Dee emerged wearing jeans, a Find Christa! T-shirt and a leather jacket. She looked at Scott as if she wanted to speak but thought better of it and left.
Brody hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Dee joined the search party?”
“That’s right.”
“Dee like to wear that T-shirt often?” Santos said.
“No. No, of course not. She put it on yesterday because it was Christa’s birthday. A bunch of us gathered together and celebrated. She was trying to cheer me up. Show me that Christa hadn’t been forgotten.”
Brody let his gaze roam over the apartment. It was neat, organized and smelled of fresh paint. “When was the last time you saw Christa?”
Scott reached for a T-shirt draped over a couch and pulled it on over his head. “That’s all in the file.”
“Humor me.”
Scott’s argument melted when his gaze lifted to Brody. “The last time I saw her was the night she vanished. We’d gone to a party for our office. It was kind of a St. Patrick’s Day theme plus a corporate celebration. After I walked her to her car about eleven thirty, I returned to the bar to drink with my friends. Ask her roommate if you don’t believe me.”
“We did ask her.”
Scott stabbed long fingers through his blond hair. “Look, if this is about rehashing ground I’ve already covered . . .”
“We’re into new territory now, Scott.”
“What do you mean?”
Brody watched Scott’s face closely. “We found Christa. She’s dead. Murdered.”
Scott stared at the Rangers for long, tense seconds. “Where did you find her?”
“We’ll get into that later. Where were you about a week ago?”
“Last Monday? At work and home.”
“Alone?”
Scott frowned. “Yeah, alone.”
“How long have you and the blonde . . . Dee . . . been together?”
“I told you last night was the first time.”
Brody grinned. “Really? Somehow I can’t see it. You’re a good-looking guy. Gals like Dee can see you’re hurting, and they want to make you feel better.”
“No. I’ve been faithful to Christa.” Tears welled in his eyes. “Are you sure she’s dead? Are you sure you didn’t make a mistake? It’s hard to identify a body after four weeks.”
“Christa was killed a week ago.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense. She’s been missing for a month.” His face paled as the information sunk in deep. “Where was she all this time?”
Brody dodged the question. “What was she like?”
He swallowed. “She was sweet and nice. Everybody liked her.”
“No stalkers or guys hanging around she didn’t know?”
“If there was, she never said.” He sat on the couch and buried his face in his hands. “Her sister, Ester, is going to be devastated.”
“We put a call in to her, but she’s out of town.”
“She’s exhausted and needed a break. She was talking about going to Galveston.”
“And Christa and Ester’s parents are dead.”
“Yeah. They died when Christa was in high school. Car crash. Ester returned to Austin and moved back into the family home. Christa was fifteen when her folks died and Ester kinda finished raising her. They were tight.” He slumped back on the couch.
Brody couldn’t get a read on Scott. He was saying all the right words, but there was a missing piece to this puzzle. “Did you organize the search for Christa?”
“No, Tim Neumann did. He heard she was missing and organized the Find Christa! search. He was amazing. Marshaled so many people.”
“Does he work with you at First Financial?”
“No. He’s a Realtor. Has a small office in our building. I’d never met the guy until he stepped forward to help. Shit happens, and you never can tell who will be on your side.”
“We can find Tim at the office today?”
“Maybe. He works really hard and is out of the office a lot. But he always carries his cell and will get back to you pretty quick.” Scott rattled off the cell number.
Brody pulled a notebook from his pocket and scribbled a note. “Great.”
“Why do you want to talk to Tim? He barely knew Christa.”
“We’re talking to anyone and everyone who can tell us about Christa and the time she vanished.”
“You should talk to the local cops. They’ve been on this case and up my ass for a month.”
“We’ve been in touch. Right now we’re trying to get a fresh take on the case.”
Scott rose. “You’re gonna talk with the people I work with.”
“That’s right.”
“I’d rather you not tell them you found me with Dee. I’ve missed so much work the last month. Patience is running thin.”
“I’ll keep it to myself.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet, pal. If I find out you’ve been holding out on me, I’ll be your worst enemy.”
