No Escape (12 page)

The wine tasted bitter. She’d cracked the bottle six months ago for Thanksgiving at her mom’s. The only wine drinker in the family, she’d been left after the festivities with a near full bottle that she’d shoved to the back of her refrigerator, sure she’d have more occasions to enjoy it. But the holiday season, marketed as a glittering happy time, had a way of escalating sadness into suicide attempts. She’d worked nonstop in late December and early January.

So here she sat, alone, with a half-full glass of stale wine, trying to chase away worries that would not leave.

Tapping her finger on the side of the glass, she moved to the hallway closet, opened it and stared at the top shelf, crammed full of boxes. Setting her glass down, she hauled a chair from the kitchen set and climbed up on it. The first couple of boxes were extra climbing ropes and hooks; however it was the last box she was after. The one shoved deep in the back.

Standing on tiptoes, her fingers barely skimmed the corner of the box and she nudged it forward far enough so that she could grab ahold.

Jo carried the box to the couch and sat cross-legged, the box resting beside her. All her other memories had been carefully cataloged in scrapbooks, but these memories didn’t warrant that kind of attention. She should have thrown them out years ago, but for some reason she’d schlepped the box from apartment to apartment until two years ago it had found itself in the back of this closet where it had remained untouched.

She reached in and pulled out a name badge that read: J
OLENE
S. G
RANGER
, F
RESHMAN
, P
SYCHOLOGY
. Those first weeks at UT had been overwhelming and exciting. She was the first and only in her family to go to college. For the first time in her life she’d been in her element.

Two of her three cats jumped up on the couch and nestled beside her. The third, she knew, still slept on the bed.

Setting the badge aside, she dug deeper, skimming over pamphlets and dorm assignments and first semester schedules. Finally, she reached her time card from the tutoring center. Not many freshmen were hired at the center and she’d been pleased when they accepted her application.

She thumbed through her logbook and found Brody’s signature. Bold. And the ridges dug into the paper with the ballpoint pen remained crisp.

God, but he’d been a force of nature. Larger than life. The most interesting guy she’d ever met.

Jo closed her eyes. She’d not been thinking long-term when they’d slipped back to his room and he’d undressed her. She’d been thinking adventure. Excitement. Feeling so alive it hurt.

The sex had been, well … okay. He’d not done a great job of tempering his desire, and she’d been an awkward virgin who’d wished for worldliness. But she’d be a liar if she said she’d not enjoyed the sex. They’d met again and again and for a brief time she’d had the world by the tail.

And then one night after they’d made love, he’d realized the condom had broken. His relaxed muscles had tensed and satiation had turned to horror and disgust. She’d been rattled but had assumed it would be fine. Bad stuff had never happened to her.

Jo shook off the image of Brody’s worried expression. She dug deeper into the box and found the group picture taken of the psychology department. She’d been on the third row, five spots in. Not smiling. Pale. Pregnant.

Stuck to the back of that picture was their marriage license. Her signature had been weak and his not so bold, or deeply grooved.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and because she was alone and knew no one would ever know, she let them spill down her cheeks.

If Smith had meant to topple her life out of balance, he had done it.

Tuesday, April 9, 9:00
A.M.

Brody spent the morning on the phone trading calls with the warden, trying to confirm his meeting with Smith, who remained in critical, unresponsive condition in the prison infirmary. He was heavily sedated and wouldn’t awaken until later in the day. Brody’s visit would have to wait. He sent a text to Jo advising her of the situation.

Brody refocused on Christa and called Tim Neumann’s service and arranged for a morning appointment. His hope was that Neumann, the organizer of the
Find Christa!
campaign, would have insight into Scott or anyone else that might have wanted to harm Christa.

He arrived at the nondescript office building that housed Neumann’s administrative offices as well as the offices of First Financial, Christa and Scott’s employer. As the service had instructed, Brody found a seat in the building’s café.

Brody ordered a coffee and took a seat in one of the corner booths. As he sipped black coffee, he stared at gray walls decorated with stunning black-and-white photographs.

In all his life, he never imagined himself working in an office building like this. In college he’d known he’d never make it to the top of baseball, but he’d clung to the sport because it had been exciting. When Jo had gotten pregnant and they’d married, he’d realized baseball wasn’t going to cut it. And so he’d joined the Marines without discussing it with her. Days later, Jo had lost the baby and their marriage had crumbled. He’d kept his commitment to the Marines and shipped out to basic before the divorce was final. When he’d returned to Austin four years later, he had joined the Department of Public Safety as a patrol officer, which suited his craving for excitement and a curiosity that focused on real-life issues versus the academic ones of college.

