No Escape

by Mary Burton

  “Why, when you have but weeks to live? Is it that you didn’t want this information to go with you to your grave?”

  “That is partly true, Dr. Granger. I think as I see my life slipping away, setting the record straight means more.”

  She studied him closely. “The numbers are that important to you?”

  “For the longest time it was enough that I knew what I’d done and where I’d buried the bodies. I was content to take it to my grave. I didn’t need the world or the media to know. Most people don’t have the brains or the patience to sit still for an entire news broadcast so why do I care what they think of me?”

  His soft voice had sharpened with rarely exhibited emotion. Despite his words, he clearly cared about what people thought.

  “But you do care now.” She leaned closer to the glass, studying his drawn features. For the first time she sensed a crack in his glib armor. “Why now?”

  For a long moment he stared at his hands and then slowly he raised his gaze. “Because, Dr. Granger, it is no longer just about me.”

  “Is this about the victims’ families?”

  “About them, I could care less.”

  “Who is this about?”

  “Another killer.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There is another killer out there.”

  Chapter Three

  Saturday, April 6, 4:15 P.M.

  Jo sat silently for a moment, then lifted her gaze to catch Brody’s reflection in the glass. The easy manner gone, a new tension rippled through his body.

  She released a breath and focused on Smith. “Another killer? Is he a copycat?”

  “No, no.” His tone was serious with no hint of manipulation or gamesmanship. But then the best manipulators did it effortlessly.

  “He was my apprentice. I took him into my home when he was twelve. I raised him like a son, trained him to be a killer.”

  Jo’s mind ticked through all the background information that had been gathered about Smith. How could they not know about a foster son? “The Rangers never mentioned an apprentice or a child.”

  “By the time I was arrested he wasn’t a child. He was bordering thirty, and we hadn’t spoken in years.”

  A dozen questions crowded to the front of her mind. But as tempted as she was to rattle them off, she steadied herself. She could never be certain when a man like Smith would stop answering questions, so it was important to lead with the most important. “What’s his name?”

  “Robbie Bradford. Or at least that was the name he used.”

  “What is his name now?”

  A hint of sadness clouded his gaze. “I don’t know. I’ve not seen him in ten years.”

  Robbie had been nearly thirty when Smith had been arrested. That would put him in his early thirties.

  “What does he look like?”

  “Medium height. Slender. Light brown hair.”

  “That’s not very specific.”

  “I trained him not to stand out just like I never stood out. The best hunters blend into the landscape. He was clever at assuming roles.”

  “How do you know Robbie is killing?”

  “He’s communicated with me.”

  She heard Brody shift his stance. “The prison screens your communications.”

  “He is clever and careful. Like you, Robbie is intelligent, Dr. Granger, which is why I took him on as my apprentice. Fools have their place in the world and they are fun to play with from time to time, but when it comes to serious matters, they are a time waster.”

  “How did he get messages to you?”

  “Newspaper want ads. The guards will tell you I read the paper daily. There are so few of us that actually read the paper these days.”

  “When was the ad?”

  “Last week. Maybe the week before. I’m not as certain of time now. I suppose that’s what dying does—makes the memory weak.”

  “What paper?”

  “The Austin Chronicle.”

  “And what did Robbie tell you in this ad?”

  “That he had passed the test. Crossed the line. Become a man who was ready to really play the game of life.”

  “Game? Life is a game?”

  Smith smiled. “Of course it is. Some of us are smart enough to realize that and the rest stumble through life lost, confused and joyless.”

  “Killing women gave you joy?”

  “Well, I do understand that what I did does not meet with your approval, Dr. Granger. And I am sorry.”

  Jo wondered if he’d ever experienced a true emotion.

  As if he sensed her anger, he said, “Could we put our differences aside for the sake of this conversation?”

  She tempered her fury. “Of course. What did Robbie say in the ad? Did he tell you or hint at who he killed? Where he buried the body?”

  He hesitated, as he thought and shook his head. “If I tell you all my secrets, Dr. Granger, what will be left for you to figure out?”

  Sick and dying and still he manipulated. It would be easy to get frustrated, but she refused. “I suppose you are right, Mr. Smith. A good puzzle does get the blood stirring.”

  He nodded. “I knew you’d agree.”

  Hoping he’d remain open, she shifted tactics. “How do you know Robbie is telling you the truth? He could be toying with you.”

  A half smile tipped the edge of Smith’s mouth. “Well, I must trust his word, shouldn’t I?” He rubbed the back of his hands as if they ached. “I’ve given you quite a bit of information today. But if I may, I’d like to ask you a question.”

  Jo stiffened. “You can ask, but I can’t guarantee that I will answer.”

  “Well, I do have a few more answers to share, but I want answers from you first.”

  She walked a dangerous tightrope. One answer always led to another question. Men like Smith liked information because it gave them the power to manipulate. But if she didn’t give him something, he’d end this conversation. “Ask your question, Mr. Smith, and I shall decide if I can answer.”

  He leaned forward in his wheelchair, his tired eyes now sharp with interest. “Have you had a good life?”

