Autumn Secrets (Seasons Pass Book 4)

by Susan C. Muller

  “Is there a reward for information?”

  “What happened to civic duty?” Noah glared across the counter and the guy seemed to get the message.

  “She called herself Cinnamon, but I think her real name was Stella. She worked the street around here. I haven’t seen her for several weeks. I thought she had moved on to another area.”

  “Did she have a pimp?”

  “When she first started coming around here she did, but he got busted for something and she was on her own. He was here day before yesterday, looking for her. I thought she knew he was due to get out and that’s why she disappeared.”

  Conner had his spiral out. “What’s his name?”

  “Tito. Skinny guy with tattoos.”

  “Tall, short, Caucasian, Hispanic?”

  Herman shrugged. “Ugly.”

  “Any of her tricks a tall white guy named Dick?”

  “I didn’t keep track of her johns. She met them outside or took them straight up to her room. Either way, I wouldn’t have seen them.”

  “Have you noticed a white panel van hanging around? Has mismatched wheel rims and a small rust spot on one door?”

  “Must be twenty panel vans an hour go past on this street. I work inside. I wouldn’t know one from another.”

  Noah wasn’t ready to give up. The guy must know something. “Did she work the street or get a room?”

  “While Tito was around, she only sprang for a room if the guy paid for it. Lately, if I was on duty, she got a room for the evening. Don’t know what she did on my nights off.”

  Disgust filled Noah’s belly. Herman was doing her for the price of a room. Otherwise, she took her chances getting in a car with strangers.

  Noah dropped his card on the counter with instructions for Herman to call if he heard anything.

  Two more stops and they had a real name, although her belongings had disappeared in the weeks since she’d gone missing.

  She had roomed with another one of Tito’s girls at one time, but moved out when he was busted. Her real name was Stella Fitzgerald and she’d followed a boyfriend out from Abilene. For a while, she worked flipping burgers but when the boyfriend left, she couldn’t make the rent and took up hooking.

  They had enough information to find Tito and probably her parents to make sure they had the right woman. More than that, they had an idea of where she’d been snatched and it wasn’t in Constanza’s neighborhood.

  The area of the Sanitizer’s hunting ground had increased to include not only all of Harris County, but probably Galveston, Chambers, Liberty, Montgomery, and Fort Bend counties as well.

  Didn’t that just make his day?

  Noah jumped out at the front of the building while Conner returned the car to the motor pool. They’d made two more stops, checking out calls regarding Joyce.

  Both callers were convinced the drawing represented someone they knew well, but both had different ideas of who she was.

  One could have been correct, but not both.

  He was already checking the census in Abilene for an eighteen-year-old girl named Stella Fitzgerald by the time Conner got back inside.

  Noah finished with the girl while his partner started tracing her pimp.

  Fifteen minutes later, Conner had located Tito, and Noah had an address for Stella’s mother. She wasn’t a paragon of virtue, having served one ninety-day stretch and a couple of overnights for DUIs, but better than the father. He’d been in prison for manslaughter for the last twelve years.

  He tried to foist the notification call off on his partner, but Conner refused. Noah found the mother, he’d have to deal with her. Next time he’d make sure Conner found the phone number. He was better with that sort of thing.

  Noah stalled, planning what to say to the bereaved mother while Conner tried Tito at the number his parole officer had given, at his mother’s house, and at the place where he was supposed to work. No luck.

  The guy was in the wind.

  Noah gave up and called Stella’s mother, who seemed more interested in recovering her daughter’s things than her remains.

  “If you can send us a sample of your DNA so we can make a positive ID, I’ll have the items shipped to you right away. There’s also the possibility you would qualify for our local Survivor’s Benefits Fund.” No point telling her there weren’t any items to ship and that fund had gone broke. She might not bother to cooperate with the identification. “Now, if you could help us, we’re trying to piece together your daughter’s last days. Do you know if anyone was bothering her? Following her?”

