“Who is Susan?”
“Jack’s widow and Brad Daniels’s mother.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I’d rather not interrogate her.”
Moreno scowled. “Why not?”
“Anderson’s better suited for that job.”
His partner gaped.
Moreno’s scowl converted into a frown. “C-Bar interrogate her?”
“In this case. I think he has more restraint than I would.”
Moreno seemed to mull over what Remy said. “Fine. C-Bar gets the job. I want you watching with Luc. See if you two pick up on anything. I want Brad Daniels to burn.”
• • •
Deep scowl lines and narrowed eyes aged the woman sitting on the other side of the interrogation table. Her gaze darted around the room, landing on the video camera above the door.
Remy winced and shifted at the stab of pain from his wound. Since getting the call about Cody’s disappearance, he hadn’t taken a moment to rest. Time to load up on the painkillers. But there were some hurts narcotics wouldn’t numb.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Santorini said and slid a chair close.
Remy frowned at the object, and then the PI, who kept his gaze riveted on the television monitor and the woman in the other room. There was no point in deciphering the man’s motives. Remy sank onto the chair. His body molded to the metal and fabric-covered seat.
What would he do if they didn’t find Cody in time? After Marie’s funeral, he lived in a haze, barely existing. A summons from his father-in-law had come one night as Remy contemplated ending the pain forever.
It saved him.
He clenched his fists. Dieu, don’t you dare take someone else from me!
The scuff of rubber soles on carpet brought his attention to the PI. A frown marred Santorini’s faced and he stiffened. What was wrong with him?
Remy’s back muscles tensed. His gaze bounced back to the video feed from the interrogation room. Susan Hawthorne stared at the wall directly across from her. From this distance, Remy noticed an odd expression on her face. The look didn’t settle with him. He turned to Santorini. And it obviously didn’t settle with the PI either.
Santorini glanced down. His features scrunched as if he wanted to say something, but the interrogation room door creaked. They focused their attention on Anderson as he entered the room.
Susan Hawthorne’s glare deepened into hatred. Remy was taken back by the look.
“Why was I dragged down here and treated like a criminal?” The hard edge to her voice endeared her less to him.
Anderson settled in a chair, putting his back to the camera. “Mrs. Hawthorne, we’re just making sure you made it here okay.”
She snorted in derision. “You cops and your lies.” She crossed her arms and shifted her right shoulder toward Anderson.
“What is she hiding?” Santorini said softly.
Exactly.
“Mrs. Hawthorne, when was the last time you saw your son, Brad?”
Remy inched forward.
Her gaze flicked to Anderson then back to the wall. Her shoulders twitched. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or can’t recall?”
The look on her face was one a mother would give to her child while she scolded. “Look, Detective, my son took off about three years ago. A lot happens in that time.”
“It sure does,” Santorini muttered.
Anderson shuffled some papers, then slid a photo across the table. “Do you recognize this woman?”
Remy checked the other monitor with a second camera pointed at the tabletop. It was a photo of Heather Trisk.
Huffing, Susan scooted to face Anderson and pulled the photo close, stared at it, then shoved it back. “No.”
“How about this one?” He slid one of Clarissa Jacobs toward her.
She glanced at it. “No.”
“Maybe her?” A picture of Joni Bricket.
“No.”
“Okay, just one more.” He produced the picture of Cody.
Susan heaved a frustrated sigh. “No.” She flicked each picture back. “I don’t know any of these women.”
Anderson’s shoulders shifted under his suit jacket. The man was deflecting the woman’s anger, not allowing it to affect him. He lined up the pictures. “Is there anything about these women that bothers you?”
“Should there be?”
“Mrs. Hawthorne, each of these women resemble your son’s murdered fiancée.”
“So? They were murdered by that Rodeo Sweethearts killer.”
Santorini’s hand jerked to his side, and he spit out something in Italian.
Anderson pulled Cody’s picture out of the lineup. “This woman wasn’t killed.”
Susan’s mask fell a fraction. Quickly the angry widow returned. “If she’s not dead, why did you ask me about her? And why am I even here?”
“We think your son is responsible.”
“What!”
“I’ve seen enough.” Santorini punched the mute button. “Moreno was pushing to get a search warrant for her home.” He moved to the door, paused, and looked back at Remy. “You coming?”
Remy stared at the screen and the silent screaming going on in the room. The whole interview was being recorded. He turned to Santorini. “What’s your hurry? She apparently has more to say.”
The PI grinned. “I’m more interested in what’s in her house.”
“You think she’s involved?”
“One way or another. Either way, I want those copied case files from the other murders. Brad’s plans started there.”
Chapter Thirty
Remy trailed Santorini and his team as they carefully scoured the Hawthorne house. The pain rippled through Remy’s body like the constant flow of electricity.
Entering what appeared to be Jack Hawthorne’s old office, Remy hesitated in the doorway. The faint scent of cigarettes and lemon wood polish lingered. A large black assemble yourself desk stood in the center of the room, a dark gray metal filing cabinet flush to its left side.
