You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers) (19 page)

 

Hours passed before forensics could free up a team to examine the box in Sara’s trash can. Despite a thorough search, no note had been found. Forensics had taken the box and would conduct a complete analysis.

“Who the hell would mail that?” Winchester said.

Bragg kept his gaze on the road. “I don’t know. But it could explain why Monday had been such a bad day, and why she flaked and missed the contractor.” He followed the twisting road into the Hill Country and rechecked his GPS. “Greer said Joan, or rather Sara, had had an abortion.”

“Her parents strike me as people good at keeping secrets.”

“The kids at camp would have known.”

They fell silent as Bragg drove farther and farther into the country. A wrong turn had him muttering an oath as he slowed and turned the SUV around.

“No one accidentally stumbles upon Shady Grove,” Winchester said. “You have to know exactly where you are going.”

It was past three when Bragg finally spotted the low-key sign on the side of the rural route. A simply painted black-and-white sign set low to the ground. No flowers or fancy landscaping surrounded the sign. The lettering wasn’t gilded or showy. It was a plain marker that whispered to the searcher:
You found us
.

He wound along the dirt road driving another mile before spotting the large building. Though built in the last twenty-five years, it reminded him of a nineteenth-century home, not a modern facility for children.

The two-story building was white with tall columns in the front. A wide porch banded around the house and sported a collection of rockers. Potted flowers decorated the front porch and there wasn’t an extra stick or twig out of place. Perfectly swept clean. Stood to reason. If rich folks sent their kids away from prying eyes they wanted their offspring in a fitting place.

Bragg parked at the top of the circular drive and locked his car. He tried to imagine Greer arriving here at age sixteen. She’d still have been recovering from her physical injuries as well as the mental trauma of causing her brother’s death. She’d have had bandages on her wrists. And her hair would have been dyed the blond she’d favored as a teen.

Like he’d told Winchester, he took pity on that kid. He’d been thirty-three when his sister had died. It had been years since he and his sister had spoken, but losing her had hurt. And Greer had endured the same pain as a kid. She’d been alone. Cut off from family and friends.

As he tried to imagine this place through her eyes, the crisply painted buildings and the perfectly pruned plants didn’t feel welcoming. In fact, their perfection likely mocked a young life in ruins.

In the distance from the surrounding thick woods, he heard the laughter of young adults and thought it strange to hear a joyous sound. Sadness often did mingle with joy. The years he and Sue had lived in his father’s house there’d been some good times. His old man had always liked to do it up at Christmas and take pictures. One great day to wipe out the really bad ones.

His boots thudded against the steps as he climbed the stairs to the front door. A tasteful WELCOME sign dangled from a brass hook.

A glance to his left and right revealed surveillance cameras pointing at the front door. Swiveling around, he spotted more cameras in the trees. Behind tasteful elegance lurked the camera’s watchful eye.

He tried the front door and discovered it was locked. Noticing the button to the right of the door, he pressed it. The buzz of a bell inside the facility echoed in the hallway and soon he heard the clip of steps as someone approached.

Bragg stood back, his hand on his gun. Of course the chance of trouble out here was remote, but a chance was a chance and he never liked waiting by a closed door without his hand on his gun.

He’d been a rookie cop in El Paso, and he and his partner had approached a house known to hide illegal aliens. Reports of children screaming had brought them to investigate. His partner, Nate, was an older guy, and he’d nudged Bragg to the side of the door before he’d knocked.

“Stand in front of that door, and you might as well have a goddamned target on your chest.”

Bragg didn’t remember the smart-ass quip on the tip of his tongue as he stepped aside. But he remembered the double blast of a shotgun eating through the front door as the drug dealer inside had opted to take his chances with the gun.

The wood fragments had splayed, one cutting him across the face. His partner had drawn his weapon and Bragg had fumbled to get his at the ready. Seconds later they’d been in a gun battle that had left two coyotes dead and his partner injured.

