Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

by Rita Herron

  He had a bad feeling about Pullman and the police report. Something wasn’t right.

  Either the second knife hadn’t been found, or someone had removed it from the scene and intentionally covered up the fact that it had ever been there.

  The only person who would do that was the real killer—or someone connected to him or her.

  He parked, and together he and Avery walked up to the courthouse. They went through security, and then he escorted her to the D.A.’s office.

  The man’s reputation for being a cutthroat prosecutor was legendary in south Texas. From his first case as the assistant D.A. when he’d tried Hank, William Snyderman had established himself as a winner who showed no sympathy for the criminals he put behind bars.

  Jaxon knocked on the man’s door and pushed it open when Snyderman called for him to come in.

  Unlike Pullman, who looked shady, Snyderman was distinguished with close-cropped hair, gray at the temples, and a smile showcasing his confidence. He wore a designer suit, a red power tie and a black onyx signet ring encrusted with his initials in gold.

  “I’ve been expecting to see you,” Snyderman said as he extended his hand in greeting.

  Of course, Director Landers would have relayed that he’d asked Jaxon to oversee the case.

  Snyderman offered Avery a smile and his hand. “I’m sorry about your brother, Miss Tierney.”

  Avery bit down on her lip as she shook his hand. “I remember you,” she said. “You’re the reason my brother is on death row.”

  Snyderman squared his shoulders, a sharp glint in his eye. “Your brother is on death row because he murdered a man.”

  “What if he didn’t?” Avery countered. “What if he’s innocent and you convicted the wrong person?”

  Snyderman’s jaw hardened. “You don’t really believe that, do you, Miss Tierney?”

  “Yes, I do,” Avery said, standing her ground. “And I’m going to prove it.”

  Snyderman started to speak, but Jaxon threw a hand up to keep them from arguing. Snyderman’s tongue was like a viper, and Jaxon didn’t want Avery to get stung.

  “I have a few details I’d like for you to clarify,” Jaxon said.

  Steel-gray eyes cut to Jaxon for a second before he gestured for them to sit down. Jaxon had seen his ironclad control in court, and watched as Snyderman adopted his lawyer persona.

  “What details?” Snyderman asked.

  Jaxon explained that Avery remembered the voice of a woman from that night, and that the window had been opened, indicating a third party might have come into the house and left. “Coupled with the fact that the call to 911 came from a female, it’s possible it was the same person, and that that woman killed Mulligan.”

  “You really are grasping, aren’t you?” Snyderman asked. “Have you seen the crime photos? There’s a picture of Hank with blood all over him, his hand clenching the murder weapon.”

  “That’s also a problem,” Jaxon said. “You see, Hank admitted he took a kitchen knife with him to bed, and he used it to escape after Mulligan tied him up. He heard the man going into Avery’s room and ran in to save her. There, he found her holding a knife. She was in shock, so he wiped it down and then stabbed Mulligan to cover up for her.”

  Snyderman leaned back in his seat, hands steepled as he studied Jaxon then Avery. “That’s quite a story.”

  “It’s true,” Avery said.

  Snyderman’s eyebrow shot up. “If I remember correctly, a second knife wasn’t found at the crime scene.”

  Jaxon rubbed a hand over his chin. “That’s one thing that’s bothering me,” he said. “If there was a second knife, it would prove that another person had been in that house that night.”

  “Not necessarily,” Snyderman said, always the devil’s advocate. “You could argue that both Hank and Avery took knives earlier.” He angled his head toward Avery. “It might even suggest that you two planned the murder together.”

  Avery shot up from her seat, eyes glinting with fury. “We didn’t plan anything,” she said. “Wade Mulligan beat Hank and molested me.”

  “There is your motive,” Snyderman said, voice oozing confidence.

  Avery crossed her arms. “Yes, we had motive, but so did other kids who’d lived there. One of them could have sneaked in that night and stabbed Wade.”

