The Killing Tide, page 16
Alexa checked the later documents for any new evidence that had cropped up. There had been none. It seemed the murder of Heather Dawson would remain unsolved.
Alexa bit her lip. She hated that word. “Unsolved.” What that meant for the grieving family was “unresolved.” What it meant was a lifetime of misery and uncertainty.
Stuart came in.
“The DNA swab is done. I’ve also ordered swabs for all the other fine upstanding citizens we’ve interviewed.”
“Kind of grasping at straws, isn’t it?”
Stuart grunted. “Yeah, but straws are all we have to grasp at. I’m thinking he’s not our man. I don’t have anything solid to back that up; it’s just that I get the feeling he’s actually turned a new leaf.”
“I think you’re right. Look at this report. Even before someone messed with the evidence, the prosecution was facing an uphill battle. And no new evidence has come to light. Storrs has no real reason to fear the case would be reopened. No one has suggested that it should. It’s been in the cold case files for a while now. Storrs hasn’t been in trouble with the law since the trial.”
“He said something about that to me. He said that nearly being charged with murder made him wake up to the kind of life he was living. That if he continued the way he was going he’d end up dead or in jail for life. So he turned to God. And you know what? I think I believe him. I’ve heard plenty of cons claim they’ve found Jesus and keep on committing crime, but this guy’s turned squeaky clean.”
Alexa turned to the case file. “Then how does this trial fit? I have a feeling we’re getting close … ” She snapped her fingers. “Wait. What if we’ve been looking at it the wrong way?”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember how you said we should be looking at present and future cases and not just old ones? What if that’s not it? What if we shouldn’t be looking at the criminals at all?”
Stuart blinked. “Then who would be looked at? The—”
They said it at the same time.
“The victims!”
Stuart got a distant look. “Someone who didn’t see justice done and has decided to make it himself.”
He threw himself into a chair in front of the spare computer and began bringing up old newspaper articles about the murder. Alexa started going through police files, checking the names of everyone in the jury, and everyone in Dawson’s family, for records.
She didn’t have long to look.
Tim Dawson, the victim’s father, had been picked up for disorderly conduct six months after the trial had been dismissed.
“Stuart, look at this. Heather’s father was found on a Phoenix street screaming and kicking in windows. When police detained him, he shouted that he had seen Mark Storrs walking down the street. He couldn’t stand seeing that the man was living a normal life and blamed police for letting his little girl’s killer go free. There’s also a note here that he had recently gone off his antidepressants.”
“So Tim Dawson falls into depression after losing his daughter,” Stuart said, brow furrowing. “He’s got a grudge against the judge for letting Mark Storrs go free. He’s got a grudge against Billings too, for messing with the evidence and ruining the case.”
“There’s no proof Billings did it,” Alexa said.
“Proof doesn’t matter at this point. The guy is blaming everyone.”
“Sure,” Alexa said, nodding eagerly. “His depression gets worse. He’s put on meds, and we both know how often those don’t work as planned. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to deal with people whose meds didn’t work right or who had gone off them and had a bad reaction. Then he sees Storrs walking the streets a free man and he snaps.”
“But why not kill Storrs? Why go after all these other people?”
Alexa thought a moment. Yeah, that didn’t make sense.
Wait, yes it did. Storrs was living in the middle of nowhere, cut off from almost everyone. He would have been a hard man to track down. And if Dawson couldn’t find him, what was the next best thing?
“He wants to pin the killings on Storrs. Make him go to jail for murder, like Dawson thinks he should have in the first place.”
“Oh. Wow. Hey! That explains why he went after Judge Rodriguez. Storrs, in this role, would want to take revenge on all the people who put him in jail. Also, Dawson would want to punish Storrs’s previous judges who didn’t keep him in jail.”
“Wow, we’re really dealing with a sick mind. And why go after Gus Hallard? He was on the jury for Heather’s murder but never got to make a ruling. The case was dismissed.”
“We know the killer has been researching his victims,” Stuart said. “He’s been planning this for a long time. Tim Dawson must have researched the jurors too, and found that Hallard gave someone a guilty verdict in a murder trial. That must have stung, considering that in this other murder trial the suspect went free.”
Alexa leaned back in her chair and said in a hushed, fearful tone, “Then his circle of potential victims could be limitless. He could go after the arresting officers, the other jurors, all of Storrs’s previous judges. It could go on and on!”
