Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

by Rita Herron

  Which made sense. Hank was right-handed. He pointed to the numerous small stab wounds. “Those were the wounds Hank inflicted.”

  “But look here.” Dr. Riggins used a pointer to highlight another stab wound, this one slightly different. “It’s not only deeper and wider but slants the opposite direction.”

  Jaxon’s heart hammered. “That one was made by someone other than Hank. By someone left-handed.”

  Dr. Riggins pushed his glasses up his nose with a smile. “Exactly.”

  Avery made a low sound in her throat. “What are you saying?”

  Adrenaline rushed through Jaxon. This was what they needed, some concrete evidence to support the theory that there had been another perpetrator.

  “It means that a second person stabbed Wade,” Jaxon said.

  “Not only that,” Dr. Riggins said as he pointed to the wound again, “but this wound was the fatal one. It sliced through the aorta. Mulligan probably died within seconds.”

  Jaxon gritted his teeth. This should be good news.

  Except that Avery was left-handed.

  * * *

  AVERY MENTALLY DIGESTED the implications of the ME’s report. “That means Hank was telling the truth.”

  “It could mean a second person actually killed Mulligan,” Jaxon said quietly.

  Avery glanced at her hands, her eyes widening. “My God, I’m left-handed.”

  She staggered back against the table. “Hank thought I stabbed Wade. And I...don’t remember what happened that night.” Fear clogged her throat. “What if I did do it?”

  Regret flashed in Jaxon’s eyes. “Avery, don’t jump to conclusions. You were just a child.”

  Avery rubbed the scar on her wrist. “I didn’t want to remember.” Her breath caught. “But then I thought Hank was guilty. I didn’t see any reason to relive it.” Maybe she should try harder now.

  If she could recall the details of that night, if she’d witnessed the murder, she might be able to identify the killer.

  “Ms. Tierney,” Dr. Riggins said. “The wound made by the left hand was the fatal one and much deeper than the other wounds, which appear more superficial. It tore through muscle and tissue. But I doubt a nine-year-old girl would have that kind of strength.”

  Relief filled Avery. “If you show this to a judge, he’ll have to stop the execution and grant a new investigation.”

  Jaxon scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I wish it was that simple. But the prosecutor can easily argue that Hank used his left hand at some point. Maybe he grabbed the knife with his left hand at first because he was holding Mulligan down with his right, or he dropped it at some point and then retrieved it with his other hand.”

  Avery’s hopes wilted.

  “Don’t get too discouraged, Avery,” Jaxon said. “This is a start. But we need more.” He turned back to the forensic specialist. “Is there anything else you can tell us from the body?”

  Dr. Riggins studied the photographs intently. He pointed to a cut on the man’s right wrist. “The only defensive wound Mulligan sustained is that cut. Which suggests that he raised his arm in an attempt to deflect the blow from the left-handed attacker.”

  “So that wound, which was the killing blow, was delivered first,” Jaxon said.

  Avery’s hope stirred to life again. “That confirms Hank’s story, that Mulligan was dead when he stabbed him.”

  Dr. Riggins pulled a hand down his chin. “Based on angle and depth of the wounds, I would testify that there were two different attackers.”

  “But we still need proof that someone else was there,” Jaxon pointed out.

  Avery’s head began to pound. “Maybe it’s time I work on recovering my memory. If I saw the killer and can identify him, or her, then I can free my brother.”

  * * *

  JAXON FELT THE fear emanating from Avery as he drove her back to her house.

  She’d blocked out the traumatic events of that night because they were so horrible. Reliving them would be a nightmare come true.

  But would it help her heal?

  And how could she go on if she continued to be plagued with guilt over Hank’s incarceration? Worse, how would she live with herself if she learned she had killed Mulligan?

  He pulled down the road leading to Avery’s but slowed as he approached, a bad feeling in his gut.

  Avery suddenly sat up straighter and gasped as they parked.

  Jaxon’s pulse hammered when he saw the words painted on the front door.

  “An eye for an eye. Hank Tierney should die.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Avery stumbled from the SUV, shock rolling through her. “Who did this?”

  She turned to Jaxon, hands on her hips. “Who cares enough about Hank and a murder he supposedly committed twenty years ago to torment me?”

  “The person who really killed Mulligan,” Jaxon said matter-of-factly.

  Fear shot through Avery, and she pivoted to search the street, then the woods behind her house.

  Jaxon also visually searched the perimeter as they approached the front door. “There’s another possibility. There are always lunatics who follow death row cases. One of them could have paid you a visit because he knows you’re trying to stop the execution. You’d be surprised at the fanatics who protest against the death penalty while others lobby for it. Some of them even write prisoners and offer conjugal visits and marriage proposals.”

  “But the warden said that Hank hadn’t had any visitors, not until I asked to see him.”

  Jaxon snapped his fingers as if a thought just occurred to him. “I’ll call the warden and ask if Hank received any suspicious mail. It’s possible the killer wrote him.”