  “With you in the room?” Snyderman’s voice screamed with disbelief. “And if that’s the case, why wouldn’t you have told the police that, Miss Tierney? If you believed your brother was innocent, why did you testify that he stabbed Mulligan?”

  “I was just a child,” Avery said in a tortured whisper. “I was frightened, and...traumatized by that night.”

  Jaxon fisted his hands by his sides. Snyderman was pointing out the obvious holes in their theory, the same way a judge or another attorney would.

  But the bastard was wrong. He had to be.

  Jaxon cleared his throat, adopting his own authoritative air. “Miss Tierney is not on trial, Snyderman. She was only nine at the time and in shock. You know from experience that children often repress traumatic memories, but years later when they reach adulthood, those memories resurface.”

  Snyderman sighed warily. “That may be true, but you’ve shown me nothing to make me believe that Hank Tierney was wrongly convicted.”

  Jaxon hated to admit it, but the D.A. was right. He had a decent theory but no concrete evidence, not even a specific suspect. Just conjecture.

  He still didn’t like the man’s attitude toward Avery, though. “Just for a moment, consider the possibility that our theory is correct,” Jaxon said. “If a third party, say this woman who called in the murder, sneaked in and killed Mulligan, she’s gotten away all these years. Avery’s scream must have prompted her to run, and the woman dropped the knife. The ME also confirmed that the actual fatal wound was made by a left-handed person, not a right-handed one. Hank Tierney is right-handed.”

  For the first time since they’d entered, unease flashed on Snyderman’s face. But not for long. “A right-handed person could have used his left hand to inflict that wound to confuse police.”

  “Hank was fourteen, emotional, in a rage. I hardly think he had the presence of mind to make a decision like that.”

  Snyderman steepled his hands again. “But it’s possible. He could have planned it while he was tied up in his room. Or hell, for days, for that matter.”

  Jaxon narrowed his eyes. “Did the police find ropes in Hank’s bedroom? They should have, and the defense attorney should have made the argument of abuse.”

  Snyderman looked down at his hands. “I don’t recall.”

  Jaxon didn’t remember seeing them in the report or photos, either.

  “But if there were ropes,” Snyderman continued, “the police could have assumed Hank planned to use them to tie up Mulligan.”

  The man had an answer for everything.

  Jaxon leaned forward, his gaze penetrating Snyderman. “You know, I believe the police did a shoddy job of processing this case. I know the defense attorney didn’t do his job. And now I’m wondering if you didn’t do yours, either.”

  Snyderman leaned forward as well, meeting Jaxon’s gaze head-on, his eyes cold. “What are you implying, Sergeant Ward?”

  Jaxon gritted his teeth. He could be about to kiss his career goodbye. But Avery was counting on him, and Hank Tierney might lose his life for doing nothing but protecting his little sister.

  Jaxon couldn’t live with that.

  “I understand you built your reputation on this conviction,” Jaxon said, forging ahead in spite of the warning in the D.A.’s eyes. “But maybe you, the police and the defense attorney were a little too eager to close this case.”

  Anger seared Snyderman’s expression. “You’re implying that the police removed evidence? Tha
t I acted with impropriety?”

  “I don’t know,” Jaxon said. “But I’m going to talk to the officer who wrote that initial report. O’Malley, I think it was.”

  Snyderman grunted. “O’Malley died five years ago.”

  Damn, but Snyderman almost looked smug about the man’s death.

  And with O’Malley dead, how would they learn if someone had found that second knife?

  He didn’t like the other question nagging at him. Director Landers had made his career on this case, as well. Had he hidden or covered up evidence that could have cast doubt on Hank’s guilt, maybe even exonerated him?

  * * *

  AVERY WAS SHAKING with anger and frustration as they left the D.A.’s office.

  Just the sound of Snyderman’s harsh voice had triggered memories of sitting in court twenty years ago. Of watching the faces of the jurors as he’d ranted about Hank’s violent tendencies, about the number of times he’d stabbed Mulligan.