Stuart turned to the computer and started tapping away. “We need to find him. Now.”
“Wait. First we need to find the next victim. Warn him. Dawson might be there already.”
Stuart looked at her, confused. Then the light came on in his eyes. “The defense attorney. The one who found the label had been removed. He’d be the highest on Storrs’s list now! Higher than Hallard even. There must be some reason he went after the juror before the defense attorney.”
“He waits for a good opportunity. Maybe he couldn’t get the defense attorney in an easy spot but discovered that Hallard worked alone in the desert.”
“Right.” Stuart got back to the computer. “Here it is. Court records show the defense attorney, Andrew Teagan, living here in Phoenix. Oh, he hasn’t appeared in court for the last two weeks until today.”
“Maybe he was out of town on vacation. That would explain why Dawson wasn’t able to target him.”
Stuart grabbed his phone. “And he just got back. Dawson would know that. And it’s already getting dark. He’s going to want to strike tonight.”
Stuart punched in the number for the defense attorney’s office.
“Hello? May I speak to Andrew Teagan? He’s gone? This is Stuart Barrett of the FBI. Is he really gone? Yes? I need his personal phone number. I have reason to believe he might be in danger.” Stuart frowned. “What do you mean how do you know I’m really FBI? Haven’t you heard about those judges and that state prosecutor getting killed? Give me that damn number!” Pause. Stuart started scribbling down a number. “All right. If he calls, tell him to call me back at this number immediately.”
Without pausing to speak to Alexa, Stuart dialed Andrew Teagan’s personal number. Alexa could hear it ringing. And ringing. The beep of a voice mail came on.
“Andrew Teagan, this is Special Agent Stuart Barrett of the FBI. We have reason to believe that Tim Dawson, the father of Heather Dawson, or some other person related to one of your cases might be targeting you for a revenge attack. We suspect the same individual might be behind the series of attacks on court officials in recent days. Please, if you get this message, call me back immediately, and get yourself and your family into your car and drive to the nearest police station.”
Stuart hung up and turned to Alexa.
“Shall we call Dawson? Go to his house? He still lives in Phoenix.”
“Did Teagan’s office have any idea where Teagan might be?”
“They said he usually goes straight home after work. He left just five minutes ago.”
“Let’s pull up his office and his home address on Google Maps.”
They checked, and found with the tail end of rush hour traffic it would take him half an hour to get there, assuming he didn’t stop at the supermarket or somewhere else.
Next they checked Tim Dawson’s last known address. It was closer than Andrew Teagan’s house.
“Let’s go,” Alexa said.
Within seconds they were in the car and pulling out of the police station parking lot, Stuart gripping the wheel and Alexa calling for backup.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
The Dawson home stood in a quiet little cul-de-sac. The house itself was modest, with a well-tended lawn that, despite the tense situation, still managed to irritate Alexa. Why in the world did people insist on having grass lawns in the desert? Didn’t they know the state had chronic water supply problems?
That made her think of Gus Hallard, the water department worker whose only crime was serving as a juror like any good citizen. This quiet, nondescript home might very well hide a crazed killer.
At least they would have him outnumbered. Rebstock’s battered old Chevy appeared at the end of the street, coming their way. He had radioed them during their crazy drive across town to say he had picked up a patrolman and was coming in his own vehicle. Two unmarked cars were unlikely to spook Dawson if he looked out the window.
Alexa’s uniform was a problem, though. For the first time in this hot, stressful few days, Alexa felt jealous of Stuart’s suit.
She got on the radio. “Rebstock, how about you have the officer circle around back to make sure Dawson doesn’t run that way?”
“Already dropped him off there. And you keep behind Agent Barrett and me. Maybe he won’t spot your uniform.”
Alexa chuckled. “Took the words right out of my mouth. It’s like you read my mind.”
“I actually can read minds. That’s how I’ve put so many people away.”
Alexa grinned, then gave a worried glance at the house. She still felt nervous about this. Dawson, if he really was the killer, had always used a knife, and he did not have a licensed firearm, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t end up on the wrong end of a gun.
Rebstock parked in front of them and got out, moving his considerable bulk to stand between the house and the car door. Stuart got out first, and Alexa tucked herself behind the two men.
“No movement from the house that I can see,” Rebstock said, lighting a cigarette. He took a drag and let out a long, hacking cough.
“Those things will kill you,” Alexa said.
“Not if some criminal kills me first.”
