Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

by Rita Herron

  “He’d hurt you before?”

  She nodded again. Which meant Hank could have planned the attack, that it was premeditated. According to the transcript of the case, Hank had never expressed any remorse for what he’d done.

  Hell, Jaxon couldn’t blame Hank. Knowing his foster father was hurting his sister could make a fourteen-year-old boy stab a man to death and not regret it.

  Avery sucked in a shaky breath. “I tried locking the door, but that only made Wade madder and he tore through it with a hatchet. And that night...I heard him yelling at Hank. Hank tried to fight him, but he tied Hank in his room.”

  Jaxon’s jaw ached from clenching it.

  “Then I...heard the door open and...”

  The images bombarding Jaxon made him knot his hands into fists. But he didn’t want to frighten Avery, so he stripped the rage from his voice. “What happened then?” he asked softly.

  She lifted her gaze, her eyes tormented. “I don’t remember. I... Sometimes when Wade came in, I blacked out, just closed my eyes and shut out everything.”

  The warden was watching her with a skeptical look. But Jaxon had grown up in the system himself. He knew firsthand the horrors foster kids faced. The feelings of abandonment, of not being wanted. The abuse.

  “What do you remember?” he asked.

  She ran a hand through the long strands of her wavy hair. Hair the color of burnished copper. Hair that he suddenly wanted to stroke so he could soothe her pain.

  “The next thing I remember was seeing Hank holding that knife.” She straightened and brushed at the tears she didn’t seem to realize she was crying. “But it could have happened the way he said. Someone else could have killed Wade. Then Hank came in and thought I did, so he stabbed him and took the blame to protect me.”

  “But you were the only two people in the house,” Jaxon said. “You and Hank both said that.”

  Avery looked up at him with a helplessness that gnawed at his very soul. “But there had to be someone else,” she said. “Hank only confessed because he thought I stabbed Wade. I can’t let him go to the death chamber for protecting me.”

  Jaxon wanted to believe her, but there hadn’t been signs of anyone else at the house.

  And without evidence or proof of her story, there was no way to save her brother.

  * * *

  AVERY SENSED THE warden was not on her side. He’d obviously heard hundreds of inmates declare their innocence.

  Death row inmates in the last stages of their lives probably always made a last-minute plea of innocence.

  But she believed her brother and had to help him.

  Because the person who’d really killed Wade Mulligan had escaped.

  Her heart hammered.

  What if I did kill him?

  The thought struck Avery like a physical blow. Hank must have had a reason to think she did....

  He’d mentioned that she had a knife.... She didn’t remember that.

  Did she have blood on her hands?

  For a second panic seized her.

  What if she discovered she had stabbed Wade, and that she’d let her brother take the fall?

  Bile rose to her throat.

  “Avery, are you all right?”

  Sergeant Ward’s gruff voice made her jerk her head up. His deep brown eyes were studying her with an intensity that sent tingles along her nerve endings. It was almost as if he were trying to see inside her head, trying to read her soul.

  She felt naked. Vulnerable. Raw and exposed in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

  Because she’d just confessed about the abuse, which meant others would be asking questions. And if Hank’s case were reopened, she would have to go public with her statement.

  Shame mingled with nausea. Could she open herself up to that kind of publicity? Then everyone would know....

  “I’d like to talk to Hank myself.” Sergeant Ward turned to the warden. “Can I do that now?”

  The warden’s scowl cut Avery to the bone. “Sure. But you’re wasting your time. In all the years Tierney has been here, this is the first time he’s ever claimed innocence.”

  “What kind of prisoner has he been?” the Texas Ranger asked.

  The warden pulled up his record on his computer. “A loner. Kept to himself. Got into fights a lot when he first got here.” He scanned the notes. “Prison psychologist said he kept saying he was glad Mulligan was dead.”

  Avery’s chest ached with the effort to breathe. “Was he abused in prison?”

