The Last Move (Criminal Profiler 1)

“I assume he’s at his house. That’s where he’s basically been holed up since he got out of prison.”

“He wasn’t there when we paid him a visit,” Mazur said. “Does he have other properties?”

“There’s the ranch. It’s fifty miles west of town. He was never crazy about it as a kid, but that would be the only other place I’d imagine him going. Why are you asking about William? Has he approached you?”

“His name came up in an investigation,” Mazur said. “We just want to talk to him. We think he might have valuable information.”

She suspected he’d avoided the mention of murder, knowing the word could likely silence a man worried about legal troubles. “I can’t help you. Feel free to check the ranch. We don’t keep staff out there since Mom passed. She was the one who loved that place most. But I can give you a key and permission to investigate.”

“That would be helpful.”

“Are you going to arrest William?”

“Right now we simply want to talk to him.” Mazur was smooth, made it sound like they were looking to have a friendly chat and catch up.

Jeb moved to his desk and retrieved a key from the center drawer. “The place is a little rustic. It was Mom and Dad’s first home, before Dad made his money. I guess that’s why William likes it. Reminds him of simpler times.”

Mazur accepted the key. “Does the family have a place in New York?”

Jeb’s brow furrowed. “No. All our business is in Texas. Why do you ask?”

Mazur rattled the key in his fist. “I don’t know. It’s a big city. A good place for a guy like William to hide.”

“That would be the last place William would go,” Jeb said.

“Why would his housekeeper, Elizabeth Lopez, tell us he was in New York?” Mazur asked.

“She must have been mistaken,” Jeb said.

“I’m not debating that with you now. If William is not at this cabin, where else would he be?”

“It’s anyone’s guess. William is smart. Knows how to set up dummy corporations that own multiple properties. If he doesn’t want to be found, it’s going to be tough to find him.”

Kate was silent as Mazur drove on TX-173, bracketed by grassy flatlands and scrub trees and endless barbwire fencing. The sky was full of stars and the landscape full of scattered barns and farmhouses. A few trucks and cars passed them, but for the most part this stretch of road was quiet and dark.

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the entrance to the Bauldry property, marked by twin stone pillars and metal struts that supported a sign that read “Stone Horse Farm.”

Dust kicked up around the car as they drove another ten minutes down a dirt road that ended at a one-level ranch built over one hundred years ago. It had a tin roof, a wraparound porch, and stone chimneys that hugged both the east and west sides of the house. The house was dark, the only sign of movement caused by the wind rustling through the trees near a horse corral.

Mazur left his car running and headlights shining into the house as they both got out of the car. Drawing his weapon, he moved in front of her and took the five stairs first. Kate also drew her weapon, and they stood on opposite sides of the door. He pounded on the door with his fist and called out, “Bauldry! San Antonio police!”

Silence answered them. It didn’t appear that anyone was here, but a smart cop assumed trouble waited behind the door. A dark house and a man who didn’t want to be found created a ripe scenario for trouble. Mazur banged again on the door, then tried the doorknob. It twisted open.

“It’s common for folks out here to not lock their doors,” Kate said.

“I never trust an unlocked door.” He raised his gun and pushed open the door. Again silence. With the headlights shining into the house, now he had enough light to switch on the lights in the porch and main room. Reddish-brown tiled floors ran throughout a large den and into a connected kitchen. Twin guns hung over a stone fireplace, faded red Navajo rugs warmed the floor by a leather couch, and a collection of deer antlers adorned the wall. Off to the side stood a wide-screen television.

Again, Mazur shouted, “William Bauldry! San Antonio police!”

No response.

“Stay here,” Mazur ordered. He moved into the house slowly, constantly looking left, right, and up toward the ceiling as he went through the den and kitchen and into the two bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. He shouted to Kate, “All clear!”

Her weapon in her grip, she moved into the house’s center, noting the landscape oils on the walls, the rich brass light fixtures, and the ornate tile work in the kitchen. This might have been the senior Bauldry’s first house, but they’d clearly upgraded it recently.

“I’m in the bedroom on the right,” Mazur said. “Have a look at what I found.”

She found Mazur standing by a desk. Centered on top was a framed picture of Kate and William taken when they were dating. They both were smiling. His arm was draped over her shoulder, and she stood close to him. “He’s not forgotten you,” Mazur said.

“That picture was taken when we were in high school.”

“But the glass is freshly polished. And the image faces toward the bed.”

She didn’t want to touch the frame or get any closer to the image. “I remember the moment. The picture was taken at a concert near the Alamo.” She glanced toward William’s hand tightly clutching her shoulder. “I had to wrench free of his hold.”

“How did he react?”

