The Last Move (Criminal Profiler 1)

He texted the information to Palmer. “I’ll have my partner check.”

“She had a locker in the back if you want to look inside it,” Emma said.

“Lead the way,” Mazur said.

They followed Emma to the back, where she pointed to a locker with a combination lock. She rattled off the numbers before she returned to the front. “That was one of my rules. I needed access, seeing as she’d been an addict. I didn’t ever look in the locker, but I could if I wanted.”

Kate opened the locker and gazed at the contents, which included postcards featuring Hawaii, colored beads that looked as if they had been tossed from a Mardi Gras float, a small mirror, a hoodie, a hairbrush, and lipstick.

“She doesn’t exactly fit the profile,” Kate said softly. “The Soothsayer’s other victims were all prostitutes and drug abusers.”

“How did you catch the Soothsayer?”

“I sensed he stalked his victims before the kill. Anticipation is just as strong for males like this as the murder itself. The local cops dug through hundreds of credit card receipts from each of the businesses near where the girls worked. His card appeared multiple times at one store nearby. With that same card, Carter also bought a carving knife at a cooking store and duct tape at the hardware store. An identical knife matched the nick marks found on the victims’ rib cages.”

“And you’re certain you have the right guy?”

“His DNA matched hair fibers we found on victims two and three. We also matched his thumbprint to the steering wheel of the first victim. We had evidence to connect him to all three victims.”

“Solid work.”

She sighed, rebuffing the compliment with a shake of her head. “We need to know what William was doing outside this store and learn more about his relationships with Rebecca Kendrick and Gloria Sanchez. The fact he crossed their paths is not a coincidence.”

“William right now is in the wind. Let’s check out Ms. Kendrick’s apartment and see if she left anything behind. I want to know what Bauldry’s connection is to her.”

“Agreed.”

Rebecca Kendrick lived in an efficiency in the Ridgefield Manor Apartments. Located in central San Antonio, the apartment units occupied the second level, and the first level was an open deck for resident parking. The building was covered in a dull-gray synthetic paneling, and the units’ front doors were painted red.

Mazur located the manager’s unit and showed the old man his badge. With little fanfare, the man took him to Unit 1C and unlocked it. Mazur thanked him and promised to let him know when he and Kate had finished.

Mazur moved inside the room while Kate held her position. Moments like this were always tense for cops. These apparently routine situations could just as quickly result in an ambush.

He checked the closet and the bathroom before he holstered his weapon. “It’s clear.”

Kendrick’s place was six hundred square feet and included a small kitchenette. Next to the small sink was a dish rack filled with neatly stacked blue dishes. The dishtowel was neatly folded over the edge of the clean sink. The countertop had a coffeemaker, a sugar bowl, and a small ceramic utensil holder with several wooden spoons and a spatula. Inside the fridge was a head of still-crisp lettuce, a box of cookies and muffins from Emma’s café, and a carton of milk that still had a week to go before expiration. The cabinets held more dishes and several boxes of sugar-coated cereals.

The brown tiled floor of the foyer led into a small living room covered in faded brown carpet. A bright indigo cotton rug added a spark of color. The avocado-green couch was draped with an American Indian blanket that tied in well with the carpet. The vertical blinds looked standard issue, and a standing lamp provided secondary light. The television that sat on a bookcase in the corner was several generations old. Stacked on top of the television were three books that dealt with sobriety, living with addiction, and positive affirmations, respectively. On top of the table a collection of sobriety chips was lined up in a neat row. One month, two months, and up to over a year’s worth. The table was free of dust, and the few fashion magazines were arranged in a crisp stack.

“Sobriety meant something to her,” Mazur said.

“So did order and control. But that is common in recovering addicts who are focused on the program.”

Mazur removed the sofa cushions. “There’s a pullout sofa, and judging by the smell, the sheets covering this lumpy mattress are fresh.”

Kate picked up one of the magazines. “A couple of dozen pages are dog-eared. The articles she’s marked feature makeup tips.” She selected another magazine. “All about brides and exotic travel locations. I wonder who she was dreaming of marrying.”

“Marrying?”

“Makeup, bridal gowns, honeymoon locations. She was dreaming big.”

“Her boss said she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“She might not have spoken about him to her boss, but she’d set her sights on someone.”

“Like Martin Sanchez?”

Kate entered the bathroom. “Expensive lacy undergarments hanging on the shower curtain rod to dry, and in the drawers there’s pricey makeup, feminine products, and a nearly full box of condoms.” He moved to the threshold to see her open the medicine cabinet. “Empty except for a bottle of aspirin, a razor, and a small can of men’s shaving cream.”

The trash can was filled with piles of tissues. He gingerly lifted several. “And below these tissues is a used condom and a DNA sample for Ms. Calhoun.”

“It might tell us who the boyfriend was.”

