Showdown in West Texas Page 8

Lily glanced away. “Because you said the body was found near his place. And we both know Jesse can’t keep himself out of trouble.”

  “Well, it’s not him,” Grace said. “Nobody seems to know who this guy is yet.” As she turned toward Cage, her jacket swung open, revealing the star-shaped badge clipped to her gun belt.

  Cage could also see the outline of her bra through the cotton shirt she wore, but he tried to pretend that he couldn’t. As he averted his gaze, he saw that Lily was staring up at him. His attention hadn’t lingered on Grace’s chest for more than a split second, but it was enough for Lily to notice and give him a smirk.

  “Are you ready to go?” Grace asked.

  Cage nodded. “Let’s hit it.”

  “Hey, Dale?”

  Reluctantly, he turned back to Lily.

  She smiled innocently. “So, are you going to be around for a while?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Some of us are going over to the Blue Moon tonight to have some drinks and shoot a little pool. Why don’t you drop in if nothing better pops up?” Her gaze shifted to Grace, then back to him and she smirked again.

  “Thanks. Maybe I will.”

  “I’d invite you, too, Grace, but I’m sure you’d feel out of place among us peons.”

  “Ouch,” Cage said under his breath as he and Grace turned to leave. “I see what you mean about the cold shoulder.”

  “She’s been that way for as long as I can remember,” Grace said with a shrug, but Cage could tell that she was bothered by her sister’s attitude. “I’ve given up trying to figure her out.”

  “Must make working for the same department a little awkward.”

  “Believe me, that was a big consideration before I decided to come back here.”

  Outside, the sun was blistering. Heat rose in waves from the asphalt parking lot, and Grace pulled off her jacket and tossed it onto the seat between them before climbing into the truck.

  “Listen,” Cage said. “I need to come clean with you about something.”

  She gave him a curious glance. “I’m listening.”

  “It’s about that guy Lily mentioned. Jesse Nance.”

  Something flickered in her eyes, but her expression remained carefully neutral. “What about him?”

  “I know that he’s your ex.”

  “Don’t tell me people are talking about that. It was a hundred years ago.” She put the truck in gear and pressed down on the accelerator. The vehicle rocketed forward before Cage had a chance to fasten his seat belt.

  She shot him a glance. “Who told you? Lily?”

  “Miss Nelda mentioned it.”

  “Busybody,” Grace muttered, and Cage wasn’t certain at first to whom she was referring.

  She said nothing else for a moment as she ran a hand through her dark hair. “Miss Nelda’s a sweet old woman, but she can’t seem to mind her own business. I don’t know what I was thinking, moving into that boarding house.”

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she meant any harm. She seems fond of you.”

  Grace nodded. “Yeah, I know. And I’ve always liked her, too. She and Miss Georgina can be a real hoot, but I have to worry about my public image. I know that sounds trite, but to do this job right, I need to maintain an air of respectability.”

  “I understand.”

  “A county sheriff is an authority figure, and when you’re my age and a woman to boot, you’ve already got two strikes against you. The last thing I need is people gossiping about me.”

  He put up a hand. “You’re preaching to the choir, here.”

  She chewed on her lip. “So…What else did she say about me?”

  He gave her a doubtful look. “You really want to know?”

  “Sure, why not? I may as well know what people are saying about me behind my back. Forewarned is forearmed, right?”

  Cage glanced out the window. They’d quickly left the town limits behind, and the only thing he could see for miles was scrub brush, yucca and the occasional pumpjack silhouetted against the horizon. The feeling of isolation in that wide, vast openness still took him by surprise.

  He turned back to Grace. “She told me that your parents had been murdered when you were just a kid. She said you and Lily were home when it happened.”

  Grace stared straight ahead without comment.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bring up such a painful subject.”

  “No, it’s okay. I asked you to tell me. And it’s not so painful that I can’t talk about it or stand to hear about it. It happened a long time ago. Sometimes it almost seems like it was just a bad dream. Something you think about in passing at times, and then you just get on with your life.”

  Brave words, but Cage saw her grip tighten on the steering wheel.

  “How old were you when it happened?”

  A trickle of sweat ran down the side of her face, and she swiped it away as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “Ten. Lily was six. I remember that something woke me up that night. I thought it was the windmill at first. It used to creak so loudly that you could hear it for miles, it seemed. It’s a sound I never forgot, even after I’d been away from here for a long, long time.”

  “Sounds are like smells,” Cage said. “They can stay with you for years, trigger memories you didn’t even know you had.” His trigger had once been the smell of freshly mown grass. That scent always took him straight back to his high school football years.

  Nowadays it was the smell of fresh paint. That was what he remembered most about the night he’d been shot. Not the pain or the fear or the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, but the acrid fumes in the house where a man had held his wife and two kids hostage for hours.

  “After a while, I realized that what I heard was footsteps on the stairs,” Grace said. “When he got to the top, he stopped and just…stood there for the longest time. It was like he was waiting for something.”

  “Maybe he was just trying to get his bearings.”