  She’d expected a more specific question. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a simple question. And I want you to be honest. Have you had a good life?”

  She sat back. “You’ve asked yourself that question a lot lately, haven’t you?”

  Her attempt to turn the question around tickled him. “I’ve put the question to myself, and I know the answer. It’s you that I’m curious about.”

  “Why me?”

  His delight at her directness faded to something more menacing. “No, no, no. It’s your turn to answer, otherwise I suspect you already know what is next. I end this.”

  She straightened.

  “You don’t have to answer his questions,” Brody said.

  The sound of Brody’s baritone voice startled her. Again she’d forgotten he was behind her and that she wasn’t alone. Brody was an impossible man to ignore under the best of circumstances, and Smith had made her forget him twice.

  Mr. Smith studied Brody. “That’s a protective tone, Sergeant Winchester. But given the history you two share, it’s understandable.”

  Smith did know about her marriage to Brody.

  Brody folded his arms over his chest. “I think this is another one of your games. That the dump site you gave up so easily is bogus and that there is no Robbie. This is about jerking Dr. Granger’s chain because it’s your last chance for a dig.”

  Smith again looked amused, all traces of darkness gone. “You’re usually controlled, Sergeant. Interesting that you’d be upset by my simple question to Dr. Granger. Unresolved feelings?”

  “You’re playing a game with her,” Brody said.

  Jo sat straighter, sensing a longer delay would drive Smith away. “Yes, I’ve had a good life, Mr. Smith.”

  Smith shifted his gaze from Brody back to her, staring at her for a moment. “You w
ould consider yourself happy?”

  “I do.”

  “You are an intellectual, and you grew up in a working-class family.”

  She stiffened and reminded herself that he was reading what could be found on the Internet. “I had good parents.”

  “They didn’t understand you.”

  “I didn’t understand them, but we all loved and supported each other.”

  “Hollow support at best, I would guess.”

  She curled the fingers of her left hand into a fist. “That’s getting a little personal.”

  “We all need family, Dr. Granger. Robbie was my family for many years. In the end I didn’t understand his decision, and it didn’t go well for us. That’s my one regret.”

  A serial killer pining about a lost son—it was an odd, but not impossible, concept. Though men like Smith had little regard for their victims, they sometimes had special people in their lives. “You loved Robbie.”

  “He was a good son. Smart. Devoted.”

  “Was he happy with you?”

  “Yes. I saved him from a desperate future.”

  “What was the falling-out you two had?”

  “That’s not for me to discuss.”

  “We could find Robbie. Give him a message.”

  Smith smiled. “You’d never find him, and he’d never believe you. Actions, not words, matter, Dr. Granger.”

  “Why tell me about him?”

  “It’s the only way I can really reach him.” He closed his eyes, and for a moment she thought he might have fallen asleep.

  “What does that mean?”

  Instead of answering her question, he said, “Thank you for coming today, Dr. Granger. But I am tired.” Smith lifted his hand as a signal to the guard that he was ready to leave.

  Jo gripped the phone, knowing a window was closing forever. “Tell me more about Robbie.”

  As if she hadn’t spoken, he smiled. “I do appreciate your coming, Dr. Granger. I truly do. But the day grows late and you must understand that I have little energy to draw upon.”

  She leaned closer to the window, resisting the urge to touch the glass. “There must be more about Robbie.”

  “I’ve given you all that I have.” Gingerly, he leaned back in his wheelchair, wincing. “It’s been nice meeting you, Dr. Granger. And I’m glad you are doing well.”

  She rose, still gripping the phone. “Why me, Mr. Smith? It makes no sense that you’d single me out for this interview.”

  He stilled as if he wouldn’t answer but then said, “You are a smart woman. If you look deep inside yourself, you’ll unravel the puzzle.”

  “What puzzle?” Frustrated by the subterfuge, her anger sparked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Once you figure yourself out you’ll find Robbie.” He hung up his phone.

  Jo pressed her phone to her ear as if willing him to return. But without a backward glance he left the interview room.

  For several seconds, Jo stood there, not sure what had happened. She hung up the phone and carefully brushed the creases from her skirt, as if somehow the action would also diminish her deep sense of unease.

  “He likes rattling people.” Brody stepped toward her, stopping behind her. “Don’t let him get to you.”

  She faced him. “I’ve interviewed my share of bad men. I can handle Smith.”

  “Really? How many bad guys have asked you to look deep inside yourself for the answers?”

  None. Smith’s question could have been a cheap manipulative trick, but it still troubled her for reasons she couldn’t explain. What did he see? Feigning calm, she said, “You’d be surprised what my interviewees have asked me. I can promise you they can be graphic.”

  Brody frowned.

  “Shouldn’t you call someone about the information Smith gave us? Some of it could be genuine.”

  He opened the door to the interview room and waited until she passed. “Making a phone call is next on my list, Dr. Granger.”

  She stared down the gray hallway, suddenly anxious to be out of this suffocating place. Smith had tapped into a deep worry she’d harbored for years. “Of course, sure.”

  His head tilted. “You sure you’re okay?”

