Reckoning for the Dead (11 page)

“Yeah, but they don't know that. Kinkaid is holding out until Pérez gets there. From our intel, that son of a bitch is in Mexico City, conducting business as usual, but he's heading to his estate tomorrow. That's what Kinkaid has been waiting for.”

“So what happens after Pérez is in the picture?”

“I know what I'd like to see happen, but I don't think Kinkaid has any intention of taking Pérez alive. He's got another plan that I don't know about.”

“Then why did he ask you to back him up?”

“We're his insurance. If he can't finish what he started, he wants to make sure I do.”

“That's insanity. We could have done this clean, with minimal collateral damage.” Alexa shook her head. “But he doesn't care about that, does he? If he's got a shot at killing the bastard, he's gonna take it, no matter what happens to him. Damn it, Jackson.”

She knew Kinkaid didn't care what happened as long as he got what he wanted. Garrett was right about his having nothing left but revenge. And how much of Kinkaid's mercenary days had been a part of his scheme to find the man who'd ordered the hit? Had he gotten involved with the drug cartels, hoping to find out who had been responsible for the murder of his wife and child?

His obsession had consumed him. That was what she sensed the last time she'd seen him on their mission into Cuba during a hostage-rescue operation, but after hearing what Garrett had to say, Alexa felt an overwhelming sadness for Kinkaid.
What a waste!

“I want in.” She turned her attention to Garrett. “I understand your concerns about my objectivity when it comes to Kinkaid, but I've got to be a part of this.”

Garrett sighed and stole a glance toward Hank. The ground-team leader only shrugged his version of an endorsement.

“You're in on one condition. What I say goes. You're following orders, understood?” Garrett pointed a finger at her. After she nodded, he said, “And when this turns ugly, don't say I didn't warn you.”

Alexa knew that if Kinkaid was on a suicide mission, odds were that she'd see him die. And that thought fueled an ache deep in her belly, but that was a far cry from letting him go it alone. The least she could do was back him up.

And that meant taking down Pérez on his turf—in the stronghold of his estate.

Chapter 9

La Pointe, Wisconsin

Next morning

J
essie had taken a chance and gotten up early to catch Chief Cook at the police station. She didn't intend to talk to him, knowing how far that would get her. This time, she parked down the street, playing a hunch. And when she saw his patrol car leave the station parking lot, she smiled.

“Gotcha.”

The man could have been making a donut run, but Jessie had a gut feeling he was up to something else. When he headed toward the DeSalvo house and turned onto a back road, she knew her hunch had paid off. True to his word, he had gone to see Sophia Tanner, the trip he had wanted to make alone.

“Sorry, Tobias. You can't be the Lone Ranger, not today.”

But before he turned into the Tanner driveway, the chief spotted her in his rearview mirror and stopped in the middle of the drive, blocking her way in. When he got out of his vehicle, she did, too.

“I'm not breaking any laws, Chief. This is a public road. And I'm a tourist.”

“You're loitering.”

“I'm bird-watching.” She glared at him, going on the offensive before he did. “What changed, Chief? One minute you're talking to me, the next, you're ready to slather me in hot tar and roll me in feathers. What gives?”

“Look, I don't have to explain myself to you. What part of ‘this is my case' don't you understand? Is English not your first language?”

“Oh, I'm getting your message loud and clear, Tobias. And for the record, if I were bilingual, I could ignore you in two languages.” She stood toe-to-toe with him, her arms crossed. “Who's Sophia Tanner? And why are you protecting her?”

“What? That's ridiculous.” Chief Cook glared at her and worked his jaw like it pained him. “Anyone ever tell you, you're a pain in the ass?”

“Yeah, but if it'll make you feel better, you're the first one today.”

Before Cook could mount a second wave of ornery, Jessie looked beyond him and waved her hand and smiled.

“She looks real friendly.”

Chief Cook turned to see Sophia Tanner standing on the porch. She was returning Jessie's wave with one of her own.

“I might have to come back, to say hello.”

“Now I told you . . .”

“I know what you said, Chief, but the way I see it, you have two choices. You could invite me to stay, and both of us talk to her, or I can come back later—alone. Your choice?”

“There is another way to go. I could arrest you.”

“For what? Bird-watching?”

Cook dropped his chin to his chest and let his shoulders slump. None of this was going like he'd planned, but before he thought about things too hard, Jessie's mouth was making promises it couldn't keep.