“He was frustrated. Wanted to know why I was so cold to him. He was only trying to show me how much he loved me. He ordered my meal for me at dinner. I didn’t want to eat but he insisted and then was moody when I didn’t eat. He kept interrupting me and telling me I was wrong. I broke up with him shortly after.” An uneasy feeling clawed up her spine, but she pushed it aside. “Is there anything here that might link him to the shooting?”

“Nothing out in the open. If we want to search drawers and closets, it’s smarter to get a warrant.” He pulled out his phone and took a picture of Bauldry and Kate. “But that could change. I noticed a shed out back. I want to have a look.”

“Of course.” She followed him, grateful to turn her back on the room and step outside into the fresh air.

He retrieved a flashlight from the trunk of his car, and they followed a graveled path around the side of the house to the large shed. Mazur kept his gun drawn and the flashlight shining ahead.

At the shed, while she stood to the side, he pushed open the large sliding door. He shone the light inside the workshop, searching for any movement that would alert him to danger. But nothing moved. There wasn’t a sound.

His light landed on a vintage red truck that looked like it dated back to the forties.

“He’s always liked old cars,” Kate said. “His father has a large collection as well.”

“The advantage to old cars is they don’t have GPS, making them impossible to track.” He moved toward the truck and shone the light inside. “Where would he go if he’s not here?”

“I don’t know. His brother said he has many properties.”

He nodded toward the door and closed it behind him. As he stared out over the vast land and the distant horizon, he shook his head. “Finding him is like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

An hour later, Mazur dropped Kate off at the car rental place. As she pushed through the front doors, a clerk greeted her with a smile, which she made herself return. When given the choice of cars, her first inclination had been to choose white, but remembering Mazur’s earlier teasing, she chose red. Hardly rebellious, even though for her it felt a little that way.

When she arrived at her hotel, she went straight to her room. The instant she opened the door, she hesitated. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Normally she didn’t have cleaners come into her room. She hated having her space invaded. But today, she’d forgotten to remind the front desk.

She moved into the room, hand on her gun as she looked first in the closet a

nd then under the bed. Nothing. In the bathroom, she reached for the shower curtain. Her heart pounded for reasons she could not quite explain. She tightened her hold on the grip of her gun and pulled back the curtain. Nothing.

She closed her eyes. “Not good, Hayden. Not good.”

Chocking it up to fatigue and too much work, she opted to go for a run. Sweat and fresh air were the best medicine for anxiety.

She changed quickly. Normally she didn’t carry her gun when she worked out. Its weight and bulk sometimes rubbed against her skin, but tonight she put up with the inconvenience. She clipped the gun at the base of her back and pulled an oversize T-shirt over it.

The night air was crisp. As a teenager, before things went wrong, she used to run. She’d loved the solitude. But now she had worry and stress weighing on her.

She grabbed her phone and shoved earbuds in before cutting through the lobby. With a nod to the woman working behind the desk, she headed outside. The run began slowly. But within minutes sweat beaded on her forehead and soaked her T-shirt.

Many of the old streets and buildings hadn’t changed much in the last seventeen years. Sure, some businesses had traded hands, but the buildings and the street patterns had remained the same. Memories from the past flashed through her mind, and she recalled walking these streets with her mother, father, and brother. Before her father had died, they’d been a happy family. Her father had been the glue that held them all together. And with him gone, it all unraveled.

Her gaze settled on a too-familiar location. Breathless, she slowed her pace to a walk, pressing her hand to her side as she moved closer to the alley that she would never forget.

Usually she drove to chess practice alone, but that night her father offered to drive. It was dark when she came outside and saw her father standing by the car. As she approached him, William stepped out of the shadows. He hesitated when he saw Kate’s father, then raised his weapon before her father could wrestle the gun away. The pop, pop of the weapon was loud, and Kate flinched as time slowed to a crawl and every detail came into perfect focus.

Her father sank to his knees, stared up at her, his eyes reflecting shock, anger, and fear. He mouthed, “Run,” as the barrel swung toward her. Her life stilled. William fired.

The first bullet struck her in the thigh, tearing through flesh. The impact dropped her to her knees. The next rapid-fire shot hurled a slug toward her face. William never spoke as she tumbled back toward the ground.

She would later learn that a facial wound could bleed excessively, often looking far worse than it was. Unconscious and covered in blood, she must have appeared dead to William.

Her next memory was a siren blaring and William cursing her. “Why the fuck did you make me do this?”

The blast of a horn brought Kate back to the moment, and she realized several people were staring at her. Ducking her head, she turned and ran back toward the hotel. When she arrived, her hair and clothes were drenched in sweat.

She entered the lobby and was suddenly anxious for a hot shower to wash away the sweat and memories. She had just pressed the “Up” button on the elevator when she heard, “Kate.”