by DiAnn Mills
Ryan glanced up from his iPad, no doubt reading Collins for signs of deceit. Although the interview was being recorded, the two agents always compared their personal notes with the footage. The FBI interview room was quiet except for the low hum of the heating system.
Collins rubbed his nose. “I was at home with my wife and daughter. Since I lost my job, where else could I go? I was sitting on the patio talking to a friend most of the morning. You know, commiserating.”
“A little cold to be on the patio. It was pouring rain that morning.”
“It’s covered. And the weather fit my attitude.”
“Especially if you were planting a bomb in Jonathan Yeat’s car,” Tigo said.
“No way. I went to prison once. I’m not going back again.”
“But you threatened him.”
“Wouldn’t you if you didn’t know how you were going to feed your family?”
Tigo picked up a piece of paper. “I wouldn’t resort to murder. Says here you’d like to see him dead.”
Collins pressed his fingers into the top of the table, his knuckles white. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“How good are you at building bombs?”
“Not good enough.”
Tigo glanced at Ryan. “What did you tell me about this man’s record?”
“Did time for armed robbery. Pistol-whipped a male clerk behind the counter of a convenience store.”
“Hmm.” Tigo tapped his pen on the table. “Did you have a job then?”
“Look, dude. I was living in California. Me and the wife were just married. Had a three-month-old baby girl. Needed cash for food and stuff. But I learned my lesson, and I’ve worked hard for nearly eighteen months at Yeat’s Construction. I’m going to college and making good grades.” He pointed a finger at Tigo. “I have an alibi—two of them, my wife and my friend. You’re not going to blame me for something I didn’t do. My wife’s pregnant with our second kid, and the doctors are concerned she might miscarry. I need a job. But note this—I’ll flip burgers at Micky D’s before breaking the law.”
“Maybe you know who did.”
He shook his head. “Guys are upset with the layoffs. Some got hot and talked crazy. Me? I was one of them. But I wouldn’t murder for revenge. That doesn’t put a man back to work when the economy gets better.”
“Anybody mention Semtex?”
“No one talked about a bomb or how they planned to get even with Jonathan Yeat. You guys need to talk to someone else.”
“Maybe so,” Tigo said. “But don’t leave town.”
6:30 P.M. FRIDAY
Kariss didn’t know whether to admire her sister’s stubbornness or knock some sense into her. Vicki had refused to be admitted into the hospital. Instead, she insisted the tests be conducted while she was in the ER. Mom and Dad took care of Rose while Kariss arranged to have her Jag towed. She also phoned Babies”R”Us and arranged to have a new car seat delivered to the hospital via taxi. A rental car arrived at the same time Vicki was signing the discharge papers.
“Sis, you’ve got a mild concussion, and your right eye is turning purple,” Kariss said while their dad helped Vicki scoot into the backseat beside Rose. “I really wish you’d reconsider and spend the night here.”
“I’ll second that.” Dad massaged his lower back. Installing the car seat in the rental had been a chore. “I won’t sleep a wink wondering if you’re all right.”
“Dad, I’m a nurse, remember? And I’m quite capable of knowing when Rose or I need medical attention.”
“I’ve made a decision.” Mom’s brown eyes widened with a familiar threatening look. Kariss had seen that look plenty of times during her growing-up years. “I’m staying at the condo with my girls tonight.”
“Good idea,” Kariss said. “Mom’s even better at making sure you behave than I am.”
“Suffocating attention.” Vicki moaned. “Rose’s schedule will be a thing of the past.”
“That’s right. I’m going to spoil both of you.” Mom slid into the front seat. “As soon as we get to the condo, I’m putting Vicki to bed and making a pot of gumbo.”
“And I’ll get my dinner at Whataburger and load up on the fries your mother doesn’t let me have at home.” Dad double-checked the car seat. “Great to see Tigo today. He’s a good man—good enough for a son-in-law in my book.”
Kariss’s emotions were still playing havoc with her heart. “I don’t think so. Too many problems.”
“I can feel it in my bones. God’s gonna work this out.”
