Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing (3 page)

Chapter Three

Jaxon tried to reserve judgment on Hank Tierney as a guard escorted the inmate into the visitors’ room, shackled and chained. Hank’s shaved head, the scars on his arms and the angry glint in his eyes reeked of life on the inside.

A question flashed in Tierney’s eyes when he spotted Jaxon seated at the table.

“Hello, Mr. Tierney, my name is Sergeant Jaxon Ward.”

The man’s thick eyebrows climbed. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you, Hank. I can call you Hank, can’t I?”

The man hesitated, then seemed to think better of it and nodded. For a brief second, Jaxon glimpsed the vulnerability behind the tough exterior. But resignation, acceptance and defeat seemed to weigh down his body.

“I just talked to your sister, Avery.” Jaxon watched for the man’s reaction and noted surprise, then a small flicker of hope that made Tierney look younger than his thirty-four years. Maybe like the boy he’d been before he was beaten by Mulligan and he was locked away for life.

“I can’t believe she called you. I just saw her.” Emotions thickened his voice, a sign that he hadn’t expected anything to come of their conversation.

That he hadn’t expected anything out of life for a long time.

“She didn’t,” Jaxon said, knowing he couldn’t offer Hank Tierney false hope. In fact, all he really knew was that a jury had convicted him.

And that he and his sister might have concocted this story to convince a judge to order a stay of execution.

“I came at the request of my director. But your sister showed up at the warden’s office while we were talking.”

Cold acceptance resonated from Hank at that revelation. “So you came to make sure they stick the needle in me?”

He
was
world-weary.

Jaxon folded his arms and sat back, his professional mask in place. “I came for the truth. Your sister insists you’re innocent.”

Hank’s chains rattled as he leaned forward. He ran his hand over his shaved head, more scars on his fingers evident beneath the harsh lights. When he finally looked back up at Jaxon, emotions glittered in the inmate’s cold eyes. “You believe her?”

Jaxon scrutinized every nuance of Hank’s expression and mannerisms. According to his files, he’d been an angry kid. And according to Avery, he’d been abused.

Twenty years in a cell had only hardened him more. The scars on his body and the harsh reality of prison conditions attested to the fact that he’d suffered more abuse inside. But judging from the size of his arms and hands, he’d learned to fight back.

“I don’t know,” Jaxon said. “I read the file. You confessed. You were convicted.”

Hank shot up, rage oozing from his pores. “Then why did you come here?”

Because your sister has the neediest eyes I’ve ever seen.

He bit back the words, though. Avery Tierney had survived without him, and if she were the victim she professed to be, she might be lying now.

Worse, his boss wanted him to make sure the conviction wasn’t overturned. Wouldn’t look good on Director Landers if one of the cases that had made his career blew up and it was exposed that he’d sent an innocent man to prison on death row.

But something about the case aroused Jaxon’s interest.

Because Avery had created doubt in his mind. Just a seed, but enough to drive him to want to know the truth.

“I had my reasons for confessing.” Hank turned to leave, his chains rattling in the tense silence, his labored breath echoing in the room.

“Did you kill Wade Mulligan?” Jaxon asked bluntly.

Hank froze, his body going ramrod straight. Slowly he turned back to face Jaxon. The agony in his eyes made Jaxon’s gut knot.

“I wanted him dead,” Hank said, his voice laced with the kind of deep animosity that had been built from years of thinking about the monstrous things Mulligan had done. “I hated the son of a bitch.” He shuffled back to the table and sank into the chair.

“Every night I lay there in that damned bed across the hall from Avery, staring at the ceiling just waiting. The old lady would take her pills and pass out. He’d wait a half hour or so, wait till the house was dark and he thought everyone was asleep.” Hank traced one blunt finger over a fresh bruise on his knuckle. “But I couldn’t sleep, and I knew Avery couldn’t, ’cause we both knew what was coming.”

Jaxon gritted his teeth.

“Then I’d hear that squeak of the door....” Hank’s voice cracked. “At first, I was so scared I crawled in the closet and hid like a coward. But one night...I heard Avery crying and something snapped inside me.” He balled his hands into fists, knuckles reddening with the force. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to do something.”