The café door opened, revealing a midsized, olive-skinned man with thick, black hair. He had a fit body and when he spotted Brody he reached out to shake Brody’s hand. His grip was firm and his gaze direct. ‘Sergeant Winchester?’

‘Mr. Neumann. Thanks for taking the time. Did I pull you off a job?’

‘Managed to squeeze you in between house showings. No worries.’ Neumann frowned. ‘I was darn sorry to hear the news about Christa. Scott was devastated when she vanished but for so many days we all thought that we’d find her.’ He nodded toward the counter. ‘Let me grab a sandwich and soda.’

‘Sure.’

When he returned he had a large soda, sandwich and a bag of chips. ‘Don’t mind if I eat?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Thanks.’

Brody waited for Neumann to sit before saying, ‘How did you get involved in finding Christa?’

‘There are lots of small companies in our building and you kind of get to know each other. I saw Christa in here a lot. News of her disappearance traveled fast in the building. We all felt so helpless. Then I thought that I’m good with people and I can organize. I made up flyers announcing an organizational meeting. Within two days of her vanishing, we had a solid team of volunteers ready to search.’

‘I understand you started your search in the woods near her apartment.’

‘That’s right. When we didn’t find her, we fanned out into the neighborhoods.’

‘You never came up with any leads.’

Folding his arms, he shook his head. ‘Not a one. And now we all hear that she was alive all this time, and we could have found her. Everyone here is really down today.’

‘Was there anyone in the search party that caught your attention?’

‘We had people from all walks of life. Most were everyday folks. A few were the overeager types.’

‘How so?’

‘Just really determined to find her, as if they wanted to be the one the press interviewed when she was found. But that was just a handful, and we had over one hundred volunteers.’

‘Any stick out in your mind?’

‘There was a dude named Rory who was really into the search. He was a volunteer firefighter from the San Marcos area. There was a lady from San Antonio. Long hair, wore loose-fitting clothes. I don’t remember her name.’

‘Who came up with the T-shirts?’

‘A local T-shirt shop that does work for my business donated them. Visibility is the name of the game, so I said yes to the donation.’

‘How was Scott during your search efforts?’

Neumann hesitated. ‘Scott was fine. He was too personally involved to be much help to the search group. Don’t get me wrong. He wanted to help, but he was upset.’

‘I ran into a gal named Dee yesterday with a
Find Christa!
T-shirt. You know her?’

‘Sure. Dee Anders. She works in legal at Scott’s firm. She was one of our most dedicated searchers.’

‘She and Scott work together a lot?’

Neumann hesitated. ‘You’ve heard the rumors?’ ‘Rumors?’

‘Dee has a crush on Scott. From what I understand she liked him long before Christa went missing. Anyway, he was totally cool and kept his distance. He was dedicated to Christa.’

‘They were getting married in a couple of weeks.’

‘That’s right. Several folks suggested he cancel the reception hall and the caterer, but he refused. Said when Christa came back, she’d want to get married right away.’

‘You ever see Christa and Scott fight? Did she ever appear upset?’

Neumann’s gaze hardened. ‘I know what you’re getting at, but you’re wrong. Scott would not hurt Christa. He wouldn’t.’

Brody wasn’t so sure. ‘He invests money.’

‘From what I hear.’

‘I know you two work in the same building, but sometimes gossip gets around. Any word on Scott’s work?’

Tim hesitated. ‘There was an issue about six months ago. Scott lost a lot of money in a bad trade. Several clients threatened to sue. The firm settled.’

‘How’d you hear this?’

‘This café. Be surprised what people talk about in here. They chat in these booths as if they are soundproof.’

‘What about Scott’s family?’

‘I hear he’s from Oklahoma, but that’s all I know. We really don’t know each other that well outside of the search.’ Neumann cocked his head. ‘Is Scott still a suspect? The local cops really went over his life with a fine-tooth comb.’

Brody grinned, not willing to tip his hat to anyone. ‘Doing my due diligence, Mr. Neumann. I’m reexamining all the angles on the case.’ He handed him a card. ‘Call me if you think of new information.’

‘Sure.’ Neumann picked up his half-eaten sandwich. ‘And you know where to find me.’

I don’t want the wedding to be formal. Wear what you want.

Lara’s words, delivered to Jo with such kindness, now haunted her as she made her way during her lunch hour through the mall, searching for a ‘greenish’ bridesmaid dress – her only mandate. As wedding tasks went, this was one of the simplest, and yet as her fingers skimmed the fabric of another unwanted dress she wondered if she’d ever find what she needed.

She had no practice with fashion and weddings, and she wanted to get it right. But worries over making a mistake had kept her from buying any dress. She’d fallen into the perfection trap.

A sleek saleslady had tried to help Jo initially but Jo’s indecision had sent her back behind her counter to wait.

