The Last Move (Criminal Profiler 1)

He returned to his car and set his purchases on the ground. If the cops weren’t looking for this truck yet, they would be soon. Time to ditch it. He glanced back toward the store and watched the other lone customer pay for a twelve-pack of beer.

Drexler looked around, making sure no one saw him, and dropped to his knee. He flicked open a switchblade. Taking the car parked next to his would fix at least one of his problems.

After several minutes, the drunk staggered out of the store, the twelve-pack in hand. He was older, lean, and dressed in a mechanic’s jumpsuit. The man swerved when he walked across the lot. He sang some country song as he fumbled for his keys. Drexler’s heart beat faster, and his palms began to sweat. He wasn’t fond of using a knife.

The other man didn’t see Drexler crouched by the front of the car until he all but tripped over him.

“What the fuck?” the man asked, staggering back a step.

Drexler rose up quickly and jabbed the stranger in the gut several times. Drexler found the sensation of metal cutting into flesh nauseating. He didn’t like blood or killing with his hands.

Blood oozed out of the man’s gut as he stumbled and collapsed into Drexler’s arms. The beers dropped to the ground with a hard thunk.

Drexler grabbed the man’s keys and patted him down for a wallet. He found a money clip securing a hundred dollars’ worth of bills and a phone. Drexler shoved his victim onto the passenger-side seat of his stolen truck. The man groaned. Drexler pulled the blade over the man’s neck, severing his carotid artery. Hot, sticky blood was slick between his fingers as it gushed down over the dead man’s white oval nameplate that read Jimmy.

Drexler swung Jimmy’s legs in and turned his head away from the window. The dark seats and rug would hide the blood, at least until morning. And if anyone glanced in before sunrise, they’d see a drunk sleeping it off.

Drexler checked Jimmy’s phone and discovered it was locked. He grabbed Jimmy’s right thumb and pressed it against the “Home” button. The phone opened.

Drexler slammed the door closed to his truck, grabbed all the beer, and slid behind the wheel of the black Dodge truck. The truck was at least ten years old, and it smelled of old fast food and booze. But the engine cranked immediately, and the tank had enough gas to get him at least three hundred miles farther south.

The cops would find Drexler’s vehicle and the man’s body, but he figured he had about eight to ten hours before anyone figured out what had happened. By then, he’d find a new vehicle.

As he drove, he removed the security settings on the phone and searched for Kate Hayden. Immediately an article by Taylor North popped up. According to North, Kate Hayden was working a case in San Antonio.

As he drove, he kept searching, learning that Kate had been raised in San Antonio where her mother still lived.

When he’d first run from his property, he’d had no other plan than survival. Now he had a plan.

“San Antonio, Texas, here I come.”

CHAPTER NINE

When dropping a trail of bread crumbs, it is important that the crumbs are the right size. Too small and they could be missed. Too large and they look obvious. But when they’re just right . . . it’s magic.

San Antonio, Texas

Tuesday, November 28, 7:00 a.m.

When Mazur pulled up to the hotel, Kate was waiting for him in the lobby. She was dressed in the same shapeless black suit, and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. However, her face had more color in it, and she’d put on a bit of makeup. When she shifted her stance and slung her backpack onto her shoulder, her jacket moved and he spotted the outline of nicely rounded breasts.

Her pace was quick, determined, and restless. No mind reading necessary to know she was anxious to wrap up this case and return to Utah. She was a balled-up tangle of energy.

She set her backpack in the backseat, then slid into the passenger seat. “Good morning.”

The soft scent of soap mingled with a subtle perfume. “Get a good night’s sleep?”

“I did. You?”

“Enough.” Sliding on his sunglasses, he pulled into traffic. “Jenny Calhoun called me about five minutes ago. She wants us to stop by the lab.”

“Did she say why?”

“No. Said it was important.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Curious.”

“I’ve known Calhoun only a few months, but she’s a straight shooter. If she’s got something to say, she says it.”

“Unlike Santos.”

He grinned. “What do they say about revenge?”

“It’s a dish best served cold.”

