by Leslie Wolfe
She had to admit his reasoning made sense, but the strange feeling in her gut wasn’t going anywhere.
“What about Watson’s financials?”
“All solid. The company was profitable, growing steadily for years. I spoke with several employees, and they were content. No red flags there.”
“Any gambling? Vices? Drugs? Cheating wife or husband?”
“Nothing that I could find,” he replied, raising his eyebrows.
She shoved her fisted hands deep inside her pockets and thought for a while, keeping her eyes riveted on the Watson crime scene photos. She didn’t have much to go on. She didn’t have anything.
“All right,” she said, “I’ll work this case as fast and as hard as I can, and see what I can find. This,” she pointed at the crime scene photos, “is the handiwork of a very motivated killer. That kind of motivation must have left some trace somewhere. We just have to find it, before the killer finds Laura.”
“You still think he’ll come for her?” Fradella asked, lifting his eyes from the laptop’s screen.
“Damn right he will, and we can’t let that happen.”
“Where do you want to start?” Michowsky asked.
“With Laura. I’ll interview her.”
“God, Winnett, what the hell?” Michowsky reacted, shooting her a burning glare. “Don’t open that can of worms. It’ll be a mess when it hits the media.”
“My turn to say trust me, Gary. I’ll be discreet, and make it about Garza’s upcoming execution.”
He still glared at her, but the intensity in his eyes had mellowed somewhat.
“Then I want to talk to this Hannah… um, Svoboda. The housekeeper. She’s the one who found them. Maybe she can offer some more insight.”
“After fifteen years? Most likely all she remembers now is corrupted, altered by the many times she’d told the story, every time a little different. You know how that works. Witness accounts aren’t that reliable in the first twenty-four hours… What do you expect after fifteen years?”
“I’m expecting to work the case, guys. I can’t sit on my ass while Laura’s life is at stake.”
She picked up her keys and turned to leave.
“Where you going?” Michowsky asked.
“To see Laura.”
She didn’t wait for his reply. She strode across the squad room and, seconds later, she hopped behind the wheel of her Suburban. She almost started the engine, ready to go, but she remembered a phone call she needed to make first. She dialed quickly, using the car’s display. She got voicemail. She cleared her throat quietly before leaving a message.
“Dr. Navarro? Hi, it’s Tess Winnett. Yeah… I think it’s time for me to come back to therapy. Please call me when you have a minute. Thanks.”
She hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. It was the right thing to do, and she knew it.
Her phone rang, and she picked it up without checking the caller ID.
“Yes, thanks for getting back—”
“Tess?” Bill McKenzie’s voice interrupted her.
“Oh… Bill. Hi,” she chuckled lightly, embarrassed a little. “I thought you were someone else.”
“I figured that much,” he replied. “Hey, I’m heading to the airport now. I’ll get there very late tonight, but I wanted to see you before work tomorrow. Think we can have coffee tomorrow morning? Say… seven?”
She hesitated before responding. She dreaded the questions he could ask in private. But she didn’t have a choice, either.
“Seven? Um…”
“Winnett, if I can be on the redeye for you, surely you can wake up a little earlier for me, right?”
She bit her lip.
“Sure. There’s a small Starbucks right next to the office. I’ll text you the address.”
“Perfect,” he replied, and she thought she heard a little smile in his voice. Maybe it was time to take Cat’s advice and trust someone.
“Bill? Thanks for doing this, all right? And have a safe flight,” she said, swallowing hard.
“Uh-huh. See you tomorrow.”
The call disconnected, and she sat there, in the dark silence of her Suburban, thinking about things. Everything. Her case and how mangled and senseless it was. The dark secret in her past, and how its tentacles touched everything in her life. And Laura Watson.
26
Lies
Tess was familiar with Laura Watson’s building. She’d made a point of driving by several times each day, just to make sure she was safe. Her logical brain struggled with the concept; how would she know from the parking lot, looking up at a building, that the tenant on the seventh floor was all right?