If Kariss didn’t ease into another subject soon, Dad would be inviting Tigo to Sunday dinner. “He teased me about chasing the driver with my handgun.”
“Too bad I didn’t see who ran my girls off the road. There wouldn’t have been anything left to bury.” He shook his head. “Excuse me, Lord, but I’m not feeling too forgiving right now.”
“I’m right there in a box seat.” Kariss allowed a single tear to drip down her cheek. Until now, she’d been too angry and concerned about Vicki and Rose to let her defenses down. “That guy thinks he got away, but God knows where he lives.” She wouldn’t rest until the jerk was arrested.
CHAPTER 17
6:45 P.M. FRIDAY
Tigo and Ryan sat in Linc’s office, discussing what they knew about the Yeat bombing. Too many ragged edges had set the stage for a lengthy investigation. More questions and a deeper scrutiny of established facts lay ahead in the days to come.
They’d eliminated Joanna’s dress designer as a suspect. She was confined to a wheelchair and depended on her caregiver to transport her to her clients. The woman lived an exemplary life and contributed to many of the same charities as the Yeat Foundation. She’d had no idea anything was troubling Joanna.
Linc stared at an oil painting of Teddy Roosevelt that hung on his office wall, as if the twinkle behind the president’s spectacles held answers to the puzzling case. “Strange how you think you know a man, a family, and then you realize the perfect family is waist-deep in mud.”
Tigo remembered one of Teddy Roosevelt’s sayings—“Speak softly and carry a big stick.” That certainly fit Linc.
“Jonathan never mentioned any problems in his marriage. And I never observed any tension between them. Yet I find it hard to believe he didn’t know Joanna planned to divorce him.” Linc shook his head. “A man knows when the light’s out.”
“So you think the idea of her having an affair doesn’t make sense?” Tigo said. “Ian gave us a good description of the man he’d seen with her. We don’t have a solid ID match to anyone in our database, but we’re looking for him.”
“Guess anything’s possible. The man Ian saw at the mall could be a lover. You said Jonathan’s assistant, Vanessa, was clueless about the divorce, right?”
Ryan nodded. “You saw my notes from the interview, and her body language didn’t indicate she was lying.”
“What else do you two have for me?” Linc said.
Tigo nodded at Ryan to continue. His partner was definitely in think mode.
“You witnessed our questioning of Collins.” Ryan reached for his iPad and swiped his finger across the screen. “We’re tailing him. Carolyn Hopkins hasn’t been found yet. Her records state she has family in Arkansas, which gives us a lead.” He glanced up from the screen. “But I don’t think there’s anything solid there unless she’s working with someone.”
Linc nodded. “Keep on it. Who had access to Semtex or motive to hire a bomber?”
“Semtex is the key,” Ryan said. “I’ve done a little snooping. All the two-bit bad guys out there would have shot or knifed Jonathan. Tigo and I have decided our guy had money. Plenty of it. And that means a vendetta. But the information we’ve discovered about Joanna confused our theory. I’m not letting go of anything yet.”
“I think we’re chasing two storms,” Linc said.
Tigo nodded. “We’re researching every angle. I’ll take time this weekend to brainstorm what we do know. See what we�
��ve missed or need to follow up on. The gun dealer Hershey may know something.” He nodded at Ryan. “Want to question him on Monday?”
“It’s a plan.”
Linc frowned. “The funeral’s tomorrow afternoon.”
“I plan to be there.” Tigo waved away Linc’s protest. “A few things don’t add up, and observing the family and friends could answer those questions.”
“All right. I’ll be doing the same thing,” Linc said. “I’ll be playing more than one role. This funeral will be hard on my family. Alexia referred to us as her aunt and uncle.”
In other words, Linc would not only be at the funeral in a professional capacity but would also be grieving the deaths personally.
“I’ll focus on the family,” Tigo said. “See if anyone lets something slip.”
“Good idea. I’m banking on employees and business acquaintances not suspecting me of gathering evidence. Yvonne and I will be there for the duration, so you and I can compare notes later.”
