Storm Gathering (10 page)

“The chief isn’t happy. We’re all coming under heat for this, including Fiscall. It’s a high-profile kidnapping case.”

“All Fiscall cares about is the election in eighteen months. He could use a case like this, couldn’t he?”

“I don’t care about Fiscall. Just get back to me and soon. I want a decision by tomorrow.”

“Who’s pushing you on this?” Crawford asked.

“Irving is pushing. The story broke this morning and people are going to want to know something, especially with a very viable subject running around town. A viable subject who is coaching their children.”

“I think we’re going to find Sammy Earle very interesting.”

“He’s a prominent attorney. Whichever one ends up being our man, we’re going to be taking a lot of heat. We better make sure we get it right.” Fred rubbed his eyes.

Shep said, “Let’s see what this young woman’s mother has to say about the man her daughter once loved.”

Shep stepped around Fred and went into the room where Mrs. Franks sat, clutching her purse and bouncing her knee.

She stood as Shep entered. “Any word on Taylor?”

“I’m Shep Crawford, head of the Criminal Investigation Unit here in Irving. Please sit down, ma’am.”

Mrs. Franks sat back down. “Anything at all?”

“Not yet. We’re working every angle on this case, Mrs. Franks, which is why I need you to tell me everything you know.”

Mrs. Franks shook her head. “Not much, I’m afraid. Taylor and I have been estranged for a year or so now.”

“Estranged?”

“We had a fight. A lousy fight,” she managed through soft sobs.

“Over?”

She didn’t look up as she spoke. “I’m not proud of it. But I just wanted Taylor to have a better life than me. We were always so poor. White trash, I guess you’d call us. We lived in a trailer most of our lives and hardly ever had enough of anything that was good—plenty of things that were bad, though.”

“What was the fight about?”

“She was dating this man, Sam Earle. The attorney I told the other man about. Have you seen him? He’s always on the television. Real nice-looking gentleman.”

“About my age, isn’t he?” Shep asked.

Mrs. Franks nodded. “Yeah. He was an older man, much older than my Taylor. Taylor has never had a problem with men. She just has this class in her, you know? Like she was born to be better than she started out to be. She’s so pretty, has the face of an angel; I swear it. When she left home and went to work, she started dressing real nice too.”

“And?”

“She began dating Sam Earle a few years back. Maybe three. She bought a new car. Lived in that nice apartment. Was just a class act. And those two, they looked like they belonged together.”

“He’s old enough to be her father, ma’am.”

“Who’s counting years? She finally found a man who could give her the world!” Mrs. Franks said. “Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to have nothin’, but it’s a rotten life, I tell you.”

“So Mr. Earle gave her the world, did he?”

“Would take her to fancy restaurants, big parties. They drove around in a limo a lot. Everyone said they were such a handsome couple, and they were.”

“What happened?”

Mrs. Franks diverted her eyes, staring at the window that reflected her homely, dejected image. “Taylor, she’s always been so dramatic.”

“How so?”

“She blows a lot of things out of proportion, that’s all. She used to be a shy girl, back when she was younger. Didn’t say much. She grew out of that, though. Anyway, she came home with this story about how Sam wasn’t treating her right.”

“Treating her how?”

“My goodness, how could he not be treating her right? He was the best thing to happen to her. I’m sure he would’ve bought her anything if she’d asked.”

“What were her claims against him?”

“Claims? Oh, I don’t know. The girl rambled about everything, but I guess she might’ve said something about him hitting her.”

“So he hit her.”

“That’s what she said. And some psychobabble about verbal abuse.” Mrs. Franks shook her head and laughed loosely.

Shep leaned forward. “Are you saying that your daughter at one point claimed that Sammy Earle was abusing her, both physically and emotionally?”

Mrs. Franks’s sour eyes turned to Shep. “Look, she didn’t know what she had. Nothing was good enough for her!”

“You told her to stay with this man?”

“I told her that sometimes you just gotta live with some things. I mean, she wasn’t living in a trailer and she had a lot of money. Sam was treating her real good. I guess he had some sort of temper, but Taylor couldn’t live with that.”

