by DiAnn Mills
Bethany grinned. “I’ll do my best.”
“Should we conduct a background on any of the residents?”
“Not at this point,” she said. “Only Elizabeth is aware of my FBI status.”
“You’re going undercover?”
“Don’t think so. But I’ll find answers if any of the residents have insight into Alicia.”
“Glad to see you made it today.”
“You had doubts?”
“We both have, but we’re overcomers.”
She leaned against the side of his cubicle and tilted her head. “Thanks. I needed a little reinforcement.”
“Keep frowning, and it’ll stick.”
“I’ll think happy thoughts.”
Oh, the sarcasm. “We have a busy day lined up. My preference for getting information is through people. Stats and online research are solid, but people can rarely disguise their true feelings.”
She glanced away. “Have you profiled me?”
“I did.”
She reddened. “I’m sure you saw that I’m a solid performer.”
That was the Bethany Sanchez he expected. “Always.” He laughed but she didn’t respond. “On with the case. Let’s check out Paul Javon’s alibi. Won’t take long to run by Rice University.”
She jotted it down. “Thank you. I think it will change your perspective about who killed Alicia. What else?”
“Yesterday you wanted to talk to Carly Javon further, so let’s bring her in for an interview.”
“She doesn’t think much of her dad, and I’d like to hear her explanation.”
He pressed in Carly Javon’s cell number and pushed Speaker. A gallon of coffee was fueling his reasoning, but this family had more than its share of secrets. He raked his fingers through his hair. Most families had closet stuff. His included. When the girl answered, he introduced himself.
“Why are you calling me?” Carly clipped each word.
“Your mother’s unsolved murder is part of an FBI investigation.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “We need to ask you a few more questions, preferably at our office.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Your father is a person of interest.”
“Why aren’t you talking to him?”
“He’ll be coming later.”
She released an expletive he no longer used. “My mother’s memorial service is at two this afternoon.”
“You’re not surprised by my call, Carly. Special Agent Sanchez and I read your body language. You didn’t want a thing to do with your father yesterday.”
“Right,” she whispered. “I expected you to contact me.”
“Do you or Shannon have reason to be afraid?” Her silence told him all he wanted to know. “Do you want us to pick you up?”
“I can be there around ten thirty,” Carly said. “The office on 290? Big green building?”
“Yes. You can bring your sister, especially if she’s concerned about her safety.”
“Shannon spent the night with a friend. She and Dad get along okay. It’s me who has the big mouth and refuses to take his orders.”
Thatcher confirmed the time again, then noted the interview on his phone’s calendar. He was quickly beginning to value Bethany’s perception, although she’d not refer to it as intuition. “How are you?” He pointed to his chair. “This is not the hot seat, but a clear-the-air seat.”
“Is this a part of my training?”
“Didn’t you read the manual?”
“Yes, but this part must have slipped my mind.” She eased onto the chair. “Now what?” She felt under the seat. “No gum here or wires to record my responses.”
He chuckled. “Okay, your eyes tell me little sleep. If it’s personal, none of my business, except you have to be alert for the job. If you spent the night beating yourself up over yesterday, then we need to talk.”
“Not personal. I studied the behavioral habits of serial killers, in case you’re right.”
“Tell me what you’ve learned. My guess is you memorized all the reports.”
She massaged her neck muscles. “From the top ten characteristics of serial killers, which you already know, I’m aware of what to look for when we conduct interviews.”
He nodded. “And?”
“Social outcasts. Highly intelligent. Lousy home life. Substance abuse. The same list could be applied to any criminal.” Her eyes clouded for a moment. “I studied a serial murder report on a symposium done in August and September of 2005. Were you there?”
“No, but my partner was. Bethany, I’m glad you’re diligent, but you also need your rest.”
“I will . . . tonight.”
“Great. Why didn’t you tell me you had diabetes?”
She blew out frustration. “It’s controlled with diet, and I plan to have snacks with me all the time. Looks like my trust level with you has hit bottom.”
“We can only move up.”
CHAPTER 13
10:45 A.M. TUESDAY
Thatcher and Bethany sat across from Carly Javon at a table in an FBI interview room. He handed the young woman a bottle of water. Her tangled, auburn hair indicated more of a crisis than the absence of a hairbrush. When Thatcher had met her at the Javon home, he’d noted an attractive young woman who sharply resembled her mother. She also had a pronounced limp. His suspicions about the family grew. Yesterday she endured tough questions, but her appearance wasn’t unkempt. What had happened?
Carly uncapped the bottle of water with shaky fingers and took a drink. “Thanks. It’s good and cold. This is being recorded, right?”
“Yes.” He allowed his eyes to speak caring into his words. “You have a limp.”
“Temporary.” She replaced the cap, avoiding him. “I fell down the stairs.”
“Like your mother?”
She picked at chipped, deep-purple nail polish. “We’re both clumsy.”
“Did you both fall the same way?”
She snapped to attention. “Are the injuries relevant to finding her killer?” Her trembling lips betrayed fragile emotions.
“Depends if your mother’s broken arm was the result of a push.”