“On that cheerful note, let’s go check on Tim Dawson,” Alexa said, putting her hand on her gun. The two men had shoulder holsters, their guns hidden by their jackets.
The three of them walked across the street. A female jogger huffed down the sidewalk, stared at them, and increased her pace.
They came up to the front door. Rebstock flung his cigarette to the side, squared his shoulders, and rang the bell. It sounded out like the chimes of Big Ben. Alexa would have laughed if this wasn’t so serious.
Movement behind the door. The porch light switched on. The peephole in the door darkened as someone looked through it.
Stuart is going to have to kick another door in. How many does that make now?
“Who is it?” a female voice said.
Rebstock pulled out his ID and held it up. “Phoenix police department.”
There was a click as the door unlocked. Then it opened.
They saw a woman in her fifties with deep sorrow lines on her face and bags under her eyes. Immediately Alexa knew they were facing Heather’s mother. She had seen that look before, that of the endlessly bereaved.
“Hello, I’m John Rebstock, homicide division. This is Deputy Marshal Alexa Chase and Special Agent Stuart Barrett of the FBI. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Goodness! What’s going on?”
“Your name, ma’am.”
“Ursula Dawson.”
“Is your husband Tim at home?” Rebstock asked.
Ursula Dawson looked at each law officer. “What’s this about? Have you found new evidence about Heather?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. We’d like to talk to the two of you about the case, though.” Alexa kept a poker face. Rebstock wasn’t exactly lying, after all.
“I’m afraid he’s out. He’s on his evening jog.”
“Where?” Alexa asked.
“Oh, around the neighborhood. He takes different routes. He probably won’t be back for half an hour. Can I take your number?”
“May we come inside, ma’am?” Rebstock asked.
“I don’t see why not. So what’s happening with the case? Are you reopening it?”
Rebstock didn’t reply as all three of them walked in. Since she had allowed them inside, they didn’t need a warrant.
By unspoken agreement, Stuart and Rebstock moved further into the house while Alexa, being the only woman, stayed with Ursula.
“What are they doing?” Ursula said, looking nervous.
“They just need to search the house, ma’am.”
“Has Storrs made threats? Is he coming to get us?”
“No. Actually I’d like to tell you that Mr. Storrs is currently in custody. We’re investigating some crimes that he might be involved in. You have nothing to worry about.”
Ursula let out a gust of relief. “That man is an animal. I remember in the trial when the prosecution read through that long list of crimes. I knew it was only a matter of time before he got arrested again.”
“At the moment he’s just being held for questioning, ma’am,” Alexa said, keeping an ear cocked for any shouts or sounds of a struggle.
She also kept an eye on Ursula. The woman looked nervous, but not overly so.
If Tim is the killer, he hasn’t told her. That would be smart, of course.
“So why do you want to speak with Tim?” Ursula asked.
How the hell do I answer that?
“We’re, um, concerned he might have had contact with Mr. Storrs.”
“With that killer? We never want to see him for the rest of our lives. You know what happened to Tim after he was let free?”
A little. Not enough.
“What?”
“He had a nervous breakdown. Well, we both did. But his was worse. He slipped into a deep depression. We saw a psychologist, but what could the man say? We had lost someone so close. It felt like we had been killed.”
Alexa found herself tearing up. “I know how you feel.”
A flicker of annoyance passed over Ursula’s features. “I hate it when people say that. How could you possibly—”
“Did you hear about that U.S. Marshal Drake Logan killed the month before last?”
“Yes,” Ursula replied, concern softening her face.
“That was my … ” Alexa’s voice choked, “ … my partner.”
Ursula put her hands on Alexa’s shoulders, and Alexa almost lost it.
Alexa pulled back as quickly as she could. She was on a case. Stuart and Rebstock might be in danger. She had to keep it together.
She straightened up, cleared her throat, and nodded thanks to Ursula.
“It’s hard,” Ursula said. “And it takes a long time to get easier. After a point, it doesn’t get easier at all. You just learn to live with it. Come. Look at this.”
She led Alexa into the living room. They could hear Stuart and Rebstock moving around upstairs, still searching the house.
On the mantelpiece was a large picture of Ursula, a man her age and a girl of about eleven. They sat in a boat with a giant fan on the back, surrounded by a swamp.
“We went on vacation to the Everglades a couple of years before we lost her. She loved the airboat ride. She was laughing and cheering the whole time. The driver even let her steer for a while. We went to an alligator farm too where she got to feed them. I remember how scared she was, but she insisted on doing it. She was such a brave girl. Always up for an adventure.”
