by D. F. Hart
“Yes, sir,” he answered with a frown.
***
After a couple of follow-up questions, Nathan and Lizzie thanked Benji again and returned to the car.
“We need to get our hands on a map of the Texas Forts Trail. You know we’re headed to Bronte, right?” she confirmed.
“Absolutely,” Nathan agreed as he climbed behind the wheel. “Good call on your theory, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she answered. “I’m coming up with ten as a possible total. So, does your math match mine?”
“Yep,” Nathan told her. “Benji mentioned eleven forts total. We have three connected cases we know of, and by this weekend we’ll know if the lady in Bronte that Benji just told us about makes four.”
“Which means,” Lizzie sighed, “since Benji’s shooting ties back to two of the forts, that we have a possibility of having up to six more homicides on our hands – if my theory was right.”
He swiveled his head to look at her. “I know it is. I can feel it. Question is, how fast can we rule this Forrester guy in or out?”
“Followed by two more, super-important ones,” Lizzie shot back. “Number one, can’t we just go talk to the big wigs at the magazine? Get Forrester’s travel schedule that way?”
Nathan’s jaw set. “Because I don’t want to be heavy-handed with this. If Grant Forrester’s our killer, I don’t want him to know we’re on to him or he could go on the run and we might never find him.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Then I don’t want to cause him any issues. The FBI showing up at his work could definitely cause him problems. What was your second question?”
“If we’re able to rule out the magazine writer, then who the hell’s behind these murders?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” he murmured.
He glanced at the clock and winced. “I need to call home, let Bella know where I am. It could be late before we get back. You bring a bag in case we have to stay overnight?”
Lizzie nodded. “I always carry a ready bag in the car with extra clothes, because you just never know. With Seattle PD it wasn’t so much about unexpected travel as it was the crime scenes. Never knew what you’d be wading through. Ruined many a pair of shoes. And pants. And shirts, come to think of it.”
“Fun times.”
“Epic,” she said, “and not missed, at all. Hey, want me to call ahead to Bronte PD, try to get a point of contact, tell them we’re swinging by?”
“Knock yourself out,” Nathan answered, “and let them know we’re only about forty minutes away.”
***
The FBI agents’ luck held. They found that Detective Miller, the primary investigator on the case Benji had mentioned, was on shift.
The three shook hands and settled in for the briefing.
“Nice lady, Ms. Williams,” Miller said. “Very popular around here. She taught school for many, many years. And it was thanks to her efforts that we have an official Historic District here in Bronte to explore and enjoy.”
Lizzie leaned forward. “What happened to her?”
Miller read them in.
“Next-door neighbor saw a guy arrive that morning and leave late in the afternoon,” he concluded. “She was able to work with a sketch artist, and they came up with this.”
He handed Lizzie the composite drawing of the man that Nosy Rosie had described to authorities. She gazed at it, whistled, and handed it to Nathan.
“That look familiar?” she asked.
Nathan compared his notes from Benji’s description to the sketch he was holding in his hand. “Very much so.”
“May we have a copy of this?” he asked Miller.
“Sure. Matter of fact I can get you a copy of the entire file.”
“Thanks. What were the coroner’s official findings on cause of death?”
“Strangulation,” Miller confirmed. “Coroner said the killer used his bare hands. He lifted a couple of prints from Stella’s neck to add to the ones we lifted from the front door and living room. Nothing’s matched, in any database we’ve run. Then again, I wasn’t looking at other open unsolved cases to try to find a match, just against known prints on file. Understand, agents, we just don’t get many murders here. Maybe five a year, tops.”
“You don’t happen to have any open cases involving .44/40 caliber rounds, do you?” Lizzie inquired.
“Not to my knowledge,” came the reply. “But that’s easy enough to check. Hang on. I’ll ask while I’m copying the Williams file for you. Be right back.”
“My gut says it’s the same guy as the other three cases,” Nathan murmured after the detective had stepped out. “And the only reason he didn’t use the rifle on Stella Williams was because it would have been too noisy, attracted too much attention.”
“I’m thinking the exact same thing here,” Lizzie confirmed. “It’s a good thing they were able to lift prints. That just might be the only way we can tie this one in with the others.”
“Comparing all the prints from each scene to one another and doing a full run-down on Grant Forrester. Those two things just became the priorities when we get back,” he instructed. “I’ll have Annie continue to coordinate with our lab guys about the prints. You take Forrester. Dig as deep as you can on him, Lizzie. And work up a list of possible targets connected to the other forts along the trail.”
“You got it.”
***
Tuesday was spent with each member of Nathan’s team using every asset at their disposal to try to track and stop what was now viewed as a probable serial killer.
Lizzie started her day at five a.m. after tossing and turning most of the night. She kept a steady flow of coffee going as she used one of her computer’s monitors to create a full profile on Grant Forrester, and the other to build the ‘at risk’ list Nathan had asked for.
Nathan took point on sending Nosy Rosie’s sketch to their contacts at each police department in Abilene, Mason, and San Angelo, with a formal request for assistance in locating anyone in each town that might have seen him. Then he turned his attention to deepening his psychological profile of the killer.