Hookers weren’t Robbie’s favorite. They’d always been Harvey’s favorite in his later years because they were easy. “Two or three twenties and you can lure one into your car,” Harvey would say. “Cheap, easy hunts that offered little or no challenge.” That’s why it had been such a big deal when Harvey had trapped that girl a decade ago. He’d chosen the best for his son.
Knowing that, Robbie had not wanted his first to be a cheap, easy kill. He’d wanted Harvey to know his kill had been a cut above. Worthy.
When he’d first seen Christa he’d been dumbstruck. She looked so much like the girl Harvey had chosen for him a decade ago. She’d been upscale. Smart.
Taking her hadn’t been as easy as cruising for a hooker. He’d had to work. To plan. It had taken some doing to toy with her heating unit so that the temperature soared in her apartment, forcing Christa and her roommate to open their windows. He’d sat in the parking lot in his darkened car and watched as the roommate had cracked her window. He could have taken the roommate, but she wasn’t his type. So he’d waited, patient and silent, for Christa who had come home just around midnight. It hadn’t taken long before she’d opened her window. After she shut off the lights, he waited another fifteen minutes and then made his move. He’d been in her room and on top of her, the needle in her neck, before she knew what had happened. After she’d passed out it had been easy enough to carry her out the one-story window and across the dark parking lot that had no cameras.
Robbie had been proud of his coup. But when the time came to kill her, he’d been as terrified and scared as he had been all those years ago. That’s why he’d kept her tucked away in the trailer on the other plot of land for so long.
At first he would toss her food and leave, but after a few days, he’d linger while she ate. A day or two more and he’d asked if she liked her meal. At first she talked only about him letting her go but after a couple more days she answered his questions. He’d been able to tell her about Smith and the loss of his father’s love. She’d seemed to understand.
But in the end, he realized if he did not act, he’d run out of time before Smith died. And it broke his heart to know his father would have gone to his grave thinking him a failure.
When he’d told her he was taking her home, the relief on her face had almost made him back out of the kill. She’d thanked him over and over again as they’d driven down the country road. “I won’t tell. I won’t tell. I swear.”
She didn’t deserve to die. But she was the perfect victim. And she had to die, so his father would know he’d finally manned up.
When they’d arrived at the field, she’d looked confused. But she’d not panicked until he’d pulled her out of the cab and bound her hands at her side.
“I won’t tell. I won’t tell!”
Gently he touched her face. “I know you won’t.”
He’d dragged her to the hole he’d dug for her and forced her into it. Each time she tried to get up, he tossed more dirt in her face until her en
tire body was covered.
Robbie had sat at Christa’s grave for hours, weeping for her and for his own success.
Shaking off the memory, he tightened his hold on the steering wheel as he drove toward east Austin.
If the cops had not been to Harvey’s dump site, now his, he’d have gone for another one like Christa. He liked the nicer girls, the ones that hadn’t been used and soiled by so many before him. But he understood Smith needed to send the cops.
As much as he wanted a better girl, for now he’d have to adapt and make do with what he could easily find. Of course, he could wait until the crime cooled or move to another town, but he needed to act again before Smith died. He’d needed to show his father he was a man. The first kill was not a fluke.
Like any city, Austin had its places where the prostitutes hung out. He drove the city side street past Tequila Shots cantina. Three girls stood on the corner. One was older, skinny and dark. The second wore a red wig and had breasts so large, they threatened to spill out of her green skintight dress. But the third one . . . he knew her. Liked her. Young, blond, and thin but not the emaciated kind of thin that came with too much time out here. She wore faded jeans that hugged narrow hips and a black tank top that showed him and the world that it was cold outside. He’d liked the way she absently scanned the streets, as if she knew her way around. She wasn’t easily rattled or emotional.
He slowed and rolled down his passenger window. She caught his gaze, glanced from side to side and sauntered toward him.
“Hey.” She snapped her gum. “I know you.”
“I picked you up a couple of times before.” He unlocked the car door.
“Yes.”
“My car is warm.”
She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. “Turn the heat up. I’m chilly.”
He cranked the heat. This one never made small talk, and he suspected her brain moved at a slower pace. “Better, Bluebonnet?”
“Better.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a hundred an hour, like before.”
He handed her two hundred dollars.