Don’t Look Now, page 17
Word games had never been Spencer’s strong suit. And dancing around Sunday’s polite conversation was already feeling like a waste of his time. “He sold drugs to all walks of life. Some were influential people.” He let the silence settle. “I’m not after them, and right now I don’t care how you handle your clients. But I want Walker’s supplier.”
“As I’ve said, our discussions centered only on the manslaughter charge,” Sunday said. “By the way, how is Detective Jordan Poe doing?”
“You ever get within a hundred feet of her again, and you’ll be dealing with me.”
“That a threat?”
“I don’t make threats.”
“I broke no laws.”
Spencer pictured her lying in a pool of her own blood at the old house. “Stay away from her.”
“Like everyone, I look forward to seeing her back on the job again.”
“Stay away from her.”
A smile quirked the edges of Sunday’s lips. “Ask her about her personal connection to Walker. You might find it interesting.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Ask her.”
Spencer drove down to San Marcos and the Sanchez home. He parked in front of the modest house, and as he settled his hat on his head and strode toward the front door, he thought about the text Constance Sanchez had sent Jordan. We need to talk.
He rang the front bell, saw the flicker of curtains by the front door, and stepped back, hand near his weapon. The door opened to a woman in her midfifties with gray streaks in her dark hair and hesitation in her narrowing eyes.
“Ma’am, I’m Texas Ranger Carter Spencer,” he said. “I’m looking for Constance Sanchez.”
“I’m Constance.” She glanced behind her toward an unseen room, where a television played a cable news show. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. “Why are you here, Ranger Spencer?”
“I’m here to talk to you about your daughter, Elena.”
“My Elena is dead.”
“I know. And I’m sorrier than I can say.”
“What do you want?”
“You sent a text to Detective Jordan Poe. You suggested you needed to talk to her.”
“How do you know that?”
“Detective Poe was injured. She’s in the hospital, and your text appeared on her phone when I was gathering her personal effects from the scene.”
Constance raised her hand to her lips. “Is she going to be okay?”
“She’ll survive.”
“But—”
“I can’t discuss her condition,” he said. “Why did you want to talk to her? Was it about your daughter’s connection to Marco Walker?”
The woman’s worried expression soured to anger. “I hate hearing that man’s name. May he rot in hell.”
“What did you want to tell Detective Poe?”
“Elena was afraid of Walker. She planned to leave him the night she died.”
“Why did she want to leave him?”
“He wanted her to do favors for him, and she couldn’t bear it.”
“What kind of favors?”
“He wanted her to go with one of his friends. Be nice to him. She understood what that meant and didn’t want any part of it.”
“Who was the man?” Spencer asked.
“She never told me his name. She said Walker considered this man important to his business.”
“His drug business?”
“Yes.”
“Did your daughter ever send you any texts or pictures of this man?”
“No.”
“Was he the kind of man who would kill Walker?”
“I think so, yes. That’s what I wanted to tell Detective Poe. I believe if she could find this man, she would learn a great deal.”
Spencer nodded. “Did your daughter ever talk about a woman named Tammy Fox?”
“She was mentioned in the news. She’s dead, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her folded arms tightened. “When you lose a child, you start paying attention to all kinds of things you never noticed before. I said a prayer for Miss Fox.”
“Who were Elena’s friends? She must have had many.”
“She lost track of the girls from high school. The drugs became too much for them. The only person I heard her mention was Laura.”
“Do you have any pictures of Elena or Laura?”
Mrs. Sanchez reached in her back pocket for her phone and opened the photos app. She showed him a picture of Elena and another smiling woman with blond hair.
Laura fit this killer’s profile. “Have you heard from Laura since Elena died?”
“No.”
“Do you have a last name for Laura?”
“No.”
“What about a phone number?”
“I do have that.”
Spencer added the number to his phone and then gave her his number. “Call me if you have anything that you think will help.”
“Of course. When will Detective Poe be back on the job?”
“Not sure. Thank you for your time.”
She nodded and disappeared into her house, locking the door behind her.
Back in his vehicle, Spencer called Laura’s number. The call went to voicemail. “This is Texas Ranger Carter Spencer. I’m looking for Laura. She needs to call me.” He left his contact information.
Laura was another needle in this growing haystack.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wednesday, April 21
9:15 a.m.
It was release day. The doctors had held Jordan for almost an entire week, and she was glad to leave behind the parade of doctors and their examinations that had not provided her with any new answers.
The swelling in her brain had finally healed, and the dozen stitches in the back of her head had been removed. The nurse said the spot they’d shaved was easily covered with the long strands of hair above it. No one would know she had been hurt. Other than the fact that she still could not see. Shit, they could have shaved her whole head if she could get even half her sight back.
There had been a nice woman, Sally Taylor, who was an occupational therapist. Jordan had no idea what Sally looked like but judged her to be about her age and a few inches shorter, given the sound and direction of her voice.