His partner had taken early retirement, and Bragg had learned to expect trouble every minute of every day he was on the street.

The front door to Shady Grove opened. No gun blast or drama, just a young woman wearing a simple black dress and a white lab coat.

Her gaze roamed quickly from his Ranger’s hat to the star on his belt before meeting his gaze. “Texas Rangers. Is there a problem?”

Behind the cool and composed smile, he noted her jaw’s subtle tightening. Shady Grove billed itself as a peaceful place, and a Ranger standing on her front porch was liable to bust that image.

He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am. Names are Rangers Tec Bragg and Brody Winchester. We’re here for the director. I saw on your Web site that his name is Dr. Marshall Leland.”

“Dr. Leland is in a late meeting.”

“Tell him I’m here.” Now that he’d announced his interest in the place he’d not be leaving until he saw Dr. Leland. That first visit, when everyone was too shocked to be on guard, could be the most productive.

“It’s not really good timing.”

“Doubt the timing will ever be just right. Would you get Dr. Leland please?” He could be polite when he needed to be, but he could jack up the heat if
please
didn’t work.

She stepped aside. “Why don’t you come in and have a seat? I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Appreciate it.”

Bragg and Winchester stood in the corridor filled with dozens of plaques regaling Shady Grove. First in Education. Outstanding Work with Children. The list of awards went on and on, and he supposed they were comforting endorsements when a parent wanted to drop off his troubled child.

There were no pictures of the students. No smiling faces. No kids canoeing or making crafts or standing around a campfire. The identity of the guests, as the Web site had said, was closely guarded.

“Place makes me sad,” Winchester said.

Bragg nodded. “Yeah.”

A door closed and footsteps sounded and grew closer. Bragg turned to discover a tall thin man sporting a dark mustache that matched thinning hair. He wore a lab coat over a suit and his nameplate read DR. LELAND.

The doctor’s quick and easy smile said he was practiced at handling difficult surprises. He extended his hand and Bragg took it. The doctor’s handshake was firm and sure and his eye contact steady.

Dr. Leland shook his hand. “My secretary tells me your name is Ranger Tec Bragg.”

“That’s right, Dr. Leland,” Bragg said. “We’re from the Austin office of the Texas Rangers.”

If their business had rattled the doctor he gave no sign of it. But then being calm in tough situations would have been part of his job. “Why don’t you come back to my office and we can talk.”

Bragg and Winchester followed the doctor along the carpeted hallway toward the back corner office. Dr. Leland’s office was large and carpeted in a rich burgundy shade and decorated with a mahogany desk, paneled hunter-green walls, and framed degrees that said he should know what he was doing.

The doctor indicated for the Rangers to take a leather-padded seat in front of his desk while he retreated to his chair behind his desk. Threading his fingers the doctor leaned forward, a moderate level of concern on his face. “What can I do for you, Rangers Bragg and Winchester?”

“I’m hoping you can help us,” Bragg said.

“I’ll do whatever I can.” He offered a smooth easy smile.

Bragg relaxed back in his chair, in no rush to get to the punch line. “You handle a lot of kids here every year?”

He steepled his fingers. “About one hundred.”

The doctor had no hard edges. His voice, his smooth hands, and his rounded face were all pleasant and invited trust. “That’s not a lot.”

“We offer specialized care including one-on-one counseling as well as group counseling. It’s intensive. The children who come to us are in tough shape.”

This guy sounded like a walking-talking marketing video. “Would you say you have a good success rate?”

“We do. We pride ourselves on helping these children.” He adjusted his glasses. “Just because a child comes from money doesn’t mean they’re happy.”

“Money doesn’t buy happiness,” Winchester said.

“No, it does not.”

“But it does buy privacy and a really nice place to get well,” Bragg countered.

“We pride ourselves on making a nurturing place for the children.”

“What’s the age range for your patients?”

“We’ve children as young as ten and as old as twenty.”

“That’s a sizeable gap. A twenty-year-old might not have much in common with a ten-year-old.”

