Nothing to Hide

by Allison Brennan

  “’Cause his dad owns an insurance business. He sells life insurance, so I’d guess he told Billy after he got married that he should have some.”

  That was easy to verify, Lucy thought.

  “Do you know how much the policy was for?”

  “No, why?”

  Jerry didn’t answer the question. Instead he asked, “You and Billy were good friends. You probably talked about things, right?”

  “Sure. We hung out a lot, though he’s been working in Houston a lot over the last year so, you know, not as much.”

  “You’re not married, right?”

  “No, sir. I had a girl that I asked, but she didn’t want to get married and up and left town to go to college, though she was twenty-five. I haven’t found the one, you know?” He smiled awkwardly, glanced at Lucy, then looked down as if he was embarrassed.

  “You talk to Billy about your girl troubles?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “And does he talk to you about his girl troubles?”

  “Billy? He’s married, he don’t really have girl troubles.”

  But he wasn’t looking at either of them. He was wringing the cap in his hands.

  “Carl,” Jerry said, “did Billy ever tell you that he thought his wife was having an affair?”

  Carl turned beet red. This guy couldn’t lie to save his soul, Lucy thought. “Uh, no, sir.”

  “Do you know if Susan was having an affair?”

  “Susie?” His voice rose an octave.

  “Billy’s wife.”

  “I—I—well, you know, I—might have—a couple times—I just, I like Susie, and Billy sometimes is so busy, and it didn’t mean anything, I mean, it did, I really like her, but she’s Billy’s girl, and I told her we couldn’t continue, and we didn’t, but then we was drinking and Billy was gone all week and it happened again and I felt right bad about it, but Susie said it was fine, Billy wouldn’t know, because I love Billy like my brother, and I know I shouldn’t have, but Susie is so dang pretty, and she’s all alone out there in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I see,” Jerry said.

  “How long did the affair last?” Lucy asked.

  “Affair?” His voice rose again. “It was just, well, a few times.”

  “When was the last time?”

  He blushed an even deeper red and couldn’t look Lucy in the face. He turned to Jerry. “Last weekend—well, she was so upset on Saturday, after she heard about the murder on the news, that she called me and I went over to console her and you know, it happened again.”

  “And Billy had no idea,” Jerry said.

  “No, sir. I feel real bad about it.”

  “Do you know if Susan had any other special friends?” Jerry asked.

  “She had a lot of friends, everyone loves Susie—oh. You mean, like, friends with benefits.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure not. She wasn’t that kind of girl. She’s a sweetheart, really. She teaches kindergarten, you know, and she’s so good with the kids.”

  “You can’t think of anyone else that Susie had a relationship with—other than you or her husband.”

  He shook his head, eyes wide. “Really, no. Why?”

  “We’re looking for a motive. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for anyone to kill Billy, yet he’s dead. And we learned this week that his wife was having a few affairs.”

  “A few? Like, for reals?”

  “Yes, Carl, for real. And you’re telling me you didn’t know about any other men in Susan’s life—maybe someone who wanted Susan all to himself.”

  “And kill Billy? No, no! That would be insane.”

  “And Billy never said anything to you about suspecting his wife was having an affair.”

  “No, no, never.”

  “Just for our notes, where were you this last Friday evening? Say, from eight until midnight?”

  “I did a job out in Bandera that ended about six, then I went to this cowboy bar out there with some old friends, stayed until nine, was starving, so drove over to my grandma’s house in Kerrville—it was sort of on the way home—and she is the best cook ever. Crashed there ’cause I knew I shouldn’t be drinking, and my grams has this great still for moonshine. I had nowhere to be.”

  “When did Susan call you about the third victim?” Lucy asked.

  “I was back in town, at my house—maybe five or six. She said she just saw a news segment and was freaking out, so I went over and, you know, stayed for a while.”

  His alibi would be easy enough to check out. But more than that, Lucy didn’t see this guy as a killer. This all couldn’t be an act.