Jaxon’s stomach churned as he imagined Avery at nine, lying helpless at the mercy of that bastard. “What happened then?”

“I ran in and tried to drag him off her.” Hank’s voice shook, his eyes blurry with tears. “He knocked me off him and beat the hell out of me. Used a belt that night.”

“It happened more than once?”

Hank dropped his head as if the shame was too much. “Yeah. After I started fighting back, I couldn’t stop. But the beatings got worse. Then he started locking me up at night, tied me to the bed so I couldn’t come in and stop him.” He groaned. “I had to lie there like a trussed pig and listen to that grunting, the wall banging. I wanted to kill him so bad I imagined it over and over in my head.”

Hank lapsed into silence, wrestling with his emotions. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.

“Tell me about the night of the murder,” Jaxon finally said.

“The old lady was gone, left for a couple of days.” Hank sucked in a deep breath, his eyes glazed as if he were thrust back in that moment. “I knew it was going to be bad that night, that he’d stay at it till dawn. So earlier, I hid a kitchen knife in my bed, under my pillow.”

“He tied you up?”

Hank nodded. “But then Avery screamed, and I got mad. I twisted until I got that knife and cut the ropes.” He jerked his hands as he might have done that night. “Then I tiptoed to the door and peeked into the hallway. Avery’s door was cracked.... I could hear her crying....”

Jaxon swallowed. If he’d been Hank, he would have killed the animal, too.

“Then what happened?”

Hank pinched the bridge of her nose. “I had the knife in my hand, and I tiptoed across the hall. I wanted to sneak up on him, stop him once and for all. Make him feel pain for a change.”

He paused, his expression twisting with horror. “But Mulligan was on the floor at the foot of Avery’s bed. He...was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes wide like he was dead. Blood soaked his shirt, and he wasn’t moving....”

Jaxon leaned forward, trying to visualize the scene. “He’d already been stabbed?”

Hank nodded. “Blood was on his shirt and the floor. One of his hands was covered in it where he’d grabbed his chest.”

“Where was your knife?”

“In my hand.” Hank slowly lifted his head, eyes cloudy with confusion. “Then I...saw Avery holding one.”

Jaxon would have to check the police reports to see if there was any mention of a second knife. And he needed to look at the autopsy reports. “Then what happened?”

“She was pitiful, crying and rocking herself back and forth.” He gulped. “So I ran over and took the knife from her. Then I wiped it off.”

“If he was dead, why did you stab him?”

Hank gripped his thighs with his hands. “I don’t know. Avery was sobbing, and I thought she’d get in trouble, and I couldn’t let that happen. She was already suffering enough.”

Jaxon felt for the kid and his situation.

“I wanted to cover for her. And I don’t want to get her in trouble now.”

“Let me worry about that,” Jaxon said. “I just want the truth. Tell me about stabbing Mulligan.”

Hank shrugged. “I was so mad. I had to make sure that monster never got up and hurt her again, so I lost it. All that rage and hate I had for him came out, and I went after him. I just started stabbing him, over and over and over.”

Hank closed his eyes, pressed the heels of his hands against them and sat there for a long minute, his shoulders shaking.

Jaxon understood the man’s—the boy’s—rage. He’d felt helpless. Had felt responsible for his sister.

But there were still unanswered questions, pieces that didn’t fit. “Hank, what happened to the knife you brought into the room?”

He looked confused for a moment. “I...don’t know. I think I dropped it when I ran to Avery.”

“Did Avery have blood on her hands? On her night clothes?”

Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Jaxon breathed a small sigh of relief. If Avery had stabbed Mulligan, she would have had blood on her. She was only nine, too young and traumatized to have stabbed someone and clean up the mess.

Hank made another guttural sound in his throat. “Then Avery didn’t kill him?”

“I doubt it,” Jaxon said.

“That’s the only reason I confessed, to keep her from being taken away.” Hank gripped the edge of the table. “But if she didn’t kill him, then I’ve spent my life in a cell for nothing.”

Jaxon knew his boss wasn’t going to like it. But he actually believed Hank Tierney.

“There’s one major problem with your story,” Jaxon pointed out. “You and Avery both claimed there was no one else in the house that night.”