“Damn right.” He signaled to change lanes. “I received a report on the Sanchez family’s financials. They’re in worse shape than Martin indicated. Land assets and brokerage assets have been liquidated. Second mortgage taken out last month on their home.”

Her phone chimed with a text, and she glanced at it, her brow furrowing as she read.

“That doesn’t look like good news.” Her business was none of his, but being around her kept piquing his interest.

“My partner, Agent Nevada, thinks Drexler ditched his truck and stole another one.”

“Where was Drexler last seen?”

“Near the New Mexico border. That’s where he stole a truck and stabbed the vehicle’s owner, who was found in Drexler’s vehicle. There was a lot of blood at the scene, so the vehicle he’s driving is likely covered in it as well.”

“Does he own any other properties or have friends in that part of the state?”

“Parents are dead. No siblings. A cousin whom I interviewed. Though the cousin defended Drexler, I suspect he’s the one who called in the tip that led to the arrest. We’re still digging into extended family connections.”

“Can you prove the cousin called it in?” Mazur asked.

“No. It’s a hunch. I did a baseline interview with him. We didn’t talk about the case. His job. His house. Basic things so I could see how he reacted when there was no need to lie. When I asked him about the tip on Drexler, he leaned back as he spoke. He also crossed his legs and looked away or checked his watch. Several closed-posture gestures that deviated from the baseline suggested he was hiding secrets.”

“He involved in his cousin’s deeds?”

“I don’t think so. I think Drexler got drunk and talked more than he should. I also think the cousin, though he made the anonymous call to local police, is clearly troubled by the fact he turned in family.”

“I know what it’s like to catch a guy that insidious. For me, it was Frankie Munroe. A piece of shit from the South Side of Chicago. Developed a taste for killing young prostitutes. One was thirteen. The way he cut them.” He paused, pushing the image from his mind. “Took me nine months of tracking. But putting him down was all I drank, ate, and slept.” Caleb had recently died, and the chase had been the only way to salvage his tattering sanity.

“And you caught him.”

He tightened his hands on the wheel. “A couple of uniforms rolled up on him while he was cutting a woman’s throat. Shot and killed him.” Later that day, he’d returned home and Sherry announced she and Alyssa were moving out.

Kate didn’t press him for details, instead turning her gaze toward the highway and the faceless businesses.

They finished the trip

in silence, each lost in thought. At the station, she moved beside him, hurrying to match his pace. Normally his pace was steady, but the telling of his story ginned up urgency.

They stepped off the elevators and made their way to the forensic lab. They found Calhoun leaning against a counter, her arms folded over her chest as if she’d been waiting for them.

“Have you found something in the backseat?” Kate asked.

“I did find fresh stains on the seat, and preliminary tests suggest human bodily fluids, which I’ve sent for testing. And I can tell you the receipt in Gloria Sanchez’s car proved she was at a convenience store named Lucky’s shortly before she died.”

“Good work,” Mazur said.

Calhoun shook her head. “That’s not why I called.”

She held up the plastic evidence bag containing the burner cell phone left behind by the killer. “I had barely sat down this morning when I noticed this.”

When Kate and Mazur had both gloved up, Calhoun removed the cell phone from the evidence bag and handed it to Mazur.

The new text read: When is Dr. Hayden going to make a statement to the media? Do I have to kill again?

“Did you put a trace on it?” Mazur asked.

“The message came through at 4:50 a.m., a couple of hours before I arrived. I called in the number right away, and tech support said they couldn’t get a ping on it. You were my first call after they notified me.”

Mazur showed it to Kate. “Who knows you’re working this case?”

“Mr. Sanchez and his attorney, your department, and my people.”

“So if I’m Sanchez or his attorney, would it be smart of me to send a text like this?” Mazur asked. “Or is this Samaritan nut watching?”

Kate studied the message. “His question implies knowledge. But I’ve been a background player on this case since I arrived in San Antonio. He’s either guessing I’m here or is watching this building. Did you have an officer taping the crime scene and the people watching it?”

“Calhoun had a couple of squad cars with dash-cam videos running and aimed at the traffic passing by. She knows killers often return to the murder scenes.”