Mazur replaced the tissues and in the bedroom found a small dresser with an empty flower vase on top, with more expensive undergarments neatly folded in the top drawer. The second drawer held shorts and T-shirts, and the last, socks. All organized. The lone closet contained one navy-blue peasant dress, a black skirt and white shirt draped on the same hanger, a collection of a half dozen tops, and three pairs of jeans. One pair of boots, one pair of sneakers, and flip-flops.

Back out in the living room, he opened the small side table’s drawer by the couch and removed more condoms, a fresh pack of chewing gum, and a collection of pictures. “She’s worried about getting pregnant. Not just cautious but very careful.”

Kate flipped through the pictures. The first featured a smiling Rebecca Kendrick, her arm wrapped around a young man with a haggard face and the toothless smile of a meth addict. Behind them was a circle of chairs and a cross on the wall. The next picture featured Rebecca and two young women. The smiling women were thin and pale, their eyes sunken. And the next picture captured Rebecca with Gloria Sanchez.

Mazur studied the picture. “I get the sense these two liked each other.”

“Relaxed posture, close proximity, and the slightly arched brows certainly indicate that. Gloria’s smile reminds me of the one I see in her car ads. Big, bold, as if she’s selling something.”

“No pictures of Mr. Sanchez.”

“No. The background appears to be the basement of a church. No windows, and a cross on the wall. Also, there’s a large coffeepot in the background and a plate of doughnuts. Ms. Kendrick was working the program.”

“What was Gloria doing at the meeting? Checking up on her?” Mazur asked.

“Gloria’s hair and makeup are completely done. She’s dressed in a high-end pantsuit. Nails polished. Jewelry. She wasn’t sneaking around and trying to hide. She expected to be photographed. Maybe this is part of her charity outreach to ex-cons. Publicity, no doubt.”

“That fits. Take away the hair and makeup, and they look very much alike. They could be sisters.” He pulled the small notebook from his breast pocket. “But they’re not. Ms. Kendrick moved to Texas five years ago from California. She bounced around the state, living in Houston and Austin before settling here. And she did serve nine months in the Travis County jail for possession early last year.” He flipped the pages of his notebook.

“Gloria is wearing fall colors and a light blazer. And if yo

u compare this image to the commercials made last summer, Gloria’s hair is longer. If I had to guess, I’d say the picture was taken very recently.”

“The crucifix hanging on the wall behind them suggests a church.”

“Check a three- to five-mile radius of this apartment. Recovering addicts like to stay close to their meeting sites, especially in the beginning. She would want to know she could get to a meeting quickly if she had to.”

He typed the information into his phone. “There’s one church within two miles of this apartment. Saint Anthony’s.”

“Let’s pay them a visit. Maybe they’ve also seen Bauldry.”

The drive to the parish in the modest neighborhood took less than ten minutes. The parking lot had about a dozen cars. The brown adobe exterior had arched doorways and windows with leaded glass, and a cornerstone marker dated the church to 1899. The landscape was neatly trimmed and the trash picked up.

Inside, they moved down the dim hallway following the signs that read “Office.” Beside the church office hung a sign-up sheet for altar flowers. A flyer requesting volunteers for Sunday school was next to a notice that the first meeting for the Christmas pageant would be held in two days.

They entered and faced a small desk where an elderly Hispanic woman with salt-and-pepper hair sat at a computer. Her round spectacles magnified her dark eyes when she looked up and smiled.

“Police?” she asked.

Mazur reached in his pocket as Kate pulled out her badge. “You’ve seen the police before?”

The woman rose, pulling off her glasses. “In this neighborhood? Father Jimenez counsels many at-risk youth, so we get our share of visits from the police.” She extended her hand. “I’m Maria Lawrence. I’m the church secretary. Father Jimenez is making a hospital visit now, but maybe I can help. Who are you here for?”

“Rebecca Kendrick.”

“Rebecca?” The woman shook her head. “Don’t tell me that Rebecca is in trouble. She’s worked so hard to straighten out her life.”

“You know Rebecca?” Kate asked.

“Yes. She came to us after she was released from jail and joined our sobriety group last year. She just received her eighteen-month chip.”

“What do you know about her past?” Kate asked.

“She came from a very bad family situation. She lived on the streets many times growing up in Los Angeles. She’s proud of her new apartment and her job at the coffee shop. She was saying they were talking about making her manager.”

Mazur showed the picture of Gloria and Rebecca. “Was this taken here?”

She slid her glasses back on. “Yes. In the basement. We have meetings several times a week. And, oh my, that’s Mrs. Sanchez with Rebecca. I was so sorry to hear about her. Such a lovely woman.”

“How was Mrs. Sanchez affiliated with the church?” Mazur asked.

“She’s a very generous contributor. She grew up in this parish, and she and her husband were married here. In fact, Mr. Sanchez called me this morning about the funeral. He doesn’t have a date yet. I understand the medical examiner hasn’t released the body.”

“Were Mrs. Sanchez and Ms. Kendrick friends?”

“They did get along. Mrs. Sanchez liked Rebecca’s fire and ambition. She even stopped by a few times for meetings, especially in the last month.”