Fear No Truth

by LynDee Walker

  I flipped back through my notes. “Just that he thought she was ‘handling the pressure’ better.”

  He banged one palm onto the arm of his chair. “I’ll be damned. I like this train. Can we ride it all the way to the courthouse?”

  “Not on a photo and a hunch.” I leaned on the edge of the table. First rule of an investigation: don’t get ahead of the story. My gut was useful, but we needed to focus on facts. A theory is just that until the facts are there to support it—and this one wouldn’t hold weight with a judge yet. No matter how much I’d love to take off, siren screaming, to slap handcuffs on Coach Smarmy, there was a smart way to handle this, and that wasn’t it.

  Simpson’s whole being, from his look, to his focus, to his middle-age preoccupation with beautiful young women, howled, “Look at me.”

  And a decent narcissist will hang himself if you just give him enough rope. “We could pick him up for questioning,” I said. “Tell him we want to get more information about Tenley and let him sweat a while.”

  “If this guy knew Jessa DuGray, he’s been smart enough to keep that to himself for months, even with half the city talking about her disappearance and death,” Archie said. “It’d be hard to crack him without tipping our hand. Let’s dig a little more, see if we can come up with something we can show a judge. The fake ID, a diary, something proving he was involved with Jessa—or with Tenley outside his position as her coach. We should tread lightly.” Archie closed the computer. “And we should tread tomorrow. It’s past this old man’s bedtime, kid.”

  I flashed a smile. “I could do with a little sleep myself.” I started sliding photos and papers back into the corresponding case folders.

  Archie gathered them and laid them back in a white file box. Neither of us spoke until he settled the lid in place. “You hold up okay today?” he asked softly.

  I swallowed hard and nodded. “Mostly. It’s been years. I keep thinking it’ll get easier, you know? But sooner or later it always catches up to me.” I squeezed my eyes shut tight. No tears.

  “Me too. I should’ve been there—”

  I shook my head hard. “This was not your fault, Arch. I miss her every day. But I don’t blame you. They took her from her bed in the dead of night, and she was almost nineteen years old. How the hell were you supposed to stop that?”

  “My superpowers.” A smile ghosted across his face so fast I might’ve imagined it.

  “Well, if you want to bring that into it . . .” I turned and hugged him. He stiffened momentarily at the unexpected gesture. I don’t do hugs. Or much of any kind of touchy-feely nonsense, for that matter. It used to bug Archie when I shrank away from him, but he’d long since resigned himself to it. I loved him even more for his efforts to remedy my parents’ mistakes, but he just didn’t have enough time to make much headway.

  He wrapped one thick arm around my waist and squeezed back. “Thank you for your help tonight. Maybe we can save the next one.”

  “Let’s do that.” I pulled away, looking up at him. “You don’t think I’m trying too hard to see something that’s not there with Tenley Andre?”

  “I think you grew up to be the kind of cop I’m proud to call my colleague. Photo puts your girl’s coach near Jessa the night she disappeared. Witnesses say Tenley was hiding a romance. That’s worth following. And if it’s not him, we’ll move on to the next thing until we find the truth—in both cases. Promise.”

  Well, hell. I blinked against the unwelcome pricking in the backs of my eyes. Archie didn’t throw attagirls around like peppermints—they had to be earned. Warmth bloomed in the center of my chest, rippling outward. “Thanks, Arch,” I half whispered around the lump in my throat.

  He hefted the box and nodded a Ladies first toward the door. I flipped off the light on my way out. “I appreciate your help, Ranger McClellan,” he said.

  “I can safely say the pleasure has been all mine.” I smiled. “I feel like a cop for the first time in months.”

  “That is a crime in and of itself.” He put the box on his desk and smiled when I popped one peppermint into my mouth and pocketed three more. “I’ll keep you in mints forever if you’ll give up the Marlboros.”

  “One vice. I eat clean, I run five days a week.”

  “And you have the lungs of a grandmother at thirty-six.”

