“Why, when you have but weeks to live? Is it that you didn’t want this information to go with you to your grave?”
“That is partly true, Dr. Granger. I think as I see my life slipping away, setting the record straight means more.”
She studied him closely. “The numbers are that important to you?”
“For the longest time it was enough that I knew what I’d done and where I’d buried the bodies. I was content to take it to my grave. I didn’t need the world or the media to know. Most people don’t have the brains or the patience to sit still for an entire news broadcast so why do I care what they think of me?”
His soft voice had sharpened with rarely exhibited emotion. Despite his words, he clearly cared about what people thought.
“But you do care now.” She leaned closer to the glass, studying his drawn features. For the first time she sensed a crack in his glib armor. “Why now?”
For a long moment he stared at his hands and then slowly he raised his gaze. “Because, Dr. Granger, it is no longer just about me.”
“Is this about the victims’ families?”
“About them, I could care less.”
“Who is this about?”
“Another killer.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There is another killer out there.”
Chapter Three
Saturday, April 6, 4:15 P.M.
Jo sat silently for a moment, then lifted her gaze to catch Brody’s reflection in the glass. The easy manner gone, a new tension rippled through his body.
She released a breath and focused on Smith. “Another killer? Is he a copycat?”
“No, no.” His tone was serious with no hint of manipulation or gamesmanship. But then the best manipulators did it effortlessly.
“He was my apprentice. I took him into my home when he was twelve. I raised him like a son, trained him to be a killer.”
Jo’s mind ticked through all the background information that had been gathered about Smith. How could they not know about a foster son? “The Rangers never mentioned an apprentice or a child.”
“By the time I was arrested he wasn’t a child. He was bordering thirty, and we hadn’t spoken in years.”
A dozen questions crowded to the front of her mind. But as tempted as she was to rattle them off, she steadied herself. She could never be certain when a man like Smith would stop answering questions, so it was important to lead with the most important. “What’s his name?”
“Robbie Bradford. Or at least that was the name he used.”
“What is his name now?”
A hint of sadness clouded his gaze. “I don’t know. I’ve not seen him in ten years.”
Robbie had been nearly thirty when Smith had been arrested. That would put him in his early thirties.
“What does he look like?”
“Medium height. Slender. Light brown hair.”
“That’s not very specific.”
“I trained him not to stand out just like I never stood out. The best hunters blend into the landscape. He was clever at assuming roles.”
“How do you know Robbie is killing?”
“He’s communicated with me.”
She heard Brody shift his stance. “The prison screens your communications.”
“He is clever and careful. Like you, Robbie is intelligent, Dr. Granger, which is why I took him on as my apprentice. Fools have their place in the world and they are fun to play with from time to time, but when it comes to serious matters, they are a time waster.”
“How did he get messages to you?”
“Newspaper want ads. The guards will tell you I read the paper daily. There are so few of us that actually read the paper these days.”
“When was the ad?”
“Last week. Maybe the week before. I’m not as certain of time now. I suppose that’s what dying does—makes the memory weak.”
“What paper?”
“The Austin Chronicle.”
“And what did Robbie tell you in this ad?”
“That he had passed the test. Crossed the line. Become a man who was ready to really play the game of life.”
“Game? Life is a game?”
Smith smiled. “Of course it is. Some of us are smart enough to realize that and the rest stumble through life lost, confused and joyless.”
“Killing women gave you joy?”
“Well, I do understand that what I did does not meet with your approval, Dr. Granger. And I am sorry.”
Jo wondered if he’d ever experienced a true emotion.
As if he sensed her anger, he said, “Could we put our differences aside for the sake of this conversation?”
She tempered her fury. “Of course. What did Robbie say in the ad? Did he tell you or hint at who he killed? Where he buried the body?”
He hesitated, as he thought and shook his head. “If I tell you all my secrets, Dr. Granger, what will be left for you to figure out?”
Sick and dying and still he manipulated. It would be easy to get frustrated, but she refused. “I suppose you are right, Mr. Smith. A good puzzle does get the blood stirring.”
He nodded. “I knew you’d agree.”
Hoping he’d remain open, she shifted tactics. “How do you know Robbie is telling you the truth? He could be toying with you.”
A half smile tipped the edge of Smith’s mouth. “Well, I must trust his word, shouldn’t I?” He rubbed the back of his hands as if they ached. “I’ve given you quite a bit of information today. But if I may, I’d like to ask you a question.”
Jo stiffened. “You can ask, but I can’t guarantee that I will answer.”
“Well, I do have a few more answers to share, but I want answers from you first.”
She walked a dangerous tightrope. One answer always led to another question. Men like Smith liked information because it gave them the power to manipulate. But if she didn’t give him something, he’d end this conversation. “Ask your question, Mr. Smith, and I shall decide if I can answer.”
He leaned forward in his wheelchair, his tired eyes now sharp with interest. “Have you had a good life?”
She’d expected a more specific question. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a simple question. And I want you to be honest. Have you had a good life?”
She sat back. “You’ve asked yourself that question a lot lately, haven’t you?”
Her attempt to turn the question around tickled him. “I’ve put the question to myself, and I know the answer. It’s you that I’m curious about.”
“Why me?”
His delight at her directness faded to something more menacing. “No, no, no. It’s your turn to answer, otherwise I suspect you already know what is next. I end this.”
She straightened.
“You don’t have to answer his questions,” Brody said.
The sound of Brody’s baritone voice startled her. Again she’d forgotten he was behind her and that she wasn’t alone. Brody was an impossible man to ignore under the best of circumstances, and Smith had made her forget him twice.
Mr. Smith studied Brody. “That’s a protective tone, Sergeant Winchester. But given the history you two share, it’s understandable.”
Smith did know about her marriage to Brody.
Brody folded his arms over his chest. “I think this is another one of your games. That the dump site you gave up so easily is bogus and that there is no Robbie. This is about jerking Dr. Granger’s chain because it’s your last chance for a dig.”
Smith again looked amused, all traces of darkness gone. “You’re usually controlled, Sergeant. Interesting that you’d be upset by my simple question to Dr. Granger. Unresolved feelings?”
“You’re playing a game with her,” Brody said.
Jo sat straighter, sensing a longer delay would drive Smith away. “Yes, I’ve had a good life, Mr. Smith.”
Smith shifted his gaze from Brody back to her, staring at her for a moment. “You w
ould consider yourself happy?”
“I do.”
“You are an intellectual, and you grew up in a working-class family.”
She stiffened and reminded herself that he was reading what could be found on the Internet. “I had good parents.”
“They didn’t understand you.”
“I didn’t understand them, but we all loved and supported each other.”
“Hollow support at best, I would guess.”
She curled the fingers of her left hand into a fist. “That’s getting a little personal.”
“We all need family, Dr. Granger. Robbie was my family for many years. In the end I didn’t understand his decision, and it didn’t go well for us. That’s my one regret.”
A serial killer pining about a lost son—it was an odd, but not impossible, concept. Though men like Smith had little regard for their victims, they sometimes had special people in their lives. “You loved Robbie.”