  The crime scene was a stage, the killer acting … acting like what? A serial killer?

  The thought came, rattled around in her head, then faded away. Maybe the killer was an actor, maybe he was playing out a movie in his head with himself as the villain, taunting the cops. But Lucy just didn’t think Carl Franklin was the guy they were looking for. And by the expression on Jerry’s face, neither did he.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Wednesday Afternoon

  Their coach called a five-minute water break and Jesse welcomed the breather after the intense footwork drill they’d just finished. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brian talk to Coach, then grab his gear and leave.

  Jesse walked over and asked, “Coach, where’s Brian going?”

  “Said something about a school project, but he knows he’s supposed to tell me before practice.”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Not you, too, Rogan.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Coach didn’t look happy. He looked at his watch. “I’ll give you ten minutes, if you’re not back, you’re hoofing an extra mile.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jesse pulled his phone out of his bag and called Michael as he followed the path Brian had taken to the other side of the park.

  “Yeah,” Michael said.

  “I need you here. Practice. Brian just left.”

  “Shit. Okay, I’m coming. Where?”

  “He’s heading toward the west entrance.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “It’s fifteen minutes even if you run.”

  “I’m taking Father Mateo’s car.”

  “You don’t have your license.”

  “Sister Ruth is at the store, Father is doing some devotional thing at the church, no one will know. Just shut up about it.” He hung up and Jesse fumed. Michael was going to get into serious trouble.

  Fortunately, the park wasn’t far from St. Catherine’s, but Jesse didn’t want Michael to get caught. What if he was wrong? What if Brian really did have a school project to do? They were on a select soccer team and practices were rigorous, but school came first. Coach expected good grades and if you got anything less than a C in any class, or lower than a 2.5 GPA, you were off the team.

  Brian was standing in the parking lot on his phone. “Brian,” Jesse said when he caught up with him.

  Brian looked scared. “What the hell?”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “It’s none of your fucking business, Jess.”

  “It is if you lied to the coach.”

  “Go away. Please, just go back to practice.”

  “What are you into?”

  “Nothing! Shit, Jesse, just leave me the fuck alone.”

  The same dark sedan Jesse had seen outside of the gang house pulled into the parking lot. Brian looked momentarily panicked, then hissed, “Get out of here now.”

  “I know what’s going on, Brian.” Jesse didn’t, but he and Michael were guessing it had everything to do with his brother. “You found your brother—or your brother found you. But he’s in a gang, Brian. You can’t do this.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Three gangbangers got out of the car. They all had tattoos, probably gang tats though Jesse couldn’t really tell what was what. He was scared. But he stood with
Brian.

  “Who’s your friend, Bri?” one of the guys said.

  “Just on my team,” Brian mumbled.

  “You have a name, kid?”

  Jesse didn’t respond.

  “Let’s go,” Brian said and started toward the car.

  “Don’t leave practice,” Jesse said, not knowing exactly what he should say or do. He didn’t know if Michael would be able to help. He should have called Sean. Why didn’t he call Sean? But Sean was at least twenty minutes away, maybe more in traffic. Why did he think he could handle this on his own? He was in way over his head.

  “Just go, Jess.”

  “Jess,” the guy said. He put his arm around Brian. “A friend of yours?”

  “From soccer, Jose. He’s nobody.”

  “Nobody’s a nobody. You want to come?” Jose asked Jesse.

  “I don’t want Brian to get in trouble for leaving in the middle of practice.” He sounded a lot tougher than he felt.

  Jose and the others laughed. “Told you to quit the team, Bri. Who needs this shit? Be here, be there, do this shit, do that shit.” He looked Jesse up and down and smiled. But there was nothing friendly about the grin. This was Brian’s brother? He looked mean as they came. But not as mean as his two friends who were circling around Jesse.

  “Tal vez deberíamos iniciar al chico blanco, darle una lección que no olvidará,” one of the others said and they all laughed.

