by Carolina Mac
What does Annie want? I’m not changing my mind. I have Charity now and I can’t leave Quantrall.
He popped the top on a can of Lone Star and wandered onto the porch to wait. “Guess I’ll find out what she wants soon enough.” He tipped up his beer and drank half of it down.
Tyler ambled up from the barn and grinned when he saw Jesse outside. “What’s this? The afternoon beer break?”
“Something like that. Annie said she was stopping by.”
“Yeah? Why’s she doing that?”
Jesse shrugged. “Needs to talk about something.”
“I can guess what,” said Ty. “She’s having second thoughts about that asshole Ogilvie. I’d put fifty on it.”
“Fifty?” Jesse raised a dark brow.
“You taking the action?”
“Yeah, I’ll take it. I don’t think it could be him. Not so soon. Must be something else.”
“Guess you’ll find out now. That’s her truck barreling down the lane.”
“Look at that fuckin dust,” said Jesse. “Shit, it’s going right up into the pecan trees.”
Annie parked and ran up the porch steps. “You drinking beer outside? Kind of cold, isn’t it?” Annie pulled her sweater closer around her body and shivered.
“Cool and refreshing. Want a beer?”
“No, but I’ll have a coffee if there is any.”
“Sure, come on inside.” Jesse held the door for her and she went straight into the great room.
She glanced around. “Where’s the baby?”
“Asleep in her bed upstairs.”
“I was hoping to see her.”
“You can see her after our talk.” He went to the kitchen, poured Annie a coffee and added cream the way she liked it. “Here you go, Ace. What did you want to talk about?”
She didn’t beat around the bush. “Us. Our divorce. I don’t want it to go through.”
“What?” Jesse felt his heart skip a beat. “Why not?”
“Because I made a mistake and I still love you, that’s why not. We’re meant to be together, cowboy.”
“Too late to change your mind, Ace. You picked Race over me. We can’t go back.”
“Why can’t we?” Her gray eyes filled with tears and one rolled down her cheek.
“You let Race move into your bedroom the minute I was out the door. You didn’t even give me a second thought. Do you know how much that hurt, Annie?”
“I’m so sorry, Jesse. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You’re always sorry and I always give in—because I love you—but not this time. Charity is here and she’s a huge responsibility. I’ve moved from the trailer back into my own house and I’m staying here with my family. It’s better for my health and it’s better for my baby. Better all around.”
“It’s not better for me.” Annie sniffled and wiped away a tear.
“You made the call.” Jesse pointed at her. “You have to live with the outcome.”
“Race tried to kill Blaine.”
“I know that,” Jesse snapped. “I was there standing over Enright’s body. A good man shot down for no fuckin reason.” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but the anger took over. “Just another one of Race’s mistakes. As if he cared. Give your head a shake, Annie. The man has no morals, and yet he’s the one you picked to raise Jackson over me.”
Annie hung her head, her black hair flopping over her face. “That was a terrible mistake on my part.”
“But it was your mistake.” Jesse was on his feet and pacing. “Not mine.”
“Please, Jesse, I’m begging you to reconsider.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Charity began crying upstairs and Jesse walked away from Annie. “I woke her up. I have to go.”
“Can I see her before I leave?”
“Stay here and I’ll bring her down.”
Jesse smiled at the baby as he picked her up out of her basinet. “You didn’t sleep very long. Not tired, or did Daddy wake you up yelling at Annie?” He carried her into the room next door, changed her and put on a dry sleeper. He wrapped her in a fresh pink blanket and hugged her close to his chest. When he turned around Annie stood in the doorway watching.
“You’re such a good daddy. Can I hold her for a minute?”
She looked so lost and miserable, Jesse couldn’t refuse. He put Charity into her arms and pointed. “Do you want to sit in the rocker Ty bought?”
“Does he sit in it with the baby?” she asked.
“All the time.”