Several other photos showed the progress of an older girl from age about fifteen to twenty.
“Who is this?” Alexa asked. “Your other daughter?”
Ursula gave a faint smile. “In a way, yes. It’s our niece. My brother’s daughter. She lived in Phoenix until she went to NAU for forestry. Now we go up to Flagstaff to spend time with her.”
“So you sort of adopted her?” Alexa asked, thinking of Stacy.
“Not quite. We had to restrain ourselves. After the first few really bad months, we spent more time with all our family. That sort of tragedy brings a family together. And we started spending more time with Samantha. Of course my brother and his wife could see what we were doing, and they were very kind to let us. Tim and I agreed to hold back a bit. We would have loved to have spent every moment with her, but our psychologist warned us that wouldn’t be healthy. She was right. Funny, I never believed in psychologists until I needed one.”
“I see,” Alexa said. She had two unanswered calls from Joan on her phone.
Ursula went on. “So we went to her basketball games and took her out for ice cream. That sort of thing. We limited ourselves to two days a week. Tried not to spoil her on Christmases and birthdays. Samantha understood. She’s been very good about it. When we go visit her in Flagstaff she takes us hiking.”
“I’m glad you found someone,” Alexa said.
“It doesn’t replace Heather. Nothing can. But it helps. If you lose family, you just have to find more.”
Alexa nodded. Family is what you make it. Stuart had said that, referring to a younger kid he met in school who had become like a little brother to him.
Rebstock and Stuart came back downstairs.
“He isn’t here.”
“I told you, he’s out jogging,” Ursula said.
“We have to check, Ursula,” Alexa said. Stuart looked at her when she called her by her first name.
“Did he bring his phone with him?” Stuart asked.
“No. It’s right over there on the coffee table.”
Rebstock took it.
“We need to check Andrew Teagan’s place,” the homicide detective said. “Let’s head over there now. Ma’am, I’d like you to stay here and call this number immediately if you see or hear from your husband.”
Ursula took the card he gave her. “Why? I don’t understand.”
“Just routine, ma’am.”
Routine, hell, Alexa thought. You’re hoping you’re wrong as much as I do, but you think you’re right.
Alexa bit her lip. She hated that word. “Unsolved.” What that meant for the grieving family was “unresolved.” What it meant was a lifetime of misery and uncertainty.
Stuart came in.
“The DNA swab is done. I’ve also ordered swabs for all the other fine upstanding citizens we’ve interviewed.”
“Kind of grasping at straws, isn’t it?”
Stuart grunted. “Yeah, but straws are all we have to grasp at. I’m thinking he’s not our man. I don’t have anything solid to back that up; it’s just that I get the feeling he’s actually turned a new leaf.”
“I think you’re right. Look at this report. Even before someone messed with the evidence, the prosecution was facing an uphill battle. And no new evidence has come to light. Storrs has no real reason to fear the case would be reopened. No one has suggested that it should. It’s been in the cold case files for a while now. Storrs hasn’t been in trouble with the law since the trial.”
“He said something about that to me. He said that nearly being charged with murder made him wake up to the kind of life he was living. That if he continued the way he was going he’d end up dead or in jail for life. So he turned to God. And you know what? I think I believe him. I’ve heard plenty of cons claim they’ve found Jesus and keep on committing crime, but this guy’s turned squeaky clean.”
Alexa turned to the case file. “Then how does this trial fit? I have a feeling we’re getting close … ” She snapped her fingers. “Wait. What if we’ve been looking at it the wrong way?”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember how you said we should be looking at present and future cases and not just old ones? What if that’s not it? What if we shouldn’t be looking at the criminals at all?”
Stuart blinked. “Then who would be looked at? The—”
They said it at the same time.
“The victims!”
Stuart got a distant look. “Someone who didn’t see justice done and has decided to make it himself.”
He threw himself into a chair in front of the spare computer and began bringing up old newspaper articles about the murder. Alexa started going through police files, checking the names of everyone in the jury, and everyone in Dawson’s family, for records.
She didn’t have long to look.
Tim Dawson, the victim’s father, had been picked up for disorderly conduct six months after the trial had been dismissed.
