The Last Move (Criminal Profiler 1)

“Sure, I guess that’s okay.” She frowned. “Or should I ask for a warrant? I’m not sure how this works.”

“I can get a warrant or you can make this easy,” Mazur said smoothly.

Slowly she shook her head. “I should ask Martin. For now he’s the guy in charge and I can’t afford to lose my job. I’ll ask him.”

“Any of the ex-cons working now?” Mazur asked.

“Rocco’s back there.”

“Can I talk to Rocco?”

“Sure.” She led them through the back toward a large building with six open bays. All were empty except the first one. There was a late-model red Ford truck on the lift.

The whirring of a pneumatic drill mingled with the sound of rock music rising from a cell phone on a workbench. Mazur approached the tall man with the short-sleeved T-shirt and muscled arms covered in tattoos.

“Rocco!” Brenda shouted over the music.

The man looked up from a ratchet set, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at Mazur. Rocco didn’t need to see a badge to know he was face-to-face with a cop.

Still, Mazur held up his shield and identified himself and Kate. “We’re looking into Gloria Sanchez’s murder.”

“Figured.” He set down the tools and reached for a rag. “What can I do for you?”

“Know anyone who would want to shoot her?”

He shook his head. “Mrs. S was a class act. She was a good woman and took a chance on me when no one else would. I will always be grateful to her.”

“Was everyone as grateful?” Kate asked.

Rocco shrugged. “She was a ballbuster. Some might not have liked it when she dropped the hammer, but they got over it.” He shook his head while glancing toward Brenda before he commented in a lower voice. “She didn’t have an enemy in this shop. But I can’t say the same for her in the showroom.”

“Who didn’t like her?”

“She took risks both with a bunch of ex-cons and in business. Some were afraid her gambles might bring down the whole shop.”

“What about Matt and Harry? They make threats?” Mazur asked.

“Sure, they made noise, but they’re loudmouths. All talk, but neither one of them has the stones to carry it out.”

“What about the guys who weren’t loudmouths?” Kate asked. “Watch out for the quiet ones, right?”

He studied her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. It’s the ones you don’t see coming who get you killed.”

He wiped his hand with the rag. “Billy Boy was like that.”

“Billy Boy?” she asked.

“William was the name he liked better. Made him sound smart. I called him Billy Boy just to get under his skin.”

“What’s his last name?” she asked.

“Bauldry. William Bauldry.”

The color drained from Kate’s face. She was rattled and for the first time at a loss for words. After a few seconds, she asked, “Are you sure about the name?”

Mazur had been a cop too long to believe in coincidence. Bauldry had shot Kate and now was linked to a crime that had brought her back to San Antonio. He shifted his gaze to Brenda. “What can you tell us about Bauldry?”

“He was here for the first six months of this year. He didn’t like getting his hands dirty but knew a job was a condition of his release, so he did whatever was asked of him.”

“Rocco, what didn’t you like about William?” he asked.

“He didn’t say much, but he was always looking and watching. He was good at buttering up Gloria. I think she might have known him from back in the day.”

“What do you mean by back in the day?” Kate asked.

“From before she married the old man. Neither one ever mentioned it, but it was a vibe.”

“Does Bauldry still work here?” Mazur asked.

“No. He did his six months of the work-release program.”

“Has he been back since?” Mazur asked.

“Nope. Never heard another word from him again. I think his family has money. He doesn’t need this gig.”

“Thank you,” Kate said.

“If I have more questions, I’ll be back,” Mazur added.

“I’ll be here as long as I have a job,” Rocco said.

Outside, Mazur thanked Brenda, and as he and Kate walked back toward the main building, he put on his sunglasses and studied the dealership for an extra moment. “What are your thoughts?” Mazur asked.

Kate frowned as she slid her hands into her pockets. “Rocco is nervous. He has a good thing and sees it going away. Brenda clearly sides with Gloria, who had enemies that were far more dangerous to her than a random serial killer.”

