by Debra Webb
“Basically,” Landers summed up, “Clare Barker is in the same position now that she was in twenty-two years ago. Whatever she knows that would clear her name, she can’t share because coming forward would pose an equally unwanted effect on her future as a free woman.”
Russ suspected the reporter was far more correct than she knew. “We’ve completely ignored this newest development.” When he had their attention, he went on. “Someone sent Olivia a very powerful message this evening. Frankly, it’s doubtful that the bombing could have been carried out by Clare or Weeden. He was injured in the shootout in Granger this weekend and there is absolutely nothing in his background that indicates he has any explosives experience or that he has attempted to learn the basics via the internet. The police have gone over his home and computer. There’s nothing that would suggest he had the skills or the inclination for a move like this.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t use someone else’s computer or a public access computer,” Landers argued. “There are ways of getting information without the trail leading back to you.”
“Bomb making can be tedious work,” Russ countered, “and would be best accomplished with two hands.” Tony Weeden only had one, which Russ didn’t need to point out.
“Clare may have helped him,” Olivia tossed out.
“Like she helped Rafe?” Russ was leaning toward the idea that Clare was a pawn in all this. Maybe not an innocent pawn, but a pawn nonetheless.
Olivia rubbed at her temples with her forefingers. “Maybe. I’m beginning to wonder if anyone in this nightmare could be innocent in the true sense of the word.”
“Tony Weeden served as Rafe’s nurse for several years,” Landers said. “Is it possible he’s following Rafe’s orders to draw Clare back into a trap that will somehow frame her for something unthinkable all over again? Rafe only came forward after she was released. Unless you actually believe his motive in doing so is sincere.”
Olivia laughed but the sound was far from amused. “I have no idea what his motive is. I can see the validity in your point in terms of his intentions toward Clare.” Olivia turned to Russ once more. “Like ensuring she was charged with killing her daughters for real this time or at least attempting to. But why would he do that? Why not just have Weeden or someone else kill Clare if he wants revenge against her for some reason we can’t see? Since we have no idea what the truth is, we have to consider that Rafe could be correct and that wanting her daughters out of the way is what Clare wanted all along. But why? What’s her motive? How can we possibly hope to know one way or the other if we don’t find Clare and persuade her to talk to us? We need more than Rafe’s side of the story.”
“Finding her might be within our power,” Russ reminded her, “but we can’t persuade her to tell us anything she doesn’t want to share. And if Rafe is behind all of this, Clare may be as much a target as you and your sisters.”
Landers picked up on his reasoning. “To go there, Mr.
St. James, you would have to presume that she had been the one to hide her daughters away and that Rafe is now attempting to punish her since she got to go free and he didn’t. You looked him in the eye today, Olivia. Do you believe the man you spoke to is capable of going to those extremes?”
Olivia shook her head. “I don’t know. I was so taken aback by the reality that he was, in fact, my father that I can’t trust any conclusions I formed.”
Landers gathered several of the reports, tucked them into a folder and handed it to Olivia. “Start with the detectives who investigated the case. My father had another adage that he shared with my mother and me regularly. The one thing you could always count on in an investigation was that the cops would put on paper what they wanted you to know and nothing more. Whatever they left out is the part you need to find.”
Olivia felt numb as she left the Houston News. It had been almost twelve hours since her meeting with Rafe Barker and she was more confused now than she had been when she walked out of that prison. Could she force the investigating detectives to discuss the case with her now that she had copies of their interviews? Or did she go straight to the sources and see if anything new came of her questioning, as she’d planned to do before meeting with Keisha Landers? Not that her first attempt had garnered her any information. But she had their signed statements now. That might make a difference.
She waited while St. James checked his vehicle for tampering. The sounds from the explosion kept haunting her. That deafening boom, the screams…the falling debris. Her hearing had scarcely returned to some semblance of normal when they reached Houston. There was still a little ringing but she could hear fine. Had that explosion been intended to kill her? Had it gone off too early? No wait. That couldn’t be right. St. James had said the explosive had been remote detonated, which meant whoever set it off had been watching her. If he’d wanted her dead she would be dead.
“You can get in now.”
Olivia snapped from her worrisome thoughts. He’d already opened the passenger-side door and was waiting for her to move. “Thanks.” She climbed into the seat and tried to go over what she’d learned tonight in a more logical manner, without all the emotions she’d suffered as she’d heard and read the information for the first time.
When he’d settled behind the wheel she made a decision, but she waited until he was out of the parking lot and rolling along the deserted street before making her announcement.
“I need to see my sisters.” It was the only way. Between the three of them perhaps they could remember something relevant. Whether they did or not, Sadie and Laney needed to know what was going on and Olivia wanted to tell them face-to-face.
“We discussed that already. That would be a strategic error.”
“I understand there’s danger but they need to know about this. What on earth do you mean strategic error?” Was he talking about the danger? What? After all she’d been through today, she didn’t want any more cryptic statements from him. She wanted straight answers. There was no reason for him to try and keep her from her sisters.
