The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

“I don’t know who you are, Mr. D. Smith, but you have made my day.”

Chapter 15

Tuesday, May 29, 7 AM

Lincoln’s incessant barking tugged at Lara’s concentration as she struggled to finish the last touches on the prints she’d been working on since three in the morning. “Five more minutes, Lincoln. Almost done.”

The dog had an internal clock, which told him he should be walking now. She too loved the morning hikes, especially when she had finished her work for the day.

But today, she needed just five more minutes. She’d been developing the photos from the last crime scene that she’d taken yesterday. In each print, she’d searched for a trigger to make the shadows veiling the truth vanish. But as much as she printed and stared at the crisp black-and-white images, there was nothing that sparked her memories. Nothing.

Lincoln’s barking grew louder and louder until the distraction became too much. Shutting off the water she grabbed a rag and dried her hands before reaching for the gun she kept propped by the door. “What is bothering you?”

The dog’s possessive growl drew her through the house toward the front door. Whatever he’d seen, it wasn’t a squirrel or a rabbit. Someone was on her property.

The dog crouched in the front room staring out the window. The hair on the back of his neck was raised and his tail tucked.

She glanced past the dog out the front window to see a Lexus parked behind her truck. Beside the car stood a woman whose dark pants and a silk top spoke as much of money as the gilded clip holding back neat gray hair. Behind dark sunglasses, the woman scanned the house as if wondering if she’d made a mistake.

Lara patted the dog on the head. “Don’t worry, boy. She looks lost. We’ll get her back to the main road in no time and then be off on our walk.”

The mention of a walk had the dog wagging his tail. He still barked, but the tone had changed.

Lara unlocked the front door and through the screened door said, “Can I help you?”

The woman shifted her gaze to Lara. “I hope so.”

She slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Did you take a wrong turn? It happens when folks are looking for some of the smaller towns in Hill Country.” Lincoln muscled against Lara’s legs and pawed at the front door. Lara tugged on the dog’s collar, knowing she didn’t dare let him out.

The woman, unmindful of Lincoln, approached with crisp, purposeful steps. “I’m looking for Lara Church?”

Lara’s smile faded. Few knew she lived out here as the house title and phone remained under her grandmother’s name. “Why are you looking for her?”

The woman pulled off her glasses and stared at Lara with red-rimmed eyes. “You are Ms. Church. You don’t look like you did in the Sunday Entertainment picture, but then I suppose an artist dresses differently for an opening.”

Tension burned up her back. “Who are you?”

She compressed neatly painted ruby red lips. “My name is Monica Silver. I live in Austin.”

“Is this about Sunday’s article? Because if it is I have nothing to say.”

“It’s not about the article. It’s about my daughter, Blair Silver.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ranger James Beck came to see me at my home. He informed me that Blair was the latest victim of the Strangler. They found her body on the side of the interstate.”

Heat rose up through Lara’s cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, Ms. Church, sorry does not do me one bit of good.” She tapped her glasses against her thigh. “Sorry will not bring my daughter back, and sorry will not catch her killer.”

A heavy sadness rose up in her. “Why are you here, Mrs. Silver?”

“From what I’ve learned, you cannot remember what happened to you seven years ago.”

She pushed Lincoln behind her and pushed through the screened door. “That is correct.”

Mrs. Silver opened a slim black purse and pulled out a crisply folded piece of paper. “I made a few phone calls. There are experts that can help with memory loss.”

“I met with countless ones in Seattle.”

“Have you met with anybody since you moved to Austin?”

“No.” Beck’s frustrated features flashed in her mind when she’d refused his offer of a forensic psychologist.

Lines creased Mrs. Silver’s forehead. “Why not?”

“It didn’t work before.”

“That was seven years ago.” Anger clipped her words. “What about now?”

A knot tightened Lara’s stomach. “The memories aren’t there.”

Mrs. Silver pulled a photo out of her purse and held it up for Lara. The image featured a young girl of about fifteen smiling into the camera. Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter. “This was my daughter. I spoke to her for the last time on Friday. And I used that precious time to nag her. I didn’t stop to tell her how well she was doing or how proud I was. And then some monster strangled the life out of her and left her by the road.” Her hand trembled as she spoke. “Blair was twenty-three years old. When she was younger she loved to ride horses, and she collected seashells from our family vacations. She wasn’t perfect, but she was my child, and I want her killer found. You owe my girl.”