“So they broke up?”

“’Bout a year ago. A little over a year maybe. I told her that was ridiculous. I told her to toughen up. But she wouldn’t listen to me. And she stopped talking to me because I told her she should rethink herself. Said I was a weak woman.” Mrs. Franks’s words sizzled with disdain. “You probably think I’m some sort of bad mother.”

Shep carefully wrote down his notes. “Mrs. Franks, we’re just trying to find out what happened to your daughter. Have you ever met Mr. Earle?”

“No. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want him to see our roots. She was better off hiding that part of her life.”

“Tell me about your husband, Taylor’s father.”

Mrs. Franks’s body seemed to wilt against the chair. “Why?”

“Simply background information, ma’am. Might be helpful.”

“Don’t see how. He’s been dead a decade or more.”

“How’d he die?”

“Liver.”

“Liver?”

“That nasty whiskey. Got his liver.”

“He was an alcoholic?”

Mrs. Franks’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Whatever you want to call it.”

“Did he ever abuse you or your daughter?”

“Why’s that matter?”

“Did he?”

Mrs. Franks laughed off his question and stared at her purse.

“We’re almost finished, Mrs. Franks. Do you think Mr. Earle might’ve done something to Taylor?”

Mrs. Franks thought out the question. “I don’t honestly know,” she finally said in a very soft voice.

“Do you know of anyone else Taylor was involved with? Anybody who might want to hurt her?”

“Don’t know. She’s a sweet girl, sir,” she said, her tissue catching falling tears. “The other detective yesterday said there’s evidence that she was taken.”

“I’m sorry. It does appear that way.”

Mrs. Franks’s sobs reverberated off the cold, concrete walls. “I just can’t believe it.”

“Thank you for your time, ma’am. We’ll have a detective call you as soon as we find anything else out.”

Mrs. Franks stood. “What about that man who’s on the news? The football coach. Aren’t you going to arrest him? Wasn’t he with her the night she disappeared?”

“We’ll be in touch,” Shep said and walked out of the room.

When the door of the courtroom swung open, Sammy was greeted by a horde of reporters as he accompanied the now vindicated Kellan Johannsen down to the waiting luxury SUV. At six foot seven, Johannsen was a majestic skyscraper among lowly office buildings. The basketball star fastened the top button of his fancy suit and smiled enthusiastically, then shot two victorious thumbs into the air.

It had taken the jury only two hours to deliberate and come back with a not guilty verdict.

Dallas news anchors and reporters shoved their way toward Johannsen as he took to the makeshift podium set up at the sidewalk below. Sammy followed, positioning himself between Johannsen’s manager and his publicist, who, thanks to him, still had their jobs. They would not have been able to spin much off a convicted rapist.

Glancing around, Sammy could see a Geo Metro waiting by the side entrance of the courtroom. The prosecuting attorney was escorting the plaintiff to the car, her hand pressed into the young woman’s elbow. At the sound of the crowd, they both looked over. The attorney caught Sammy’s eye, and even at twenty-five yards away, he could see her contempt.

Sammy offered a wide, belligerent grin, then turned toward the press, whose microphones were spread in front of Kellan Johannsen like a giant bouquet of flowers.

“I’d like to thank everyone for their support,” Johannsen mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other.

How Sammy wished someone would teach public-speaking skills to these athletes who always seemed to do so much speaking in public.

“My family, my lovely wife, my children, and everyone else who believed in my innocence from the beginning . . .”

Sammy stared forward, noticing, of course, that Johannsen didn’t thank him and his brilliant defense. That was okay. He’d thank him with his wallet.

“Now, please, respect my privacy and the privacy of my family as we heal from this terrible time in our lives.” Johannsen backed up and walked toward the SUV.

His defense team followed, including Sammy. As they each crowded into the SUV, Sammy walked around the front to get in on the other side. But he suddenly found himself stopped by a man with dark red hair, and dressed in a blue silk shirt and khakis. “No questions now,” Sammy said, trying to step around him to get into the backseat of the vehicle. Reporters were relentless.