  The warden folded his hands on his desk. “Lady, this is a maximum-security facility. We do our best to protect the inmates, but we’ve got rapists, murderers, pedophiles and sociopaths inside these walls. They’re caged up like animals and have a lot of testosterone and pent-up rage.”

  Avery bit her lip. She’d heard horror stories of what happened to prisoners, especially young men. And Hank had only been a teenager when he was arrested. Not able to defend himself.

  “When he was sentenced, he was only fourteen.” Sergeant Ward said. “Why didn’t he receive psychiatric care and chance of parole?”

  Warden Unger grunted and looked back at the computer. “The prosecuting attorney showed pictures of the gruesome, bloody crime scene, a dozen stab wounds altogether. That was enough for the jury to see that Tierney was violent and dangerous enough to be locked away forever.”

  Avery rubbed her wrist, a reminder of her past.

  And how far she’d come.

  At least she thought she’d survived. But she’d been living a lie. Never moving forward.

  Ignoring her brother who’d fought and lied and risked his life to save her.

  The system had failed them by placing them with the Mulligans.

  Shouldn’t the fact that she and Hank were being abused have factored in to the court’s decision? Hadn’t anyone argued for Hank that he’d been protecting himself and her?

  * * *

  JAXON STOOD, BODY TAUT. Avery Tierney was obviously upset and struggling over her visit with her brother. Had Hank Tierney manufactured this story as a last-ditch effort to escape a lethal injection?

  Was he guilty?

  An uneasy feeling prickled at Jaxon’s skin. If Avery didn’t remember the details of the murder, could she have stabbed her foster father, then blocked out the stabbing?

  Damn. She’d only been a child. But if the man had been abusing her, and she’d fought, adrenaline could have surged enough for to fight the man and inflict a deadly stab wound.

  Not likely. But not impossible.

  The more believable scenario was the one the assistant district attorney had gone with when they’d prosecuted Tierney. They had concrete evidence, blood all over the boy and his hands, and those damning crime photos. For God’s sake, Hank was holding the murder weapon and had admitted to stabbing Mulligan.

  And Hank and Avery were the only two people in the house at the time.

  “Talk to Hank and you’ll see that he’s telling the truth,” Avery said. “Please, Sergeant, help me save him.”

  Man, that sweet voice of hers made him want to say yes. And those soulful, pain-filled eyes made him want to wipe away all her sorrow.

  But he might not be able to do that. Not if Hank were guilty.

  Avery touched his hand, though, and a warmth spread through him, a tingling awareness that sent a streak of electricity through his body.

  And an awareness that should have raised red flags. She was a desperate woman. A woman in need.

  A woman with a troubled past who might be lying just to save her brother.

  He’d fallen into that trap before and almost gotten killed because of it. He’d vowed never to make that mistake again.

  But the facts about the case bugged him. Considering the ci
rcumstances, the kid should have been given some leniency. Offered parole. He’d been fourteen. A kid trying to protect his sister.

  Unless those circumstances hadn’t been presented to the jury.

  But why hadn’t they?

  His boss would know. But hell, Landers wanted Hank Tierney to be executed.

  Because he believed Hank was a cold-blooded killer?

  Or because he’d made a mistake and didn’t want it exposed?

  Chapter Three

  Jaxon tried to reserve judgment on Hank Tierney as a guard escorted the inmate into the visitors’ room, shackled and chained. Hank’s shaved head, the scars on his arms and the angry glint in his eyes reeked of life on the inside.

  A question flashed in Tierney’s eyes when he spotted Jaxon seated at the table.

  “Hello, Mr. Tierney, my name is Sergeant Jaxon Ward.”

  The man’s thick eyebrows climbed. “What do you want?”

  “To talk to you, Hank. I can call you Hank, can’t I?”

  The man hesitated, then seemed to think better of it and nodded. For a brief second, Jaxon glimpsed the vulnerability behind the tough exterior. But resignation, acceptance and defeat seemed to weigh down his body.

