Closer Than She Knows

by Kelly Irvin

  “Whoever he is, he’s a psychopath. Something in his brain sprang a leak.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  If he could just hang on to her hand, everything would be all right. “All I could think about was you,” he whispered. “I refused to die. I refused to put you through the loss of another person you care about. I won’t give him that power over you. We have to talk, T. Life is short—”

  “Just rest.” Her effort to smile seemed painful. “We will talk. Later.”

  No. Sooner, not later.

  The crumpled blue-and-white carcass of Max’s truck told a story Teagan didn’t want to hear.

  “He’s lucky he survived.” Justin shone his LED mag flashlight through the shattered driver’s side window. “If he’d hit one of those bigger burr oaks, he’d be flatter than a pancake.”

  “Nice. First, we don’t believe in luck.” Teagan kept her phone light on the ground. Meeting a rattlesnake in the dark wasn’t on her bucket list. Nor was twisting her ankle in a hole. “Second, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t egg on my imagination. I already know all the ways he could’ve died.”

  The possibilities left her with pain in the vicinity of her heart so sharp, she couldn’t heave a breath. He could’ve died. Again. What would her life be like without Max? Empty.

  “Life is short,” the take-the-leap angel on her right shoulder whispered in her ear. “It’s selfish and you know it,” the look-before-you-leap angel on her left shoulder cautioned, leaning in closer.

  Both were right. She stifled a groan.

  The CSU crew hustled to set up spotlights. The team’s lead investigator didn’t seem pleased with the situation, but she acquiesced when Justin asked her to retrieve the letter. She laid it out flat on the truck’s bed. Justin added his light to hers.

  “It’s addressed to you, T.”

  Of course it was. The cocoa sloshed in Teagan’s belly. Despite the humid night air, a chill raced through her. She rubbed her bare arms. “He didn’t expect Max to survive.”

  Together they bent over the letter and studied its contents. “Truth is, he didn’t have the guts to kill himself, so I did it for him.”

  Teagan jerked her hand back from the bed’s smooth rubber surface. “What does that mean?” Justin didn’t respond. His gaze studiously avoided hers. “What didn’t y’all tell me?”

  “Max originally entered rehab from a hospital where he was taken after trying to kill himself with booze and pills. Billy figured you knew. Max said he told you everything you needed to know about that period of his life.”

  Max didn’t think she needed to know this. A cold-blooded killer knew all his secrets. All hers, too, apparently. He had no right to bare Max’s secrets to Teagan. He’d stripped away Max’s dignity with one line of fancy script. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “The guy’s yanking Max’s chain. And yours too.” Justin motioned for the investigator to bag the letter. “So lay it on me—who’s our latest character?”

  “A film professor who shoots digital recordings of his victims and makes snuff films out of them. It’s called Caught on Film.”

  “This guy is seriously irritating me.” Justin smacked the truck with his gloved hand. “He’s toying with you, terrorizing you.”

  And doing a good job of it. “The big question is, who will he go after next?”

  “We can’t put a detail on every person in your family indefinitely, and he knows it.”

  “I can’t lose anyone else.”

  “You won’t.” He couldn’t promise that.

  His phone dinged. He glanced at the screen. “I’m gonna take this.”

  Teagan studied the sad heap of a truck. Max loved this truck, and the killer knew that. It would’ve been easier and more deadly to drive him off the highway when he was riding his motorcycle.

  The CSU investigator hooted and yelled for one of her compadres. The two peered into the Ford’s engine compartment.

  Teagan squeezed in next to them. “What is it?”

  They both looked up and went back to their commiseration.

  “Come on, guys. I’m with Detective Chamberlain. I’m . . . consulting on the case.”

  “The brake line was cut. Not completely. There was probably enough brake fluid in the lines to get him going, but eventually the line busted and the brakes no longer functioned.” The investigator had the gall to look happy. “We’re talking attempted homicide.”

  The letter already proved that. They had motive and means. If Justin’s theory held water, opportunity occurred while Max recited his Serenity Prayer at AA.

