No Escape (15 page)

A breath shuddered from her lungs. She was being paranoid. A near bumper-tap, a wrong number and chance encounter with Dayton yesterday had rattled her. This wasn’t like her. She was rock solid. Practical. So why suddenly was she so unsettled, as if the ground had shifted under her feet?

With Hanna’s name in hand, Brody had been able to pull an arrest record and fingerprints. He’d delivered both to the medical examiner who had made a positive identification. Tracking next of kin had taken more time, and it was past eight by the time Brody got Hanna’s uncle on the phone. From the uncle, Brody had learned that Hanna had run away six months ago. ‘Always figured she’d get herself killed sooner or later. She wasn’t so smart. Didn’t know when she was in over her head.’

Brody sat back at his desk and stared at the notebook he’d retrieved from Hanna’s apartment. A forensic team had gone over the place, but there’d been no other telling discoveries. The book was his one clue to who might have killed her.

Thumbing through the pages, he studied the detailed lists she’d kept of her johns. Each had a name, though he doubted many were real. She’d listed the date they’d hooked up and the money collected. The small notebook was full of single-spaced entries.

Santos knocked on Brody’s office door. ‘I hear you identified the second victim.’

Brody’s chair creaked as he leaned back in his chair and gave Santos a rundown. ‘When I searched her place earlier I found a notebook that the kid kept. She listed her johns but not all the names strike me as real. She gave many nicknames.’

‘Her pimp would know more about who her customers were,’ Santos said. ‘And he shouldn’t be too hard to find.’

‘Shouldn’t be. I’ve got his name.’

‘Let’s pay him a visit.’

Finding Hanna’s pimp turned out to be easier than expected. Keri had said he hung out at a coffee shop on Sixth Street. During the day he spent his time online pimping out his girls for dates and in the evening he put them on the street.

Daddy, as Keri had called him, sat in the back corner of the coffee shop. He had a large mug to the right of what looked like a brand-new computer. Midsized but muscular, Daddy wasn’t more than thirty but his mocha skin was scarred and pitted. As Keri had described, he wore a large, gold cross around his neck and the favored white jumpsuits.

When the Rangers entered the café the conversation stopped and Daddy looked up. He sat straighter in his chair, leaning an arm back against his booth while keeping the other under the table.

Brody’s hand slid to his gun as he approached the table. ‘Do me a big favor and put your other hand on the table.’

Daddy grinned and draped his other hand over the back of the booth. ‘Don’t want no trouble with the Rangers.’

‘What’s your real name, Daddy?’

He tipped back his baseball cap. ‘Juan Johnson. Why the Rangers calling on me? I ain’t done nothing wrong.’

Johnson had likely broken more laws than Brody could count, but he wasn’t after Johnson tonight. ‘When is the last time you saw Hanna Metcalf?’

Johnson’s easy grin hardened. ‘She’s gone AWOL. Ain’t seen her in two days. You know where she is?’

‘I know where she is.’

‘Yeah?’ Annoyance flashed in his dark eyes. ‘What’s she saying about me?’ So Keri hadn’t told Daddy about Hanna.

Brody propped his boot on the edge of the booth and leaned in as Santos stood behind him. ‘What do you think she’s saying about you?’

‘The girl ain’t right in the head. A little slow and can run her mouth long after no one wants to hear her yammer.’ He shook his head. ‘Dusty said the girl was in trouble, but I knew she was lying. Lazy bitch is out there lying low and stirring up trouble for Daddy.’

Brody ignored the pimp’s tirade. ‘What does she talk about?’

‘You seen her, so you should know.’

‘I want to hear what you have to say.’

‘She is always giving me lip and attitude. And Daddy don’t appreciate lip.’

Brody pulled out the tattered notebook and thumbed through it. ‘She gave this to me. Says it’s a list of her johns.’

Daddy’s hands dropped to the table on either side of his computer. ‘What the fuck did you say?’

‘She’s been keeping a list. Any reason why she’d do that?’

He shrugged, pretending as if he didn’t care. ‘I don’t know what makes a crazy bitch do what she does.’

‘Daddy, I’m not after you right now. I’m after a killer, and I think Hanna might be able to help me.’

Daddy didn’t hide his shock. ‘What do you mean “a killer”? I don’t know nothing about a killer.’

‘Hanna did.’

‘Did?’

‘She’s dead.’

Daddy sat back, shaking his head. ‘Shit.’ He held up a bejeweled index finger. ‘I don’t know nothing.’