“This isn’t about the trial,” the man said, flashing an Irving Police Department detective’s badge.

Sammy looked up at him. “What’s this about? A client?”

“I just need to ask you a few questions, sir.”

“About what?” Sammy frowned, glancing into the SUV. Johannsen shot him an anxious look, ready to leave the chaos of cameras and microphones. “Can’t this wait?”

“It’s about a woman named Taylor Franks.”

Sammy could not help but swallow. But he steadied his gaze and did not blink. “What about her?”

“We can either do this in front of everyone here or somewhere else.”

Sammy swept his bangs off his forehead and turned back to the SUV. “Go on without me. I’ll catch—”

The SUV sped off as the door was quickly pulled shut.

The detective was introducing himself as Randy Prescott.

As Sammy turned to him, he noticed someone across the street standing in the shadow of two large trees. The man was leaning casually against the trunk, hands in his pockets, watching. But Sammy could not see his face.

“Why don’t we go to my office?” Sammy said, gesturing toward the sidewalk. “It’s about eight blocks away.”

Aaron had convinced his supervisor to let him take half the day off. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to concentrate or drive around the city with blabbing Jarrod by his side.

Mick’s stubbornness wasn’t helping matters. His pride was going to be his downfall. Why couldn’t Aaron reach him? Why did Mick always think his brother was out to get him? Didn’t he understand Aaron wasn’t the one coming after him?

Accompanied by a quiet security guard, Aaron walked toward the Delta employee break room at the airport, behind the front ticket counters. His stride was as swift as the bustling passengers around him. But his mind was as far away as all of their destinations. He was nine years old, with four-year-old Mick trotting behind him along the riverbed, shadowing his every move.

“Hold my hand, Aaron!”

He took his brother’s hand, their fingers entwining.

“Are we going to see some fish today?”

“I don’t know, buddy. Don’t get in the mud. Mom’ll kill me.”

The squish next to him indicated Mick’s boot had found a nice muddy hole in which to plant itself. Mick grinned up at him, his eyes sparkling a strong-willed defiance. “Come on. We’ll wash it off in the stream.”

The security guard turned down a small hallway and pointed to the white door at the end. “That’s it.”

“Okay.”

“Just check out with me before you go.”

“Thanks.” Aaron walked toward the break room alone.

“Aaron, don’t leave me!”

“I’m not. I’m just going to cross over here, see what’s up the creek.”

“No! Don’t leave me!”

“Buddy, I’m not. I’ll be right back. You stay here.”

“No! I’m going with you. I don’t want to stay alone.”

“All right. Come on. Don’t get wet, though. Stay on those rocks.”

Aaron adjusted his belt and badge and walked in. Five or six people were standing around, three of them huddled together near the refrigerator.

Liz, the woman who’d reported Taylor missing, recognized Aaron. “Officer! Do you have any news?”

Aaron shook his head. He wanted to say as little as possible. He was breaking protocol by being in uniform and coming in as if he were on duty. But he figured nobody here would even understand that homicide was now in charge of the investigation.

Immediately Aaron noticed the bouquet of flowers on a nearby counter. Liz and the two men standing by her followed his gaze. The roses were drooping to the side. He figured they would still be here. The evidence warehouse was full already, and they didn’t really need the card since the flowers were delivered.

“I haven’t watered them,” Liz said. “I didn’t want to touch them.”

A white-haired man with a young face stepped forward. “I’m Edward Foster, Taylor’s supervisor. And this is Roger, another coworker.”

Aaron shook their hands.

“So nothing new? No arrests?”

“No. Not yet.” Aaron walked to the flowers. He carefully picked up the card and turned it over. But when he tried to open it, it stuck. Had it not been opened? Aaron looked at Liz. “You said these were from her ex-boyfriend?”

“That’s what Taylor said. Or implied.”

“Implied?”

“I said something like, ‘Who are the flowers from?’ And she said, ‘Who do you think?’ ”

“And you took that to mean?”