  “We have to go.”

  She turned just as Justin bolted past her. “Yeah, I know. I need to go to the hospital.”

  “It looks like we just found Max’s friend Charity.”

  She slogged through the weeds after him to the car parked haphazardly behind the Bexar County Sheriff’s Department vehicle. “We don’t even have her last name.”

  “We do now.” He jerked his door open and paused for a nanosecond. “According to the driver’s license they found in her purse, it’s Charity Waters.”

  “Her purse? Where is she?”

  “In a Dumpster behind your church. And he left us—you—another letter.”

  17

  Dear T,

  Let that be a lesson to you. This is what happens when you make a mistake. Mistakes are not permitted. I am a hard task-master. Charity served her purpose. Your lover boy is true blue; he didn’t take the bait she offered. However, this was necessary to teach sweet Charity a lesson. I will miss her. When the time comes, you’ll want to give me that which I require. Complete and perfect submission. Until then, adieu.

  Your friend River Flows

  Teagan didn’t wait for the detectives to ask. “In Death Comes Quickly, the killer is known as River Flows. He uses a ceremonial knife to slash their throats and then performs a Native American ritual before burying them in an old, abandoned cemetery.”

  “As if we don’t have enough grotesque evil in the world without making it up.” The CSU investigator, a lanky redhead, shook her head and walked away.

  Teagan waited for Seibert and Justin to do the same before she sank against the bumper of Justin’s Crown Vic. Thank goodness she hadn’t eaten the pizza. Charity Waters’s battered body still lay draped over trash bags in one of the Faith and Hope Community Church’s Dumpsters at the back of the parking lot. Only one pink Converse tennis shoe showed on a leg slung over the side. Another CSU investigator had hopped into the bin with the victim. Teagan had not been allowed to cross the crime scene tape. Nor did she wish to do so.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  She jumped and screeched.

  Brian Lake shifted his digital video camera to his other shoulder and grinned. “Made you jump.”

  “Seriously, you’re like a little boy sometimes. How did you get past the unis?”

  “I’m in stealth mode.” He made a motion like an airplane flying in front of him. Despite the hour, the journalist wore neatly pressed Dockers and a short-sleeve button-down, collared shirt. The only signs he’d had a long day were the white-and-gray five o’clock shadow that covered his narrow chin and his mussed sandy blond hair. “The question is, what are you doing here? Isn’t this the third crime scene you’ve visited in less than forty-eight hours? What gives?”

  “How did you even know? You’re not nightside.”

  “The freelancer photog who does our overnight coverage called me. It just so happens we had a beer together last night, and I was telling him about how your life had been strangely touched by two tragedies in one day. We commiserated on your behalf.”

  Over a beer. At least he recognized that these were tragedies. “So you hopped out of bed and zipped down here to get a shot of the pool of blood?”

  “I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Brian’s East Texas drawl became more elongated when emotion peeked through his crusty exterior. “I truly am. I didn’t mean to make light of y
our suffering. I know this isn’t just a story to you. I’m only trying to do my job.”

  Which he tried not to take home with him at night. Reporters suffered from some of the same nightmares as court reporters and police officers. At least the good ones did. “Thank you. I appreciate that, but I still can’t talk to you.”

  “Off the record. Steer me in the right direction.” He gave her that puppy-dog look he employed when she had chocolates on her desk.

  “Talk to Detective Chamberlain or Detective Siebert.”

  “How is this related to Officer Moreno’s death? Or the murder of your neighbor?”

  “What makes you think it is?”

  “Number one, you’re here. Number two, the two detectives you named, along with their partners, are working the cases together. That’s unusual. Three, the scuttlebutt around the courthouse is that San Antonio may have its very own serial killer.”

  The magic words. Serial killer. They would light up the media’s world. Which was exactly what the killer wanted. His time in the spotlight. His fifteen minutes of garish fame.