Ben was hip-deep in long gun research and had narrowed the possible weapons list down to twenty.
Annie was spending another full day three floors down in the lab, enduring jokes from the techs that she’d become their unofficial mascot.
***
By Tuesday afternoon, Donny and Rick were back in north Texas. Donny dropped Rick off at the bookstore, ran an errand, then headed to Lizzie’s house.
“Hey you!” Lizzie said when she walked through the door just after seven p.m.
“Hey, honey,” he said, and closed the distance between them to hold her. “Long day?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, “but a good one, I guess. If you count possibly linking a fourth open case to the three that we already knew about and chasing down a name. How long have you been back?”
“About four hours. I was just putting the finishing touches on dinner.”
“What are you making? It smells fabulous.”
“Well,” he said, “you liked my carne asada and enchiladas so much I thought I’d make them for you again.”
“And I’m appreciative of that. Do I have time to take a shower?”
Donny glanced at the oven timer. “We have about twenty minutes. Want some company in there?”
She kissed him passionately. “Does that answer your question?”
He laughed, then scooped her up in his arms. “I take it that’s a yes,” he declared, and carried her into the bathroom.
***
By Friday afternoon, it was crystal clear that whoever had shot Benji Patterson, Ed Baker, and Sally Rutherford had also strangled Stella Williams. Each scene’s recovered prints were identical.
Now Nathan’s team turned their focus to finding the man who’d left those prints behind - before he struck again.
***
On Friday night, Jandy and Tony’s gorge
ous brand- new home was filled with family and friends who’d come to help them celebrate.
Faith and Rick huddled in a corner, whispering to each other. Jandy noticed and raised an eyebrow. She made her way over and intoned, “Are you two going to mingle, or stay in the corner all night?”
“Actually,” Faith told her, “we have a favor to ask.”
“Anything. What do you need?”
“How would you feel about having a wedding here?”
Jandy beamed. “Did you two finally set a date?”
Her little sister nodded, then laughed as Jandy bear-hugged her.
“When?”
“We were thinking the first Saturday in October,” Rick told her. “And if it’s all right, we think the backyard would be perfect for an outdoor ceremony.”
Jandy wiped happy tears from her cheeks, then strode over to the table and picked up a glass. She tapped it gently with a spoon to get everyone’s attention, and announced, “I’m so pleased to tell you all that my baby sister and her handsome man will be tying the knot right out there in my new backyard this fall!”
A fresh wave of cheers sounded, followed by several heartfelt toasts to the happy couple.
Rick wandered over to Donny.
“Hey,” he said, “you wouldn’t want to stand up with me at the wedding, would you? Be my best man?”
Donny clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.
“I’d be honored, Rick.”
***
Grant dialed and waited.
“Hey, Mom,” he said when Bernice answered. “What do you have planned for Memorial Day weekend? I’d like to bring someone up to meet you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“This has got to be the cleanest, most boring workup I’ve ever done,” Lizzie announced the following Friday afternoon as she sat in Nathan’s visitor chair.
“Zero bad stuff on Forrester, boss. Zip. Nada. Single, lives alone, only child from a stable middle-class family. Pays his bills not just on time, but early. Does his tax returns by the book - and files them early, too? Who even does that, by the way?”
Nathan grinned at her as she continued her report.
“No money issues, at all – matter of fact he’s ten years younger than me and he has a bigger retirement account balance than I do! Stellar grades from elementary all the way up through college. No traffic citations, no warrants, no arrests. Not even a parking ticket. He’s so squeaky clean that he doesn’t have his prints on file anywhere. At all.”
Her cell phone rang, and she paused. “I think this is about Fort Belknap,” she told Nathan. “I’ll be right back.” She stood and stepped outside his office so Ben, who’d been waiting patiently in the hallway, could confer with Nathan briefly.
“Interesting. Get this,” Lizzie commented when it was her turn to speak with her boss again. “There’s a guy up at Fort Belknap that I just spoke with. Timothy Overton. He says he met with Grant Forrester back in late April. Says Forrester’s a completely normal guy, didn’t set off any alarm bells at all.”
“Most civilians would say that, I bet.”
“Oh, I’d bet that too. But he’s not a civilian. He’s a sheriff’s deputy, has been for fifteen years. I’d say he’s better than average at reading people.”
Nathan’s brows raised. “Any strange events after his time with Forrester?”
“Nope,” Lizzie confirmed. “And I think the fact that Overton is on the job is the reason why. Whoever our killer is, I think he opted to move on and not try anything with a law enforcement officer.”
He narrowed his eyes, studying Lizzie intently for a moment, then nodded. “I agree with that assessment.”
His desk phone ringing interrupted their conversation.
“Hang on a sec,” he told her, then answered the call with his usual, “Agent Thomas.”
He listened, and a few seconds in was scrambling for a notepad so he could capture whatever information he was being told.
“That was the sheriff’s office working the Rutherford case. They’ve got multiple confirmed sightings of a man that matches the composite sketch both in Mason and in Menard, one town over – all around the time that Sally Rutherford was killed.”
“That’s good,” Lizzie said.