  He made notes on his memo pad while she complained about her daughter’s behavior.

  “It’s been that long since you’ve heard from her? Well, I can see that you wouldn’t be able to help us.”

  He swiveled toward Conner. “Mother hasn’t talked to her in two years.”

  “I just love a happy family. While you were chatting with the World’s Best Mother, I tracked down our Dancing Queen cheerleader. She’s now Darlene Ainsworth and lives in River Oaks.”

  “I’ve dealt with all the lowlifes I can stand for one day. Let’s head home and call on her first thing in the morning while we’re fresh and terminal pessimism hasn’t had time to set in. I can’t wait to hear how she managed to misplace a daughter and never realize she’d been dead for two months.”

  “Want to check in with the boss or scoot out before he sees us?”

  Noah thought for about two seconds before answering. “Do I want to? Yes. Should we? No. We’ve ditched him too often lately. This time we actually have progress to report. We’ll save the scooting for some time when we don’t.”

  He almost changed his mind when he realized the Lieu’s blinds were closed but it was too late by then. The door was open and Jansen had seen them. “Good, you’re here. Come on in.”

  “Morning, sir. We wanted to bring you up-to-date before we headed out.” Just smile, give the report, and get out before anything happens

  “Excellent. Glad to hear it. Especially since I’m so seldom honored in that manner. But first, let me bring you two in on what’s been happening in my world this fine morning.”

  Ah, shit. Here it comes.

  “The mayor called the Chief. At home. Before seven o’clock. The Chief called the Chief of Detectives. And the Chief of Ds called me. Imagine how happy that made me.”

  He didn’t have to imagine it. The closed blinds were a dead giveaway.

  “Would you care to guess who called the Mayor?”

  Not really.

  “Someone from the Chronicle?”

  How did Conner figure that out?

  “Seems R.J. Perry objects to being followed. The mayor objects to being awakened. The Chief objects to being told what to do. The Chief of Ds objects to wasting his limited budget following a man who knows he’s being followed. And I object to having a man who calls himself the Sanitizer running around my city unimpeded, killing people at will. Do you two numb-nuts have anything to add?”

  Holy crap, this was bad. “We identified one of the victims yesterday and have a strong lead on another one we’re about to follow up on now. Doc M has promised us more DNA and possible fingerprints shortly.”

  “That’s great. I’m sure those young women’s parents will be glad to have some closure. But do you have any leads on the son-of-a-bitch who is actually doing the killing?”

  Conner stepped forward. About time he shouldered some of this. “We believe him to be a large white male named Dick, in his mid-thirties, has worked construction, and drives a ten-year-old white Mercedes panel van. We’ve hesitated to post photos of the van until this point, worried he might destroy the only piece of evidence we have. If we haven’t made any more headway by this afternoon, we were considering releasing the photos to the media. Do you concur with that plan?”

  Good job, partner. Put the decision back on him and get us off the hook.

  Jansen stuttered, knowing he’d been snookered. Either decision held risks. Pick wr
ong and the blame fell square on him. “Do…do you have any other leads you’re working besides the next identification?”

  Thank goodness for Laurel’s help. “We have a list of phone numbers of people who were once part of a corporation that at one time owned a portion of either the vacant lot or the apartment building.”

  “Get to it, then. We’ll meet back here in the morning and discuss our options.”

  Noah recognized a dismissal when he heard one and was gone before Jansen’s wooly eyebrows settled back into place.

  Something better break before morning or they’d lose their best lead.

  Darlene Ainsworth’s home was nice by any standards, but not a McMansion. This was the “old money” Laurel had talked about. Not something Noah thought about consciously, but knew instinctively.

  The Lexus SUV in her driveway had a bumper sticker touting The Kinkaid School.

  Apparently Lamar wasn’t good enough for her kids. Or was it the memories of what happened to her when she was a student there?