  Avery started to touch the wording on the door, but Jaxon caught her hand. “Don’t. I want a crime team to process this place. Maybe whoever left that message also left a fingerprint.”

  He stepped aside to call the crime team.

  Although her first instinct was to run inside, grab cleaning supplies and erase the ugly message, Avery stepped back from the door, knowing Jaxon was right.

  Memories of her teenage years bombarded her. The other teens teasing her, calling her a murderer’s daughter. A murderer’s sister.

  Making jokes about when she would go ballistic and start her own killing spree.

  One day a group had painted the word killer all over her locker.

  After that, others had taunted her with the name. They said she had bad blood. That she’d end up in jail just like her father and brother.

  Once she’d even considered getting a gun and firing it at the next person who tortured her with ugly words.

  She’d even sneaked out of the group home that night and met a guy on the streets in a dark alley, one who’d promised her a Saturday-night special.

  But she’d seen another little girl that night. A tiny little thing walking with her mother. They were holding hands singing some silly song about a frog. They’d looked so normal.

  Her heart had ached. She’d never had normal.

  Heaven help her, but she’d wanted normal. Wanted a family and someone to love her.

  A light had flickered in her head—if she shot someone, she’d never have that life. She’d become exactly what the others kids called her. A killer. She’d prove that she had bad blood. And she’d end up in prison like her father and brother.

  So she’d turned around and walked down the street, following the woman and child. She’d stood in the shadows and watched them enter the Humane Society. A few minutes later, they came out with a scruffy-looking dog.

  The little girl and mother had laughed and giggled as the puppy licked the child’s face and nuzzled up to her.

  After they left, Avery had walked into the Humane Society and stroll
ed through, looking at the lost and abandoned animals. She knew just how they felt and wanted to take them all home that day.

  But the group home didn’t allow pets, so she’d offered to volunteer at the adoption center.

  “Avery, are you all right?”

  She looked up at him as he pocketed the phone. So much had happened in the two days since she’d met him.

  Hank could still die.

  A strangled sob escaped her, and she spun around to avoid letting him see her cry.

  “What if I did do it?”

  “Aw, Avery, I don’t think you did.”

  Then he slid his arms around her from behind. Unable to help herself, she leaned into him, turned around and buried herself in his arms.

  * * *

  JAXON STROKED AVERY’S back, her warm body heating his own. He only meant to comfort her, but her fingers trailed across his chest, and his lungs squeezed for air.

  She felt so sweet and hot at the same time, and the feeling stirred protective instincts that made him want to alleviate all the pain in her life. She also aroused a passionate need inside him that made him want to carry her to bed and make love to her until dawn.

  Make love?

  Hell. What was wrong with him? Avery was a...a woman who’d been victimized. Who needed his professional help.

  She lifted her head and looked up at him with those sensual, lonely eyes, and his heart tripped, robbing all rational thoughts from his head.

  He pressed a hand to her cheek, ordering himself to pull away. They were in the middle of a crime scene.

  But her eyes fluttered, and she emitted a soft purr that ripped away his resolve, and he lowered his head. He hesitated, his lips an inch from her mouth, and searched her face.

  The flare of need in her expression triggered his own, and he was lost.

  He closed his lips over hers, his heart hammering wildly as she kissed him in return. She threaded her hands in his hair, digging her fingers deeper as she pulled him closer.

  He forced himself to be gentle when he wanted to swing her up, take her inside and prove to her that men could be gentle and loving at the same time.

  Heat exploded between them, her breath rasping against his neck as he ended the kiss. But she cradled his face between her hands and looked at him again. Heat flared as she traced one finger over his mouth.

  He sucked in a breath, allowing her to take her time, to memorize his lips the way he wanted to memorize every inch of her.

  But his cell phone buzzed on his hip, and he stilled. What the hell was he doing?

  He eased away from her, aware that their breathing sounded raspy in the silence.

  “Avery?”

  Her eyes were swimming with desire and other emotions he didn’t understand.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  A small smile tugged at her lips. “I wanted it.”

  That admission made him want to kiss her again. But his phone buzzed once more, and the sound of an engine broke the spell.

  He stepped back and answered his phone as he went to meet the crime team. Damn, it was his director on the phone.

  “Ward, I need an update,” the director said in a demanding tone.

  Jaxon grimaced. The last thing his boss wanted was to know that he’d kissed Avery Tierney. And that he believed Hank was innocent. “I’ve been talking to people involved in the original investigation to verify stories.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  That I think you made a mistake. But he needed concrete proof before he confronted him.

  He lowered his voice so Avery wouldn’t hear. “You wanted me to make sure the conviction wasn’t overturned, so I’m reviewing the case. If it’s solid, there’s nothing to worry about.” There, that was a roundabout answer.

  The director heaved a breath. “All right. Just talk to D.A. William Snyderman. He was the assistant D.A. back then. He’ll confirm that we ran the investigation by the book.”