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose again. “There had to have been. Maybe someone came over after Mulligan tied me up in my room.”

Jaxon gritted his teeth. That was a long shot. But it was possible.

Even if the man had killed Mulligan, Mulligan had deserved to die. Hell, Hank Tierney was a hero in Jaxon’s book.

He didn’t deserve a lethal injection for getting rid of a monster.

He should have been given a medal.

And if he hadn’t killed Mulligan, then someone else had. Someone who was willing to let Hank die to protect himself.

* * *

A
VERY
WAITED
IN
an empty office for the Texas Ranger while he questioned Hank. She was still reeling in shock over her conversation with her brother.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him over the years. She’d been too busy trying to survive herself, working to overcome the trauma and shame of her abuse and the humiliation that had come from being a Tierney, born from a family of murderers.

Therapy had helped put her broken spirit and soul back together, although she still bore the physical and emotional scars.

But she had been free all this time.

Her brother had been labeled a murderer and spent most of his life behind bars, living with cold-blooded killers, rapists and psychopaths.

Hank didn’t belong with them.

She had to talk to that lawyer. The guards had confiscated her cell phone when she arrived and would return it when she left, so she stepped to the door and asked the mental health worker if she could use the phone.

“I need to call my brother’s lawyer.”

The woman instructed her how to call out from the prison, and Avery took the card Hank had given her and punched the number. A receptionist answered, “Ellis and Associates.”

“This is Avery Tierney, Hank Tierney’s sister. I’d like to speak to Ms. Ellis.”

“Hold please.”

Avery tapped her shoe on the floor as she waited. Through the window in the office, she could see the open yard outside where the inmates gathered. Only a handful of prisoners were outside, four of them appearing to be engaged in some kind of altercation.

One threw a punch; another produced a shank made from something sharp and jabbed the other one in the neck. All hell broke loose as the others jumped in to fight, and guards raced out to pull them apart.

She shuddered, thinking about Hank being a target. How had he survived in here? He must have felt so alone, especially when his own sister hadn’t bothered to come and visit him.

How could he not hate her?

“This is Lisa Ellis.”

The woman’s soft voice dragged Avery back to the present. She sounded young, enthusiastic. “This is Avery Tierney, Hank Tierney’s sister. Hank told me that you came to see him and are interested in his case.”

“Yes,” Ms. Ellis said. “I’ve looked into it, but unfortunately I haven’t found any evidence to overturn the conviction. And your brother wasn’t very cooperative. In fact, he told me to let it go.”

Avery traced a finger along the edge of the windowsill as she watched the guard hauling the injured inmate toward a side door. Blood gushed from his throat, reminding her of the blood on Hank’s hands and Wade Mulligan’s body.

“Miss Tierney?”

“Yes.” She banished the images. “I just talked to Hank. We have to help him. He’s innocent.”

A heartbeat of silence. “Do you have proof?”

Avery’s heart pounded. “No, but I spoke with a Texas Ranger named Jaxon Ward and he’s going to look into it.” At least she prayed he would.

“I read the files. You were the prime witness against your brother.”

“I know, but that was a mistake,” Avery said. “A horrible mistake. I was traumatized at the time and blocked out the details of that night.”

“Now you’ve suddenly remembered something after all these years?” Her tone sounded skeptical. “Considering the timing, it seems a little too coincidental.”

Frustration gnawed at Avery. The lawyer was right. Everyone would think she was lying to save her brother.

“I didn’t exactly remember anything new,” Avery said, although she desperately wished she did. “But I just spoke with Hank, and we had a long talk about that night. It turns out that he confessed to the murder because he thought I killed Wade.”

Another tense silence. “Did you?”

Avery’s breath caught. That was a fair question. Others would no doubt ask it.

And if she had killed Wade... Well, it was time she faced up to it.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t think so. But Hank said when he came into my bedroom, Wade was already lying on the floor with a knife wound in his chest. He saw me crouched on the bed, crying, and he thought I killed Wade in self-defense, so when the police came, he confessed to cover for me.”

“That’s some story,” Ms. Ellis said. “Unfortunately without proof, it’ll be impossible to convince a judge to stop the execution and reopen the case.”