ALMOST FIVE O’CLOCK by the time Blaine arrived at Police Headquarters. One of the D’s in homicide told him where each of his suspects were located.
The first interrogation room held a young man by the name of Randy Kempton. Big guy. Two hundred pounds. Unshaven, dark scruff covering most of his face.
He had a police record and Blaine held it in his hand. Assault. Two DUI’s. Disturbing the peace. Had he graduated to rape and murder?
“Hey, Randy.” Blaine strode around the table and slid onto the chair opposite. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was down at Longhorn Dam.”
Randy’s left eyebrow went up a fraction.
“Another dead body,” said Blaine. He waited for a couple of minutes, then asked, “One of yours?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He eyed Blaine. Took in the leather jacket, the torn jeans, the tats.
“Since when did they let crazy gangers do interrogations?”
Blaine pounded the metal table with his fist and Randy jumped back. “Since today.”
“Fuck, man. Don’t come undone.”
Blaine lowered his voice. “Know what, Randy? I am undone. I can hardly keep from smashing your face into the table and smearing your blood all over this room.”
“Lord, Jesus, let me out of here.” He looked over his shoulder and hollered, “Guard. Guard, come and take me to my cell.”
Blaine smiled. “You don’t have a cell, Randy.”
“Oh, right. That’s what they holler on TV.”
“You watch a lot of TV?”
“Some.”
“You a gamer?”
“How’d you know that?”
Blaine shrugged and stood up. “You can go.”
Lopez was right outside the door when Blaine stepped into the hallway. “Get him a ride home. Who’s next?”
“The guy named James Romano came with his attorney and a solid alibi for the first murder. We had to let him go.”
Blaine frowned. “He was ready with his lawyer?”
“Uh huh.”
“Good to know. The boys have his address.”
“The last one is in room four. A guy named Ken Schofield.”
“You’re making a face,” said Blaine.
“He reeks,” said Lopez. “Don’t get close. It ain’t good.”
Blaine opened the door of number four and the stench of body odor surrounded him. “When did you last shower?”
“None of your business. Got anything to drink? I’m parched, and this room has no ventilation.”
We sure could use some.
Ken Schofield was tall and lean. Short cropped sandy hair, a diamond stud in his right ear and he wore glasses with dark rims. Big hands. Big bony hands. His blue shirt was silk, and Blaine suspected it had a designer label. Too bad it was being ruined with sweat.
“Sure, I can get you a Coke.” Blaine happily stepped out into the corridor to draw a breath of uncontaminated air. He walked to the row of vending machines at the end of the hall and bought a Coke for Mr. Schofield.
He returned, set the can down and began the questioning. “How long have you had your dog?”
“Since he was a puppy. Four years.”
“Always walk him in Zilker Park?”
“Nope. Walk him anywhere I feel like walking him. Last time I looked this was a free country.”
“Uh huh.”
“Look, Mr. whoever you are—I thought officers of the law had to identify
themselves, but please forgive me if I’m wrong—I already answered all the questions those other two deputy cowboy clowns asked me at home, and I’m not repeating my answers for a ganger in a leather jacket…” he glanced down, peering over the rim of his glasses, “with chains on his boots.”
Blaine grinned. “I hear you, Ken.”
“I don’t believe we’re on a first name basis.”
“I’m Blaine Blackmore-Powell. You can call me Blaine.”
Ken broke out laughing. “You are so not him. He’s a fuckin billionaire and a fuckin genius to boot—and you’re… not him.”
“Got a girlfriend, Ken?”
“Sure do.”
That was a little too quick.
“You?”
“Uh huh.” Blaine leaned back on the stiff metal chair. “Does your girlfriend live with you?”
“We’re not at that stage in our relationship yet. Does yours live with you?”
“Nope. Same.”
“Where did you park your Harley?” asked Ken, looking pleased with himself.
“In my garage,” said Blaine. “You have a bike?”
“Mountain bike.”
“Where do you work?”
“Texas Tech. Downtown.”
