The Last Move (Criminal Profiler 1)

“Did Ryland find any record of cancer treatment?” she asked.

“No.”

“She took pride in her appearance, and the chemo would’ve stripped her of her hair, health, and the ability to work,” Kate said.

“But she was spared all that when she was randomly killed by the Samaritan,” Mazur offered.

“I want to pay a visit to her mother’s nursing home.”

“According to my notes, it’s ten minutes from here.”

Less than half an hour later they were following the Lady of Lourdes facility manager, Sister Maria, toward the memory-care unit of the nursing home. The facility was clean and the staff friendly. Crucifixes hung on many of the walls.

“How long has Mrs. Hernandez been here?” Mazur asked.

“A couple of years.”

“How often did her daughter come to visit?” Kate asked.

“We haven’t seen her in over a month. And we heard the news of her death.” She made the sign of the cross. “Terrible.”

“Was Mrs. Sanchez current with her bills from you?” Mazur asked.

“Until three months ago she paid like clockwork. Then she wrote us a big check to cover the next five years. She said if her mother died before the five years to donate the money to someone else.”

“Did she say why she paid in advance?” Mazur asked.

“No.” She led them to the glass doors that overlooked the common area. “As I told you when you arrived, she doesn’t communicate.” She pointed, indicating a slender woman sitting in a chair staring sightlessly at her hands. Gray hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and she wore a pink housecoat with slippers.

When Kate looked at the woman, she hesitated as she stared at the lined, wrinkled face and the thick stock of hair. “I know her.”

Mazur looked at her. “How?”

She seemed to search for the answer. And then, “She was the housekeeper for the Bauldry family. Her name is Anita Hernandez.”

“Isabella called her Nina.”

“An endearment, I suppose.”

“She knew William Bauldry?” Mazur asked.

“Yes. She’d worked for the family even before William was born. He was very fond of her.”

“Has anyone else visited Mrs. Hernandez?” Mazur asked.

Sister Maria shook her head. “No. Just her daughter.”

“I have memories of a quiet, attractive woman with gray hair swept into a bun. But I don’t remember Gloria. But by the time I was dating William, Gloria was in her early twenties and must have been married to Martin Sanchez. I never saw her at the Bauldry house.” Kate sat beside the old woman. Mrs. Hernandez’s head was bent, her fragile thin hands threaded and resting on an orange crocheted blanket. “Nina?”

Mrs. Hernandez’s gaze didn’t waver.

Kate laid her hand on the old woman’s hand. “Nina, it’s Katie. I used to date William. We’ve met before.”

The old woman mumbled but didn’t look up. Whatever was locked in her head wasn’t retrievable anymore. “Nina, do you remember William?”

The old woman’s brow knotted, but she didn’t speak.

Mazur turned to the sister. “If anyone else does visit her, will you contact me?” He handed her a card.

“Yes, of course.”

Leaving Laredo, Mazur knew this case reached way beyond a murder for hire. He and Kate drove back to San Antonio and pulled up to the criminal justice building. They made their way through the building toward the stairs to the Forensic Department. She kept pace with him as he moved quickly to the second floor.

Down the hallway, they found Calhoun sitting in front of a microscope, her blond hair tied in a tight ponytail.

“Tell me you have ballistics,” Mazur said.

“I do.” She looked up from the scope. “The weapon that killed Gloria Sanchez was used in the other five I-35 shootings.”

“Are you sure?” Kate asked.

“Have a look for yourself,” Calhoun said.

Kate took a seat and glanced in the viewfinder. She adjusted the focus a couple of times before she released a sigh. “Although both hollow points deform by design on impact, the copper jacket has very pronounced and identical striations that cut into it.”

As she stepped aside, Mazur looked into the microscope. The markings on the bullets matched. “I’ll be damned.”

“I personally spoke to every forensic technician who tested the ballistics in the Samaritan murders,” Calhoun said. “I also reviewed each of their findings personally. All are a match to the bullet that killed Gloria Sanchez.”

She laid an enlarged photo taken of the Sanchez bullet next to images from the other five cases.

Kate stood very still. “The gun was never retrieved. Richardson was working with someone else.”

Mazur’s phone rang, and a glance at the display had him frowning. He answered the phone. “Palmer, what do you have?

“I was called to a homicide on I-35. Really ugly.”

He glanced toward Kate. “A shooting?”

“No, a stabbing. It’s south of San Antonio not five miles from where Gloria Sanchez was found. I’m on scene now. You might want to bring Dr. Hayden. This is the kind of shit she deals with.”

“We’ll be there in less than an hour.” He nodded toward the door. “Another murder on I-35. Palmer wants you to see the scene.”

“Of course.” Within minutes, they were on the interstate headed south.

As Mazur raced down the highway, Kate’s phone rang. “My partner. I’ve got to take this.” She hit “Receive.” “Mike. Do you have Raymond Drexler?”

As she listened, the color faded from her face. “Thanks. Keep me posted.” She ended the call clutching the phone in her hand.

“What’s going on?” Mazur asked.

“Nevada received a call from a truck stop in southern New Mexico. The manager saw Drexler’s picture in the news, and he swore Drexler came into his store. Said he bought a razor and shaving cream. Nevada checked the store security-camera footage, and it offered a clear shot of Drexler’s face. My partner was calling me from a shower room reserved for the truckers at the site. There was hair in one of the shower stalls. Color fits Drexler. Plenty of samples for DNA testing.”

“New Mexico. He could go any number of places from there. Any idea where he’s headed?”

“My partner thinks he’s coming south. I’ve been in the news, and I ruined Drexler’s horror show at his farm.”

He glanced toward her as she stared out the window. “Cool as a cucumber.”

“Getting upset is a waste of time.”

He gripped the wheel. “I’ve seen some bad stuff, but this guy is really twisted. I don’t think I could be as calm as you.”

“You would do whatever you had to do to catch him, yes?”

“Hell yes.”

“Then if you needed to be calm, you would be.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

San Antonio, Texas

Wednesday, November 29, 3:00 p.m.

Kate struggled to stay relaxed as Mazur wove in and out of traffic. Mazur was silent as he punched the accelerator, and they traveled down the interstate at eighty-plus miles an hour with dash lights flashing.

Ahead she saw the lights and the police cars lined up along the side of an access road that ran parallel to the interstate. Dust kicked up as Mazur nosed his car behind the forensic van. They got out of the car and met by the hood as Mazur surveyed the area.

“A woman has been stabbed and dumped in this field,” Palmer said as she moved toward them. She’d removed her jacket and rolled up her sleeves. Sunglasses tossed back the sun’s reflection. Her black boots were covered with red dust.

Mazur accepted a set of rubber gloves from Palmer. “Do you have an ID on the victim?”

“We found her purse in the car. Driver’s license identifies her as Rebecca Kendrick, age twenty-six.”

“Rebecca

?” Mazur asked.

Palmer nodded. “Yeah, what are the chances that Martin’s alleged girlfriend would also be named Rebecca?”

Mazur rested his hands on his hips. “What can you tell me about this Rebecca?”