A few days ago, Sally had talked to Jordan about getting around in her home. Jordan had assured her she would be fine. Sally wanted Jordan to begin practicing with a cane. Jordan refused. Sally, in her sweet southern voice, said she could not okay Jordan’s release until she at least tried. Sweet Sally was not above blackmail.
Only because the cane was a means to an end did Jordan agree to try it. It felt long and awkward in her hand. She hated it. Wanted to cry. But she sucked it up and made a show of giving it a go.
Jordan had showered with the nurses’ help this morning. The stitches were out of her head, and it would be a few more days before she could wash her hair, but just the idea of it felt like progress. Next, she changed into sweats, a T-shirt, and athletic shoes Avery had brought her yesterday.
Jordan could not see her face. However, her fingertips confirmed that the knot on the side of her forehead had gone down, though she had no way of knowing how much bruising remained.
A knock on the door had her shifting to the approximate location. Her sensitivity to sound was improving, and her senses of smell and touch were stepping up.
“Ready to hit the road?” Sally asked.
Jordan smiled. “More than ready.”
“Where’s Avery?”
“Bringing the car around.”
“Good.” Sally was always pleasant and direct. “Seriously, how are you doing?”
“I’m terrified,” she said. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Where is your cane?”
“In the chair across the room, I think.” She did not like having it close.
“You have to keep it within arm’s reach, Jordan.” Sally’s footsteps crossed the room and returned. She pressed the cane into Jordan’s hand. “Have you considered the counseling I mentioned?”
“I’m not sure what talking will do about my condition.”
“It’ll help with the stress of the transition.”
“Transition. Makes it sound like I won’t get back what I had.”
“It’s good to be mentally prepared, regardless.”
“Maybe. Right now, I’m focused on getting as much normal back into my day as I can. I’m on medical leave, and I don’t want to waste it in the hospital.”
Sally chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ve got your wheelchair and your discharge papers.”
“Can’t I walk out of here?” she asked.
“No. The hospital’s policy is fairly strict. You know, the lawyers always get their way.”
“I hear you.” Jordan swung her legs over the side of the bed. And with Sally’s help, she lowered herself into the wheelchair. Sally folded the cane, explaining what she’d done, and laid it across her legs.
Jordan absorbed the hospital’s normal background noises. The beeps, buzzers, hushed conversations, and rolling carts were becoming her points of reference in this new world of shadows and light. From her hospital outings with Sally, she’d learned the man in the room beside hers had been in a car accident. He had been broadsided by a truck that had run an intersection. He had regained consciousness. “One lucky bastard,” his father had said over and over as if he were muttering a prayer.
Down the hall was a young girl who had been thrown from a horse. Her neck injuries required surgery, and she was facing months of rehab.
“I’ll be coming by your house later today,” Sally said. “I can help you rearrange furniture and make it more accessible.”
“No offense, Sally, but that sounds awful. I don’t want to change a thing in my house. I like it the way it is.”
“For now, you’ll need to make modifications.”
“I’ll have to put it back when my sight returns.”
Sally did not miss a beat as she guided Jordan’s hand to the arm of the wheelchair. “If that day comes, I’ll come by and help you do it.”
If. Sally had never used when.
“You don’t think it’s going to happen,” Jordan said.
“I worry about the evidence before me.”
“You should be a homicide cop.”
“You think?” she said lightly.
“I’m sure of it.”
“Well, I’ll keep that in mind. You never know.”
She set Jordan’s feet in the foot cradles and unlocked the brake. “What do you want to do with all the flowers?”
“Give them away.”
“They’re lovely.”
“They smell nice, but honestly, they’re wasted on me right now.”
“You sure?” The wheels were rolling, and she could tell by the change in sound that they were in the hallway.
“Very.”
The elevator doors dinged open, Sally asked a nurse to hold them, and the wheelchair rumbled over the ridge. When the doors closed, she sat straighter, finding low vision had not cured her agitation in confined spaces.
When the doors opened again, the air pressure shifted, and the room felt taller. “We’re in the lobby?”
“That’s exactly right. You’re starting to be aware of echolocation.”
“Sound waves are my new friend.” Doors slid open, and the hot spring air rushed toward her. She inhaled. It was her first lungful of fresh air in a week. Sally tapped Jordan on the shoulder. “I have sunglasses for you.”
“Why?” The last thing she wanted was to look as if she could not see well.
“Your eyes could still be sensitive to the light, and it’s a bright day.”
She fumbled with the glasses, which felt clunky and orthopedic, but she dutifully slipped them on, knowing she would do what she needed to get out of the hospital. At home, she would not follow any rules.
Savoring the heat soaking into her bones, she tipped her face toward the sky, imagining the vivid blue that came with low-humidity days.
Suddenly, loud clapping erupted. Several folks shouted, “Detective Poe,” and she realized she had an audience.