Tigo nodded. “I’m thinking the family will be on their best behavior, and I want to meet Joanna’s sisters. Follow up on a few comments Curt made.”
“The sisters attend Taylor’s church too. Darena and her husband are members. He’s a deacon. I’ll reserve my opinion of that situation until you meet her.”
“Tigo, call me after the funeral,” Ryan said. “I’d join you if I didn’t already have family obligations.”
“Why don’t you call me instead? I don’t want to interrupt anything.” Tigo knew Ryan and Cindy needed to work through the problem with her mother’s care. The couple had lined up a babysitter and planned to spend Saturday night at a hotel.
“Thanks.” Ryan gave him a grim look.
Tigo figured the happenings at home must be wearing on him.
Tigo debriefed on the long day. “We visited the high school this morning and again this afternoon to meet with the boys’ basketball teams. Questioning the kids was useless. Zilch. The players are a loyal brotherhood, and Curt and Ian are two of their own. None of them spoke a derogatory word about the Yeat boys. Parents urged their kids to share information, but the atmosphere was as if nothing had happened.”
“Another dead end?” Linc eased back in his chair.
“Not exactly,” Tigo said. “Before we visited with Vanessa, we learned a few things from the school counselor. Ryan has the dialogue in his notes.”
Ryan relayed what had transpired. “Usually it’s the mother who makes excuses for her child’s actions. This time we have a reversal. The counselor told us off the record that Ian threatened a female teacher in the parking lot last spring. Curt stepped in as usual, and Jonathan persuaded the teacher not to press charges.”
Linc’s features were a mass of frustration. “Don’t let this thing slide. My son called just before you two arrived. Gave me an earful about Curt covering for Ian. Confirms what you found out.”
Tigo grinned to relieve the tension, which could have been split with an ax. “Curt isn’t doing his brother any favors. Neither of those kids are choir boys, are they?”
“Heaven help Jonathan if we learn that one of his sons had a hand in killing their mother and sister.”
9:35 P.M. FRIDAY
Kariss pulled her laptop into bed with her and leaned back against a mound of pillows. Exhaustion had hit her early tonight, and she was relieved her mother slept in the guest room near Vicki and Rose. Mom had the baby monitor, so she’d hear any move either of them made. Like a child, Kariss believed having her mother close by meant the world was safe. She knew better, but she’d not go there tonight.
A writing how-to article needed to be edited, but first she wanted to check email. Keeping up with incoming messages could be an addiction. But when they filled her in-box, she found it overwhelming until she responded to questions and concerns. She hadn’t posted on Facebook and Twitter about the accident in case the driver of the pickup followed her on social media and was thinking he’d gotten away with his bullying.
She had 123 new messages since early this morning. Not bad for a Friday. Definitely manageable. Fortunately, most made their way into the Junk folder.
Halfway through the list, an email with the subject line of “Amy Garrett” caught Kariss’s attention. Perhaps Amy had more than one email address. This one had S. Todd as the sender. Kariss opened the message, expecting to read an insight about the writing project.
YOU’VE AGREED TO WRITE ABOUT AMY GARRETT’S STORY. FORGET IT. SHE DOESN’T NEED YOU OR ANYONE ELSE POKING AROUND IN HER LIFE. THIS IS A WARNING, AND I DON’T WASTE WORDS.
Irritation swept through Kariss. She detested anyone telling her what to write or not write. Threats made her furious … though cautious. She responded to the message.
WHO ARE YOU? WHY SHOULD I FORGET AMY’S STORY? ARE YOU A WRITER?
She pressed Send and finished working through the remaining emails. A delivery-failure message popped into her in-box. The S. Todd address wasn’t a legitimate address. Now what was that all about? Leaning back against the mass of pillows, Kariss thought about various scenarios. The sender could be someone who worked at Amy’s office, a person who cared for her and didn’t want Kariss to dredge up old memories. That made sense. The process had the potential to damage the reputation of Freedom’s Way.
Kariss thought that scenario made the most sense, and she’d ask Amy about the email when they met tomorrow afternoon. Kariss doubted the Garrett family would make a threat. Even so, she understood that her dogged attitude could get her into trouble, and she’d learned a valuable lesson last year while researching the Cherished Doe case.