“If I promise that I won't say a word, will you let me sit in?”

Chief Cook clenched his jaw, and finally said, “Fine.”

The Tanner residence was the closest acreage to the house where Angela DeSalvo had been murdered. It was a mirror image of the DeSalvo place except that it was in better shape. The green clapboard house had a well-maintained yard with wooden steps that led to the front porch. Potted flowers hung from a cedar pergola near the front door. And Sophia Tanner was a collector of yard art, anything that spun in the wind.

By the time Jessie and Chief Cook parked their vehicles and got out, Sophia Tanner came out to meet them. She was wiping her hands with a washrag, wearing khaki slacks with a blue floral top.

“Hello, Sophia. Thanks for making time for me.”

“I didn't expect you to bring a visitor, Tobias. Not with you wanting to talk about . . . that DeSalvo murder.”

Mrs. Tanner did not look happy with the chief, but when she turned her attention on Jessie, the woman smiled.

“I'm Sophia Tanner.” She extended her hand and waited for Jessie to reciprocate. The woman's hand was icy cold.

“My name's Jessie. Jessie Beckett.”

“You're not from around here, are you?”

“No, ma'am. I'm not. I drove up from Chicago. I'm an investigator, helping Chief Cook with an old case.”

The woman squeezed her hand and held it a little too long. And the way she looked at her, it made Jessie feel uncomfortable. Chief Cook must have felt it, too. He cleared his throat and put his hand on Mrs. Tanner's shoulder.

“Let's go inside. Would that be okay?”

Mrs. Tanner blinked, almost as if she hadn't heard him.

“Yes, of course. Please . . . come in.” The woman led them into her living room. “How's that arthritis of yours, Tobias? You walking like I told you?”

“Sophia used to push me to walk at lunch when we worked together,” the chief told Jessie. “And she wasn't a woman you could say no to, at least not often.”

Mrs. Tanner listened to Cook and smiled, but when she thought Jessie wasn't looking, the woman stole glances at her. Jessie felt like a damned lab rat. The staring made her uncomfortable until she got distracted with the woman's house.

The Tanner house was real homey inside, especially with the smell of coffee and cinnamon lingering in the air. And she collected antique furniture, good-quality stuff, and had lace and pastel frills everywhere. But when Jessie saw all the family photos in the living room, the smiling happy faces reminded her of what she'd never had—a family.

She'd been a ward of the state of Illinois and had never been around a real family, except for those in the foster-care system that she'd stayed with when she wasn't in an institution or halfway house. All of her belongings had been kept in a trash bag, ready to move when the state ordered it. That was no kind of life for a kid.

“Can I get you some coffee?” the woman asked.

“None for me,” he said.

Taking a cue from Chief Cook, Jessie shook her head and said, “No thanks.”

“Please, sit.” Mrs. Tanner took a seat and folded the washrag on her lap, something to do with her hands. “How can I help you?”

The chief sat in a wingback chair, and Jessie took a spot on the sofa.

“Like I said on the phone, I'm lookin' into the Angela DeSalvo murder case,” he began.

“I don't know. That's been so long ago. I thought I read somewhere that you'd closed that case, Tobias.”

“That case never went to court. And murder cases stay open until they do. You remember how that works, right?”

“Terrible thing.” The woman shook her head. “I had nightmares over that for such a long time.”

“I can understand that.”

“So why are you here . . . talking to me, Tobias?”

“I hate to admit this, but we're missing some paperwork on the case. Everyone whose property was adjacent to the DeSalvo house got interviewed, except for you. And I've come to rectify that.”

“But I did talk to someone. One of your men, I think.” She wrung the cloth in her hand. “Maybe that old paperwork will show up. Maybe it was misfiled, is all.”

“I understand what you're saying, Sophia, but while we're here, I'd like to ask you a few question. Will that be all right?” Without waiting for her reply, he continued as he opened a notepad, “What can you tell me about the night Angela DeSalvo was murdered? Did you see any strangers or hear anything out of the ordinary?”

Sophia Tanner told Chief Cook all she remembered. The more she talked about Angela De Salvo, the more her fingers worked the washrag she still held in her hands. And she avoided eye contact as she spoke. She was uptight about something more than recalling the murder of a neighbor.

While the police chief made a note, Jessie had a question of her own.