“That’s why we divide our children into pods. We try to match the ages of the children who share pods. They live in separate buildings located beyond the woods.”

“And all the children here have tried to commit suicide?”

Annoyance flashed in Dr. Leland’s eyes as if the hard word were taboo. “Some of our residents also grapple with drug addiction, anorexia, or self-mutilation. We are equipped to handle just about any crisis.”

“Basically, you treat messed-up kids.” He wanted to sound unfeeling. He wanted to rattle the doctor and find out what he could shake loose.

Dr. Leland frowned, but didn’t rise to the bait. “You make it sound harsh.”

“Because it is harsh,” Winchester said.

Absently he straightened a sheet of paper on his desk. “We try not to judge the children here.”

“I wasn’t judging. Only trying to get to what you do for the children.”

“I’ve indulged your questions, Ranger Bragg. Now can you tell me why you are here?”

Bragg switched tactics. “How long have you been at Shady Grove?”

“I’ve worked here for a decade.”

“How long have you been the director?”

“I’m not just the director. I own the facility now.”

“How long?”

“Barely over a year.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing overly dramatic or nefarious. The founder of the camp, Dr. Gary Putman, died. In his sleep. Of a heart attack. He was seventy-six.”

“Dr. Putman founded the camp?”

“He did. Twenty years ago. Though he was a leading psychologist, his oldest child, Rebecca, was a troubled girl. She killed herself when she was fifteen. Her death prompted him to create a haven for troubled children.”

“You purchased the clinic.”

“Yes, from the family.”

Bragg hesitated, letting his gaze roam the room as if he had all the time in the world. He met the doctor’s gaze. “I’ve had two of your former clients die recently.”

Dr. Leland cocked his head and frowned but kept his thoughts to himself.

Bragg had the sense the doctor was calculating the media fallout from the murders. He didn’t speak, using the silence to prompt the doctor to talk.

Dr. Leland cleared his throat. “Can you tell me who?”

“The first was Rory Edwards and the second Sara Wentworth. They were both here at the same time about twelve years ago.”

“That was before my time. As I said, I’ve been here a decade.”

“I assume the facility keeps records.”

“I’m not allowed to release the names of my current or former clients. I signed several privacy agreements when I bought the camp. Dr. Putman’s son was clear about maintaining the camp’s reputation. Discretion is key to our work.”

“We know doctor-patient privilege is binding,” Winchester said.

“But the sole link between the two victims was their stay here,” Bragg added.

“Many of our clients run into each other when they leave. I have no control over what happens then.” Dr. Leland clearly favored damage control and not assistance.

“Rory Edwards was here because he hanged himself. And Sara Wentworth, who went by the name Joan while she was here, tried to freeze herself to death. Rory was hanged several days ago and Sara froze to death in an industrial freezer.”

Dr. Leland straightened the sheet of paper on his desk again. “We have a high success rate, but we do lose some clients. Mental illness is a tough and complicated issue to tackle. Outside life is stressful and can trigger a relapse.”

“I’ve no doubt. No doubt at all. There was another gal here, Elizabeth Templeton.”

His lips compressed into a thin line. “Did she die?”

“No. No, she’s doing well for herself now. She speaks well of Shady Grove. But she knew the two victims.”

“Why are you calling them victims? I thought you said these two individuals killed themselves.”

The doctor was astute, but then to be a success here he’d have to key into the nuances of words. “I know Rory was murdered or at the least was assisted with his suicide. Sara may have been the one who helped or killed him before killing herself. Or someone else killed them both.”

Dr. Leland arched a brow. “I would think the police would know the difference between suicide and murder.”

“We do most times. But then we get a killer who tries to cover up. Takes more digging to get at what happened.”

“I still don’t see how we are connected.”

“Odd that two folks from this fine establishment would choose to kill themselves two days apart,” Winchester said.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Bragg leaned forward. “I’m real interested in the group of kids here the same time as the two victims and Elizabeth Templeton.”