen times, but he kept saying it didn’t matter.”
“Was it a guy or a girl?”
“He said it was a guy.”
“Did he explain why he didn’t contact you while he stayed at his friend’s place?”
“He left his phone at home the day he went missing because it was broken. I asked him why he didn’t use his friend’s phone, and he said his friend didn’t have a phone.”
It sounded implausible; everyone had a cellphone these days.
“How did Taylor look when he came back? Did he have any bruises or wounds? Was there blood on his clothes?”
“I didn’t see any bruises on his face or arms. And there was no blood on his clothes. By the way, he wore different clothes from those he had on when he went missing.”
Maybe Taylor had been on a drug or alcohol—or drug and alcohol—binge? That would explain why he hadn’t called his mother.
“Did Taylor have a job at the time of his disappearance?”
“Yes.”
“Did he go to work while he stayed at his friend’s?”
“No, he didn’t. He said he quit.”
“Why did he quit?”
“He said he found a better job.”
“Did he ever disappear for several days before this incident?”
Cindy shook her head. “No. This was the first time. Honestly, I was shocked.”
“Did he live with you at the time of his disappearance?”
“Yes, he did. He couldn’t afford his own apartment.”
“Does he still live with you?”
“No, he got his own place. I guess he’s making good money at his new job.”
“Do you know where he works?”
“He says he works for a real estate agency in Dallas, but he never told me its name.”
“When did he move out?”
“The day he returned home. And he didn’t take any of his things with him.”
“So he came back, you talked to him, and then he left?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know his address?”
“No, he never told me his address. All I know is he lives in an apartment in Dallas.”
It was obvious that Taylor didn’t want his mother to visit him.
“Does Taylor use drugs?”
“I know he didn’t use drugs before he went missing, but I don’t know about now.”
“Did you notice any personality changes in Taylor after he came back?”
Cindy nodded. “We were very close before he went missing, but not anymore. He never comes to see me, he doesn’t call or text and he doesn’t answer my calls or texts. And it upsets me very much. He can’t find five minutes to call his mother?” She sighed heavily.
“When was the last time you spoke to him?”
“January third.”
“Where is Taylor’s father?”
Cindy made a sour face at the mention of Taylor’s dad, which Mark interpreted as a sign that she disliked him.
“He lives in San Antonio.”
“Does Taylor talk to him?”
“I don’t think so. They’re not close.”
“Is his father wealthy?”
“No. He’s a mechanical engineer.”
So it wasn’t Taylor’s father who had provided the money to buy the Mercedes.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an accountant. Is Taylor under investigation? Did he do something illegal?”
“No, your son is not under investigation.”
“Do you know if he sells drugs?”
“As far as I know, he doesn’t. Did Taylor ever mention the name Andrew Broder?”
Cindy thought for a long moment and then said, “No, he didn’t. Who is it?”
“He’s an entrepreneur. Does Taylor speak any foreign languages?”
“He speaks a little Spanish, and that’s it. Do you know Taylor’s address?”
“No.”
The guy had moved out of his mother’s house and quit his job. He used to be poor, and now he owned a luxury car and lived in a luxury condominium complex (the price range for two-bedroom Metropolis condos was from six hundred fifty thousand to two million eight hundred thousand). These were drastic changes, weren’t they?
And he didn’t want to see or talk to his mother, with whom he used to be very close.
Either Sam or Jeff had swapped bodies with Taylor Cowley, Mark was sure of it now.
He needed to kidnap Cowley and interrogate him until he confessed to body switching.
Could he pull off the kidnapping alone? Cowley didn’t have bodyguards, so Mark supposed he could.
He could ambush Cowley in a parking garage and force him into the trunk of his car. Abducting Cowley from his apartment would be a riskier proposition because he might call for help on the way to the car.
Chapter 47
1
At nine-thirty p.m. Mark plugged the flash drive sent by Aguero into his laptop and played Jeff’s confession video. Joan watched it together with him.
In the video, Jeff sat in a chair at a table in what appeared to be a motel room. Perhaps it was the room where his body had been found. He looked and sounded sincere.
When the video was over, Joan said, “I’m glad he’s dead.”