“It’s not important.”
“Were you pushed?” Thatcher said gently. “Agent Sanchez and I think you were hurt like your mother was.” He nodded at Bethany to continue the interview. This needed a woman’s touch, and she had the expertise from her years of working civil rights.
“Carly, most people have families who love and support each other,” she said. “Then there are nightmare families. We don’t want to tell anyone about the dysfunction. Sometimes we ignore it. Will it to go away. It’s not an argument or a difference of opinion, but an evil grip.”
Thatcher heard sincerity in his partner’s words, and Lucas Sanchez’s name bannered across his mind.
“Is your home a nightmare?” Bethany said. “You’re not alone. I’m right there with you, and I’m a good listener.”
Carly slipped a tangled strand of hair behind her ear. No eye contact.
Bethany leaned in. “We can’t help you or solve your mother’s murder unless you’re honest with us.”
She lifted a tear-glazed face. “I understand. That’s why I’m here, to do whatever I can to find my mother’s killer. It’s just hard.”
“The truth frees us from pain.”
“I hope so. Dad thinks Mom’s been lumped into a serial killer’s pile, and no one cares.”
“We do. Lots of people do, and we’re not stopping until the killer is found. Right now, Agent Graves has more questions.”
How could he get Carly to admit her father had caused her injury? Would she press charges against him? “Were you out late last night?”
She shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking. I look awful, but I haven’t been partying. I spent the night with my aunt. Too tired this morning to shower, fix myself up. Then there’s the memorial. Guess I’ll fix myself up for the service, for Mom.”
> Depression? “I thought your family was staying at a hotel?”
“Too close for me.” She focused on the water bottle. “Even when Dad’s in a good mood, I can’t stand being around him.”
“Why?”
“We’ve never gotten along. It’s worse since Mom’s gone.”
“Are you saying since she died, he’s taking out his anger on you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I act more like Mom. Must be a reminder.”
“Did your father have anything to do with the death of your mother?”
“He might have.” She breathed in deeply. “But I can’t figure out how.”
“What makes you think so?”
“He has a horrible temper. After he lost his job, he exploded over the smallest things. It got worse the longer he was unemployed.” She took another sip of water. “He can act like the best dad and husband in the world. You saw how he offered information, cried, behaved like he really cared. The weird thing is he can snap into rage at a moment’s notice.”
“In what way?”
“In the beginning, he just yelled. Then he started shoving Mom around. Then used his fists.” Her face hardened. “Mom always forgave him and could calm him down even when he was hitting her. If he was mad at me, she stood between us.” A painful memory seemed to hold her captive. “I never understood why she took it. She could have kicked him out. I’d have helped her.”
“I’m sorry.” And he meant it. “Did your dad push your mother down the stairs?”
She nodded. “Mom never wore flip-flops. What a lie.”
“And you?”
Carly shifted in her seat. “I forgot you were recording this.”
“No one’s going to hurt you. Take another drink of water.” When she did, he continued. “I know these questions are difficult, but we have to get to the bottom of what happened to your mother. Did your dad cause your accident?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“What else can you tell us?”
Carly glanced at Bethany.
“Go ahead. It’s safe here.”
“Dad’s controlling. He checked the car mileage when Mom went to work, the grocery store, church, to volunteer, or whatever. If it was a tiny bit over what he expected, he went ballistic.”
“Did your mother complain, argue with him?”
“Sometimes. Another thing—Mom caught him having an affair. Not sure how she found out.” Carly toyed with the bottle cap. “They had terrible arguments.”
“Did she threaten divorce?”
“Yes. He beat her until she passed out, and he had to take her to the ER.” Carly’s features were like stone. “Why did she let him do that to her?”
“Maybe she hoped he’d get better,” Bethany said. “They were in counseling. Did you see any improvement?”
“No. Made it worse. Guess he could play the good guy for only so long.” She bit her lip hard.
“Does your dad own a gun?”
“I don’t think so.” She took another sip of water. “Something’s not right. He demanded we go with him to the concert, and then Mom’s murdered.”
“He forced you and Shannon to go with him?”
“He threatened to hurt Mom.”
Thatcher admired the young woman’s struggle to be strong. “Her death is not your fault.”
Her shoulders slumped. “My aunt and uncle said the same thing, but I can’t get past it.”
Thatcher had investigated too many family relationships that erupted into violence. “What size shoe does your dad wear?”
Carly gave him a quizzical stare. “Thirteen.”
That diminished the likelihood of Paul Javon’s being on the Caswell premises when Ruth was killed. The shoe imprint there indicated an eight and a half.
“Do you suspect the woman your dad’s been seeing?” Bethany said.
Her face was a swirl of fiery emotions. “I hate the thought of Dad planning Mom’s death. But I suspect him and his girlfriend.” For a moment it looked like she’d weep, but she regained her composure. “I don’t know her name or what she looks like.”
He’d let Bethany continue. Carly appeared more comfortable with her.
“Another question—did your dad leave during the concert performance?”
She glanced away. “I don’t think so, but I was sitting beside Shannon, not him.”