“Think it’s locked?” he asked.
Santorini glanced over his shoulder, and then moved behind the desk. “Guess we’ll find out.”
The top drawer rattled and didn’t budge. While Santorini tried the other drawers, Remy moved to the bookshelf.
He scanned the book spines, his gaze landing on a delicate vase positioned on a shelf by itself. They wouldn’t be so obvious. He picked up the vase. The brass key winked.
“Unoriginal.” Remy pinched the key between his fingers and turned to Santorini. “I’d expect more from a cop.”
“Sometimes the most obvious places are overlooked.” Santorini took the key and inserted it into the cabinet. “But apparently Brad knew of its hiding place.” The lock turned easily. “Magnifico.”
The drawer squealed open. Santorini removed a few thick manilia folders, holding out some of them to Remy. They quickly flipped through the records.
Remy dropped his stack on the desk. “All financials.” He reached in and pulled out another pile.
Santorini flinched. “What kind of life insurance policy would you take out if you were a retired cop?” He met Remy’s gaze.
Shrugging, Remy shifted around to look at the file. “Depends on a lot of things. Why?”
“Says here that Susan received a half a million.”
“Kinda steep. I’d understand if he had kids and was still working. But Brad wasn’t his kid. When he retired, the boy was outta the home.”
“Could be he took it out when he first married and didn’t change it after he retired.”
“What’s it got to do with finding Cody?”
Santorini tapped his chin. The man loved doing that when he needed
to think. “Nothing, but I would guess it might have something to do with Jack’s death.”
“Now you suspect foul play in his death? Moreno said he died of a heart attack.”
“Guess I’m just seeing spooks where none are.” Santorini slapped the file shut and tossed it on the desk with the others.
The drawer proved useless, as did the rest of the metal cabinet. A rap on the door brought the two men about.
The lone female on Santorini’s team, nodded. “Boss-man, we’ve got something you should see.”
They followed her down the hall and upstairs. In a room once belonging to a teenage boy, they halted.
One of the other team members held up a thick red folder. “Got what you were looking for.”
Santorini took the folder. “These are the copies?”
“Yep. But I don’t think they’re the originals. I think Brad copied the ones Jack had.”
“He was studying the serial killer’s work.”
Remy jerked the file from his hands and furiously flipped through it. Notes in the margins made his stomach cramp. He stopped on one page and pulled it out. “Mentioned freezing the bodies here.” He passed the paper to Santorini.
“That’s not all, Boss-man.” The woman opened a closest door. “Mom might not have known about this. Or she would’ve gotten rid of it.”
The back of the door was covered in posters and internet information on military combat training courses. Mingled among the papers were a few flyers for mixed martial arts classes.
“MMA training explains his actions last night.” Remy winced at the memory of the blows landed on his body. Damn kid shouldn’t have gotten so lucky. Remy continued going through the file in his hand, examining each page.
“I think Susan knew, but didn’t think of its implications,” Santorini said. “The house tells me she’s a meticulous cleaner. She wouldn’t have left this room dirty. These printouts are four years old.”
“Anyone get the sense that maybe she wanted to let him get caught?” the woman asked.
A black and white glossy photo stilled Remy’s hand. Ice crystals formed in his veins. It was a photo of him as a patrol officer for the Dallas department.
“Is something bothering you, Detective LeBeau?”
Remy looked at Santorini and his group. Swallowing, he slowly withdrew the photo from the folder and turned it. “I think there is.”
• • •
“There’s no way he could’ve known you’d become a detective. And in homicide.”
Remy popped six ibuprofen and swallowed them dry. Hang the possible stomach ulcer. Right now he wanted to dull the pain without the woozy side effects of the prescription pain meds.
“Lieutenant, I don’t know what to think about this guy anymore. I’m less concerned with his reasons for targeting me and more about finding Cody.”
Moreno tossed the photo onto the table and paced, muttering in Spanish.
Remy’s gaze left the lieutenant and settled on the clock. It was pushing five hours since Cody was kidnapped, and they were coming up short on all fronts. He looked at Santorini. The PI was bent over the back of his computer whiz’s chair. Suddenly Santorini bolted upright.
“Got them.”
Moreno halted mid-step. “And?”
Santorini moved to the printer as it finished spewing a stack of printouts, and returned to the table with them. “Susan’s phone records for the past four months.” He distributed them between Remy, Moreno, and Anderson, then sat with his own set. “Work fast.”
One incoming number repeated at regular intervals of three times a week. Remy highlighted it. On the outgoing calls, he found the same number. Comparing the dates to the calendar, they were all made on Saturdays.
“Got it.” Anderson slid his set of records across the tabletop.
The three of them leaned over the paper. It was the exact number Remy found.
“Noah, I need a registration check on this number.” Santorini handed the records to his computer whiz.
“Susan’s been lying to us from the start.” Moreno’s voice grated.
Anderson tipped his chair back. “Would you expect anything less?”