As Mark lay in bed that night, he tried to figure out a way to plant the knife used to kill Helen in the Phillipses’ house. Around half past midnight an idea came to him, which he decided to try.
He gave a copy of Jeff’s confession video to Edward Phillips’s lawyer on Tuesday. After work, Mark went to the Phillipses’ house and told Emily he had important information for her.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” he said when they went into the living room.
“Thank you.”
“Did Detective Aguero tell you
about the video Jeff had sent him?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Yes.”
“You must be in shock.”
Emily nodded.
She seemed calm, and Mark wondered if it was just a façade.
“Your son was sentenced to death for one of Jeff’s crimes, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“I hope Jeff’s confession will help your son regain his freedom.”
“They must release him. He’s innocent.”
“I gave a copy of Jeff’s confession video to Edward’s lawyer today.”
“Thank you. Do you know Edward?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to get him a new lawyer.”
“That’s a great idea. Do you mind if I do a quick search of Jeff’s study?”
“Why?”
“I think there might be evidence of Jeff’s crimes there.”
“The police have already searched it. They didn’t find anything.”
“Did you search the study after Jeff left for Houston?”
“No.”
“Maybe Jeff hid the evidence before the search and then brought it back to the study.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he wanted to help Edward. Let’s do it together.”
“Just the study?”
“Yes. Look, Emily, Edward will have a much better chance of being released if there’s evidence that Jeff murdered that girl.”
Emily nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
There were two walls lined with bookcases and a double-pedestal desk in the study.
“You search the bookcases and I’ll search the desk,” Mark said, walking to the desk.
“What are we looking for?”
“Something odd, something you’ve never seen here before. Put these on, please.” He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and gave them to Emily. Then he took out another pair of gloves and put them on.
“Did Jeff speak any foreign languages?” Mark said as he opened the top left drawer.
“Yes, he spoke French and a little Spanish.”
Busy searching a bookcase, Emily wasn’t looking at him.
Mark opened the bottom right drawer, took the plastic bag with the knife from his jacket pocket, and placed it in the drawer.
“Does Edward speak any foreign languages?” he asked, rifling through the top left drawer.
“He speaks a little French.”
Mark shut the top left drawer and opened the one below it.
“I don’t see anything odd in here.” Emily closed the bookcase doors.
“Search the next one.”
Mark shut the middle left drawer, pretended to search the bottom right drawer, and then said, “Emily, come here. I think I found something.”
“What is it?” Emily walked up to the desk and looked in the bottom right drawer.
“Have you seen this knife before?” Mark pointed at the knife. “I found it in the back of the drawer.”
“No, I haven’t. Is it blood?”
Mark picked up the knife and pretended to examine it. “I think it is. It could be the murder weapon.”
He put the knife on the desk, took off his gloves, and said, “I’m going to call Detective Aguero.”
He called Aguero and told him that he and Emily Phillips had found a possible murder weapon in Jeff’s desk.
“Can you ask the Carrollton PD to send someone to pick it up?” he said.
“Okay, I’ll give them a call,” Aguero said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Forty minutes later, Homicide Detective Brady Strout of the Carrollton Police Department came and picked up the knife.
Chapter 48
1
Mark punched in the passcode he had obtained from the building manager’s office and, when the gate opened, drove his rental Dodge Charger into the garage. It was seven-fifteen in the morning. He parked in the visitor area, got out of the car, and started looking for Taylor Cowley’s Mercedes. He took measures to avoid being identified: he wore sunglasses and a felt hat to hide his face from surveillance cameras, and his car had fake license plates.
He found the Mercedes on the second level, in slot 215. He got in his Charger and moved it to an unoccupied spot five spaces from Cowley’s car.
Was it Jeff or Sam who had swapped bodies with Cowley?
Jeff would certainly have loved to be young again, so the odds were good it was him.
It was ten-thirty when Cowley entered the garage. He wore black jeans and a black leather jacket. Mark got out of his car, withdrew his badge, and walked over to Cowley’s Mercedes. As Cowley neared his vehicle, Mark held out his badge and said, “Detective Bradbury, Garland PD. Are you Taylor Cowley?”
“Yes,” Cowley said warily.
“You’re under arrest.” He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
“For what?”