  “I just talked to your sister, Avery.” Jaxon watched for the man’s reaction and noted surprise, then a small flicker of hope that made Tierney look younger than his thirty-four years. Maybe like the boy he’d been before he was beaten by Mulligan and he was locked away for life.

  “I can’t believe she called you. I just saw her.” Emotions thickened his voice, a sign that he hadn’t expected anything to come of their conversation.

  That he hadn’t expected anything out of life for a long time.

  “She didn’t,” Jaxon said, knowing he couldn’t offer Hank Tierney false hope. In fact, all he really knew was that a jury had convicted him.

  And that he and his sister might have concocted this story to convince a judge to order a stay of execution.

  “I came at the request of my director. But your sister showed up at the warden’s office while we were talking.”

  Cold acceptance resonated from Hank at that revelation. “So you came to make sure they stick the needle in me?”

  He was world-weary.

  Jaxon folded his arms and sat back, his professional mask in place. “I came for the truth. Your sister insists you’re innocent.”

  Hank’s chains rattled as he leaned forward. He ran his hand over his shaved head, more scars on his fingers evident beneath the harsh lights. When he finally looked back up at Jaxon, emotions glittered in the inmate’s cold eyes. “You believe her?”

  Jaxon scrutinized every nuance of Hank’s expression and mannerisms. According to his files, he’d been an angry kid. And according to Avery, he’d been abused.

  Twenty years in a cell had only hardened him more. The scars on his body and the harsh reality of prison conditions attested to the fact that he’d suffered more abuse inside. But judging from the size of his arms and hands, he’d learned to fight back.

  “I don’t know,” Jaxon said. “I read the file. You confessed. You were convicted.”

  Hank shot up, rage oozing from his pores. “Then why did you come here?”

  Because your sister has the neediest eyes I’ve ever seen.

  He bit back the words, though. Avery Tierney had survived without him, and if she were the victim she professed to be, she might be lying now.

  Worse, his boss wanted him to make sure the conviction wasn’t overturned. Wouldn’t look good on Director Landers if one of the cases that had made his career blew up and it was exposed that he’d sent an innocent man to prison on death row.

  But something about the case aroused Jaxon’s interest.

  Because Avery had created doubt in his mind. Just a seed, but enough to drive him to want to know the truth.

  “I had my reasons for confessing.” Hank turned to leave, his chains rattling in the tense silence, his labored breath echoing in the room.

  “Did you kill Wade Mulligan?” Jaxon asked bluntly.

  Hank froze, his body going ramrod straight. Slowly he turned back to face Jaxon. The agony in his eyes made Jaxon’s gut knot.

  “I wanted him dead,” Hank said, his voice laced with the kind of deep animosity that had been built from years of thinking about the monstrous things Mulligan had done. “I hated the son of a bitch.” He shuffled back to the table and sank into the chair.

  “Every night I lay there in that damned bed across the hall from Avery, staring at the ceiling just waiting. The old lady would take her pills and pass out. He’d wait a half hour or so, wait till the house was dark and he thought everyone was asleep.” Hank traced one blunt finger over a fresh bruise on his knuckle. “But I couldn’t sleep, and I knew Avery couldn’t, ’cause we both knew what was coming.”

  Jaxon gritted his teeth.

  “Then I’d hear that squeak of the door....” Hank’s voice cracked. “At first, I was so scared I crawled in the closet and hid like a coward. But one night...I heard Avery crying and something snapped inside me.” He balled his hands into fists, knuckles reddening with the force. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to do something.”

  Jaxon’s stomach churned as he imagined Avery at nine, lying helpless at the mercy of that bastard. “What happened then?”

  “I ran in and tried to drag him off her.” Hank’s voice shook, his eyes blurry with tears. “He knocked me off him and beat the hell out of me. Used a belt that night.”

  “It happened more than once?”