  Then he’d plastered pictures of the bloody scene in her bedroom the night of the murder on a screen, and the women and men watching had gasped and whispered in shock.

  The psychologist who’d treated her after the murder had tried to shield her from the sight of the photos, but she’d seen them anyway.

  “Are you okay?” Jaxon asked.

  No, she wasn’t okay. How could she be? Time was running out, and she knew her brother was innocent but couldn’t prove it.

  “It’s my fault. If I’d told the social worker about what Wade was doing, maybe she would have removed us from the home and none of this would ever have happened.”

  Jaxon cradled her hand in his. “We’re not giving up yet, Avery. Let’s talk to that social worker and see if she can shed some light on the situation.”

  She gripped his hand, taking comfort in the warmth of his fingers as he enclosed her smaller hand in his.

  Thirty minutes later, they parked at Erma Brant’s house, a small wooden-framed structure on a street lined with similar older homes.

  “You worked with Delia,” Jaxon said as they walked up the sidewalk to the door. “Did you ever meet Erma Brant?”

  “I don’t think so,” Avery said. “But Hank and I did go through a couple of other social workers before Delia was assigned to us.”

  Jaxon knocked, and she glanced at the withered flowers and peeling paint on the house. The screens were torn, and the house needed a new roof.

  Seconds later, a thin woman wearing a housedress and bedroom shoes opened the door. She squinted up at them over bifocals. “Yeah?”

  “Mrs. Brant?” Jaxon said. “My name is Sergeant Jaxon Ward with the Texas Rangers. Can we talk to you for a minute?”

  “You want Erma,” the woman said in a high-pitched voice.

  “Yes,” Jaxon said.

  “That’s my sister. Come on in, she’s in the kitchen.”

  They followed her through a cluttered foyer piled high with laundry, knickknacks and dozens of magazines, then found Erma Brant sitting in a wheelchair at a round oak table.

  “Erma, it’s one of them Texas Rangers,” the sister shouted. She made a sign with her hand to indicate Erma was hard of hearing.

  Erma looked at Jaxon with a scowl, then glanced at Avery. “My God, you’re Hank Tierney’s sister, aren’t you?”

  Avery nodded. “You remember me?”

  Erma’s lip quivered as she took a sip of tea. “Didn’t really know you and your brother, but I saw your pictures in the news. They’ve been showing it again, what with the execution coming up.”

  “That’s the reason we’re here,” Jaxon said. “Erma, there’s some new information that’s come to light, and we need your help. We now know that Wade Mulligan was abusing Hank and Avery.”

  Avery watched for shock on the woman’s face, but her expression went flat. “Who are you?”

  “Avery Tierney,” Avery said.

  Erma suddenly looked confused and glanced at her sister. “What are they doing here? Where’s Mama?”

  The sister rushed over and patted Erma’s back, then gave Avery and Jaxon a wary look. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you. Erma has some memory problems.”

  “Alzheimer’s?” Jaxon asked.

  The sister nodded. “Started about ten years ago. She has good days and bad days. Sometimes she remembers details of things that happened years ago but can’t remember my name or her own.”

  “Get these people some tea,” Erma said. “I should have made my shortcakes.”

  Despair tugged at Avery. How could Erma help them if her memories were faulty?

  Jaxon slipped into the chair across from Erma. “Erma, you were telling us that you saw the story about Wade Mulligan being murdered on the news.”

  Erma’s eyes widened. “Yes, that was horrible. They say those kids that lived with him killed him.”

  Avery tensed. “Did you know that Wade was hurting the little girl and boy?”

  Erma’s hand trembled so hard the teacup rattled against the saucer. “I got Imogene out of there.”

  “You did?” Avery asked. But not before she’d been totally traumatized.

  Jaxon lowered his voice. “Did you report the abuse to the police?”

  Erma set down the teacup. “I told one of them. He said he talked to the couple, but they claimed the kids were lying.”