She started going up to Laura’s floor and walking the hallway, listening intently at her door. Again, that didn’t tell her much; if she heard nothing, Laura could very well be dead in there and she wouldn’t know. But that was all she could do, before getting Pearson’s approval to place her in protective custody, and Pearson wouldn’t budge. Yes, her method didn’t do much, but she knew her trained eye would spot things that looked out of place, minor changes, signs that a killer might be lurking nearby.
She’d thought of arresting Laura on some bogus charge, just to keep her safe for twenty-four hours. But there was no guarantee she’d catch the killer during that time, and if she didn’t, it would make things worse. The killer might freak out and rush his attack the moment she had to release Laura. Nope, no option but to do those drive-bys, hoping she’d happen to be there the moment the killer chose to strike. Just until she’d get approval for the damn protective custody, to get the warrant signed.
This time she rang the doorbell, and Laura opened the door quickly, after checking the peephole.
“Special Agent Tess Winnett, FBI,” she said coldly, presenting her badge. “May I come in?”
Pale, Laura stepped to the side, making room for her to enter, then closed the door behind her with trembling fingers. She gestured toward a chair, but Tess chose to stand.
The apartment was flooded in light, coming from all sorts of lamps, probably all manufactured by WatWel. A youthful arrangement, with good quality items and definite décor taste. In the generous light, Laura seemed frail and tiny. She wore a black hoodie zipped all the way up, despite a well-heated apartment, and her hands constantly tugged at the hood strings, tightening it around her neck like a scarf. A half-empty cup of tea took the table, in front of a seat where she most likely had sat just before Tess’s arrival.
“What’s this about?” Laura asked.
Tess cleared her throat a little.
“Um, as you know, Kenneth Garza’s execution is scheduled to take place before the end of the month. We’re conducting routine interviews with several people. I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind. Mostly routine,” she repeated, and almost bit her lip.
Laura nodded and tugged at the hood strings again.
“Right. Um, tell me anything you can remember about that night. Anything that comes to mind.”
Laura took her seat and wrapped her hands around the tea cup. A cat appeared out of nowhere with a quiet meow and started brushing against their legs.
“I don’t remember anything,” she said, staring at the clear liquid in her cup. “I—well, that’s why they’re doing the regression session with me, to help me remember. I’m sorry…”
“No, it’s all right. Anything you can offer is good enough.”
“I used to play hide and seek with Grandma and my brother and my sister. I liked to hide where no one would find me. That’s what I did that night. I only remember being scared and hiding, and then nothing, like blackness swallowed my entire memory.”
“So, nothing about that night?”
“No… I’m sorry. You don’t know how many times I’ve tried to remember. It’s gone… all gone.”
“What’s the next thing you remember?”
Laura chuckled sadly.
“Everyone asks this question; shrinks, Dr. Jacobs, even the TV reporter.
I remember my new family. Carol, my new mother, tucking me in at night, taking care of me. Amanda, my new sister, playing with me, brushing and braiding my hair.”
“What about your grandmother? What happened with her?”
“I know she died shortly after my parents; she had a stroke. She couldn’t deal with the loss of her daughter, two of her grandkids.” She wiped a tear that welled at the corner of her eye, and sniffled. “I was told she took me in at first. I lived with her for a few days, but I can’t remember anything from that time. This is just what I heard from other people, years later. Then she must have felt something was wrong with her, because she took me to the Welsh family herself. She died that same night.”
Tess looked at the tiny figure, hunched over a cup of tea to warm up in eighty-degree temperature, and wondered what Laura wasn’t saying.
“Has anyone given you any trouble recently?”
“Uh-uh,” she replied, a little too quickly.
“Have you seen anyone acting suspiciously, lurking around?”
She shoved her hands in the hoodie’s pockets and looked away.
“Why would anyone do that? Don’t they have him locked up?”