Brody grinned. ‘I bet you know the number of breaths that girl took in a day. I bet you know when she sneezed and when she took a leak.’

Daddy was silent for a moment. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘Always the dealmaker, Juan. I like that.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want you to take a look at this book, and I want you to tell me if you recognize any of the names.’

‘How the hell would I know the names that Hanna kept?’

Brody leaned closer, keeping his voice low and even. ‘I can shut you down in two seconds, Juan. You won’t see daylight for years, and your girls will scatter like honey bees.’

Daddy’s face paled a fraction. ‘I don’t know you, Ranger.’

Brody smiled. ‘I’m new in town.’

‘You ain’t got nothing on me.’

Brody moved so quickly that Daddy didn’t have time to react. He grabbed the pimp, jerked him out of the booth and twisted his arm behind his back. Before Daddy could squeal, Brody had clamped cuffs on his slim wrists.

Santos reached for his phone and called Austin police. ‘They’re sending a car for Daddy.’

Daddy grimaced and tried to get free but the more he struggled, the harder Brody twisted. ‘Hey, you don’t have to be so rough.’

Brody hauled the pimp outside. When Daddy tried to jerk free, Brody shoved him against the café wall, pushing hard enough so the pimp’s face scraped the brick exterior. ‘Try it again, Daddy. Please.’

Daddy struggled to lift his raw, scraped face from the brick but Brody held it in place. ‘I don’t want trouble, Ranger.’

‘That’s too bad.’

Daddy stilled and shoved out a breath. ‘Let me have a look at those names. I bet I could help you.’

‘Not sure if you’re worth the trouble anymore. When I round up your girls and tell them you won’t be out of jail for years, they’ll tell me.’

‘You can’t throw me away in jail. This is America.’

Brody laughed.

‘Let me look at the names!’

Brody gave him another shove into the bricks before whirling him around as an Austin police cruiser, lights flashing, arrived. ‘Better talk fast, Daddy.’

Daddy looked at the open book that Brody held in front of his face. When Daddy shook his head, Brody turned the page. Again nothing.

The Austin uniforms approached Brody. ‘Looks like Daddy is causing you some trouble.’

‘Not as helpful as he could be. Mind doing me a favor and dropping him in a cell? I’ll come looking for him sooner or later.’

‘I said I’d help!’ Daddy shouted. ‘You’ve only shown me a couple of pages. Shit. Give me a chance.’

Brody thought about fifteen-year-old Hanna working the streets for this monster. He wondered how many second chances he’d given her. He flipped another page. ‘Look real hard, Daddy, because I’m running out of patience.’

The pimp scanned the page again. ‘I know one of the names.’

‘Which one?’

‘Earl. He was a regular.’

‘How often did he come by?’

‘Least once a week. Men like Hanna. Young, curvy. She has a lot of regulars.’

Anger roiled in Brody. ‘I’m looking for a regular.’

‘I know most of them. I don’t need a notebook for that.’

‘Any ever call her by a nickname?’

‘Like what?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Blondie. Alice in Wonderland. One liked her because she reminded him of his granddaughter.’

Brody’s jaw tightened and he wanted nothing more than to pummel the shit out of this guy. Instead, he said in a calm voice, ‘Who else?’

‘One guy had an interest in flowers.’

Brody’s racing pulse stilled. ‘What kind of flowers?’

‘Shit, I don’t know. Roses are red, violets are blue, motherfucker.’

‘What did he call Hanna?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Medium-sized. Dark hair. Wore thick glasses. Looked like an accountant.’

‘Did he have a name?’

‘I don’t take roll call, motherfucker. He picked her up in a pickup and did his business.’

‘When was the last time he picked up Hanna?’

‘Few days.’

‘Where did he pick her up?’

‘Near her corner. Right outside.’

Brody had already sent officers to canvas the shops for security cameras that might have captured Hanna and her last john. He grabbed Daddy by the shoulders and handed him to the Austin cops. ‘He’s all yours.’

‘What are you doing?’ Daddy shouted. ‘I told you what I know.’

‘I got a notebook full of Hanna’s solicitation appointments. And you just admitted that you recognized the names of two clients you sent her way. Something tells me that’s not legal in Texas.’

‘Bullshit, I did. I was helping you!’

‘Like you helped that fifteen-year-old on the streets.’

‘Hey, man, she came to me. She was hungry and needed to work, and I put her to work. She got paid.’