  “Don’t, Jose,” Brian said. “Jess, go back to practice.”

  “He a soplón, amigo?”

  “No,” Brian said. “Just a niñito. Vamos, vamos, José.”

  “Settle down, kid,” Jose said. “Shit, you’re antsy. What’s the problem? He trouble? He looks like trouble.”

  “Let’s just go. I have to be back by seven.”

  “Really. You still have a fucking curfew?”

  “Come on, don’t.”

  Brian glanced at Jesse and he saw fear in Brian’s eyes. Fear and worry and confusion and Jesse couldn’t let him get into the car with these guys. What were they doing? It was four thirty on Wednesday afternoon and they convinced Brian to leave soccer? For what? Brian loved soccer. He said soccer was his ticket out of here and he might have a chance to go to college.

  “You’ll get back when I say so,” Jose said. “Get in the car.”

  “No,” Jesse said. His heart was beating so hard he almost didn’t hear himself speak.

  Then he saw a gun tucked in the waistband of one of the gangbangers.

  “Stop, Jesse. Please,” Brian pleaded with him.

  Jose walked up to Jesse and stood in his face. “What you looking at, punk? You one of those kids at his group home?” He looked him up and down. “Nah, you’re just a pussy. Why you hanging around with pussies like Jess, Bri?”

  Jose sucker-punched Jesse in the stomach, grabbed him by the neck, and hit him again. Jesse couldn’t talk if he wanted to. Tears burned behind his eyes. He hated that he was scared, hated fearing he was going to die. Hated that he felt helpless and that he couldn’t fight back.

  “You stay out of my fucking business or I’ll gut you, you fucking pussy. I see you again, you’re ended. Stay away from my brother.”

  He pushed Jesse to his knees. Jesse fell over. His chest hurt and he couldn’t move if he wanted. He looked up as Brian climbed into the car and the four of them drove off, burning rubber as they left.

  He took a deep breath. Damn, he hurt. He didn’t want to go back to practice. But he had to. He had to go back. He couldn’t help Brian, and he was scared. What if Brian never went back to St. Catherine’s? What if he joined Jose’s gang? What if they made him do something he couldn’t come back from?

  Jesse forced himself to sit up, but he needed to catch his breath. He was shaking so hard he put his head between his knees. He wished he’d fought back. Wished he had the courage that his dad and Uncle Kane had.

  “Jesse. Jess!”

  He looked up. Michael had in fact taken Father Mateo’s car. He parked right in front of Jesse and jumped out.

  “What happened?” Michael demanded.

  “He left with them.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Brian. He left with Jose and two other gangbangers in the brown Chevelle. They had guns. Tattoos. I don’t know what they meant, but they were on their arms and necks and they just … I don’t know. Brian’s scared, I know he is. He looked scared, but he still left with them.”

  “What happened to you? You’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  Jesse shook his head. He would not cry. “Jose punched me. I wasn’t expecting it.” He tried to breathe deeply and it hurt.

  “This has to end.”

  “And what about Brian? He’ll be put in the system. He’ll run. We can’t—we can’t let him go into the system.”

  “Of course not. I’m going to confront him tonight. You need to be there.”

  “He doesn’t want to see me.”

  “He has to see you. He has to see that we’re united.”

  Jesse looked up at Michael. He remembered everything Brian had said, and wondered if it was true. If Michael was just humoring him.

  “Maybe it should just be you, Michael. He’ll listen to you.”

  “You know that game good cop, bad cop?”

  “What?” Michael wasn’t making any sense.

  “I am the bad cop. I have to tell him the truth. You need to be his friend.”

  “He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t want me around.”

  “Of course he likes you. Everyone likes you. Remember what I told you last week? Family makes us weak. He’s weak around Jose, but he will listen to me. We have to be united, Jesse. You and me. And he needs to know that if he doesn’t cut ties with Jose, we will go to Sean. We will go to Kane. Kane will come if I call.”