  There was that one unfortunate side effect.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it.” I rolled my eyes. “You know I’m happy to help you with any case, anytime. If you ever wanted a partner again, say . . .”

  He shook his head, starting for the door. “I’m too old to go changing my routine now. But I’m glad you’re sticking around this week. One night and we’ve got a solid suspect. Nice work if I do say so myself.”

  I unlocked my truck, waved good night, and slid behind the wheel.

  Was Jake Simpson responsible for one or both of these dead girls? Maybe. We needed more for me to trust our theory.

  Solve the equation before anyone else gets hurt—that was the never-ending goal of this world we moved in, the variables always shifting for the next sicko in line.

  This particular sicko thought he was smart.

  So the trick was to make him do something dumb.

  16

  “’Lo?” the sleepy slur to Jim’s single-syllable greeting after four rings made me swear under my breath.

  “I’m so sorry to wake you, Jim.” It was just past ten, but I feared morning would be too late. Jim liked to get an early jump on available autopsy rooms. “It’s Faith McClellan.”

  “S’okay.” A thump in my ear told me he’d dropped his phone. A couple of distant sailor-worthy mutterings later, he was back. “What can I do for you?”

  “The young woman from out at Travis this morning—have you started her postmortem?”

  “Waiting for an update from the SO to make sure the family doesn’t have concerns.”

  I smiled. Jim didn’t need the Andres’ permission for an autopsy, but he was a dad, and a hell of a decent guy. Nice of him to hold off for word from them.

  “Her mother was in rough shape this afternoon, but she wants to know what happened to her,” I said. “Doesn’t seem to me like you’ll get pushback.”

  Jim sighed. “I don’t want to imagine. I saw Jameson plastered the girl’s picture all over the TV. God forbid that jackass miss a shot at a few minutes in front of the cameras.” Disdain practically dripped from the receiver. “Why’re you asking?”

  “I’d like to observe, if it’s okay.”

  “Oh yeah?” Now he was good and awake. “The Rangers taking this over?”

  “Not officially, no,” I said quickly. “It’s been a weird day, and I’m kind of attached, is all. Wondering if you’ll do me a solid here.”

  “I’m always happy to have company. Assuming I don’t have to explain why it’s necessary to her parents, I’ll be on it first thing tomorrow morning. But I got the impression everyone was leaning toward jump. You have other ideas?”

  “None I can prove. Something feels wrong, though.”

  “Is that so? I learned a long time ago that your gut is more reliable than any indictment in this town. I’ll call you when I get in tomorrow. Leave your phone on, it could be early.”

  “Your turn to wake me up?” I laughed.

  “Something like that. At least you were warned.”

  “Thanks, Jim. Sweet dreams.”

  I touched the “End” button as I turned into the parking lot at the DoubleTree. And stopped short when I walked through the sliding doors to find Graham chatting up the pretty brunette desk clerk.

  What did he want this time of night? I fidgeted, wondering if I should scoot into the elevator before he saw me, just in case he was here to tell me to butt out of Jameson’s big case. Hiding hasn’t been my thing in a lot of years, though. Not having Graham on my side would suck, but it wouldn’t make my mission impossible.

  Smoothing my hair back as much as I could, I strode across the lobby an
d tapped him on the shoulder.

  He winked at the clerk, turning to me with a smile. “Beginning to think you weren’t ever coming back, McClellan.”

  “It’s been a long day,” I said, waving him toward the elevators. “I’m kind of afraid to ask what brings you by here.”

  He didn’t answer until the elevator doors closed. “Guess who’s lead on the Andre thing?” He grinned.

  I caught a breath and held it, sending a silent thank-you to God and my sister and anyone else who might’ve tossed this break my way.

  “I thought you said she jumped?” I didn’t bother to try keeping the smile off my face as I cut my eyes to him.

  “The official position is that she did unless we find solid evidence to the contrary. But you say she didn’t, and you’re a good cop.” The doors opened, and he followed me to my room, picking up again when the door was shut behind him. Funny how some things, like not talking where other people might overhear, just become second nature after a while.