“Sammy. Don’t know his last name.”

Aaron tore open the envelope and took out the small card. It was typed.

I’m sorry for everything. I love you.

Sammy

“You said he always signed with his initials?”

Liz nodded.

Aaron placed the card back in the envelope. He turned to the three, who were practically leaning over his shoulder. “Have any detectives been here to question you?”

They shook their heads.

“Okay. Listen, some detectives might come by, ask some questions. Just answer them the best you can. I don’t know if these flowers are significant or not.”

“She hated him and loved him at the same time,” Liz said. “She was very conflicted. But also very private, so she didn’t say a whole lot about it. I could just tell.”

“But they think it’s a football coach or somebody like that, don’t they?” Edward said. “Isn’t that what the news said?”

“They’re still figuring a lot of things out,” Aaron said. “And of course call if you hear from her.”

They all nodded and Aaron left, his heart galloping inside his chest. He was being stupid, but the more he knew independent of the prosecutor, the better. What bothered him most, though, was that the detectives didn’t seem to be interested in this Sammy.

They wanted Mick.

After Shep Crawford barged into Stephen Fiscall’s office unannounced, Fiscall watched him round the chair he thought he was going to sit down in. Instead, the giant, beastly, frowsy man circled it as if it were prey. Fiscall shifted in his chair.

“So you’re saying you didn’t leak this to the media.”

“You said you needed time. That’s what you said.” Fiscall sat motionless, resisting the urge to scratch the arms of his chair like a fidgety cat. “I’m always one for building a good case, Crawford. Leaking it to the media wouldn’t help that.”

“Then why was there a story on the news this morning with Kline’s picture?”

Fiscall rubbed an eyebrow. “I have no idea. You know what kind of crazy investigative reporters we have around here. Look, you don’t know that Kline isn’t our man, do you? I mean, you’re just investigating other angles. So what does it hurt that Kline knows he’s being watched? See what he does. That can’t hurt.”

“Your job, as I understand it, is to prosecute the man
we
find to be the criminal.”

Crawford’s condescending tone urged Fiscall to fight back. Instead, he folded his hands together in front of him, rocking back and forth casually in his chair.

“You have ambitions, don’t you, Stephen?” Crawford said, his steely mouth inching into a cheerless smile. “Major ambitions about eighteen months from now when we’ll elect a new district attorney.”

Fiscall grinned. “I want to get the right man, just like you.”

“Are you going to be talking to the media any time soon?”

“Not until an affidavit of probable cause is filed and the judge grants you an arrest warrant.”

“By the book, right, Fiscall? That’s how you operate. Step by careful step.”

Fiscall’s jaw jutted forward and he stared hard at Crawford. “Why are you so sure Mick Kline isn’t our man?”

Crawford traced the vinyl on the edge of the chair with his finger. “I’ve seen a lot of criminals in my life, Fiscall. A lot of low-life scum.”

“And?”

“And you can’t tell simply by the way a man lives. What they have displayed for everyone to see. What they have in their refrigerator. What kinds of pencils they use.” Fiscall noticed Crawford glancing at his chewed-up No. 2. “It takes more than that.”

Fiscall shook his head. The man spoke in ridiculous riddles. “I’m sure your vast experience in profiling could probably catch all your criminals without a single shred of evidence, but in the court of law I’m going to need a little bit more than a personality profile.”

“Have you prosecuted a case without a body before, Fiscall?”

Fiscall stopped rocking. No, he hadn’t. “You feel you won’t be able to locate a body?”

“I’m just wondering.”

“I can prosecute anybody if I have good evidence. So why are you in here talking to me when you should be out there gathering some additional evidence for me? I can’t walk into the courtroom with my charm alone.”

Crawford shook his head, snorting through his nostrils. “You jump when I say so. Until then, let me do my job.”

Crawford walked out, slamming Fiscall’s door.

Fiscall shoved his chair back from his desk, banging it into the bookcase behind him. He refused to be bullied by a psychotic homicide detective.