  Michael put out his hand and helped Jesse up. Jesse winced. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Michael asked him.

  “Yeah.” He walked around and stretched. It hurt, but he needed to go back to practice. “Michael, what if Brian wants to leave … but Jose won’t let him? What if he’s already threatened Saint Catherine’s?”

  “Did you hear anything?”

  “He knows about the house. Called it a group home. He might know who everyone is.” He jogged in place and winced again. Damn, he was sore.

  “You’re really hurt.”

  “Just bruised. I’ll be fine.”

  “You should tell Sean.”

  “Tell him what?”

  Michael didn’t say anything.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Tonight, can you get out?”

  Jesse just stared at him. “Yeah. Right. Escape Sean’s fortress.”

  “Make an excuse.”

  “Okay. I’ll think of something. But I don’t know that Brian will be back at seven. Jose thinks his curfew is stupid.”

  “When he comes home, I’ll call Sean, tell him I need help in math. He’ll come, you tag along.”

  “Fine,” Jesse said. “Get Mateo’s car back before anyone notices it’s gone. You’re not even fifteen. How do you even know how to drive?”

  “We learned a lot of things when we were slaves.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Wednesday Evening

  Lucy had considered walking to the James house—it was only a few blocks away—but figured that wasn’t professional. This wasn’t a social call; it was an interview. So when Jerry offered to pick her up, she agreed.

  He was early, and Lucy invited him in. He took off his hat and looked around. “Nice place.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bandit bounded down the stairs. Lucy was surprised it took him so long. He greeted Jerry with a frantically wagging tail. Jerry stooped over and scratched the golden retriever’s ears. “Fierce watchdog, I see.”

  “The fiercest,” Lucy agreed.

  He walked over to the picture that took up the center of the dini
ng room wall. Sean had commissioned it—a shot of their cabin outside Vail, Colorado, on their honeymoon, taken from a drone. She and Sean were standing on their deck just after sunrise, about to kiss, Bandit at their side. The colors were so vibrant, and the peace radiating from the photo calmed her in ways she couldn’t explain.

  “Colorado?” he asked.

  “Yes. That’s where we went on our honeymoon.”

  “Newlyweds.”

  “I guess. Almost a year.”

  Sean walked in from his office. “Hello—Jerry, right?”

  “You must be the computer expert husband.”

  “That’s me. Sean Rogan.”

  “We have a few minutes before we’re expected, would you like coffee?” Lucy asked. “I made a pot.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The three of them went into the kitchen. Sean pulled out a beer. “I’d offer you one, but you’re working,” he said.

  “Rain check?”

  Sean smiled. “Anytime.”

  Sean was being friendly. Was he assessing Walker? More info through kindness? Did he know something that Lucy didn’t? Though Leo hadn’t gotten back to her with any information about Walker’s previous cases with the FBI, Sean was resourceful that way. But he would have told her.

  Lucy poured coffee, doctored hers, and handed Jerry his mug black. They sat at the island and Sean leaned against the counter.

  “I called Marissa Garcia’s sister,” Jerry said. “We’re meeting them tomorrow morning, at Sandra’s house. She convinced Marissa to stay with her for a while. The funeral is Saturday. I just don’t think we’re going to get anything from her. I talked to Garcia’s boss, there’s been no problems at work. Maybe we talk to his colleagues in the kitchen, but it feels like a long shot. We have nothing. We have a cheating spouse, a wealthy teenager, and a grieving pregnant woman. Maybe there’re individual motives, but one singular motive?” He shook his head. “I don’t see it.”

  “I talked to my brother last night.”

  “The army brother?”

  “Another brother. Dr. Dillon Kincaid, a forensic psychiatrist who consults with the FBI. He has credentials a mile long, but more important, he’s the smartest guy I know.”

  “Hey,” Sean said with a mock frown.

  Lucy blew him a kiss. “I really think we should officially consult with the BSU. I know you don’t hold much weight with psychology, but Dillon knows what he’s doing.”