He reached for his phone and dialed Faith. The call went to her voicemail. “Faith, check your email. There’s a message from Macy, sent today.”
It was nearly seven when Hayden and Brogan arrived at the Second Chances bar on Third Street. Stepping inside, they removed their hats, knowing there’d be no hiding the fact they were Rangers. But then, neither cared.
The bar had a decent-size crowd for a weeknight. Most of the patrons looked like working-class men. Only one or two in cheap suits were sitting in the booths. Behind the bar was a long mirror framed with barnwood, and in front of it were long shelves covered in countless liquor bottles. Hayden glanced at the flyers behind the bar and spotted the one for Paige Sheldon. Why had it caught Macy Crow’s attention? This was the kind of work Crow did for the FBI, so maybe it had simply been reflex.
There were a few men at the bar hunched over their drinks, and standing before them was a tall man with gray hair brushed off a long, lean face tanned by the sun. He wore a bright-red T-shirt that read SECOND CHANCES, jeans, and worn cowboy boots.
He grinned when he spotted the pair. “How can I assist two of Texas’s finest?”
Hayden made the introduction as each showed his badge. “You are?”
“Danny Garnet. I own the joint.” He set the bottle of booze on the bar. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re following up on a case lead. We had a hit-and-run at the park.”
“I heard about that. Cops weren’t giving out many details. What can I do to help?”
“Victim snapped a picture a block from the bar. Thought she might have come in here.”
“Last night was hopping. We have a two-for-one special between eight and eleven, and that brings ’em out of the woodwork.”
Hayden pulled out a picture of Macy Crow. “Ever seen her in here?”
Garnet studied the picture, nodding. “I do remember her. She’s not the average gal that comes in this bar, and she stood out. There were several guys staring at her last night. One tried to hit on her.” He handed back the picture. “How is she?”
“She didn’t make it.” Hayden watched Garnet’s face, carefully searching for any hint that he knew more than he was saying.
“Shit.” His face crumpled, and he looked down, shaking his head, rubbing the bar rag over an already-clean section. “Where was she hit?”
“Right down the street near Comal Pocket Park. And you were here the whole night?”
“I was,” he said. “Slinging drinks. Like I said, two-for-one night is crazy.”
“And you got people that can confirm it?” Brogan asked.
“Sure. Dozens. Say the word, and I’ll find a few folks to back me up.” Garnet shook his head and then seemed to think better of holding back. “Look, I don’t like to share what my customers say, but Macy was here to ask me about her dad, Jack Crow. She told me he died on Sunday. Terrible. Crow and I served in the military together. He saved my ass a couple of times. Hell of a guy. And I told her so. I was sorry to hear he passed.” He leaned in closer. “And for the record, I’ve been clean since I got out thirty years ago. Not even a speeding ticket.”
“Did she tell you Jack Crow was murdered?” Hayden asked.
“Shit. No. She never said a word about that. What the hell is going on?” Garnet asked.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Hayden said. “When was the last time Crow came by here?”
“Years.”
“You sure about that?”
“Definitely. I wouldn’t forget my old buddy. Maybe he dropped by, but I wasn’t here. During the day I’m often off property dealing with suppliers.”
“Did she speak to anyone while she was here?” Brogan asked.
“Just the guy who was hitting on her.” Garnet twisted the onyx ring on his pinky finger. “I could tell she wasn’t having any of his charm. She left less than a few minutes after he started hitting on her.”
“Is there anyone else we can talk to here who might have known her?” Hayden asked.
“Sure. Heather was here. She’s my manager, and frankly she notices more about what’s going on than I do. As she likes to tell me, women are more astute.”
“We’d like to speak to her,” Hayden said.
“She’s not here right now, but I can get you her contact information.” Garnet went into the back and reappeared with a sticky note. “Here’s her name and number. She’s not scheduled to work until tomorrow night.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. If you need anything, let me know.”
“We will,” Hayden said. And then as he turned he nodded to Paige’s flyer. “Thanks for posting that flyer. Not all area businesses are as cooperative. And for that case, we need all the help we can get.”
“We do what we can.” Garnet again turned the ring round and round. “We’re as much a part of the community as anyone.”
Outside, as they got into Hayden’s car, Brogan said, “He’s lying.”
“Yeah, I got that feeling, too.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tuesday, June 26, 7:15 p.m.
Faith had put on her earphones and was listening to music as she spent the next hour typing up more reports that would have to be done eventually. As she slid into the facts of the cases she’d worked, she felt a sense of control returning.
When she finished the last report, Faith combed her hair back with her hands and then secured it with a band. She then shifted her attention to the queue of emails on her computer.
Several were from Margaret Slater. One was an update on the shelter fundraiser, and another invited her to be on a fundraiser for the brain trauma unit at the hospital. Her last line insisted they have lunch or dinner soon.
Miss seeing you, kiddo.
Faith responded, promising to call her soon. And then remembering that Margaret had been a good friend of her mother’s, she typed,
I’d like to talk about Mom and my adoption when you get the chance.
For a moment, she hesitated to hit the “Send” button. She’d avoided these questions with Margaret for years, and as uncomfortable as they felt, they had to be asked. She hit “Send.”
The tenth email down stopped her cold. It was from Macy Crow. She checked the time and saw that it had been sent at five p.m. today. How was that possible?
Dear Dr. McIntyre,
My name is Macy Crow. I’m Jack Crow’s daughter. You left me a voicemail, but we need to talk i
n person.
This might seem out of left field, but I believe we’re related. I’m adopted and have been searching for my biological roots for several years. My adoptive father, Jack Crow, passed away on Sunday, and ironically, you were the pathologist who took care of him.
I’ve attached two addresses that Jack left me on a prepaid phone I found at his trailer. I’ve been to the one in the country, and I’ve got a gut feeling something very wrong happened there.
Macy Crow
P.S. A picture is worth a thousand words, so I’ve enclosed a few of mine.
Faith studied the selfie and caught the wry expression that telegraphed, “Ain’t this something?” For a long moment she stared at the picture, seeing herself but also noticing subtle differences.
Multiple reactions collided as she looked at what could have been her face. Joy. Curiosity. Anger. Sadness. She wasn’t sure how long she sat just staring at the picture and reconciling it with the image of Macy lying in her hospital bed. Hands trembling, she tapped her index finger on her mouse.
She glanced at the clock. It was after office hours, and she realized the sounds of the office had faded as most of the staff had left for the day. She had almost an hour and a half before sunset. There wasn’t much traffic now, and if she hurried, she could reach the ranch. As tempting as it was to go alone, it wouldn’t do her or Macy any good if something happened. Hayden needed to have this information.
A knock on her door startled her for a moment.
Nancy poked her head inside. “What are you still doing here?”
“Like you, catching up on paperwork.”
“Remember the autopsy you did last week? Miller was a thirty-eight-year-old male who suffered sudden death after a blinding headache. You determined it was an aneurysm?”
“Sure.” Cranial examination had determined massive blood present in the brain cavity due to an arterial tear in the brain stem.
“His wife is in the lobby. She didn’t realize how late it is, and I ran into her on my way out. She’s still struggling and wants to talk to you.”