  “I figure I’d be a fool not to ask what you’ve got, and I generally consider myself pretty smart. So—how long are you in town, and what’ve you got?” He pulled the wheeled chair away from the desk and turned it to sit, resting his hands on his knees and fixing me with a half smile that made it hard to focus on words. I tried to swallow, my mouth suddenly drier than the drought-starved lake bottom where I’d gotten myself sucked into this case.

  I grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, tossing him one before I opened mine and took a long swig. Graham and I had a long history. I couldn’t remember it ever including the interior of a hotel room, though. That had to be it—weird to have him sitting four feet from where I’d slept last night. He looked at me like a kid sister. Partner. Friend. So I should return the favor. I twisted the cap back onto the bottle and nodded.

  “I put in for vacation this afternoon, so I’m here all week, and I’ve got a whole lot of gut feeling something isn’t right, but not enough to say how or why. Yet, anyway.” I leaned one hip on the edge of the dresser, drumming my fingers on the surface. “The track coach is squicky.” I paused. Should I mention Jessa?

  Nah. Adding a complication from a high-profile murder might make him reconsider, and I didn’t know anything for sure, anyway. It’d keep.

  “Care to tell me what makes you think so?”

  “He was fired from a district in Oklahoma ten years ago for sleeping with a student. He’s working at Marshall under an assumed name. Tenley’s friend said she was seeing someone she wouldn’t talk to anybody about.” I ticked the points off on my fingers.

  “Damn. I’d say that warrants a visit.” Graham’s eyebrows waggled, a grin lighting his whole face. “So I take it your vacation isn’t going to be of the lounge-by-the-pool variety?”

  I snorted, standing when my elbow bumped the flat-screen and it rocked. “Have you met me? Besides, I’ve practically been on vacation for three months. It’d be nice to have a purpose again.”

  “That bad?”

  “I’m the low person on the totem pole, and I lack the outdoor plumbing the lieutenant prefers in his officers.” For want of another reasonable place to sit, I perched on the foot of the bed. “So I basically spent the last twelve years busting my ass to be a glorified messenger-slash-secretary.”

  Graham winced. “That blows.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Welcome back, partner.” He put out a hand and I shook it, a tingle shooting clear to my elbow when his fingers closed around mine. I thought his eyes widened the barest bit, but I stopped myself short of wondering if he felt it, too. Partner. Friend. Dead teenage girl who needed our help.

  Pulling away, I fidgeted with the paper Ozarka label on my water bottle.

  Graham folded his thick arms across his chest. “I might’ve led Jameson to believe both parents were out of town.”

  Nice. Jameson vastly preferred face-to-face conversations; we used to joke that his demonic powers didn’t allow him to feed off people’s sorrow via fiber optics.

  “Did you find her dad?” I asked.

  “I did. Dad flew back from Charlotte this evening.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s part of why I came by, actually. He . . . uh . . . he wants to see her.”

  I caught a sharp breath. “Lord, what for?”

  “Closure? I drew the short straw on escorting him—supposed to meet him at the morgue first thing in the morning. You want to come with me?”

  I nodded. “I asked Jim if I could sit in on the postmortem, anyway. And he did say he’d like to talk to her folks. I don’t suppose you want to hang out with us after dad leaves?” A teasing smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I watched his face flush a putrid greenish brown.

  He cleared his throat. “I think I’d rather stay with dad.” For Graham, that was saying something.

  “Wuss.” I smiled.

  “Freak.” He landed a light fist on my knee, and all the awkwardness melted right out of the room. That was more like it. Me and Graham, teasing each other and laughing, as easy and comfortable as breathing.

  I laughed. “You know you love that I handle all the pieces you don’t care for. Did y’all ever get around to opening those packages recovered at the scene?”

  “They turned out to be interesting—we got a clean print off one package that didn’t match Tenley.”

  “Two and two isn’t so much four after all, huh? Did you get a hit in criminal records?”

  “No. Nothing in DPS, either.”