  Erma stood and walked to the window, then picked up a doll in the corner and began to rock it in her arms. “Shh, baby, don’t cry,” Erma whispered. “Mama’s right here.”

  Avery glanced at Jaxon and saw the frustration on his face. They were losing Erma again.

  “I’m sorry,” the sister said. “When she shuts down, she shuts down.”

  Erma sank into the rocking chair and began to hum and stroke the doll as if it were a child.

  Jaxon addressed the sister. “Did Erma ever talk to you about the Mulligans or the Tierney arrest?”

  “No, not really. Although she was upset about all the children placed with the Mulligans. She said she felt sorry for them.” Erma’s sister fiddled with the collar of her blouse. “When she reported Imogene’s abuse and the police didn’t do anything, she said she was going to quit work, that she couldn’t do her job anymore.”

  “So she left social work?” Jaxon asked.

  Erma’s sister nodded. “Said she was going to leave a note in the files for the person who filled her position, a note telling them not to put any more children in the Mulligan house.”

  Avery froze. Had Erma left a note in the file? If so, why hadn’t Delia mentioned it?

  And what if Erma had discovered that she and Hank had been placed with the Mulligans against her advice?

  She looked at the frail, unstable woman in front of her. She was confused now. But she was whispering to the baby doll that everything would be all right.

  Just as the woman had whispered to Avery the night of the murder.

  Dear God, had Erma come to check on her and Hank? Had Erma sneaked in and whispered to her that everything would be all right?

  She’d been burned out on the job. She was upset with the police for not believing her, for not stopping Mulligan.

  What if she’d been angry enough to kill Mulligan so he couldn’t abuse any more children?

  * * *

  JAXON LISTENED TO Avery’s theory as they drove back to her house.

  “I need to talk to Delia again,” Jaxon said. “Find out why she said she didn’t see the note Erma left in the files requesting that the Mulligans not be used as a foster family again.”

  Avery grabbed one of the boxes holding her brother’s mail and carried it to the house. He snagged the other two boxes and followed her.

  But his phone buzzed as she started to open the door. He checked the number.

&nbs
p; Director Landers. Probably going to fire his butt.

  “Let me take this,” he said, then stepped to the edge of the porch.

  Avery went inside and closed the door, and he saw a light flip on. He punched the director’s number, bracing himself.

  A second later, Avery’s scream pierced the air.

  Jaxon’s heart clenched as he shoved his phone in his pocket, reached for his gun and rushed to the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Avery swung her elbow backward and jabbed her attacker in the stomach. He tightened his grip.

  “Be still,” the man growled. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Old fears crawled inside her, memories of Mulligan’s attacks, and she screamed and stomped on his foot as hard as she could, using self-defense moves she’d learned in a class at the gym. He bellowed again, then shoved her toward the chair in the living room.

  She fell into it, hands reaching out to catch her from bouncing off and hitting the floor.

  “Damn, Avery, I’m here to help!”

  Avery froze, the man’s rough voice resurrecting some distant memory from the past. Gasping for a breath, she pushed up from the chair with her hands and turned to face him.

  Dark shadows hovered around his silhouette, but she could tell he was big. Over six feet. Broad shouldered.

  And he was clutching his belly and breathing hard.

  “Freeze—police!” Jaxon shouted as he crept up behind her attacker.

  Avery’s lungs strained for air as she cried out.

  The man spun around and kicked Jaxon’s gun from his hand, sending it sailing across the floor.

  Avery struggled to see the intruder’s face, but suddenly Jaxon lunged onto the man’s back.

  Avery clenched the chair edge as Jaxon knocked him to the floor. Jaxon jumped him and tried to jerk his arms behind him, but the man shoved him, then rolled over and slammed his fist into Jaxon’s jaw.

  Jaxon grunted and punched him in the stomach, and they traded blows, rolling across her floor as they fought.

  “Get off me!” the man shouted.

  “You son of a bitch, you’re not going to hurt Avery,” Jaxon growled.