“The best way to keep the three of you safe is by keeping you apart. You said you understood that reasoning.”
That made no sense to her now. None at all. “Explain how that helps, if you don’t mind. You said we had to find the truth. At this point, I can’t see that happening without the three of us putting our heads together.”
They were supposed to be cooperating. She had taken him into her meeting. She had convinced Landers to share what she had with him. Why wasn’t he doing his part by rethinking this issue?
“If the ultimate goal is to take the three of you out,” he said as he slowed for a turn, “having you together in one place makes the job a lot easier.”
She wanted to rant at him but the truth was, he had a point with that one aspect of her request. “Whoever is following me would be led to the others—that’s what you’re saying. I get it.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Dear God. Rafe Barker was in prison. Clare was God only knew where with her wounded accomplice. Who did that leave to put them in danger?
One or more of the detectives who had conducted the original investigation? A surviving family member of one of the victims? Who? There was absolutely no way to know.
And what about the theory that someone else was involved? Was that person still out there, praying the truth would not be discovered and out her or him?
“And if we run out of time without finding the answer?” Rafe Barker had just over two weeks to live.
“We won’t,” he said with complete certainty. “We will find the truth without putting you and the others in more danger.”
St. James was right. There was no point arguing the issue. She couldn’t go near her sisters until they knew the answer to who killed all those little girls. Since Rafe did nothing but speak in riddles, the only other real source was Clare. Whether she would tell the truth—if they found her—was anyone’s guess.
“We should go
to Granger and interview the people whose statements Landers feels are the most telling as to how poorly the investigation was handled.” Olivia would love another shot at the minister. And the lead detective, Marcus Whitt. If she couldn’t meet with her sisters, she could at least do this.
“That we can do,” St. James allowed. He glanced her way. “After some sleep.”
She couldn’t argue with that point, either. The exhaustion had gotten the better of her the past few minutes or the subject of a meeting with her sisters wouldn’t have come up again. She wasn’t thinking rationally. She needed sleep desperately. The only question would be whether or not her mind would shut down long enough for her to get any.
Her cell rang out and she fished through her bag to find it. Surely Nelson wouldn’t still be up at this hour. Her chest cramped with the idea that it could be one of her parents. They wouldn’t call this late unless something was wrong. If something had happened after the way she’d left things…
Fear had a choke hold on her by the time she found her phone and managed a greeting.
“Olivia, it’s Keisha.”
Olivia relaxed. “Is something wrong?” The reporter’s voice sounded strained and uncertain.
“I was thinking,” Keisha said, “that if you’re going to Granger to do some follow-up interviews, I’d like to be a part of that. I believe this story deserves some patience. I’m willing to withhold running my story until we’ve investigated further. Would that be agreeable with you and your associate?”
They could use all the help they could get. “That would be most agreeable. We could meet for breakfast, discuss strategy and head for Granger. Say nine at the Broken Egg?”
Keisha agreed with the time and her choice of cafés and
Olivia thanked her and ended the call.
“I assume that means we’ll have company on our field trip?” St. James asked.
“She knows more about the investigation than either of us,” Olivia countered, stating her case. “She’s a valuable source. Involving her assures continued cooperation.”
St. James gifted her with one of those knockout smiles of his. “Smart move.”
Maybe they would make a good team, after all.
Chapter Eight
Sleep Rite Inn, Tuesday, June 4, 2:05 a.m.
Russ checked the locks on the door one last time. Taking a room in the rear of this low-rent motel provided protection to some degree against being spotted from the street. He’d made sure they hadn’t been followed from the television station but the situation remained less than optimal. Tomorrow Simon Ruhl would arrange for an alternate vehicle, since whoever had followed Olivia and placed the explosive beneath her sedan had no doubt seen Russ’s SUV. He’d scanned his SUV for tracking devices and found nothing. Still, he would feel more secure when they had a different vehicle and a safe location to lay low. For now this would do.
He’d considered taking Olivia to his place, but tracking them there would be too simple for anyone who knew his name. That wouldn’t take long if their tail had access to the right database for running license plates. As a former cop himself he didn’t want to believe any of the detectives or officers involved with the investigation twenty-two years ago would go to these kinds of extremes to scare Olivia off but he couldn’t dismiss the possibility. Particularly not after her less than hospitable experience in Granger.
Simon had someone checking into the four cops and the one FBI agent who had served as the primary investigators on the joint task force that worked the Princess Killer case. Most cops had some training when it came to explosives, but the type used on Olivia’s car required a good deal more than a basic
knowledge.
The bathroom door opened and Olivia peeked out. “You decent?”
She looked young and way too vulnerable in her pink pajamas. Her hair was still damp and her brown eyes looked wide with uncertainty. Definitely not the sharp, don’t-get-in-my-way lady he’d met that morning. This was the unguarded Olivia. Weary with emotion. As tired as they both had been when they left the Houston News, they’d made a quick run through an all-night superstore for necessities she would need. A woman’s idea of necessities was definitely different from a man’s. Olivia had required two changes of clothes, pajamas, cosmetics and hair products. He, on the other hand, had selected one item—bottled water.