Unshed tears burned in Lara’s throat. “I have tried.”

“Seven years ago. Seven years ago means nothing to me or Blair! You must try again, now. You must.”

When the woman’s voice cracked, Lara’s tears broke free. “I don’t know if the memories are even there.”

Mrs. Silver raised her chin. “But you will try again?”

Lara glanced at the picture of Blair. A crushing sadness cut into her. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll try.”

Mrs. Silver handed Blair’s picture to Lara. “You keep it. I want you to remember her.”

With a nod the woman got back into her car and fired up the engine, vanishing in a cloud of dust around the bend.

Lara sat down on the step and buried her face in her hands. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She didn’t want to turn her mind back over to the shrinks. She didn’t want them poking in her brain.

But she would. Not for herself, but for Blair.

Beck, Santos, and Raines stood in the conference room at Ranger headquarters and stared at the collection of pictures divided into two categories. The first six were of the women killed in Seattle seven years ago. And the second three were of the Texas victims. An image of Lara Church straddled the two columns.

Raines nodded to Lara’s picture. “Our Seattle profilers studied the characteristics of the crime scenes. The locations were remote. The victims were not buried and were posed. There were no witnesses. From that and other details, they developed a detailed portrait of the Strangler. They theorized the killer was male, thirty or older, Caucasian, had some education, and worked in a semiprofessional field. He is an organized killer and chooses his victims carefully.” Raines tapped his finger on Lara’s picture. “However, something drastic changed when he attacked Lara.”

There’d been studies done on serial killers and the dark motives that drove them. But each killer, like each person, had quirks and life experiences that changed them. Cops had bad days that affected their work routines. They had fender benders, their wives got sick or angry, or their bosses read them the riot act. Killers were no different and just as susceptible to life’s ups and downs.

“We can assume whatever changed when he attacked Lara became a permanent part of his ritual.” Beck circled his finger around the local dump zone. “He’s also moving closer to Lara. First he was twenty miles away. Then he was twelve miles away and now only ten miles away.”

“He wants her to know he’s coming.” Raines twisted his wedding band around his ring finger. “He wants her to notice him.”

Beck rested his hands on his hips. Knowing a lunatic stalked Lara dug at him not only as a cop, but also as a man. From the instant he’d met Lara, the urge to protect her had

been fierce. “Santos, did you find any cold cases that might have linked to Lara?”

Santos glanced at his notes. “Lara spent twelve summers in Austin. During those years there were murders and violent crimes, but none associated with Lara or her grandmother, Edna Bower. Except for the suicide of her aunt, Leslie.”

“Any details?” Beck said.

“One single gunshot to the head. She’d checked herself into a local Austin motel and half an hour later shot herself. Medical examiner ruled suicide and the case was closed.”

“Any notes left?”

“No. Witnesses had reported a fight between Leslie and her sister, Barbara, the day before, but the sister was across town when Leslie pulled the trigger. Case was closed within a week.”

So much violence around Lara, Beck mused as he traced the doodled letters LC on his pad. “Anything else?”

“There was nothing else in the criminal files so I tracked down a couple of DPS officers who worked the I-35 area during those years. No murders fit, but there was a string of animal slayings during those years. Not during the summer but in September and October.”

Beck leaned forward. “Right after she left Austin.”

“The animals started off small. Cats. Dogs. Several were found at a time, which was why a report was filed. But as the years went on, the animals got bigger. Horses. Cattle. All were cut up badly with a knife.”

Raines leaned back expelling a breath. The killer didn’t like it when she left. “What were the years of the animal slayings?”

Santos glanced at his notes. “Ten of the twelve years Lara visited Austin.”

“And they stopped.”

“When she moved to Seattle for college.”

“Eleven years ago,” Raines said more to himself. “The year my daughter went to kindergarten. I still remember the sick feeling I had in my gut when the school bus drove away. Wife and I cried like babies. We sent our kids off so they can learn, not so some nut can terrorize them.”

The phone on the table buzzed, and Beck moved toward it. “James Beck.”

“Beck, there’s a Ms. Lara Church here to see you,” the receptionist said.

Tension coiled in the pit of his stomach. She wouldn’t have come unless something had happened. “Send her right up.”

Santos raised a brow. “That must be Lara Church, judging by your expression.”

He straightened, doing his best to shield fresh worries. “She wants to see me.”