“Um… it happens sometimes when an execution is approaching. All kinds of weirdos, protesting capital punishment, or stuff like that, come out of the woodwork.”
“Uh-uh,” she repeated. “I haven’t seen anyone like that.”
She was hiding something, and Tess had no leverage to get her to admit it. The whole conversation had been a useless dance of lies. She looked at her again and realized Laura wasn’t cold… she was scared. Out of her mind scared. Of what?
Tess gazed at her intently, and Laura was quick to lower her eyes.
“Miss Watson, are you scared of something?”
Laura’s big, round eyes shot up and met Tess’s gaze. “No, I’m not scared. I’m fine.”
Tess pulled out her business card and handed it to her.
“Please call me, as soon as you remember what’s causing you this much anxiety. I can help, I promise.”
She turned to leave, but she saw an antiquated answering machine and couldn’t help but study it.
“I’ve only seen these in old movies, you know. It still works?”
Laura stood and approached the counter, where the phone system was plugged in.
“Yeah,” she smiled shyly, “with a cassette.” She popped open a lid and revealed a full-size cassette inside. “It’s got, um, all their voices on it. My parents, my brother, and my sister. All of us.”
She pressed a button to play the recording, and a bunch of cheerful voices erupted from the machine. “Hi, it’s Allen, Rachel, Casey, Monique, and Lau’a, and we’re the Watsons!”
When Tess looked at Laura again, her chin was trembling and her eyes flooded. She averted her eyes again, and this time Tess respected that.
“Call me,” she urged her one more time from the doorway. “Please.”
27
Hannah
Hannah Svoboda’s mouth gaped a little as she squinted in the dim light, her eyes moving back and forth from Tess’s face to her FBI badge. Hannah was overweight and saggy, and her skin had myriad wrinkles, far too many for her age. No doubt a devastation brought by many years of hard labor, working physically demanding jobs as a housekeeper, cleaner, then later as a janitorial employee for a large corporation, on a permanent graveyard shift.
Tess smiled encouragingly, and Hannah invited her in. The apartment was small and modest, just what one would expect, considering Hannah’s income and social status. It was clean and welcoming though, and she was quick to offer Tess a cup of freshly brewed coffee. She hesitated, given the late hour, but then Hannah offered tea instead, and she accepted it with gratitude, going against procedure.
“This is about the Watson murder, Ms. Svoboda,” Tess said. “We’re getting ready for Kenneth Garza’s execution, coming up before the end of this month, and we’re conducting—”
“They should have shot that animal a long time ago,” Hannah said bitterly, suddenly overwhelmed by tears. “That monster… killed my babies… I loved them like I love mine, you know,” she added, then wiped her tears with her sleeve. “Laura too. That poor child, having to live with that horror…”
Tess gave her a few seconds to continue, but she didn’t. She sat hunched forward, resigned to sniffle and let the tears fall freely from her eyes.
“Were you close with the family?”
“I had been their housekeeper for many years, since before their first child was born. Casey, that sweet little boy. I hope that animal burns in hell for what he did,” she added, then spoke harshly a long phrase in a foreign language Tess didn’t understand. It sounded much like Russian.
“Sorry, what?”
“I cursed him good, the way only a Russian mother can curse. No one escapes that curse.”
“Oh, I see,” Tess replied. “What can you tell me about the day you found them?”
Hannah cleared her throat and wiped her eyes again with a now-soaked sleeve.
“I arrived earlier than usual. I had to go to the dentist that afternoon, and Mrs. Watson didn’t mind me shifting my hours to make things work out for me. They were such good people. They allowed me to work weekends, just because I needed to. They didn’t mind me being there at all.”
She wiped her mouth with her hand, quickly, and cleared her throat again.
“I tried to unlock the front door, but it was already unlocked. I wasn’t expecting them to be up yet. It was a Saturday, and Mr. Watson liked to sleep in on weekends. I opened the door and there he was, lying on the floor, in dried blood,” she said, her voice overtaken by emotion, and fresh tears rolling down her pale cheeks. “There was blood on the wall, on the furniture, everywhere. I rushed inside, thinking of those babies.”