  “Maybe.” She scowled at the road. “I don’t know why I didn’t call out. Maybe I was too scared. I woke Lily up and she and I crawled under her bed. We stayed there until I was sure he was gone.”

  “You didn’t see anything?”

  “Just his boots in the hallway.”

  “What about a car?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t even think to look.”

  “Any suspects?”

  “My parents had no enemies, and we certainly weren’t rich so there was no reason for someone to think there’d be cash in the house.”

  “Was anything taken?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How did he get in?”

  Cage thought for a moment she wouldn’t answer. Then she drew a breath and slowly released it. “I left the front door unlocked.”

  Now it was Cage who remained silent.

  “I’d left my bicycle out in the driveway and my dad was afraid my sister, Rachel, would hit it if she came home early from her sleepover. She used to do that sometimes. Even after she was old enough to drive, she never liked spending the night away from home, which is strange, because after she left for college, she never came back.”

  “And you’re sure you left the door unlocked when you came back in?”

  “I must have. I was the last one in that night. And there was no sign of a forced entry. Just that unlocked front door.”

  “You were only ten years old,” he said softly.

  “I know.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “I don’t.”

  But in spite of the denial, Cage was willing to bet that unlocked door had tormented her for years.

  “What about fingerprints or tire tracks? There must have been some kind of trace evidence.”

  “There was nothing.”

  “There was something,” Cage said. “There’s always something left behind. It just didn’t get found.”

  Grace shrugged. “That was twenty-three years ago. We did
n’t have the kind of forensic technology we have these days. And even now, we both know it’s never as easy as those CSI shows make it seem. Especially in a place like Cochise County.”

  “Miss Nelda said the authorities were convinced it was someone local because of other incidents that happened. She was kind of vague about that.”

  “She must have been talking about the other murders,” Grace said, and she gave him another quick glance.

  “What other murders?”

  “Ellen and John Lomax. They were ranchers, too. They were found murdered on their kitchen floor the year before my parents were killed.”

  “Same M.O.?”

  “Similar, except they were killed in the middle of the day. They’d just sat down to lunch. The table was set for three and there was still food on the plates and coffee in the cups. Whoever it was, they had invited him to sit down and eat with them. Their sixteen-year-old daughter got sick at school that day and came home early. She must have seen the killer. Her truck was found in a ravine a few miles from the ranch. She was headed back toward town when her vehicle was forced off the road. She got out to run, but he caught her and shot her in the head. Left her right where she fell. If he was able to do that to her…” Grace swiped another strand of hair from her forehead. “I’ve often wondered why he spared Lily and me when he must have known we were there that night.”

  “Even a monster might have a hard time killing two little girls in cold blood.”

  “He didn’t seem to have a problem killing the Lomax girl.”

  “She was older and that was in the heat of the moment. And it is possible he didn’t know you were hiding under the bed.”

  “If it was someone local, then he had to have known we were somewhere in the house. Just as he knew that Jenny Lomax would be in school that day.”

  “And the police were convinced it was the same perpetrator in your parents’ case?”

  “The M.O. was close enough that it seemed likely.”

  “What did the ballistics reports show?”

  “They weren’t a match, but that doesn’t mean anything. Almost everyone in Cochise County owns more than one gun.”

  Something about all this was starting to bother Cage. “Let’s just assume it was someone local. Someone that still lives around here. Have you ever considered that your return might be making him sweat a little?”

  Grace frowned. “Why would he be worried about me? He’s gotten away with five murders for this long. Besides, if he thought there was a chance I’d seen something that night, he could have killed me a long time ago.”

  “Like I said, whacking a kid might not be so easy, even for him.”

  “You’re forgetting about my sister,” Grace said. “Lily’s lived here all her life. If he’s concerned I’ll remember something, why hasn’t he been worried about her all this time?”

  “Put it this way,” Cage said. “If you had to rely on a six-year-old or a ten-year-old witness, which one would you choose?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But like I said, this guy has gotten away with murder for twenty-three years. You think he’s going to risk his freedom now by coming after me on the off chance I might remember something?”

  “All it takes is the right sound,” Cage said. “Or a smell.”

  Grace shook her head. “If I was going to remember something about that night, I would have done so by now. There’s just nothing to remember because I didn’t see anything. Besides, the killer could already be dead for all we know. Or in prison for another crime.”

  “That’s certainly possible.”

  She turned and studied him for a moment. “Why are you so interested in all this?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a cop. The notion of a killer going free all this time goes against my grain.” And somebody around here wants you dead, lady.

  “You don’t think it goes against mine? We’re talking about my parents here. I’ve dreamed about catching the person or persons responsible for as long as I can remember. It’s the reason I entered law enforcement in the first place. But I’m a realist. In the past two years alone, the Mexican police have reported over five thousand—that’s five thousand—gangland-style killings, and that violence is starting to spill across the border. That’s where I have to direct this department’s resources and manpower. I can’t indulge myself in trying to solve a twenty-three-year-old homicide case. Not even when it’s as close to me as this one. My duty is to protect the citizens of Cochise County to the best of my ability, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  Admirable, Cage thought. But luckily, he wasn’t hampered by such noble constraints.