“Did your mother talk to you or Shannon about the girlfriend?”
“I’m not sure Shannon knows. I overhead Mom and Dad arguing.”
“Would the woman’s information be on your mother’s phone? Maybe a photo?” Bethany said.
“Remember, Dad said her cell was lost. Thought the killer took it.”
Thatcher recalled that the call logs of Alicia’s and Paul’s phone numbers indicated nothing out of the ordinary. He motioned to Bethany for him to pose a question. “Do you believe your father may have a burner phone?”
“Possibly. Maybe I can find it.”
“Not a wise move,” he said. “Don’t go there.”
“I have to.”
He nodded at Bethany rather than argue and upset Carly.
“You aren’t equipped to solve your mother’s murder,” Bethany said. “You’re of no help to her or your family if you’re hurt.”
She offered a faint smile. “I’m moving out this afternoon. He knows about it, just not when, and he’s not happy. Told me I had to pack and move when he could supervise what I took. Also told me I had to give him my key.”
Naturally. Her father realized Carly had the guts to tell the truth about their family issues. And now he wouldn’t have someone to take out his frustration on.
“Are you moving into an apartment?” Bethany’s voice trailed soft, caring.
“No, with my aunt and uncle.”
“Promise us you’ll be careful.”
“I will, and I made a copy of the house key. Left it at my aunt’s house. He might change the locks though.”
“Carly, that’s dangerous. I strongly advise you to let us handle the investigation.”
“I don’t care. I heard him threaten Mom too many times. He knows how she died.” Her eyes darkened. “Mom left her inheritance to Shannon and me, and he’s trying to fight it. We’re supposed to pay for our living expenses and reimburse him for what Mom spent on our education and our cars. He won’t get a penny from me.”
Bethany shook her head. “Would he come after you at your aunt and uncle’s home?”
“My uncle would shoot him. He has a gun.”
Sounded like spontaneous combustion.
“Could we have their names and contact information?”
Carly pulled a piece of paper from her purse. “Already have it for you. If something happens to me or Shannon, you’ll arrest Dad, right?”
“He’ll be here later this afternoon for further questioning. I don’t think he’d come after either of you when he knows we suspect him of having information about your mother’s death.”
Carly wrapped her fingers around the water bottle. “I’ve seen him angry. I know what he’s capable of doing.”
“If we gave you the date of Ruth Caswell’s death, could you confirm your father’s whereabouts?” Thatcher valued Bethany’s investigative skills, and he’d agreed to scoping out the concert area of Rice University, but these cases had serial killer stamped all over them.
“I can try.” Carly pulled up her phone’s calendar while Bethany provided the date and time. A few seconds later, she lifted her gaze. “He was at home when Mrs. Caswell was killed. I remember because he had bronchitis and kept us awake with his coughing. Does that mean he’s no longer a suspect in connection with Mom?”
Thatcher continued before Bethany discounted his theory. “Does the name Mae Kenters mean anything to you?”
“No, sir.”
“Agent Sanchez and I, along with the entire FBI, aren’t resting until we find answers.”
“I figured you’d not walk away. You come across as a bad—well, you kn
ow what I mean, but you’re the kind of guy who’ll find out what happened to Mom.” She swept a look at them. “Both of you.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m concerned about your plans today. Is your uncle helping you move?”
“Yes, sir. Dad and Shannon are going to dinner tonight. He’ll be furious I packed up while he was gone, but I’m not stupid. I’d like to search my mom’s room.”
Thatcher believed her father had the temper to do serious damage. “You’re not a trained investigator.”
She lifted her chin. “Won’t do any good to try to stop me.”
Talking down her stubbornness was like punching a brick wall. At least she had her aunt and uncle’s help in making the transition. “What about Shannon’s safety?”
“She’s afraid of Dad. Will do whatever he asks.”
“If anything goes wrong, call us or 911. Just move your personal belongings and stay clear.” He stared into her eyes. Frightened and alone, no matter how brave she tried to be.
“Yes, sir.”
Bethany and Thatcher thanked Carly for her assistance and escorted her from the building. They watched her drive away from the visitor parking area.
“Paul Javon was involved in his wife’s death,” Bethany said. “No doubt in my mind. I’m filing for a search warrant in case he decides his cooperation with us is over.”
11:50 A.M. TUESDAY
Bethany hurried with Thatcher to the Rice University security office. Her heart thudded at the prospect of arresting Javon for his wife’s murder. Had he excused himself in the middle of the concert? She hoped so, and soon they’d have access to the university’s security cameras.
“You really think this is going to seal it for Javon?” Thatcher said, opening the door to the main office.
“I do. He has all the characteristics and motive of a wife killer. Trust me on this—any coincidence to Ruth Caswell’s murder is contrived.”
The two viewed the camera footage on the university’s system. The three Javons entered the concert building one hour before the murder and left together after the concert was over.
“Can we see the fire exit?” she said. But it revealed nothing. “The restrooms?”
“Bethany, it’s not possible.” Thatcher pointed to the screen. “He couldn’t have left the hall without this camera catching him.”