“Do any hacking on the side?”
A smile played at the corner of Ken’s thin lips. “Hacking into people’s private business is illegal.”
“The clowns are verifying your alibi for the night of the first murder in Zilker Park. I hope it holds up.”
He blinked twice. “Why wouldn’t it?”
Blaine shrugged. “Shit happens.” He left the room.
Lopez had been watching through the glass. “Is that him?”
“Best one yet. Put more pressure on his alibis for both murders. The one from three weeks ago may not be as strong. I’ll put the boys on his residence.”
Lopez smirked. “The clowns? Can’t wait until he calls Travis a clown to his face.”
“Hope I’m there for that,” said Blaine.
“Me too,” said Lopez. “I’ll talk to the Loot.”
MRS. FLORES HAD saved dinner in the oven for Blaine. Tired, hungry and out of sorts, he clanked across the kitchen and peered out the window at the new fence.
I’ve got to get a landscaper to fix those flowerbeds for her. They’re all but ruined.
She pointed to the table and got him a Corona out of the new fridge.
“Gracias,” he said. “I’m so tired.”
“Si.” She sat down opposite him and sipped her glass of wine. “Tell me about your terrible day.” She said in Spanish.
Blaine complied, although some of the words were lost in the translation.
She shook her head, retrieved his dinner from the oven and put it in front of him.
He found it comforting to eat in silence with the pressures of the day pushed into the back of his mind. He complimented Mrs. Flores on her cooking.
“Carm,” she insisted he call her.
“Gracias, Carm.”
AFTER DINNER, all Blaine wanted to do was flop down on his bed and sleep the clock around, but he still had work to do, and he had promised to see Misty.
First, he called Travis. “I like Ken Schofield, Trav. Good call on him. See what you can do about his residence maybe around four a.m.”
“Yep, when Farrell is on watch in the park, I’ll take a side trip and give the property a closer look. Vehicle?”
“If you have the opportunity.”
Travis chuckled. “I will.”
Blaine showered, changed into clean jeans and a fresh t-shirt and made the trek across the front lawn to Misty’s porch. He knocked, and her dog barked.
She opened the door a crack, smiled and said, “There you are. I didn’t know if you’d have time for me.”
“I wanted to have more time for you, but that’s not the way it worked out.”
Blaine stepped into the front foyer and it was like stepping through the looking glass. Misty’s house was like something you would see in one of the old Victorians in New Orleans or Salem, Mass.
“Wow. Cool décor,” he said.
She smiled. “It’s for the customers. They appreciate it, and they’re the ones paying for it.”
A sign on the wall stated the prices of her services.
Taro Spreads
Psychic Readings
Zodiac Forecasting
Natural Healing Products.
Books and Charms.
“You are a psychic? A real one? You weren’t messing with me?”
She slipped her arms around his waist, pulled him close and said, “I wasn’t messing with you about that, but I intend to mess with you in other ways.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Friday, December 8th.
EXAUSTION WAS THE watchword for Friday morning. Too much Misty. He should have saved her for the weekend, but she fascinated him, and he found her hard to resist. Sweet and loving, and the girl had energy—he had to give her that.
I’ll pick her up a little gift when I’m downtown.
Lexi sat next to him at the breakfast table, her huge head resting on his leg and her tail wagging. Mrs. Flores seemed to like the dog and Lexi was an excellent watchdog. She growled and showed her teeth when threatened and she was large—a black Newfoundlander—big enough to scare potential trouble away.
He drained his coffee and checked the time. “I have to go. Lily will come and drive you to your doctor’s appointment,” he said in halting Spanish. “I don’t want you going alone. The streets are dangerous for a single woman, and it’s too far to walk.”
She argued that she had always walked before he came, but he won out in the end. “After the doctor, Lily will take you to the market. You can bring more groceries in the car.”
“Si.”
He tossed a hundred bucks on the table and she shook her head.
“Spend all of it,” he barked in Spanish.