“Stuart, look at this. Heather’s father was found on a Phoenix street screaming and kicking in windows. When police detained him, he shouted that he had seen Mark Storrs walking down the street. He couldn’t stand seeing that the man was living a normal life and blamed police for letting his little girl’s killer go free. There’s also a note here that he had recently gone off his antidepressants.”
“So Tim Dawson falls into depression after losing his daughter,” Stuart said, brow furrowing. “He’s got a grudge against the judge for letting Mark Storrs go free. He’s got a grudge against Billings too, for messing with the evidence and ruining the case.”
“There’s no proof Billings did it,” Alexa said.
“Proof doesn’t matter at this point. The guy is blaming everyone.”
“Sure,” Alexa said, nodding eagerly. “His depression gets worse. He’s put on meds, and we both know how often those don’t work as planned. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to deal with people whose meds didn’t work right or who had gone off them and had a bad reaction. Then he sees Storrs walking the streets a free man and he snaps.”
“But why not kill Storrs? Why go after all these other people?”
Alexa thought a moment. Yeah, that didn’t make sense.
Wait, yes it did. Storrs was living in the middle of nowhere, cut off from almost everyone. He would have been a hard man to track down. And if Dawson couldn’t find him, what was the next best thing?
“He wants to pin the killings on Storrs. Make him go to jail for murder, like Dawson thinks he should have in the first place.”
“Oh. Wow. Hey! That explains why he went after Judge Rodriguez. Storrs, in this role, would want to take revenge on all the people who put him in jail. Also, Dawson would want to punish Storrs’s previous judges who didn’t keep him in jail.”
“Wow, we’re really dealing with a sick mind. And why go after Gus Hallard? He was on the jury for Heather’s murder but never got to make a ruling. The case was dismissed.”
“We know the killer has been researching his victims,” Stuart said. “He’s been planning this for a long time. Tim Dawson must have researched the jurors too, and found that Hallard gave someone a guilty verdict in a murder trial. That must have stung, considering that in this other murder trial the suspect went free.”
Alexa leaned back in her chair and said in a hushed, fearful tone, “Then his circle of potential victims could be limitless. He could go after the arresting officers, the other jurors, all of Storrs’s previous judges. It could go on and on!”
Stuart turned to the computer and started tapping away. “We need to find him. Now.”
“Wait. First we need to find the next victim. Warn him. Dawson might be there already.”
Stuart looked at her, confused. Then the light came on in his eyes. “The defense attorney. The one who found the label had been removed. He’d be the highest on Storrs’s list now! Higher than Hallard even. There must be some reason he went after the juror before the defense attorney.”
“He waits for a good opportunity. Maybe he couldn’t get the defense attorney in an easy spot but discovered that Hallard worked alone in the desert.”
“Right.” Stuart got back to the computer. “Here it is. Court records show the defense attorney, Andrew Teagan, living here in Phoenix. Oh, he hasn’t appeared in court for the last two weeks until today.”
“Maybe he was out of town on vacation. That would explain why Dawson wasn’t able to target him.”
Stuart grabbed his phone. “And he just got back. Dawson would know that. And it’s already getting dark. He’s going to want to strike tonight.”
Stuart punched in the number for the defense attorney’s office.
“Hello? May I speak to Andrew Teagan? He’s gone? This is Stuart Barrett of the FBI. Is he really gone? Yes? I need his personal phone number. I have reason to believe he might be in danger.” Stuart frowned. “What do you mean how do you know I’m really FBI? Haven’t you heard about those judges and that state prosecutor getting killed? Give me that damn number!” Pause. Stuart started scribbling down a number. “All right. If he calls, tell him to call me back at this number immediately.”
Without pausing to speak to Alexa, Stuart dialed Andrew Teagan’s personal number. Alexa could hear it ringing. And ringing. The beep of a voice mail came on.
“Andrew Teagan, this is Special Agent Stuart Barrett of the FBI. We have reason to believe that Tim Dawson, the father of Heather Dawson, or some other person related to one of your cases might be targeting you for a revenge attack. We suspect the same individual might be behind the series of attacks on court officials in recent days. Please, if you get this message, call me back immediately, and get yourself and your family into your car and drive to the nearest police station.”
Stuart hung up and turned to Alexa.
“Shall we call Dawson? Go to his house? He still lives in Phoenix.”
“Did Teagan’s office have any idea where Teagan might be?”
“They said he usually goes straight home after work. He left just five minutes ago.”
“Let’s pull up his office and his home address on Google Maps.”