“There’re about two dozen officers here,” Sally said softly. “A few have balloons.”
“Balloons?” Jesus, she had wanted to slip out of the hospital, get home, and regroup.
“Smile,” Sally said.
Jordan twisted her lips into a grin, shifting toward the sound of the revelers. She could make out faint outlines of people but could not see any faces.
“Detective Poe.”
The spicy aftershave was a dead giveaway. “Captain Lee.”
“I’m changing my aftershave next time,” he said easily. He came up behind her wheelchair and asked Sally if he could drive.
It was a thing they did in their department. When an officer was injured, the guys and gals showed up to wish them well as they left the hospital. She had participated in her share but never once pictured herself on the receiving end.
“Captain, tell me there’re no reporters here.”
“A couple from the television station.”
“I’m the feel-good story of the hour.”
“Roll with it, Detective Poe.” He sounded like he was grinning, but his smiles always looked a little forced.
Greasy hair and the Darth Vader shades must have made quite the sight. Normally, she was not vain, but she also did not go out of her way to look goofy.
Someone approached her and in a loud voice said, “Detective Poe, it’s Detective Leo Santiago.”
“I’m good.”
“Glad to hear it.” Again, the loud voice.
“My sight is compromised,” she said. “I can hear fine.”
“Right,” he said quickly. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries. And spread the word that I don’t want any tiptoeing around me. If you have a question, ask it.”
“How much can you see?” he asked.
They could ask, but that did not mean she had to be totally honest. “Not enough to drive or shoot my weapon.”
“Fair enough.”
More cops came up, shook her hand, introduced themselves. There were offers for grass-cutting services, grocery store runs, and chauffeuring. She should have been thrilled, but she resented being on the receiving end.
Finally, the welcome sound of Avery’s clunky car engine rumbled near the curb. The freedom car had arrived. Captain Lee, however, was in no real rush to deposit her in the car, and as much as she wanted to demand he end this dog and pony show, she kept her cool. She might be a basket of nerves, but she sure as hell would not broadcast it.
The wheels rolled a few more inches toward the car. When she got home, she was going to lie on the couch and drink a cold soda. It was not on the outpatient protocol sheet, but she did not care.
“Detective Poe,” Captain Lee said. “I would like to introduce you to Angela Richards. She’s a local reporter.”
Jordan stuck out her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” came from the three-o’clock position.
Jordan shifted her hand and felt the reporter’s firm grip. “You were at the press conference last week.”
“That’s right. I’d like to interview you,” Angela said.
“I was telling her about the case you were working with the Texas Rangers,” Captain Lee said.
So now it was with the Rangers. She wondered if Spencer was in the crowd. “Really?”
“Exposure will engage the public in your hunt for this killer,” Angela said.
It would also engage the killer. “I need a few days to get settled.”
“Sure, of course. If it’ll help, I can email questions to you ahead of time.”
And she would read them with what? “Perfect.”
“Terrific.” Angela sounded pleased with herself.
“Jordan,” Avery said.
Thank God, the cavalry.
“I need to pull her away, Captain Lee.” Avery spoke with authority.
Jordan remembered her fourteen-year-old self arguing with a four-year-old Avery, who always walked away with the victory, whether it was an extra cookie or another bedtime story. “Sorry. She’s the boss.”
“The doctor was clear about her getting rest,” Avery said.
“Right,” Captain Lee said.
Jordan held up her hand and waved to the guys, who she assumed were to her right and left. “Thanks, guys. I’ll be back on the job harassing you all soon enough.”
The cheer was filled with enthusiasm, but she was not sure if they believed it any more than she did. If she could see their expressions, she would have a better read of the crowd. But for now, her other senses would have to step up to the plate.
The wheelchair rolled forward on a downward grade, indicating they were approaching the car. Captain Lee set the brakes, and his unexpected touch made her stiffen, but she quickly forced herself to relax.
Avery came up on her other side and tapped her arm gently, as Sally had taught her. Jordan took it.
Jordan relied on them both, her legs still weak after the bed rest that had been broken only by the short walks in the hallway with Sally.
As she lowered herself into the car, Captain Lee put his hand gently on her head and guided her inside the vehicle. He tugged at the seat belt, handed the buckle to her, and she fumbled with it until it clicked into place.
“See you soon, Poe,” he said.
“I’m planning on it.”
As he closed her door, Avery slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and cranked the air-conditioning. “That was quite the show.” The bracelets on her wrist rattled, clinking against each other. She was waving goodbye.
“Are you smiling?” Jordan asked.
“Like a crazed fool.” She put the car in gear and slowly began to drive. “You do the same and throw in a wave.”
Jordan did as she was told. More cheers from the crowd.
“There’re so many officers here,” Avery said.
“It’s a good group of folks,” she said.
“But it sucks to be you, right?”
“No truer words.” She flipped her sunglasses up, shoving her hair back.
“You’re supposed to be careful of light.”