She lowered her head and stared at the floor for a few long seconds.
“I found them, right after I found Mrs. Watson, cut open on the kitchen floor. I—I was hysterical back then, I know I messed up. The police gave me a hard time for it, and I was scared, you know. I had a work permit; I was afraid they’d send me back to Russia.”
“Why? What happened?” Tess asked. There was no mention of any wrongdoing by Hannah or any arrest.
“They said I compromised the crime scene, running around everywhere and touching everything. I called 911 after finding the boys upstairs. But then I kept looking for Laura. I kept running through the house, calling her name.”
“So, you knew she was alive?”
“I didn’t… I just hoped, because…” Hannah’s breath caught, and she covered her mouth for a second before speaking again. “Her body wasn’t with the rest of the children, and I knew that girl loved to hide. She hid so well, no one ever found her when they played hide and seek. I did, eventually. I found her.”
A new wave of sobs shook Hannah’s body, and she covered her face with her hands and shook her head, unable to continue. Tess touched her shoulder, gently, giving her time.
Eventually, Hannah forced in a deep breath and continued.
“I’m sorry… I know it’s been many years, but for me it feels like it was yesterday. The poor baby was curled up in the laundry hamper, in the upstairs bathroom. It was dark in there; all the lights were off. She seemed asleep, with her eyes closed tightly and sucking on her right thumb. Little did I know,” she scoffed, angry with herself. “She was in shock, and I kept trying to wake her up. She’d sucked her thumb so badly her teeth had cut into the skin, right here,” she demonstrated, drawing a circle around her right thumb joint. “She must have clenched her teeth. Can you imagine the terror that child must have felt? Being like that a whole night? It’s a miracle she is the way she is today, normal.”
Hannah took in a deep, shattered breath. Tess nodded encouragingly.
“You know she didn’t speak,” Hannah added, “not for years. She was in the news for a while, back then. They called her The Watson Girl, the miracle survivor. But
the TV people didn’t know what was really going on. That little girl was broken and needed peace. Then the Welshes took her in and ended all the TV attention, saying they were afraid the killer might come back to… Oh, God.” She covered her mouth with her hand for a brief time. “We were afraid, you know. I was afraid for years, until they caught that monster, Garza,” she said, adding a portion of the same Russian curse she’d incanted earlier, right after saying his name.
“Then what happened? What else do you remember?”
“Laura started to recover with the Welsh family. They were good to her. Took her to all the doctors; they did things for her. It took her a few years, but she started to grow into a somewhat normal child.”
“Somewhat? Why is that?”
“There’s a sadness about Laura, something that never leaves her, no matter how happy she seems. She’ll always be marked by what happened. It’s not something she can ever forget. I think she’s depressed.”
“Have you been in touch with her?”
“Yes,” Hanna replied, smiling for the first time since Tess had arrived. “She looked me up when she was about sixteen. She wanted to know details about that day. What was I supposed to say? It’s not like I could tell her the horror… no. It would have broken her heart. She only wanted to know her lost family better, to know about them, so I told her that. I told her stories about her parents, things they loved, what they liked to do together, places they went. It breaks your heart, you know.”
“How about now?” Tess asked, wondering if Hanna might know what Laura was afraid of.
“She came to see me just the other day. She had more questions about that night. What did I see? Was the TV on? What perfume was her mother wearing? What was her mother cooking? All strange questions, but she said it was for her new therapy.”
“And? Do you remember?”
“Mrs. Watson was making a beef stir fry with Worcestershire in the large cast iron. She’d finished almost, because I found the stir fry in a bowl, already cooked, but the stove was still on. Good thing the house didn’t catch fire. Can you imagine? With all of them dead, and that little girl upstairs, in that hamper? Oh, my God,” she said, then crossed herself quickly three times, in typical Russian manner.