“Agreed.” He shook his head. “What’re the chances that a woman deeply in debt, sick with cancer, who made regular trips over the border, would be gunned down on the side of I-35?”

“Low.”

Mazur’s jaw tightened. “Bauldry’s the man we need to talk to now. Are you okay with that?”

“I see the logic.”

“That’s not what I asked. Are you okay with it? I can talk to him alone.”

“No. I’m not afraid of him.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Myself. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dreading seeing him again.” She flexed her fingers. “I know where he lives.”

“Really?”

She shrugged, but her color was still pale. “I’ve kept tabs on him.”

His phone rang, and he snapped it free of its holster. “Mazur.” His jaw tensed. “Okay.” He settled the phone back in the holster on his hip. “Your letter from the Samaritan has arrived.”

She checked her watch. “It’s late.”

Kate, Mazur, and Palmer watched as Calhoun dusted the envelope that had been addressed to Agent Kate Hayden in care of the San Antonio Police Department. The letter had come through the mailroom and had caused some confusion in the ranks when no one recognized her name. Palmer caught the query from the mailroom and had immediately told them to set it down. She was there in minutes to bag it.

Calhoun swirled the brush with magnetic powder over the paper. It was a long shot she’d pull viable prints given that it arrived by US mail. She carefully sliced the very end off the envelope. Oddly the envelope was not self-sealing, which meant she would test the glue strip for saliva and DNA.

Calhoun tapped the envelope on the end, and the letter slid out. She photographed the folded yellow lined notebook page several times next to the envelope before opening the single sheet of paper.

The note was handwritten in a mixture of block and lowercase lettering in a black thick-tipped marker. The handwriting appeared crude and at first glance matched the other Samaritan notes.

But Kate realized immediately that the writing style was slightly different than the other Samaritan notes she’d analyzed.

Kate;

Your voice is always in my head. And all I hear are your lies. You are wrong about me. I am smarter than you. There will be more deths soon. I will show the world you aren’t an Angel of Mrcy.

Samaritan

“He said your voice was ‘in my head.’” Mazur’s gloved fingertips held up the edge of the plastic bag that contained the letter.

“The Samaritan isn’t

the first killer to blame me for his actions.” His clear, bold handwriting suggested anger and resentment. None of what this killer had done was her fault. None of it. And yet the burden of his sins would rest heavily on her shoulders until she caught him.

“Guy spells like I do,” Palmer said.

Kate pulled out her phone and snapped pictures of the note. What was it about the letters that struck a familiar chord? “Don’t be fooled by the misspellings. In letters like this they’re often intentional. He spelled are correctly in one sentence and then incorrectly in the next. He wants us to think he’s uneducated.”

Palmer reread the letter. “He spelled Samaritan right. A word I find challenging without spell check.”

A queasiness washed over Kate as Palmer reread the letter again. “The words remind me of William Bauldry,” she said.

Calhoun photographed the envelope and letter. “I’ll dust it for prints and compare.”

“Who’s William Bauldry?” Palmer asked.

Kate had shaken off some of the initial shock she’d felt when she’d heard his name at the garage, so it was easier to keep her voice even as she explained again what he’d done. “If you find any prints on this letter, compare them to Bauldry’s.”

“Having his name certainly will make the comparison easy,” Calhoun said.

Kate snapped several more pictures of the letter. She turned from the group and studied the misspellings, the grammar, the phrasing, the word choices hinting of a neutral dialect. “Detective Mazur, would you read the letter out loud?”

“Sure, why?” he asked.

“It was written by a man.”

“How can you be sure?”

“It’s an educated guess based on the shape of the letters, which are very boxy. The pen was also pressed firmly against the paper.”

He read through the letter.

She closed her eyes and listened to the inflections and the nuances of his Chicago accent, which naturally seeped into the neutral language. “Gloria Sanchez’s shooter, who spoke briefly on the murder video, didn’t have a deep Texas drawl. And none of the phrasing in the note hints at a dialect. Bauldry’s parents were from California and he lived there until he was eight, so his accent was always neutral.”

“What else do you see?” Mazur asked.