  So how did her daughter become one of the Sanitizer’s victims? Did the apple not fall far from the tree even in the rarified atmosphere of a premier private school?

  And how did someone in her early thirties end up living in a part of town reserved for crotchety old millionaires?

  If the house screamed ‘old money,’ the woman who answered the door corroborated his assessment. She wore camel-colored slacks and a white blouse, yet somehow he knew they cost more than his suit and Conner’s put together.

  Her hair was in a simple style, but the blond highlights gleamed. The rock on her left hand would have weighted down a less athletic-looking woman.

  Conner held out his memo pad as if unsure they had the right house, although the former cheerleader was still evident in her face and bearing. “I’m Detective Crawford and this is my partner Detective Daugherty. We’re looking for Darlene Quinlen Ainsworth. Is that you?”

  If the idea of two detectives at her door bothered her, it didn’t show. “Yes. May I help you?”

  “May we come in and speak to you for a moment?”

  “About what?”

  Noah didn’t like to deliver bad news while standing outside, but she wasn’t budging from the door. “There’s no easy way to put this Mrs. Ainsworth, but are you the same Darlene Quinlen who had a baby eighteen years ago with Roscoe Madison?”

  All that poise and self-confidence dropped away like a giant hand had reached in and pulled the plug on her life. She blanched and made a sound like a cat coughing up a furball. Two seconds later, the mask was back in place. “I’m sorry. You must have me mistaken for someone else.”

  “That’s not what Roscoe told us, but we can come back later with a warrant for your DNA if necessary.” Fuck her and the SUV she rode in on if she thought she was going to cut him off. Professional con men had tried and failed.

  The hand resting on the doorframe began to tremble. Blue eyes lost their fire. “Follow me,” she said, her voice a case study in resignation.

  She pivoted on one ballet-slippered foot and strode toward the back of the house.

  On the left, they passed a darkened room with a giant TV tuned to the CNBC. A running stock market report crawled across the bottom of the screen while Jim Cramer yelled and pounded on noisemaker buttons.

  An elderly man—Darlene’s father?—sat ensconced in a throne-like leather chair. The lights of the TV bounced off his bald head. Without turning he ordered, “Who was at the door?”

  “No one, dear. Just a couple of men soliciting another donation for Robbie’s school.”

  “Whatever you can afford from your checking account. I’m not giving another penny until they prove they can whip his useless ass into shape.”

  She led them through a living room that had never been lived in and out the back door to a patio with nicer furniture than anything Noah had ever owned. He sunk down into a cushioned lounge chair and waited for her to begin.

  “You’ll have to excuse my husband. Our son was expelled for three days for hazing a freshman. With the money we give those people you’d think they’d be more understanding of childish hijinks. It’s not like the boy was physically harmed.”

  “We’re much more interested in your daughter.” Noah watched the fear flash across her face.

  “Please! Keep your voices down. My husband has no idea of my youthful indiscretion. That was another time. Another life. I really can’t help you with that. I’ve moved on.”

  She’d moved on? Just like that. She wrote off the life of another human being?

  She smoothed back her perfectly coifed hair and lifted her chin. “I was guaranteed all of that would be kept confidential. If she thinks she can approach me now, she has a lot to learn and if you or anyone else is considering blackmail, forget it. You can see that my husband keeps me on a tight leash financially. I can’t spend more than five hundred dollars with his permission.”

  Noah couldn’t resist seeing what she’d say. “What if we tell your husband?”

  “Then he’d know so what would be the point of paying you?”

  She was sharp, he had to give her that. “My partner and I are Houston police detectives, ma’am. We’re not in the blackmail business. We’re looking for any information on a female, approximately seventeen years old, whose DNA matches Roscoe Madison. Her body was discovered last week. An identification might help lead us to her killer. A forensic artist has made a drawing if that would help your memory.”