  Hank dropped his head as if the shame was too much. “Yeah. After I started fighting back, I couldn’t stop. But the beatings got worse. Then he started locking me up at night, tied me to the bed so I couldn’t come in and stop him.” He groaned. “I had to lie there like a trussed pig and listen to that grunting, the wall banging. I wanted to kill him so bad I imagined it over and over in my head.”

  Hank lapsed into silence, wrestling with his emotions. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.

  “Tell me about the night of the murder,” Jaxon finally said.

  “The old lady was gone, left for a couple of days.” Hank sucked in a deep breath, his eyes glazed as if he were thrust back in that moment. “I knew it was going to be bad that night, that he’d stay at it till dawn. So earlier, I hid a kitchen knife in my bed, under my pillow.”

  “He tied you up?”

  Hank nodded. “But then Avery screamed, and I got mad. I twisted until I got that knife and cut the ropes.” He jerked his hands as he might have done that night. “Then I tiptoed to the door and peeked into the hallway. Avery’s door was cracked.... I could hear her crying....”

  Jaxon swallowed. If he’d been Hank, he would have killed the animal, too.

  “Then what happened?”

  Hank pinched the bridge of her nose. “I had the knife in my hand, and I tiptoed across the hall. I wanted to sneak up on him, stop him once and for all. Make him feel pain for a change.”

  He paused, his expression twisting with horror. “But Mulligan was on the floor at the foot of Avery’s bed. He...was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes wide like he was dead. Blood soaked his shirt, and he wasn’t moving....”

  Jaxon leaned forward, trying to visualize the scene. “He’d already been stabbed?”

  Hank nodded. “Blood was on his shirt and the floor. One of his hands was covered in it where he’d grabbed his chest.”

  “Where was your knife?”

  “In my hand.” Hank slowly lifted his head, eyes cloudy with confusion. “Then I...saw Avery holding one.”

  Jaxon would have to check the police reports to see if there was any mention of a second knife. And he needed to look at the autopsy reports. “Then what happened?”

 
“She was pitiful, crying and rocking herself back and forth.” He gulped. “So I ran over and took the knife from her. Then I wiped it off.”

  “If he was dead, why did you stab him?”

  Hank gripped his thighs with his hands. “I don’t know. Avery was sobbing, and I thought she’d get in trouble, and I couldn’t let that happen. She was already suffering enough.”

  Jaxon felt for the kid and his situation.

  “I wanted to cover for her. And I don’t want to get her in trouble now.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Jaxon said. “I just want the truth. Tell me about stabbing Mulligan.”

  Hank shrugged. “I was so mad. I had to make sure that monster never got up and hurt her again, so I lost it. All that rage and hate I had for him came out, and I went after him. I just started stabbing him, over and over and over.”

  Hank closed his eyes, pressed the heels of his hands against them and sat there for a long minute, his shoulders shaking.

  Jaxon understood the man’s—the boy’s—rage. He’d felt helpless. Had felt responsible for his sister.

  But there were still unanswered questions, pieces that didn’t fit. “Hank, what happened to the knife you brought into the room?”

  He looked confused for a moment. “I...don’t know. I think I dropped it when I ran to Avery.”

  “Did Avery have blood on her hands? On her night clothes?”

  Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Jaxon breathed a small sigh of relief. If Avery had stabbed Mulligan, she would have had blood on her. She was only nine, too young and traumatized to have stabbed someone and clean up the mess.

  Hank made another guttural sound in his throat. “Then Avery didn’t kill him?”

  “I doubt it,” Jaxon said.

  “That’s the only reason I confessed, to keep her from being taken away.” Hank gripped the edge of the table. “But if she didn’t kill him, then I’ve spent my life in a cell for nothing.”

  Jaxon knew his boss wasn’t going to like it. But he actually believed Hank Tierney.

  “There’s one major problem with your story,” Jaxon pointed out. “You and Avery both claimed there was no one else in the house that night.”