They checked, and found with the tail end of rush hour traffic it would take him half an hour to get there, assuming he didn’t stop at the supermarket or somewhere else.
Next they checked Tim Dawson’s last known address. It was closer than Andrew Teagan’s house.
“Let’s go,” Alexa said.
Within seconds they were in the car and pulling out of the police station parking lot, Stuart gripping the wheel and Alexa calling for backup.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
The Dawson home stood in a quiet little cul-de-sac. The house itself was modest, with a well-tended lawn that, despite the tense situation, still managed to irritate Alexa. Why in the world did people insist on having grass lawns in the desert? Didn’t they know the state had chronic water supply problems?
That made her think of Gus Hallard, the water department worker whose only crime was serving as a juror like any good citizen. This quiet, nondescript home might very well hide a crazed killer.
At least they would have him outnumbered. Rebstock’s battered old Chevy appeared at the end of the street, coming their way. He had radioed them during their crazy drive across town to say he had picked up a patrolman and was coming in his own vehicle. Two unmarked cars were unlikely to spook Dawson if he looked out the window.
Alexa’s uniform was a problem, though. For the first time in this hot, stressful few days, Alexa felt jealous of Stuart’s suit.
She got on the radio. “Rebstock, how about you have the officer circle around back to make sure Dawson doesn’t run that way?”
“Already dropped him off there. And you keep behind Agent Barrett and me. Maybe he won’t spot your uniform.”
Alexa chuckled. “Took the words right out of my mouth. It’s like you read my mind.”
“I actually can read minds. That’s how I’ve put so many people away.”
Alexa grinned, then gave a worried glance at the house. She still felt nervous about this. Dawson, if he really was the killer, had always used a knife, and he did not have a licensed firearm, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t end up on the wrong end of a gun.
Rebstock parked in front of them and got out, moving his considerable bulk to stand between the house and the car door. Stuart got out first, and Alexa tucked herself behind the two men.
“No movement from the house that I can see,” Rebstock said, lighting a cigarette. He took a drag and let out a long, hacking cough.
“Those things will kill you,” Alexa said.
“Not if some criminal kills me first.”
“On that cheerful note, let’s go check on Tim Dawson,” Alexa said, putting her hand on her gun. The two men had shoulder holsters, their guns hidden by their jackets.
The three of them walked across the street. A female jogger huffed down the sidewalk, stared at them, and increased her pace.
They came up to the front door. Rebstock flung his cigarette to the side, squared his shoulders, and rang the bell. It sounded out like the chimes of Big Ben. Alexa would have laughed if this wasn’t so serious.
Movement behind the door. The porch light switched on. The peephole in the door darkened as someone looked through it.
Stuart is going to have to kick another door in. How many does that make now?
“Who is it?” a female voice said.
Rebstock pulled out his ID and held it up. “Phoenix police department.”
There was a click as the door unlocked. Then it opened.
They saw a woman in her fifties with deep sorrow lines on her face and bags under her eyes. Immediately Alexa knew they were facing Heather’s mother. She had seen that look before, that of the endlessly bereaved.
“Hello, I’m John Rebstock, homicide division. This is Deputy Marshal Alexa Chase and Special Agent Stuart Barrett of the FBI. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Goodness! What’s going on?”
“Your name, ma’am.”
“Ursula Dawson.”
“Is your husband Tim at home?” Rebstock asked.
Ursula Dawson looked at each law officer. “What’s this about? Have you found new evidence about Heather?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. We’d like to talk to the two of you about the case, though.” Alexa kept a poker face. Rebstock wasn’t exactly lying, after all.
“I’m afraid he’s out. He’s on his evening jog.”
“Where?” Alexa asked.
“Oh, around the neighborhood. He takes different routes. He probably won’t be back for half an hour. Can I take your number?”
“May we come inside, ma’am?” Rebstock asked.
“I don’t see why not. So what’s happening with the case? Are you reopening it?”
Rebstock didn’t reply as all three of them walked in. Since she had allowed them inside, they didn’t need a warrant.
By unspoken agreement, Stuart and Rebstock moved further into the house while Alexa, being the only woman, stayed with Ursula.
“What are they doing?” Ursula said, looking nervous.
“They just need to search the house, ma’am.”
“Has Storrs made threats? Is he coming to get us?”
“No. Actually I’d like to tell you that Mr. Storrs is currently in custody. We’re investigating some crimes that he might be involved in. You have nothing to worry about.”