Mark grabbed Cowley’s right arm and snapped a cuff on his wrist. “They’ll explain the charges at the station.” Mark pulled Taylor’s arms behind his back and cuffed the other wrist.
“I didn’t do anything,” Cowley pleaded.
“If you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Can I call my parents?”
“You can call from the station.” Mark patted Cowley down, took the phone from his jeans pocket, then grasped his arm and led him to his Charger.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Mark opened the front passenger door and said, “Get in.”
He had a Taser in his coat pocket, which he was going to use on Cowley if he resisted or tried to escape from the car.
“What kind of crime do you think I committed?” Cowley got in the Charger. “Is it something serious?”
“No.” Mark shut the door.
As he went to the driver’s door, he removed the battery from Cowley’s phone.
“Relax, son,” Mark said when they pulled out of the parking spot. “Just tell the truth, and you’ll be fine.”
2
Cowley said little on the way to Mark’s parents’ lake house. To assuage his fears, Mark told him that the crime he was accused of was a misdemeanor, not a felony. When Mark pushed the Open button on the garage door remote, Cowley said, “You said we were going to the police station.”
“I need to show you something first.”
Mark drove into the garage, pressed the Close button on the remote, and got out of the car.
“Where are we?” Cowley asked.
“Patience, Taylor.”
Mark opened the front passenger door. “Get out.”
A shadow of fear flitted across Cowley’s face.
“What do you want to show me?” he asked. “Whose house is this?”
“There’s something in the living room you have to see.”
“Take me to the police station.”
Mark grabbed Cowley by the arm and pulled him out of the car.
“Go.” He pointed toward the door leading into the house. He drew his SIG Sauer to make Cowley more cooperative.
They entered the house and went into the living room.
“Are you really a cop?” Cowley asked in a trembling voice.
“Yes, I am.”
“What do you want from me?”
Mark slipped the gun into the holster. “Sit down on the couch.”
Cowley did as told, and Mark bound his feet with duct tape.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Mark said. “If you don’t answer them truthfully, I’ll hurt you.”
Cowley’s forehead was beaded with sweat.
“You’re not a cop. Cops don’t kidnap people.”
“I’m doing this for myself, not the police department.”
“Is this your house?”
“What are your parents’ names?”
“Cindy and Kevin Cowley.”
Mark took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and put it in Cowl
ey’s lap. Printed on the sheet was a passage from a French fairy tale called The Hunchback and His Two Brothers. The text was in French.
“Tell me what this says.”
Cowley lowered his eyes to the sheet. “Once upon a time there was a king who had three sons. Two of whom were fine, handsome young men, and the third one was a hunchback whose name was Alain. His father did not love him, but sent him off to the kitchen with the cooks while his two older brothers ate with him at his own table and went with him everywhere. One day the old king sent for his three sons and said to them—”
“That’s enough.” Mark grabbed the sheet and put it back in his pocket.
Apparently, Jeff (or Sam) hadn’t yet figured out why he had been kidnapped.
“Jeff, is it you?” Mark smiled. “Or is it Sam?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know everything. I know about the ritual. And I know that one of you switched bodies with Andrew Broder.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Jeff. Stop wasting my time.”
“My name’s not Jeff. My name’s Taylor. You got the wrong guy.”
“I know it’s you, Jeff. You’re not going anywhere until you admit that you’re Jeff.”
“I’m Taylor.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. Check my driver’s license.”
“You’re not Taylor Cowley. Taylor Cowley doesn’t speak French.”
Cowley froze. He must have realized he had been tricked.
“You switched bodies with Taylor Cowley and Andrew Broder on January first,” Mark said. “Are you Jeff or Sam?”
Cowley sighed, and made no reply.
“If you don’t tell me who you are, I’ll kill you. Do you want to die?”
Cowley shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said hoarsely.
“Then tell me who you are.”
Mark took out the Taser and pressed it against Cowley’s thigh.
Cowley bit his lip and shifted on the couch. “I’m Logan Broder.”
“Andrew Broder’s son?”
“Yes.”
Why would Logan Broder swap bodies with Taylor Cowley? And why would Sam and Jeff help him do it?
“This is bullshit.”