“Bandito.”
They both laughed.
LILY HAD THE initial report on the drowning victim when he arrived at the office. “I forwarded it to your email, boss. She was so young, it’s tragic.”
“It is tragic, but I don’t think it’s connected in any way to the park murders. Somebody else killed her.” He fixed his coffee at the sideboard, picked out a donut—one that wasn’t going to cover him in powdered sugar, and sat down at his computer.
Faith Elizabeth Foxworth. Her DOB made her fifteen years old. Blonde hair. Blue eyes.
COD-manual strangulation.
Runaway. Her parents in Stillwater, Oklahoma, had been notified.
Three arrests for prostitution. Vice thought her pimp was Carlo Amaya. A well-known ganger with his finger in a lot of different pies.
Before leaving the office in search of Amaya, Blaine set Lily’s computer up.
“Travis has tags on Ken Schofield—car and house. I don’t have audio equipment here in the office for you to monitor his conversations, but you can watch his movements.”
Lily smiled. “This will be fun. I’ve always wanted to do surveillance.”
Blaine raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let you go with Travis sometime.”
“Would you, boss?” She flashed him a smile. “Thanks.”
“Let me know if Schofield’s doing anything weird, and don’t forget to take Carm to the doctor. She’s counting on going to the market afterwards too.”
“I won’t forget. I’ve got it covered.”
BLAINE STOPPED INTO a jewelry shop close to his office and stared at the glass cases trying to figure out what Misty might like. In her house, there seemed to be a lot of moons and stars hanging here and there. Maybe those were the symbols that she liked.
“Can I see that one?” Blaine pointed to a crescent moon pendant set with several diamonds.
The clerk was an older woman in her late fifties, short brown hair turning to gray. Her glasses hung on a chain around her neck. She eyed Blaine’s jeans, long hair and leather jacket, then said, “
Just a moment.”
She returned with a man, Blaine guessed was the manager. A stocky man in his sixties dressed in a suit. He stood behind the woman as she unlocked the glass door behind the display. She brought the pendant out and laid it on a dark blue velvet cloth in front of him.
“Diamonds in platinum,” said the man standing behind her. “Exquisite workmanship.”
“Could you wrap it for me?” Blaine pulled out his wallet and laid his black Amex on the showcase.
“I’ll need to see some ID,” said the clerk. “This is an expensive piece.”
Blaine shrugged and whipped out his cred pack.
The store manager’s eyes widened as he recognized Blaine. “I want to apologize, Mr. Blackmore-Powell. We’re thrilled to have you as a client.”
Blaine nodded and waited for Misty’s gift to be wrapped.
I don’t like people knowing who I am. Makes them act weird.
HE CRUISED THE streets in East Cesar Chavez hoping to see a ganger or two he could lean on. Nobody was around. The day was cold for Texas and people were indoors. When the temperature dropped into the fifties, Texans believed they were freezing to death. On the weather channel, there were rumors of snow squalls coming down from Canada. Threats of snow rarely materialized.
Blaine had the address of Carlo Amaya but doubted the ganger would be at home watching TV. He’d be out hustling. No rest for the wicked—so he’d heard. He turned down Carlo’s street and the older homes were a little worn and ragged around the edges, some in need of paint and TLC, but it wasn’t a slum, and overall appeared to be a quiet neighborhood. No outdoor activity.
Blaine felt prickles on his skin. Did the locals know he was coming?
A four-plex built out of brown brick, sat at the end of the treed street. The grass was brown and a little long out front, but it was December—not a big grass-growing month. Next door was a small white bungalow, neat and tidy with a Camry in the driveway.
According to his rap sheet, Carlo Amaya lived on the first floor. One-A. Right off the lobby, if you could call it that. Just a dark hallway with a four-buzzer panel on the wall. Blaine didn’t buzz. Better to sneak up on the enemy. He waited until an older lady came out, grabbed the inside door and went in.