  They’d been traveling south since they’d left Jericho Pass and the low walls of an arroyo eventually gave way to a high bluff that ran parallel to the road.

  Grace nodded toward the window. “Red Rock Canyon,” she told him.

  She’d slipped on her sunglasses earlier and now she pulled them down her nose so that she could study the striated formations over the rims. “There’s a legend about this place. One of the south-facing walls has a pictograph of a giant thunderbird which some say marks the tomb of a monstrous winged predator who once fed on the tribes that lived in this area. On moonless nights, the lights that can be seen moving through the canyon are the souls of his victims, trying to find a passage to heaven. Others say the thunderbird guards a secret door behind which is a fortune in gold.”

  “Nothing like a good legend to lighten the mood,” Cage said. “I’ve always been a sucker for ghost stories.”

  “Then you’ll want to see Willow Springs,” she said.

  “What’s Willow Springs?”

  “A ghost town about twenty miles from here. But if you want to visit it, I wouldn’t advise taking your car. The trail is pretty rugged. You’ll need a four-wheel drive.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “So, what’s the scoop on that place?”

  “It was once a thriving mercury-mining town and now there’s nothing left but deserted mine shafts, a few crumbling buildings and the ghost of the murdered sheriff who still roams the streets, trying to protect the town from the marauders who gunned him down in a spectacular shoot-out.”

  “Sounds like a Clint Eastwood movie.”

  “I’m sure it is,” she said with a smile, and then she sobered.

  Up ahead, two squad cars and a county coroner’s SUV were pulled to the side of the road. Cage felt that little jolt in his gut that he used to get before every mission.

  Just like old times, he thought and for a moment he sat there and savored the feeling, no matter how fleeting, of being back in the game.

  Chapter Nine

  About a hundred yards off the road, two uniformed deputies and two men in plain clothes stood gazing down at something on the ground. When they saw Grace, one of them raised a hand and waved her over.

  “That’s Raymond Cruz,” she said, referring to the taller of the two men in jeans. “He’s one of our detectives. The guy standing next to him is the county coroner, Ellis Lovejoy.”

  “Great name for a coroner,” Cage said.

  “Isn’t it?”

  As they neared the crime scene, Cage could hear the sputter of radio transmissions and the sound stirred about a million memories. Different town, different cops, different scenery for sure. But the old thrill was still there.

  He hung back, not wanting to overstep his bounds, but he was itching to get a look at the victim. The deputies and Detective Cruz stepped back to make room for Grace, and she stood for a moment, gazing down at the ground with them. Then she took off her sunglasses and knelt beside the body.

  “Who called it in?”

  “A couple of teenagers on four-wheelers spotted him,” Cruz told her. “They left tracks all over the damn place.”

  “I don’t guess we know who he is yet, do we?”

  “We don’t have a name, but Mac here thinks the guy may be related to Cecelia Suarez.”

  Cage saw Grace’s head jerk up. “Col
t McKinney’s housekeeper?”

  Cruz nodded. “He says he saw them together one night at the Blue Moon. Cecelia said he was her brother.”

  “When was this, Mac?”

  One of the deputies shifted closer to Grace. “Couple weeks ago, maybe closer to three. I saw them arguing out in the parking lot. Looked like the guy was starting to get out of line so I went over to break things up and make sure Cecelia was okay. She just laughed it off and said her brother couldn’t hold his liquor. She called him la endeble, which didn’t sit too well with him.”

  “Did you hear his name?”

  “She never called him by name, and I didn’t really get that good a look at him. It was pretty dark in the parking lot and I didn’t have my flashlight with me. But I’m pretty sure this is the same guy.”

  “How sure is pretty sure?”

  “I’m not willing to swear on it, but you don’t see a scar like that very often.”

  “Has anyone talked to Cecelia yet?” Grace asked. “We’ll need to get her over to the morgue for an ID.”

  “I’ll swing by there on my way back to the station,” Cruz said. “Unless you want to do it. Might be easier coming from a woman.”

  He didn’t seem to mean any disrespect by the comment, and Grace didn’t appear to take offense. She glanced up at the coroner. “Any guess as to the time of death?”

  “Based on algor mortis, I’d say at least ten hours, but it gets pretty cool out here at night.” He shrugged, which seemed to mean, Your guess is as good as mine.

  Grace stood and glanced over her shoulder at Cage. “Come take a look. Tell me what you think.”

  The other cops dispersed as Cage moved up beside Grace. The victim lay facedown in the dirt, hands tied behind his back, long black hair matted with blood.

  Grace handed Cage a pair of gloves and he snapped them on as he knelt. His hand poised over the victim’s head, he said, “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Be my guest.”

  He parted the matted hair until he could see the entrance wound at the back of the man’s skull.

  “Looks about the size of a .357 Magnum.”

  “Yep, that’s what it looks like all right,” the coroner agreed. “But we won’t know for sure until we dig that slug out.”