  She offered him a cool, polite smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  If he’d not been watching her closely, he’d have missed the subtle stiffening of her spine and the flash of green in her eyes that Smith had called her Tell. Smith had gotten inside her head.

  Brody was annoyed that she guarded her thoughts as closely with him as she had with Smith. When they’d been together fourteen years ago, she’d been open. She’d liked to talk to him and to joke. During one tutoring session, he’d teased her about talking so much. She’d blushed, tucked a stray curl behind her ear and laughed. He’d liked her openness, and he’d liked listening to her talk.

  Now her demeanor was pure ice. Though she had a reputation for professionalism, colleagues in the Rangers had often referenced Jo’s kindness and approachability. He supposed she’d never again offer him that openness and candor.

  That shouldn’t bother him. But it did.

  He dialed the Rangers’ office in Austin and asked for Sergeant James Beck. Brody had transferred back to Austin three weeks ago. Though he didn’t know all the Rangers personally, he knew Rangers had each other’s backs and when called upon, help arrived without question.

  The phone rang twice. “Sergeant James Beck.”

  “Jim, this is Brody Winchester.”

  “Brody. You in West Livingston now?” Brody had briefed Jim as soon as the request from Smith had made it to his desk.

  Brody explained the situation to Jim, including Smith’s reference to a new gravesite and Jo’s presence. “Jo doing all right?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Can I speak to her?” Jim said.

  Brody hesitated, much like an animal who sensed his territory had been invaded. “Sure.” He held out his phone to Jo. “Jim Beck wants to talk to you.”

  She took the phone, careful not to let her fingers touch his. “Jim.” For several seconds she didn’t speak but listened. Her face softened and this time when she smiled it reached her eyes. “Thanks. Great. No. No. I’m fine. Yes, I’m looking forward to it. See you then.”

  Brody accepted the phone back, watching as she turned away from him. “What’s the weather look like in Austin?”

  “Pissing rain,” he said. “No one is complaining. God knows we need it. It’s supposed to let up in an hour, but the whole region is a muddy mess. There is no way we’re going to get a crew out to Smith’s site today. It’s too rural. Not many paved roads up that way.”

  Impatience bit. “We’ve waited this long. Another day won’t matter.”

  “You take the plane to West Livingston?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You should have clear skies our way in an hour.”

  “By the time we get out of here and back to the airport it’ll be at least that, if not more.”

  “We’ll have a full team ready to hit Smith’s site at first light.”

  “See you then.”

  Brody rang off and glanced toward Jo who seemed lost in thought. “We need to brief the warden.”

  “Do you think Smith told the truth? I know he likes games.”

  “He was a hell of a lot more forthcoming this time. He’s revealed more today with you than he has with all our investigators over the years.”

  “He appeared to like or, at least, respect you,” she said.

  “I suspect it’s because I’m the one who arrested him. I bested him at his game, and for that I get extra points.”

  “You couch your emotions well around him.”

  He hooked his thumb in his belt, sensing she was trying to gauge him. “I never forget for a moment I’m dealing with a monster.”

  She pursed her lips, and he could almost hear the wheels in her brain grinding. “I don’t understand his last comment. The answers to finding a killer are in mysel
f? Is he talking about my research? My work with the Rangers?”

  Brody motioned to the guard who opened the cell block’s heavy door. “I don’t know, but remember Smith is an expert at deception.”

  “If his goal was to knock me off balance, he’s done it.”

  “No one walks away from an interview with him unscathed. Let’s get out of here.”

  He took her by the arm and led her away from the interview room. Minutes later they were in Warden Maddox’s office.

  Maddox gestured toward the chairs in front of his desk. They all sat. “How did it go?”

  “He gave us new information,” Brody said. He fully briefed him. “We won’t know if it’s true until we can follow up.”

  “No one’s obtained a damn bit of information out of him in the time he’s been here.”

  “Has his behavior changed in any way over the last weeks?” she said. “Anything to make you wonder why he chose to talk now?”

  Maddox leaned back in his chair. “Since he’s been here, he’s stuck to a strict routine until lately when his illness became grave. He spends most days in the prison hospital.”

  “But he still reads the paper,” Brody said.

  “That’s right. Reads it like it were the Bible.”

  “And he’s had no visitors or mail?” Brody said.

  “He gets fan letters. We screen them all, of course, before we give them to him, but he’s not responded to a one. If he’s not getting treatment in the infirmary then he’s reading books in his cell. We can search his cell again.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Let me know what you find.”

  “Will do.”

  Brody and Jo’s ride back to the airport was strained and tense. Brody made small talk with the officer driving them, but she barely commented, choosing instead to stare out the window.

  By the time he’d done a preflight check of the plane and they’d boarded, the rain had passed. The sun now hung low in the horizon, casting a fiery light on the landscape.

  “I’d like to go with you tomorrow,” she said as he’d closed the hangar door on the plane in Austin just after seven. “I want to know if Smith was telling us the truth or not.”

  The rain had cleared, but the air was heavy with moisture. Moonlight bounced off puddles. “There’s no reason for you to go. It’s going to be a long day and could well be a wild-goose chase. No sense wasting your time.”