  “So she’s dead. That part of my life is truly over.” She heaved out a heavy sigh. “I was always afraid she’d show up, Try to contact me or Robbie. With the ‘Search your DNA’ malarkey on TV all the time, who knew what could happen?”

  Noah had come across cold people before—those who committed homicide seldom expressed remorse for anything other than getting caught—but this had to be a record on the kelvin scale. Even Roscoe Madison, who set fire to an apartment full of rival drug dealers, mourned the daughter he never knew he had.

  Conner tapped the memo book he’d been silently holding. “We still need to identify her. Can you tell us where she was born? What happened to her?”

  “I was very athletic in those days so I didn’t show. I graduated with my class and announced I was traveling to New York to spend the summer with my aunt. My folks drove me up to Ft. Worth and checked me into the Edna Gladney home. The one here was out of the question. Someone might recognize me.”

  “And that’s where she was born?” Noah recognized the contempt in Conner’s voice, but Darlene was completely oblivious.

  “The child was born near the end of July. I forget which day. Then I went to Bryn Mawr exactly as planned. The incident was never spoken of again. Two years later, my parents were killed in a boating accident. Martin, as my father’s best friend, took over handling my finances. It seemed natural to marry him after I graduated.”

  Noah pushed a pen and paper her direction. “We’ll need your permission in writing for the release of information from the Gladney Home.” He had no idea if that was true or not. He just wanted her to admit the incident had happened.

  Her hand hovered over the pen, but she didn’t pick it up.

  “Or we could come back with a warrant.”

  She scribbled a few words and shoved it back as if the paper itself was contaminated.

  Noah folded the paper and placed it in the folder with the drawing she had never asked to see.

  In the car, Conner made a note in his pocket spiral. “I’ll get started with the Gladney Home, but then what? Even if we identify her, odds are against it leading to her killer. If we don’t come up with something solid by morning, the Chief might insist we to go public with the little information we have. When that happens, the Sanitizer could decide to fade into the night, pulling up stakes and moving on to a new killing field. How do we prevent that?”

  Noah switched on the engine, but Lola’s familiar roar failed to offer any encouragement. “Damned if I know, but we bett
er think of something fast.”

  “I’m not getting anywhere with these calls. You got any better suggestions?” Conner tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash with a solid thoip.

  Noah stretched his aching back and eyed Jansen’s darkened office. What were the chances he could snag the Lieu’s ergo-dynamic chair for a few hours without getting caught? “I don’t know. We still have a few hours reprieve before the boss get back. The way I see it, we’ve got three choices—hope a reasonable tip came in overnight on the hotline, identify another victim, or locate the owner of the vacant field. Because if we don’t come up with something by the time he gets back, we’ll have to post that photo of the white van.”

  “I’ve checked out a dozen of these tips and I’ve got to tell you. We have some crazy people in this city.” Conner rubbed his eyes and drew a line through another name and phone number.

  “This city, Hell. I’ve had calls all the way from San Diego.” Noah studied his emails in hopes some new lab or DNA report had come in within the last ten minutes.

  Nope. Nothing.

  “I have that list Laurel sent over with phone numbers for the officers of the various corporations that owned the apartment complex. It’s not the field, but we could try them anyway.”

  “Feels like a long shot—bunch of rich dudes who live two hundred miles away and never set foot on the property—but what have we got to lose? I’m sick of talking to weird conspiracy nuts who think aliens came down, abducted our victims for examinations, brought them back, and buried them.”

  Noah pulled up the list on his computer, printed it off, and gave half to Conner before easing back into his rock-hard chair. He’d made one call, only to be hung up on after his first question, when his cell rang. He glanced at Conner before answering. “Hey, Laurel. What’s up?”

  Her voice was hesitant, unsure. “I know you said not to make any calls, but I found the name of the real estate company that handled the last sale on the vacant lot. I’d never heard of it, so I called to see if it was still in business. I left a sort of generic message saying I had a client interested in buying the property and were they still the agents.”