  Teagan clamped her mouth shut tight. She had no intention of furnishing this letter-writing creep with the joy juice he wanted. He would only keep killing in order to get more and more of the high he craved.

  “Come on. A high-powered rifle killed Officer Moreno on the near west side. You were in the car. Evelyn Conklin was stabbed to death in her yard in a quiet millennial-infested near-south side neighborhood, coincidentally next to the very house where you live. Now we have the body of a woman in the Dumpster where you attend church. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you are the common denominator. Was this victim shot or stabbed? Did you know her? Is she a member of your church?”

  Brian was far too observant and had too many PD contacts.

  Charity Waters had bled to death after someone slashed her neck from ear to ear. One clean, fell swoop. She let the killer get close. Justin said there were no defensive wounds. She’d been laid out on the trash bags with her hands crossed over her chest, her purse nestled by her side, the letter inside of it. So far, no weapon had been found. Not even Charity’s fingerprints appeared on the purse. Nor did the letter have prints. The guy was not an idiot.

  They knew from Max’s statement that Charity had attended the AA meeting from seven to eight o’clock.

  One of the homeless men who used the church’s prayer garden as a place to drink and sleep after dark had found the body when he foraged for the staff’s lunch scraps in the Dumpster. That meant the murder occurred between eight and eleven at night.

  Officers were canvassing the area for potential witnesses. So far nothing. They would interview everyone who attended the AA meeting earlier in the evening—all the church staff, and anyone who had been at church meetings scheduled in the education building that evening. Did the killer know his plan to murder Max had failed, or did Charity simply die for a slip of the lip over her sponsor? If he knew Max hadn’t died, how did he know?

  How could a guy stalk her and Max at the same time? Accomplices plural? If he killed them off for such minor offenses, he wouldn’t have them for long.

  Surely someone had seen something.

  The violent, ugly evil now permeated every part of her life. Her job. Her sweet, peaceful, neighborhood. Her friend’s classic pickup truck. Now her church.

  Too much.

  Teagan clenched her fists and breathed. This guy had nerve. So did she. This would not end well for him. She had resources. She had guts.

  He’d picked a senseless fight with the wrong woman.

  “I have to go.” She brushed past Brian and ducked under the crime scene tape.

  “Hey, Teagan, come on, give a guy a crumb.”

  “PD’s PIO is on his way. He’ll give you more than I can.”

  She marched across the asphalt in the harsh parking lot lights augmented by the CSU’s floodlights. The stench of garbage and excrement billowed in the dank humidity of a South Texas night. Her stomach lurched. Stop it.

  “You don’t belong in here.” Justin stepped in her path the second she entered his line of sight. “Wait for me by the car. I’ll get you home as soon as I can.”

  Still treating her like the little sister he never had. He hadn’t wanted her to come to the crime scene. She’d insisted. Now she had what she needed. “I’m leaving. I’ll get an Uber to take me to the hospital. I need to be there for Max.”

  “You’re not going anywhere by yourself.” Justin took her arm and propelled her away from the others. Alisha rolled her eyes and grinned. Siebert simply looked confused. Justin didn’t seem to notice or care. “If I have to arrest you, I will.”

  Teagan tugged her arm free. “As I have said numerous times—”

  “I’m not the boss of you. I know.” Justin’s bass deepened, a hoarse shadow of itself. “I’m only trying to keep you safe. For Billy, for Gracie, for your dad. If something happened to you, think about what it would do to them. You’re your own worst enemy, you know that, right?”

  “You have three related homicides to solve. Why not focus on them and let me take care of myself? I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Then don’t act like one. Do you know what your dad will do to me if something happens to you?”

  The stare down lasted several long seconds. Teagan backed up a step. “Could you have someone give me a ride to the hospital? I’ll ask Billy or Gracie to give me a ride home from there. They’re armed and dangerous. Is that good enough?”

  He actually had to take time to consider the proposal. “Fine. Alisha will drive you. She can take Max’s statement when the doctors are done with him. Then she’ll drive you home. Got it?”