“Boss-man, that number belongs to a Ben Doughtry,” Noah said.
Anderson’s chair clunked on all fours. “That was the name of the ex-boyfriend who IDed Heather Trisk.”
Moreno groaned. “He was watching us from the get go.”
“He’s used aliases with the initials BD.” Santorini stood and paced, tapping his chin. “The ex-girlfriends used his initials as payback. Did they know of his plans to murder women the same way his fiancée was murdered?”
Remy leaned forward, resting his arms on the tabletop. “Possibly. He chose to date women with red hair and blue or green eyes. I don’t think they knew his preference until they met each other.”
“But how did they meet?” Santorini stopped pacing and faced them. “How did they know they all dated Brad? Joni Bricket was from Oklahoma. How’d he meet … Carlos, where does Susan’s sister live?”
Moreno’s eyes widened and he removed his reading glasses. “Lacon.”
“The last place Joni was seen.”
Anderson stood. “I’m talking with Mrs. Hawthorne again.”
Moreno held up his hand. “No. It’s my turn.”
• • •
There was a rumble, but it sounded like it was coming through a water bottle. It drifted in and out. Cody tried to open her eyes and found it difficult. Her body felt weighted, like a horse was pinning her down. Had she taken a spill around the barrel pattern, and the horse couldn’t get up? Where was she?
She recalled a flash of silver and white. A handful of her hair. The twisted grin on a man’s face. Was she dreaming? No, it felt real. He wanted something. No, someone. Who?
Her head hurt, her body ached, and she couldn’t feel her limbs. She tried to move her arm, but it refused to budge.
Her senses returned. She smelled dirt, manure, vanilla, and sandalwood. Her perfume. The rumble sharpened, sounding more like a diesel engine.
Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes, blinking against the bright assault. Through a watery haze she made out a large black rectangle. A patch of light shone from under it. The feel of rubber and grit grated against her cheek. Bit by bit her vision cleared and she made out her surroundings.
She was in her truck, lying on the back floorboard.
The truck slowed, turned left, then the speed increased. With it came the memories. Terror gripped Cody. The Rodeo Sweethearts killer had her. And he might have killed JC. She squelched the whimper. Don’t let him hear.
The numbing effects from whatever he used to knock her out were wearing off. She shifted and the hump over the transmission dug into her hip. Along with something else.
Her cell phone.
The killer hadn’t taken it. He hadn’t bothered to tie her up either. Apparently he figured on keeping her knocked out in order to control her.
How to get her phone free without drawing attention to herself? Still groggy from the drug, she didn’t know how much control she had over her body. Feeling was beginning to return to her muscles in the form of pinpricks, and a dull throb in her ankle. Her foot seemed to swell in her boot. If her ankle was sprained, she’d never outrun him.
She peered up. She couldn’t see the back of the killer’s head. The high backrest was a godsend. If she couldn’t see him, then he couldn’t see her without twisting around.
Cody drew in a silent breath and carefully rotated off her hip. Once the pocket was exposed, she clawed the phone free, then returned to her previous position. Thankfully, she’d put the thing on vibrate when she left the house.
Casting surreptitious glances up, she dialed Remy’s number. Before she pushed send, the tr
uck slowed to a stop and the seat creaked. Panicking, Cody resumed her unconscious state. Please, don’t let him see the phone.
More seat creaks and the truck jerked forward. The whine of pavement turned to crunching gravel. Where was he taking her?
She punched Send, and pressed the phone to her ear to help block the noise. Remy’s phone went straight to voicemail. No!
Who did she try next? Dad? He’d still have to contact Remy. Wait! Remy had called her last night on his partner’s phone. She scrolled through the received calls, found the number, and hit send. As she moved the phone to her ear, the truck came to a stop once more and the engine was turned off.
Swallowing a cry, Cody slipped the phone under the front seat and closed her eyes.
Please find me!
Chapter Thirty-One
Remy jolted at the shrill ring of Anderson’s cell. He glanced at his partner, catching the glare from Santorini.
Anderson grappled with his phone, jerked it from his belt clip, and froze. He faced Remy. “It’s Cody’s number.”
“Answer it,” he and Santorini said as one.
“Cody?” Anderson frowned. “Cody, are you there?” He stiffened as if someone had punched him. “I can hear her, but she’s not answering.”
“Put it on speaker,” Remy said.
The sounds of a scuffle came over the connection. “Let go of me.” Cody’s frightened voice slammed Remy in the chest, sucking the air from his lungs.
There was a crack of flesh and a male swore. “You’ll pay for that one, bitch.”
Slap!
Cody cried out.
Remy bolted to his feet. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Get that to tech,” Santorini said. “I’ll bet anything, she made the call and left the phone on for us to trace. Move, Anderson!”
His partner exited the room like a horde of yellow jackets were on his tail.
Remy’s body hummed with energy. This was going to come to a show down between him and Brad. No two ways about it.
Santorini left the room and seconds later a knock came through the video feed.
Texas Temptation Page 168