Cents on the dollar, he’d bet. ‘Take him away.’

Daddy dug in his feet and craned his neck toward Brody as the officers led him to the car. ‘Hey, man, you need me. I can help you find this guy.’

‘Really, how’s that?’

‘I can ask around. See if the dude gave other girls flower names.’

The pimp was right. The killer could have lined up other girls. And Daddy might be able to figure out who’d vanished and who they were visiting. ‘Sure. You can help, Daddy.’ He eyed the officers. ‘If you don’t get information from him in twenty-four hours, he goes to jail.’ Brody clamped his hand on Daddy’s shoulder and squeezed.

Saturday, April 13, 9:00
A.M.

Brody rubbed his eyes and reached for his coffee cup. One sip of the cold sludge had him muttering an oath as he set the cup aside and leaned back in his chair. He’d been looking for days at surveillance footage of the area where Hanna worked. He’d cross-checked the images with her journal entries, which detailed four hundred entries over the month of March. Four hundred entries. Shit. A fifteen-year-old kid. Daddy remained free, and he’d asked around and discovered that the red pickup had been sighted many times over the last few weeks. But no one had specifics. As Brody stared at Hanna’s entries he vowed Daddy would go down soon.

Of Hanna’s four hundred entries, a good thirty percent were repeats. Hanna also used first and sometimes last names for each entry and made notes in the margin.
$$. Remind him of granddaughter. Bad breath. Small dick. Hates talking.
And the most important,
Robbie: Calls me Bluebonnet.

When he saw the name Robbie listed, his adrenaline snapped. Immediately, he keyed in on those entries. Robbie had visited Hanna ten times during the month. Hanna also noted,
Calls me Bluebonnet.

Taking the surveillance footage from a liquor store located across from Hanna’s corner and a paycheck cashier situated on a diagonal to the site, he watched and searched for guys that showed up on the dates Hanna had cited.

Hanna always stood on the same street corner under a light. For the most part, she arrived by five and often didn’t leave her corner for the day until five in the morning. On cold nights she’d stand for an hour waiting and calling out to passersby. On milder nights she’d get in and out of a steady stream of cars. The lighting and angle made it hard to see the johns’ faces, so he paid closer attention to the vehicles. On the nights Robbie visited Hanna, a red pickup truck cruised slowly by the corner. The paint was faded, the back tail bumper bent and pockets of rust had eaten into the edges of the car. The front and back plates both splattered with mud were illegible, but he could see a couple of shovels and rope in the pickup’s bed.

Each time he pulled up, his face remained turned as if he knew the cameras were rolling. It was a precaution he’d learned from Smith who’d done the same when he’d stalked his victims. Smith hadn’t gotten sloppy with surveillance cameras until the end and Brody had been there to nail him.

In the images, Hanna always smiled as she approached Robbie’s passenger door and leaned in to speak to him. They’d talk for several seconds before she settled into the front cab. Robbie never returned Hanna to the same corner because she’d reemerge in the camera an hour or so after the initial pickup. Many times Dusty stepped on screen and the two women chatted. Both kept a close eye on Daddy’s van always parked across the street. Daddy was keeping an eye on his investments.

In all the times Robbie showed up in the red pickup truck, the plates were muddied and his face turned. But Brody at least had a link to Robbie.

Brody stared at the frozen screen featuring Hanna leaning into Robbie’s truck.

‘I’m going to catch you, you son of a bitch.’

An alarm on his cell phone had him straightening and glancing at the message he’d sent himself before work.

‘
Wedding
,’ the display read.

Brody shut the alarm off and rose, stretching the kinks from his back and shoulders. He’d learned long ago that if he had to be somewhere and he was on a case, he had to set the alarm on his phone as a reminder. Too many times he’d been working and lost all track of time. He’d missed or been late to too many family gatherings or dates. His last girlfriend had grown fed up with his misses and absences.
‘You don’t need a girlfriend. Work is all the mistress you’ll ever need.’

He’d regretted the breakup, but it had not derailed him from work or the case. But since then he’d made a point to be where he said he should be or at least call if he couldn’t.

He rolled down his cuffs and buttoned them before grabbing a red tie he’d brought in this morning. Tying a quick knot, he slid on the blue blazer hanging on the back of his door and reached for his Stetson.

He’d told Jim he’d be at his wedding and he meant it.