  Of course not. Annoying, but not altogether surprising. The Texas Department of Public Safety is one of a handful in the country that collects and catalogs all ten fingerprints, but the practice is still relatively new, so the database is incomplete.

  “So someone who hasn’t gotten their license renewed in the past three years,” he continued.

  “Or maybe doesn’t have one at all. Not exactly a narrow field.” I plucked at a loose thread on the duvet. At least we’d have the print Graham lifted for comparison when we made an arrest. “What was in the gifts?”

  Graham pulled out a notebook. “Evidence catalog has one Stanford sweatshirt for the coach, a locket and a scarf for mom, bookends for dad, spiffy sneakers for her teammate, and a photo in a silver frame for Nicholas Richardson—do you know she was friends with Darren Richardson’s son?”

  I nodded. How was it possible that I didn’t know that just twenty-four hours ago? It seemed like a week since I’d spotted Nicky Richardson in Tenley’s locket and started down this rabbit hole. But I was too far gone to turn back now, and so glad Graham wanted my help I could almost cry.

  “You ever met the coach?” I asked.

  Graham shook his head. “But given the tone that’s usually reserved for your folks, I’m going to guess he doesn’t make a great personal impression?”

  I rolled my eyes as I drained the water bottle, then filled him in on my encounter with Nicky and his father.

  He let out a low whistle when I got to the part about the kid’s sexuality. “Damn. Right in front of you and the school people, too? You know that means the poor kid catches ten times that at home.”

  Boy, did I know.

  I nodded. “After what I saw, I’d buy suicide if we’d found him at the bottom of the dam. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted so badly to sucker punch someone I’m not blood related to.”

  “Your dad isn’t that bad.” Graham put one hand on my arm when my lips rolled between my teeth. “Faith. Is he?”

  “No comment.” I ignored the burning in the back of my throat, throwing him a quick smile and a subject change. “You said there were notes with the packages, too?”

  Graham nodded. “Evidence has them all bagged and cataloged if we want to look at them tomorrow. Between that stray print and these notes, I almost think you might be onto something. All the letters are about secrets.”

  My lips popped into a neat little O. “What sorts of secrets?”

  “Apparently, the dad is c
heating on the mom.”

  “Oh, that. The mom knows.”

  “The girl tells them to explore why. A lot of rambling about suffocating and lying to themselves. And something about the mother not falling back into old habits because she’d already ruined enough lives?”

  My hairline met my eyebrows. “To hear the people I’ve talked to so far tell it, Tenley and her mom were tight. Like, almost abnormally so.”

  “That’s there, too. She practically wrote a sonnet on how much she loved her mom, and said twice that she was proud to be her daughter. The whole thing is weird—they read like rambling word vomit in places.”

  Another miscalculation. “Tenley was a straight-A student.” I shook my head. “Nothing here adds up if you look even a little beneath the surface.”

  “I mean, we can submit the handwriting for analysis, but if Tenley didn’t write these, whoever did sure knew a lot about her family and friends.”

  I nodded. “Let’s see what else we have first. What did the others say?”

  “That your gut is right about the track coach. Dude is indeed squicky, and does have a girlfriend in the Marshall student body, but our vic didn’t say who if she knew. I didn’t get the impression it was her, but I might be reading wrong. The other girl on the track team is knocked up, apparently, and hasn’t told the baby’s father.”

  “What if one of those has to do with the other?” I asked. “A popular teacher with a cushy job in a wealthy district gets a student pregnant . . . Could be the sort of secret somebody might kill for.”

  Graham nodded. “It seems the people in this girl’s life were hiding a lot of things some folks might kill to keep quiet. Depending on the person. I’m not saying you’re right. But maybe two and two is something entirely different this time.”

  I twisted the lid off and on my water bottle. “What about Nicky? Did he have a secret, too?”

  “Dunno. There wasn’t a letter with his gift.”

  My bottle cap fell to the carpet, my stomach following close behind. “Why would she write everyone else and not her closest friend?”