“It’s late,” he teased, “any decency I possess goes into hiding at midnight.”
She scowled at him as she slipped from the tiny bathroom and padded to the first of the double beds. Her scrutiny quickly shifted to the bed as she peeled the covers back. “I hope they don’t have bedbugs.”
For a woman who had faced her biological father, the convicted serial murderer, and the total destruction of her car via a homemade bomb, worrying about bedbugs seemed a minor nuisance.
“I hear they never linger in the bathtubs if you’d prefer to sleep there.”
She shot him another of those dark scowls. He laughed, couldn’t help himself.
“It’s not a laughing matter. Those things bite and if you take them home with you they’re a big problem to get rid of.”
“I would have been more worried about the last place you were staying.” Compared to that one, this place was a resort.
“I checked their health department rating and the incident reports,” she said as she surveyed the sheets. “No pests reported.”
“You can check that?” He should have known the lady would be thorough in whatever she did.
“You can.” She collapsed on the bed in a cross-legged position. “You don’t do that when you travel?”
“This is my first overnight duty since before the bedbug issue got its own byline.” He toed off his boots and stretched out on the other bed without bothering to check for critters.
“You’re living dangerously, Mr. St. James,” she warned with enough of a twinkle in those big brown eyes that he knew she was teasing. She didn’t smile often but her eyes made up for it. She had gorgeous eyes. Wide, dark and infinitely inquisitive.
She frowned. “Actually, I suppose I’m the one living dangerously. It was my car that blew up.”
“I was just about to point out that fact.” He twisted his lips into a wry smile. “You haven’t made any enemies at work, have you?” That was an area he hadn’t explored. He doubted her life, beyond the fact that her biological parents were the Barkers, was at play here but asking seemed a logical step.
“None that I know about.”
She leaned onto her side and propped herself up on the stack of pillows, stretching her long legs, which would have been a nice distraction had she not been wearing neck-to-ankle concealing flannel. Had it not been for that infernal clearance rack she would be wearing one of those gauzy thin summer nightshirts.
“You were going to tell me about the possible connection between Weeden and Clare your agency had discovered, but we got a little sidetracked.”
“We found Clare’s college roommate from her freshman year. She claims Clare was sexually assaulted by one of her professors and a pregnancy resulted. She had no proof and a birth was never documented. We’re exploring the possibility that Tony Weeden was the result of that assault and maybe Clare gave him to her older sister to take care of, only her sister turned him over to a couple, the Weedens, who had no children.”
“Janet Tolliver, the woman who was murdered,” Olivia ventured, “is without question Clare’s sister? And she orchestrated the adoptions of me and my sisters? That’s confirmed?”
“We’ve confirmed that Janet was Clare’s sister. There was an incident when Clare was very young and Janet was sent away to live with another family that eventually adopted her, the Tollivers. Hers and Clare’s parents, the Sneads, were murdered several years later when Clare was eight years old. But that’s as far as we’ve been able to substantiate our suspicions. The rest is as much speculation as anything.” He sat up and reached for the stack of interview reports Landers had given them. “We’re assuming
that, since Janet had possession of the photo albums and Rafe named her as his co-conspirator, she was the one who took care of the adoptions, but we have no confirmation other than Rafe’s word.”
Olivia tucked her hair behind her ear and snuggled into her pillow. Her eyes had grown heavy but she wasn’t ready to give up just yet. The need to know more was driving her even as tired as she obviously was. “Why was Janet sent away? Did the family have financial problems?”
That was a fair question. The agency had considered that possibility first since it wasn’t unheard-of for a family to make a decision like that back in the day. But that wasn’t the case. “When Clare was three years old, Janet tried to harm her. Evidently the incident was bad enough that the parents felt removing her from the home was necessary.”
Olivia sat up. “What kind of people are we talking about here?” She pushed to her feet and started to pace. “Janet was my aunt by blood and she tried to harm her own baby sister. My parents are convicted murderers.” She stopped and turned to stare at Russ. “My older half brother has probably murdered at least one person.” The pacing resumed. “How could anyone in their right mind want to risk passing on those kinds of genes?”
“Some of what I just told you is speculation, some is hearsay. It may not be as bad as you think.”
She paused again to glare at him. “Do you really believe that?” A frown tugged at her eyebrows. “Wait. You said Clare’s parents—my grandparents—were murdered? How? Why?”
More questions she would regret asking. “When Clare was about eight years old someone came into the house and brutally murdered them… .” Russ took a breath. “They used an ax. The killer was never found, but at least one eye witness reported seeing a young girl, a teenager, near the home at the time. Considering what we know about Janet, we think it might have been her exacting revenge for having been abandoned. Again, that’s supposition on our part.”
“Oh, my God.” Olivia wilted back down onto the bed. “That explains the nightmares. I’ve had them my whole life and now I know why. My aunt was an ax murderer and my parents, one or both, are sociopaths, too.”