“How well did you know Angela?” she asked.

Chief Cook gave her a sideways glance, and, under his breath, he said, “So much for not saying a word.”

When Jessie saw him raise an eyebrow, she ignored him and turned her full attention on Mrs. Tanner.

“I knew her as well as anyone would know a neighbor, I suppose. We didn't socialize, if that's what you mean. We talked on occasion, as neighbors. That's all.”

“Do you remember seeing any children at the DeSalvo home?” From the corner of her eye, Jessie saw Chief Cook shift in his seat, and she heard his sigh, but that didn't stop her. “Maybe she had kids at her place that week prior to the murder.”

“Tobias, what is she talking about? Kids? You never said anything about wanting to talk about children.”

Sophia Tanner's eyes watered, and she looked confused. If Chief Cook had been doing his job, he might have attempted to calm her down, so he could continue his questioning, but that's not what he did.

“I think I've got everything I need.” He stood and reached for Jessie's arm, heading her for the door. “Thanks for your cooperation, Sophia. If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

“I will. I promise.” The woman forced a smile. “Have a good day, both of you.”

When they got outside, out of Mrs. Tanner's earshot, Jessie had plenty to say.

“You call that an interview? You clearly don't watch
Castle,
to see how it's done.”

“And you clearly make promises you have no intention of keeping. I think we're done here. Have a good day, Ms. Beckett. And if I hear that you've come back here to harass this poor woman, I'll arrest you. Is that clear?”

The man was done talking. He got in his squad car and waited for her to get in her rental. Any hope she had for his cooperation had dried up, and she had no idea why. She'd hit a wall that she had never seen coming.

Now she'd have to scramble, and she had a good idea where to start.

La Pointe, Wisconsin

Twenty minutes later

If Chief Cook wouldn't give her any more information on the murder of Angela DeSalvo, Jessie knew how to dig up stuff on her own. And a good source for a story nearly decades old was the town library and the newspaper archives.

She took a corner of the archives and worked over the digital images of old newspapers until she was bleary-eyed. With only the occasional bathroom break and a raid on the snack machine, where she finished off the Cheetos and KitKat bars, she searched the digital records, looking for anything pertaining to the murder of Angela DeSalvo. And seeing the newspaper evolve over time gave her insight into the community and people of La Pointe.

TV detectives always had miraculous databases to help them solve cases in a make-believe world where DNA results could be done in minutes, and the killer always confessed in the last five minutes of the show. In real life, it didn't work that way. Most cases involved “beating feet” on pavement and tedious grunt work that could be butt numbing.

When she'd located a string of articles that encompassed months after the murder, Jessie made copies of the best ones with the most details. Since this was a small town, the newspaper took liberties with its reporting. It deviated from the typical sparse style of journalistic writing and sometimes focused on the more emotional aspects of the story.

She scanned the pages and didn't see anything that she hadn't expected, but she'd go over the articles later when she had more time to read.

When the last article had printed, Jessie sorted through her pile and placed the most important pages on top. Once she got back to her motel room, she wanted to read them first. And considering the stack of paper, it would be a long night.

She headed out of the library with her gold mine of old articles on the DeSalvo killing rolled up in her hand. When she got outside, it was the first time she realized that she'd spent almost the whole day ratholed in the archives. But after she filled her lungs with cool dusk air and caught glimpses of the sunset glittering on the churning waters of Lake Superior, she got a second wind. And her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten much all day.

She followed the main drag, walking toward the water. From what she remembered of her ferry trip, the harbor area had some inviting restaurants near the shore. That made her belly rumble, but as she turned down a side street, she caught a glimpse of movement in the waning sunlight. A shadow had moved behind her.

La Pointe was small, a tourist town. Why she flinched at the sight of someone behind her, she didn't know. Maybe her wariness had been a by-product of digging into the DeSalvo murder all afternoon. And being in the very town where it had all happened had caused her jumpiness.

The way Jessie figured it, it didn't hurt to be careful. When she picked up her pace, she paid closer attention to the sounds coming from behind her and kept a watchful eye on any suspicious movement. Under her windbreaker, she carried her Colt Python. And with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she felt the weight of her weapon as she ducked around another corner. If someone was following her, she'd have precious seconds to expand the gap between them and look for a place to confront the bastard.

Jessie had no intention of losing him, not when she wanted to look the son of a bitch square in the eye.