  “Got it, Uncle Justin.”

  “Sarcasm will win you no points.”

  “But it makes me feel better.” Actually it didn’t. Justin acted the way he did because he cared. “Justin?”

  He looked back. “What?”

  “You be careful too.”

  The sardonic expression that so often adorned his face these days disappeared. “I will, Sissy.”

  “Love you too, Bro.”

  18

  Seventeen years and the smells of a hospital still had the power to send Teagan hurtling through space to when she’d been a scared little girl who wanted her mom back. The antiseptic smells, the squeak of the meal cart’s wheels, the telephone ringing at the nurses’ station. Worried faces. So many worried faces. People telling her it would be okay. They lied. Grandma and Grandpa arguing with Daddy down the hall. Grandma won. She took Teagan’s hand and led her into Mom’s room. Teagan was a smart kid. She understood this was good-bye. They were taking her mom off life support. She understood. But she still expected it to be okay. Mom would open her eyes and ask Teagan how school had been that day.

  Only she didn’t.

  Teagan picked up her pace.

  “You okay?” Alisha had been tense on the walk from the parking garage. Now she seemed to relax a little. “You look green.”

  “I’m fine.” Teagan checked on the room number.

  Alisha identified herself as a police detective on official business. The nurse shrugged and noted that the patient was likely sleeping. Together they found the room. Teagan pushed open the door to find Pastor Ricardo “Rick” Chavez sitting next to Max’s bed. His posture, body forward, head bent, elbows on knees, and hands clasped, suggested prayer or deep meditation. She closed the door with a gentle push. He didn’t look up. Max’s eyes were closed. Deepening purple-and-black bruises ran rampant across his left cheek, eye, and forehead. His nose was swollen to twice its normal size.

  A white bandage on his right cheek stood out in stark relief to the ugly bruises. His upper lip was swollen and split. She moved toward the railing. Rick glanced up. “Hey.” His gaze traveled to Alisha. “What’s up?”

  “How is he?”

  “Cranky.” Rick straightened and stretched. The burly pastor of a three-hundred-plus-member church wore faded blue jeans sporting
grass stains on the knees and a wrinkled white CHRIST IS RISEN T-shirt. “He called me because he thought he needed a ride home, but the doctor decided to admit him overnight for observation. If all goes well and all the tests come back clear, they’ll spring him in the morning.”

  “I bet he loved that.”

  “Yep. He uttered a few words that made this innocent pastor blush.”

  Rick had grown up poor as the son of a Mexican-born migrant farmer. He hadn’t been innocent for many of his thirty-plus years. Still, Teagan managed a smile to reward his effort at a joke. “How long has he been asleep?”

  “Twenty minutes or so. They gave him something for the pain. They had to convince him it was nothing that would send him spiraling into addiction. You know how he is. Absolutely petrified of narcotics.” Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Rick nodded toward the door. “Let’s go in the hallway.”

  They traipsed from the room.

  “You’re not going to wake him, are you?” Fixing Alisha with a stern stare, Rick shoved his hands in his pockets and did his father-knows-best imitation. “Can’t you wait until morning?”

  Rick didn’t like police officers. Teagan filed that fact away with other biographical information about her pastor. He’d participated in Dreamer protests numerous times and traveled to Washington, DC, to testify. He was legal. His parents weren’t.

  Alisha made a show of looking at her phone. She thumbed a text and then turned to Teagan. “I have something I have to check on. Billy will pick you up when you’re ready to leave. Don’t go anywhere on your own. Text me in the morning. We’ll arrange to interview Max at PD when he’s up to it.” She nodded at Rick. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Same here.” Rick’s response remained lukewarm.

  Together they watched her walk away, phone to her ear.

  “Wow, could you be more obvious?”

  “Sorry.” Rick didn’t look sorry. “Force of habit. I need coffee.”

  Teagan followed him down the hallway to a waiting room/break room with three snack machines, a soda machine, and a coffee machine. “Convenient.”