‘Dr. Granger, what a pleasant surprise. Shopping for a special occasion?’

Dayton’s smooth voice had her turning, the watered silk still clutched between her fingertips. An answer to his question could create the threads of a bond she did not want. ‘This is unexpected.’

He looked delighted. ‘It is odd that we would run into each other here.’

He wore a hand-tailored blue blazer, crisp white shirt that set off his tanned skin and black trousers. All spoke to his need to project affluence.

His cool, calm smile shouldn’t have set off any alarm bells. By all appearances this was a chance meeting. In fact, many ladies would have sought out or welcomed his attention. Not Jo. Her senses peaked at full alert. ‘What are you doing here?’

He regarded the boutique, his gaze not reflecting real interest as he pulled a pack of yellow gum from his pocket. ‘I was happening by and saw you. I thought it would be appropriate to say hello.’

Though she’d interviewed countless sociopaths and liars it never failed to surprise her how they could be so utterly charming. ‘It’s not appropriate, Dr. Dayton, considering our recent conversation.’

A smile tweaked the edge of his lips. ‘It was an interview, not an interrogation, Dr. Granger. There’s no reason for us to be unfriendly to each other.’

She released the dress sleeve and faced him directly. ‘We have nothing to say to each other.’

His smile held, though it took on a chill. Carefully, he unwrapped a piece of gum. ‘I’m trying to be neighborly.’

‘No, Dr. Dayton, you are trying to manipulate and to control.’

He laughed. ‘You have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you, Dr. Granger? You’ve dealt with so many criminals that you see them everywhere.’

‘Not everywhere.’ But she did here. ‘Now, if you will excuse me.’

‘By the way, that shade of green is not your color, Dr. Granger. You’d do better to stay with earth tones – olives, browns. They’ll set off your red hair nicely.’

The saleslady approached, her smile wide and warm, as her gaze bounced between Dr. Dayton and Jo. ‘Any luck, hon?’

‘I think the olive silk is the way to go,’ Dr. Dayton said to the clerk. He popped the stick of gum in his mouth and folded the wrapper in half.

The saleslady’s gaze brightened. ‘With her porcelain skin and red hair it would be perfect.’

Jo straightened, irritated that Dayton had insinuated himself into her life. ‘I must go.’

‘You really should try on the dress, Dr. Granger,’ he said.

Instead of answering, she turned and left, the saleslady’s comment about rude behavior trailing after her.

Bob Killian’s construction crews had been working on the new housing development west of Austin for several months. Most days they were on-site and working by seven, but today there’d been all kinds of delays and no work. To top it off, the cement truck had broken down and been delayed.

Finally, by three o’clock the truck had arrived at the site. There was only enough time to dump a truckload of cement, which amounted to one foundation. But one foundation was better than none.

‘We’re burning daylight,’ Killian yelled to the Mexican day workers. ‘Get inside the foundation and be ready to spread mud.’

As the Mexican foreman translated Killian’s words, the workers grabbed their shovels as the cement truck backed into place. The
ding, ding, ding
of the vehicle’s backup alarm was punctuated by the laughter of the men who’d been sitting the better part of the day waiting for the truck.

Killian calculated all the money lost today as he reached for an antacid in his coat pocket. The housing market was getting murdered, and if he didn’t hustle and get these houses built he stood to lose a fortune.

The driver leaned out the back of the driver’s side window and shouted in Spanish for a couple of the men to step back as he lowered the chute.

One of the workers, a young man with a short, stocky build, stepped back and stumbled. His arms waved wildly as he tried to catch himself but he lost his footing in the soft soil and fell right on his ass. His coworkers laughed and pointed as the young guy struggled to stand in the soft earth.

Killian popped another antacid. ‘Get moving!’

The worker had righted himself when one of the other men stared at the ground where he’d fallen. Seconds later he pointed and screamed in Spanish, ‘
La mano! La mano!
’

Killian moved toward the men, his patience wearing paper-thin. What the hell were they talking about now?
La mano
. Hand. Had the son of a bitch hurt his hand? He swiped his own hand across his neck, a signal for the cement truck driver to halt while he investigated. ‘If you are fucking around, I am going to have your ass.’

He stepped over the foundation’s wooden form into what would one day be the crawl space of a two-story house. As the distraught crewman scrambled to get away, Killian spotted what he had been shouting about. Sticking up from the wet earth were three pale fingers.

Killian motioned for the men to step back before squatting by the object. The fingers were curled in a clawlike manner. Stunned curiosity pulled him closer. The hand’s small nails were painted with purple polish that was chipped. Three tarnished silver bracelets dangled from the wrist.

He brushed away the dirt to find the arm of a young woman. His stomach tumbled and he rose slowly, doing his best to remain calm when all he wanted to do was run.