The weather outside was sunny and bright, a welcome change from winter’s cold temperatures. This was going to be one of those rare perfect days between winter’s blistering cold temperatures and summer’s scorching heat. He’d once heard that rain was an omen of a happy marriage but he’d never bought into it. It had rained the day he and Jo had married and that union had never stood a chance.

Jo spent far too long on her hair and makeup. She wanted to look good, but no matter how much she combed, curled or twisted her hair, it didn’t look right. By the fourth hairstyle she knew her primping had crossed over into obsession. Exasperated, she let her hair fall, the curled edges brushing the shoulders of the watered silk dress she’d found Wednesday at the last-minute, panicked trip to Zoe’s.

The shop owner had been expecting her, confessing that Sammy had called and told her to expect a crazed woman in need of a dress. Zoe had been glad to see her and had dismissed Jo’s apologies for arriving near closing. An hour later, the patient woman, who’d borne all Jo’s indecision and worry with grace, had helped her settle on the green silk. The dress hugged her waist and the hem hit her mid-calf. Feeling at home in the dress and relieved to have found it, she’d barely balked at the five-hundred-dollar price tag.

She blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and wondered again if she should let it hang or tuck it back into the chignon. One call and her mother would have come over and made it perfect in seconds. But the visit could also stir the tension still simmering between them, and Jo did not want to taint this day.

Thinking about her mother and their last conversation, Jo stared in the mirror, studying her features. This time she didn’t pay attention to her makeup or the sweep of her hair. This time she searched for features that matched Cody Granger’s.

Her red hair had been a surprise to all, but her mother had always reminded anyone that commented that Jo’s red hair came from a great-grandmother who’d had hair as red as the rising sun. Jo knew little else about this great-grandmother and often wondered if she’d ever existed. Her mother claimed Jo’s green eyes and the wide curve of her mouth as her own, but her nose and all her other features were only Jo’s. She didn’t share one physical trait with Cody Granger.

Sighing, Jo turned from the mirror, leaving her hair loose as she grabbed her purse. Today was not a day to wallow or whine.

The drive on I-35 toward Lara and Jim’s house took her thirty minutes. She’d volunteered to arrive at the crack of dawn, but Lara had told her not to worry. ‘The day is not about stressing,’ Lara had said. ‘Arrive with the rest of the guests.’

However, as a bridesmaid, unwritten obligations compelled her to arrive early. Jo knew the best-laid plans always could be tripped up by the smallest detail. And when she pulled up the long, dirt driveway that led to Lara’s adobe-style home, her worst-case-scenario brain was relieved to see the catering truck had arrived, the white tent, tables and chairs had been set up and the band was tuning up. The place was abuzz with the controlled chaos that came before a wedding. Jim stood next to a large smoker grill where a caterer basted a huge pig. Beside Jim sat Lara’s dog, Lincoln, a large wolflike shepherd whom she’d heard was now devoted to Jim.

Jo parked off to the right at the edge of a field and walked into the house where she found Lara standing in the living room, her hair in curlers, dressed in a bathrobe. Around her sat dozens of unopened presents.

‘Lara,’ Jo said.

Lara glanced up from a photo image and smiled at Jo. ‘Hey, girl. Boy, do you look superfine.’

A warm blush rose up Jo’s cheeks. ‘Thanks.’

‘Looks like you solved the dress dilemma.’

‘Will it work?’ Sudden indecision nipped at her. ‘I know I should have bought it sooner and shown it to you, but life has been kinda crazy.’

An appraising smile warmed Lara’s face. ‘It’s perfect. Today everyone wears what works for them.’

Jo arched a brow. ‘Which means Cassidy is wearing black.’

Lara laughed. ‘She has a flare for the dramatic that I do not.’

Jo laughed. ‘Never a dull moment with Cassidy. She’s as dramatic as I am understated.’

‘That’s why I love you both so much. Now, come help me decide which picture I should frame and display at the reception.’

Jo set her purse aside, shaking her head. ‘Lara, you’re getting married in an hour, and you are framing a picture.’

‘Jim sent me in here and told me to do something productive. He doesn’t like a vegetarian offering her two cents while he does his caveman grilling.’

Jo laughed. ‘I’d think you’d be fussing over your hair or makeup.’

‘Cassidy will be here soon and she can do that.’ Lara was an artist who had built a reputation for herself as a wet plate photographer. She created her images using a 150-year-old camera that looked reminiscent of a time long past. Jo owned several of Lara’s pieces and displayed them in her home.