“Yes, and no,” Nathan revealed. “One witness that came forward works on an ambulance crew with the Menard Fire Department, and according to the sheriff, the EMT swears that sketch looks just like a tourist that hit a deer and totaled his car the same night Sally Rutherford died. They transported the guy down to the nearest major hospital in Junction, Texas.”
“Want me to make contact with the hospital?”
“Yep,” Nathan confirmed. “And find out where the car ended up too, please.”
Annie poked her head in the door. “Nathan, this came in on the fax machine for you.”
She stepped forward and handed him a printout.
“Three sightings in San Angelo, same guy,” he read aloud. “Two different waitresses, and a hotel desk clerk.”
“Timeframe?” Lizzie asked.
“Within twenty-four hours of Edward Baker being killed.”
“And we heard from Abilene earlier this week,” Lizzie reminded him. “The barbeque place, remember? Lady running the register remembered seeing Grant come in with Benji the day before he got shot.”
“We need to pick him up for questioning,” Nathan decided. “We’ve gathered enough data to at least label him a person of interest.”
***
As Nathan’s team prepared to travel to Grant Forrester’s house in Pantego, Texas to ask him questions, the man they sought was pulling into Bernice Forrester’s driveway up in Jacksboro with a beautiful blond sitting in the passenger seat beside him.
“This is pretty!” Kelly exclaimed, looking at the house. “I love the flowerbeds, they’re so colorful!”
“Mom’s pride and joy,” he acknowledged. “She always says growing things is good therapy.”
They got out of Grant’s car and walked up to the house.
“And it looks like my aunt came up for the holiday weekend, too,” he noted, pointing to another car at the curb. “You’ll like her, she’s a lot of fun.”
He held the door open for Kelly, then walked in behind her.
“Come on,” he said, taking Kelly’s hand and leading her down the hall. “They’ll be in the kitchen.”
They stopped in the doorway. As Grant suspected, his aunt was indeed up for a visit, and was in deep conversation with his mother about seasonal planting while his new uncle looked on from his seat at the table.
His aunt glanced over and saw him.
“Little Dude!” she exclaimed and rushed over to hug him.
“Hey, Aunt Ish,” he said with a sheepish grin, his cheeks pinking up a bit at the nickname she’d called him.
When Kelly looked confused, he explained.
“Kelly, I’d like you to meet my aunt, Trish Sevins. When I was little, I had problems saying my ‘T’s and ‘R’s, so I would call her ‘Aunt Ish,’ and, well, the name stuck. Aunt Trish, I’d like you to meet Kelly Moore.”
Bernice immediately dried her hands then stepped forward.
“And this is my mom, Bernice,” Grant said proudly.
“Hello, Kelly,” his mom said with a smile. “It’s so nice to have you here.”
“Thanks,” Kelly replied. “It’s great to meet you all. Grant’s told me a lot about you.”
“I’m Joe Wallace,” the man at the table said, as he stood and walked over to shake Kelly’s hand.
“Hey Joe, nice to see you again,” Grant said. “How’s retirement?”
“Nice, but busy. I opted to go straight into being a PI.”
“That is too cool,” Grant answered, then turned to Kelly. “Joe was a Fort Worth detective for...” he turned back to Joe, “how many years?”
“Since 1989,” Joe revealed. “Retired from the police force a couple months ago.”
“And,” Trish chimed in,
“my last name is Wallace now. We got married not long ago, as well.”
Grant turned a little red. “I’d forgotten. Sorry about that.”
“Oh, honey, that’s okay. I’ve got people I’ve worked with for years that still use ‘Sevins’ when they’re sending evidence to me at the lab. It’s a learning curve.”
Bernice’s hands flew to her face. “Where are my manners? Kelly, please, join us at the table. Would you like a drink? We’ve got iced tea and lemonade, and I was just slicing up tomatoes for us to make trash sandwiches.”
“Trash sandwiches?” Kelly giggled.
Bernice’s eyes softened with memory. “Grant’s dad used to call them that. He’d say, ‘throw it all on mine, Bernie, whatever you got, I don’t care. Better on the sandwich than in the trash.”
She paused and smiled at Kelly. “Bill could be a bit left-field with his humor sometimes, and I miss it. I miss him every day.”
“So,” she continued as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, “tell us about yourself, dear. Where are you from?”
***
He’d been in room 506 for over a week. And he was definitely feeling better than the day he’d passed out in the lobby of Harris Methodist Hospital’s emergency department. But he also knew he wasn’t well enough to go home yet.
He longed for his laptop and his cell phone, to keep him occupied, to keep him connected with the world beyond the dull gray walls. But he hadn’t been thinking clearly when he’d called the taxi and had grabbed nothing but his wallet for the trip to seek medical attention.
Visitors walked past his room several times a day. Some with cards and flowers, others with small bags or phone chargers, each person bringing a desperately needed something to a loved one or a friend in one of the thirty private rooms on the fifth floor.
But he was a circle of one. There was no one that even cared, much less came to visit. No one to reach out to and say, hey, could you please bring?
Been that way all my life. Why should now be any different?
He sighed and looked out the window.
Some holiday. At least I have a room with a decent view.
***