  He was also friends with the director. Now Jaxon understood even more his boss’s determination to keep the execution on track. Both his and the D.A.’s reputations depended on it.

  “I plan to,” Jaxon said. “But I have to go now.”

  Three crime team workers exited the van, and he pocketed his phone and introduced himself. Avery was standing by his SUV, her arms wrapped around her waist as she stared at the ugly taunt on her door.

  Lieutenant Carl Dothan introduced him to the other two crime investigators—Samantha Franks and Wynn Pollock. “What happened?” Dothan asked.

  Jaxon explained about Avery’s connection to Hank Tierney. “Someone vandalized the outside of the house and painted that threat on Ms. Tierney’s door.”

  “How’s the inside of the house?” Franks asked.

  Self-disgust ripped through Jaxon. He hadn’t even checked. He’d been too busy kissing Avery.

  “I haven’t been inside, didn’t want to contaminate anything out here.” Sounded feasible. “I called you to start processing the outside and canvass the neighbors to see if they witnessed anything.” He gestured toward the house. “I’ll search the inside now.”

  “You didn’t think whoever did this might still be around?” Dothan asked.

  Jaxon’s gut tightened. “There was no sign of that, no car or anyone on foot when we arrived. Ms. Tierney was understandably upset, so I called you. She received a disturbing phone call earlier and is pretty shaken up.”

  Lieutenant Dothan gave a clipped nod, then turned to Franks and Pollock. “Franks, canvass the neighborhood. Pollock, start with the photographs, and I’ll search the yard and drive for forensics.”

  They dispersed, and Jaxon walked back to Avery. “Stay here. I’m going to search the inside of the house and see if whoever did this broke in.”

  Something he should have done already. But he’d been too distracted by Avery.

  Dammit, if he messed up, it might mean the difference between making a valid case to save Hank and not.

  He couldn’t let himself be sidetracked again.

  * * *

  “STAY HERE,” JAXON told Avery.

  She shook her head. “Let me go with you. I’ll be able to tell if anything is missing or if someone’s been inside.”

  His gaze locked with hers for a tense second. Other emotions flickered there as well—regret that he’d kissed her?

  She didn’t regret it, though.

  Avery had never been kissed. Not by a man.

  She thought she never would be, that she wouldn’t be able to be intimate.

  But she felt safe in Jaxon’s arms. Safe in his kiss.

  She wanted more.

  Emotions mingled with desire, stirring relief and need at the same time. Maybe she could be normal after all.

  Maybe she could even have a relationship and a family of her own someday.

  “Stay behind me,” Jaxon ordered. “Is there a back door we can go in while CSI processes the front door?”

  She nodded, trembling slightly as they walked to the back entrance of the house. She scanned the backyard and woods beyond, but everything seemed quiet. Still. The wind had even died down, yet the darkness hovering over the yard gave her an eerie feeling.

  She climbed the two steps to the screened back porch, peering inside at the rustic table and chairs. Nothing looked out of place or as if anyone had been inside.

  “Let me,” Jaxon said when she reached for the doorknob.

  She stepped aside, her body tingling as his hard chest brushed hers. He jiggled the door, and it screeched open. Jaxon arched a brow at her, and she tensed.

  “It was locked.”

  He gestured for her to stay behind him, then inched inside. The back door stood ajar, causing fear to course up her spine.<
br />
  Jaxon pulled his gun and held it at the ready, then tiptoed toward the door. He eased inside, looking left and right. Avery peered over his shoulder, staying close to him as they entered.

  The kitchen looked untouched, as did the den and connected dining area.

  Jaxon swung his gun toward the stairs. “Upstairs?” he said in a low voice.

  “Two bedrooms. First one is mine, second is a guest room.”

  Jaxon slowly inched his way up, Avery on his heels. He paused on every other step to listen for sounds of an intruder, but the only sound Avery heard was their breathing and the slow hum of the heater.

  The curtains fluttered in her room, jerking her attention to her bed.

  Nausea gripped her stomach as she realized someone had been inside.

  Pictures of Wade Mulligan’s mutilated dead body were scattered across her bed.

  But the picture in the middle was the one that made her cringe.

  It was a photograph of her with a knife stuck in the middle.

  * * *

  JAXON RELEASED A string of expletives. Dammit, Avery didn’t deserve this.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her and saw her sway slightly. Worried, he slid an arm around her waist. “I’m here, Avery. It’s going to be all right.”

  “Surely one of the neighbors saw something.”

  “Hopefully so.” He took her hand and guided her back to the stairs. “Don’t touch anything. Maybe this creep left a print and we can nail him.”

  * * *

  AVERY TIERNEY HAD found her presents. The fear on her face had been priceless and meant that scare tactics might work on her.

  Although that Texas Ranger was a problem.

  But processing the scene would take time.

  Time away from looking into Hank Tierney’s case.

  Time was all that was necessary. If the Ranger and Avery didn’t find the truth, Hank Tierney would die.

  Then there would be no reason to reopen the case, and Avery and the Ranger would have to stop asking questions.