Jo looked at the image. It featured Lara and Jim sitting side by side in chairs on the front porch. The black-and-white coupled with the rich grain told Jo she’d used the bellows camera. ‘Did you take this?’

‘I set it all up and asked Cassidy to remove the lens cap and count to thirty before she replaced it. I hopped up and quickly processed the glass plate.’

‘How many times was Jim willing to sit for his picture?’

She chuckled as she held the print up to the light and studied it. ‘He told me I had him for three images and he was done. The one I liked best was the second shot.’

If Jo had looked at only Jim, she would have sworn the image had been taken a hundred years ago. Like Brody he looked as if he’d been plucked out of the old west wearing his white Stetson, lariat tie, jeans and scuffed boots. Brody and Jim’s similar attire coupled with their square jaws and stiff gazes, made both throwbacks.

What anchored this picture in the present was Lara who wore jeans, a white button-down shirt and no shoes. Her long, blond hair highlighted the high slash of her cheekbones and the vivid paleness of her blue eyes.

The look of love in Lara’s eyes struck a chord deep in Jo. That kind of passion, which had eluded her so far, was rare indeed. ‘This is really good, Lara. Really a work of art.’

Lara inspected the image. ‘I know it’s not the traditional wedding portrait, but I’m not so traditional. My main worry now is that I should have edged in this corner a little more. Maybe if I slip back into the darkroom.’

Jo laughed. ‘The picture is perfect. Stop second-guessing. By the way, have you looked at a clock lately? You have fifty-nine minutes before the wedding.’

Lara frowned as she stared at the photograph’s corner. ‘I can always fuss with it later.’

‘Why don’t you put it in that frame, finish the job and stop worrying?’

Lara took one last look at the portrait and laid it face-down in the glass. ‘I can get a little crazy when it comes to my pictures.’

‘Which is what makes you such a successful artist. Don’t worry so much today. Enjoy.’

Lara laid the mat over the picture. ‘I think I’m nervous.’

‘What are you nervous about?’

Lara laughed. ‘That sounds very shrinklike.’

Jo shrugged. ‘Hazard of the trade.’ She cleared her throat. ‘What are you nervous about, Lara?’

Lara chuckled as she clamped down the frame fasteners. ‘Commitment. I can be a Ranger’s lover. But to take one on for life …’

‘You and Jim have done pretty well.’

‘Oh yeah, we’re great. But I worry that I might not be as cool about the dangers of his work once I hang “wife” around my neck.’

Wife.
Some said marriage was just a piece of paper and that it didn’t change anything, but it changed everything.

Lara continued. ‘People say marriage is no big deal but it is to me. My mom married four times and each new husband was worse than the last. I swore I’d never marry but now that I am I want it to last forever.’

‘Marriage is work.’

She frowned. ‘Yeah, but what exactly does that mean?’

Car doors closing had Jo glancing out the window in time to see Brody get out of his Bronco. He moved with steady, determined strides to Jim and shook his hand. ‘Sometimes I think it means staying and accepting the other person when all you want to do is run. Giving the storm time to pass, knowing smooth waters are ahead.’

‘That sounds a little bit like experience talking.’

Jo turned from the window and found Lara staring at her. ‘Not many people know this, but I was married once.’

‘Really?’

She fiddled with the strand of pearls around her neck. ‘We shouldn’t have ever married. We knew we wouldn’t last.’

Lara didn’t prompt Jo for more information but waited silently.

‘I got pregnant when I was eighteen. He married me for the baby’s sake. But I lost the baby. And when the baby went away, the reason to stay married went with her.’

Lara moved from the picture and took Jo’s hands in hers. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

Jo swallowed unshed tears. Fourteen years of ignoring the marriage and pregnancy had caught up to her in one crashing thud. ‘Thanks. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this to turn into a session about me.’

Lara hugged Jo with a warmth that somehow eased the lingering loneliness that had stalked her since she’d woken up this morning. ‘I think that is the first time you’ve opened up to me.’

Jo had maintained such a tight rein over her emotions since she’d lost the baby that she’d not realized her need for control was so isolating.

She pulled away and smiled. ‘You need to get ready for the wedding.’

Lara touched a curler. ‘Cassidy said she’d be here any minute.’

‘I can do your hair. You may not know it from my spartan hairstyles, but I grew up in a beauty salon.’

‘Did you?’

‘I could roll a perm when I was eleven, and Mom had me doing her highlights by the time I was fifteen. I can promise you, brushing out curls is a piece of cake.’