Ursula let out a gust of relief. “That man is an animal. I remember in the trial when the prosecution read through that long list of crimes. I knew it was only a matter of time before he got arrested again.”
“At the moment he’s just being held for questioning, ma’am,” Alexa said, keeping an ear cocked for any shouts or sounds of a struggle.
She also kept an eye on Ursula. The woman looked nervous, but not overly so.
If Tim is the killer, he hasn’t told her. That would be smart, of course.
“So why do you want to speak with Tim?” Ursula asked.
How the hell do I answer that?
“We’re, um, concerned he might have had contact with Mr. Storrs.”
“With that killer? We never want to see him for the rest of our lives. You know what happened to Tim after he was let free?”
A little. Not enough.
“What?”
“He had a nervous breakdown. Well, we both did. But his was worse. He slipped into a deep depression. We saw a psychologist, but what could the man say? We had lost someone so close. It felt like we had been killed.”
Alexa found herself tearing up. “I know how you feel.”
A flicker of annoyance passed over Ursula’s features. “I hate it when people say that. How could you possibly—”
“Did you hear about that U.S. Marshal Drake Logan killed the month before last?”
“Yes,” Ursula replied, concern softening her face.
“That was my … ” Alexa’s voice choked, “ … my partner.”
Ursula put her hands on Alexa’s shoulders, and Alexa almost lost it.
Alexa pulled back as quickly as she could. She was on a case. Stuart and Rebstock might be in danger. She had to keep it together.
She straightened up, cleared her throat, and nodded thanks to Ursula.
“It’s hard,” Ursula said. “And it takes a long time to get easier. After a point, it doesn’t get easier at all. You just learn to live with it. Come. Look at this.”
She led Alexa into the living room. They could hear Stuart and Rebstock moving around upstairs, still searching the house.
On the mantelpiece was a large picture of Ursula, a man her age and a girl of about eleven. They sat in a boat with a giant fan on the back, surrounded by a swamp.
“We went on vacation to the Everglades a couple of years before we lost her. She loved the airboat ride. She was laughing and cheering the whole time. The driver even let her steer for a while. We went to an alligator farm too where she got to feed them. I remember how scared she was, but she insisted on doing it. She was such a brave girl. Always up for an adventure.”
Several other photos showed the progress of an older girl from age about fifteen to twenty.
“Who is this?” Alexa asked. “Your other daughter?”
Ursula gave a faint smile. “In a way, yes. It’s our niece. My brother’s daughter. She lived in Phoenix until she went to NAU for forestry. Now we go up to Flagstaff to spend time with her.”
“So you sort of adopted her?” Alexa asked, thinking of Stacy.
“Not quite. We had to restrain ourselves. After the first few really bad months, we spent more time with all our family. That sort of tragedy brings a family together. And we started spending more time with Samantha. Of course my brother and his wife could see what we were doing, and they were very kind to let us. Tim and I agreed to hold back a bit. We would have loved to have spent every moment with her, but our psychologist warned us that wouldn’t be healthy. She was right. Funny, I never believed in psychologists until I needed one.”
“I see,” Alexa said. She had two unanswered calls from Joan on her phone.
Ursula went on. “So we went to her basketball games and took her out for ice cream. That sort of thing. We limited ourselves to two days a week. Tried not to spoil her on Christmases and birthdays. Samantha understood. She’s been very good about it. When we go visit her in Flagstaff she takes us hiking.”
“I’m glad you found someone,” Alexa said.
“It doesn’t replace Heather. Nothing can. But it helps. If you lose family, you just have to find more.”
Alexa nodded. Family is what you make it. Stuart had said that, referring to a younger kid he met in school who had become like a little brother to him.
Rebstock and Stuart came back downstairs.
“He isn’t here.”
“I told you, he’s out jogging,” Ursula said.
“We have to check, Ursula,” Alexa said. Stuart looked at her when she called her by her first name.
“Did he bring his phone with him?” Stuart asked.
“No. It’s right over there on the coffee table.”
Rebstock took it.
“We need to check Andrew Teagan’s place,” the homicide detective said. “Let’s head over there now. Ma’am, I’d like you to stay here and call this number immediately if you see or hear from your husband.”
Ursula took the card he gave her. “Why? I don’t understand.”
“Just routine, ma’am.”
Routine, hell, Alexa thought. You’re hoping you’re wrong as much as I do, but you think you’re right.