Or had she? Here she was again, writing a book from a cold case in which a violent crime had been committed and not paying any attention to the warning signs. But she also believed in helping crime victims find healing, and this was her way of helping Amy and other victims find it.
CHAPTER 18
JANUARY 19
10:00 A.M. SATURDAY
Tigo stood in the back of the crowded church and scanned those who were attending Joanna and Alexia’s closed-casket funeral. Many solemn kids. Three counselors from the school district who were available for grieving students and parents. Many tears.
Jonathan appeared to be holding up. He’d swiped at his eyes a few times, but his brother, Taylor, stood right beside him offering support. The closest thing Tigo had ever had to brothers was Linc and Ryan, and he’d do just about anything for them.
Men and women hugged Jonathan. Curt wept openly, and Ian clenched his jaw. The boys’ reactions could be their method of expressing sorrow, or it could mean something else—regret or fear of getting caught. Tigo thought well of Curt, but Ian was another matter. Would the older boy cover up evidence to protect the younger?
Why did Tigo feel this family knew more than they had admitted? Attending funerals wasn’t his normal mode of investigation, but his gut was telling him that many of the answers were right there with the Yeats. The killer could be among those gathered in the church, and that knowledge kept Tigo’s senses on alert. The investigation had already uncovered a dysfunctional family that held grudges, lived with shame, and hid secrets.
But the immediate family’s response to the service wasn’t all Tigo was looking for. He had studied the initial video footage of the crime scene and now searched the crowd for someone who might have been at both places. Tigo also planned to attend the meal after the graveside service, which would allow him to mingle … and listen.
Media had mixed reports. Some concentrated on an ex-employee who sought revenge, and others focused on Jonathan as a do-gooder who neglected his family. Mike McDougal had taken the latter stance at Channel 5 and in his weekly blog. Tigo had no use for McDougal, whose writing slanted toward defamation.
The explosion occurred one day after Joanna’s appointment with the attorney, a highly reputable man who had an impeccable family law practice. Nothing had turned up there.
Or was there a compelling motive none of them had unco
vered?
Tigo’s attention shifted to Taylor Yeat as he came forward to give the eulogy. The pastor spoke a few words then stopped, overcome with emotion. He took a deep breath and moistened his lips. A man handed him a bottle of water. After a long drink, he thanked those present for their patience. “Alexia was a blessing to Joanna and Jonathan, a gift to all who knew her. She danced. She sang. She played softball and loved to go fishing. Alexia had her mother’s beauty. I …”
While Taylor continued to speak as a family member and pastor, Tigo scrutinized the crowd. Grief increased at each mention of Alexia, a child caught in the middle of an ugly plot. Curt broke down. Ian wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Jonathan sobbed, his anguish rising to a thunderous roar.
A child didn’t deserve to die before having had the chance to live. How could a righteous God justify this? Tigo focused on Taylor, who struggled through his roles of pastor, brother, brother-in-law, and uncle.
“Joanna and my brother were role models for all of us. Many of you sought them out for counseling regarding anything from finances to parental guidance to marital help. Joanna always had her Bible open with scriptures underlined, but she seldom had to read the passage. She had them memorized.
“Beloved friends and family, today we mourn Joanna’s and Alexia’s passing and the terrible circumstances that have brought us together. Many of you have expressed the need to have the guilty person found, and I’m right there with you.” Taylor wiped his brow. “Joanna would ask us to forgive as Jesus instructed. I admit, it’s a difficult task. I’m trying, but I’m telling you it’s not easy. We can rejoice in the understanding that Alexia and Joanna are with Jesus, and one day we’ll see them again.”
In the meantime, Taylor was asking these people to forgive a murderer. Tigo understood the principles of Christianity, and at times he accepted the theology. But the Jesus-in-your-heart seemed to cripple him, as though believers used their faith as a crutch instead of using logic to think through their problems. Tigo’s heart beat not with forgiveness but with a resolve to find the killer.
