After the autopsy was complete, the technician moved in to repack the organs and sew up the body.
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I have test results,” the doctor said.
“Thank you.” She moved out of the suite. Slowly she stripped off her gown, wishing she could peel away her guilt as easily as the thin fabric.
She heard the doors whoosh open behind her and knew by the steady clip of footsteps that it was Mazur. He moved with precision, determination.
Mazur stripped off his gown and tossed it in the bin next to hers.
She raised her chin and met his direct gaze, careful not to let anything she was feeling reflect in her expression. “Each Soothsayer victim was discovered near an open field. The knife wounds were meant to blind the spirit in the afterlife. Simply killing in this life was not enough retribution. He wanted everlasting hurt and pain.”
“What was the time difference between the killings?” Mazur asked.
“Four weeks. He thought his work was most effective under a new moon. In his mind it was the most powerful time to send his victims into the afterlife. The first victim worked as an exotic dancer in a nightclub. The second was involved in the porn industry and was a high-dollar escort.”
“And they shared no other characteristics?”
“Both were Caucasian, of small stature and trim. But other than that, they didn’t resemble each other. My assumption from the beginning was that the killer liked smaller women because they were easy to subdue. From there I drew up a psychological profile. It took over a year to find him. When they did he had already drawn up plans for his next kill. They found the women’s eyeballs in a jar in his home office.”
“Rebecca was not killed during a new moon,” Mazur said as he checked his phone. “That was November 19.”
“An anomaly that sets this case apart from the others. Gloria Sanchez didn’t fit the victim profile of the Samaritan. Another anomaly. Both women had chess pieces found in their belongings.”
“How long did you work the Soothsayer case?”
“On and off for a year. And it was common knowledge that case was very personal to me.”
“Why?” Mazur asked.
“The second victim was the daughter of a friend of mine. My friend, Mimi, worked in public relations near the Oklahoma FBI office, and I knew she and her daughter, Elise, were estranged because the daughter had become a sex worker. We both led busy lives and didn’t see each other much, but occasionally we ran into each other at the local gym. She couldn’t forgive herself for her daughter’s death.”
Mazur drew in a breath. “Let’s assume this is Bauldry. Who will he plagiarize next?”
“The case that has gained recent notoriety is Raymond Drexler. As I’ve mentioned, he locked his victims in a wooden coffin.”
He slid his hand into his pocket and absently rattled change. “I don’t have enough evidence for a judge to let me get Bauldry’s credit cards or phone records. Nothing he said in that phone call to you was threatening, and two chess pieces are not going to get me a search warrant for his home.”
“He’s likely not using his credit cards now anyway and has already pulled out what money he needs,” she said. “He’s been in prison for seventeen years. He has had years to plan this. He won’t stop until he has total control of my life.”
“I don’t give a shit what he wants. He’s not getting it.”
“He’s done a pretty good job of it so far. I’m back in San Antonio chasing the clues he left for me and looking over my shoulder. Did I leave anything out?”
“It’s time we stopped chasing and start hunting.”
“Where?”
“We’ll talk to Martin Sanchez again and suck everything out of him that he knows about Bauldry. Then I want to visit the prison where Bauldry was incarcerated.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
He loves me, he loves me not.
San Antonio, Texas
Thursday, November 30, 1:00 p.m.
They arrived at Sanchez Motors and found Martin in Gloria’s office. He was talking to Lena, and they appeared deep in discussion when a salesman from the floor announced their arrival.
Martin thanked Lena, who nodded to the cops before she left. He came around his desk. “I’d rather talk with Mr. Bennett present.”
“That’s your choice,” Mazur said. “We don’t want to push you. Just had a quick question about Rebecca Kendrick.”
Martin’s eyebrows drew together, and he folded his arms over his chest. The subtle gestures gave away more than he’d intended. “Rebecca Kendrick worked here last year after she was released from prison. She was one of Gloria’s protégés.”
Immediately Mazur noticed Sanchez’s closed posture. “That’s what we’ve learned. Looked like they were close, based on the evidence we found at Rebecca’s apartment.”
Sanchez took a small step back. “What were you doing there?”
Mazur spoke as if the woman were still alive. “We’re trying to learn more about her relationship with Gloria and another employee by the name of William Bauldry.”
“Bauldry? What does he have to do with all this?”
“What can you tell us about him?” Kate asked.
“Worked hard enough. I wasn’t a fan of having him, but he turned out to be a good employee. He left about five months ago.”
“Why?”
“Said he didn’t need the money and wanted to do other things. Where’s Rebecca?”
Mazur locked his gaze onto Sanchez. “She’s dead.”
The man’s face instantly paled, and he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “What?”
“She was found this morning.”
“How?” His face constricted with pain. “Was it drugs?”
“Had she gotten back on drugs?” Mazur asked.
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “She swore to me she was clean. I worried about that, but she swore.”
“Then why did you ask about an overdose?” Kate asked.
Martin cleared his throat. “She was doing so well. I wanted to see her succeed. But I know it was a struggle for her.”
Kate leaned in a fraction. “You two were having an affair.”
“What? Why would you say that?” Sanchez took another step back.
“When I first saw her I thought she could have been Gloria’s sister. They look a lot alike. But they aren’t related. She’s simply your type. Men who stray often find a woman who reminds them of their spouse when she was younger.”
Martin cleared his throat. “No. You’re making assumptions.” He drew in a breath as he retreated behind the desk. “I need you to leave. I’m calling Bennett.”
Mazur didn’t budge. “Don’t you want to know how she died?”
The man stood silent, blinking.
“She was murdered.”
“Like Gloria?” he whispered.
“How do you think?” Mazur pressed.
Martin lowered to his chair. “I don’t know!”
“Did you hire William Bauldry so you could be with Rebecca?” Mazur pressed.
“What? No!”
“Maybe Bauldry got a taste for killing again and then decided to go after Rebecca,” Mazur said.
Martin shook his head as the color drained from his face. “Get out!”
Kate sat silent, staring out the front window of the SUV as the endless horizon of dry Texas scenery passed by as they headed northeast. She’d received word from the warden at Bastrop that Richardson had volunteered his time at the prison. He’d never been on the payroll and had visited as part of a church group. She felt like a fool for having missed the connection. They were now driving there. As much as she wanted to remain objective, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was now responsible for not only her father’s death but the deaths of Gloria and Rebecca.
“You need to get out of your head,” Mazur said.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“You’re playing the bl
ame game,” he said. “I’m a master at it. That’s how I know you’re doing it now.”
She released a breath and looked at him. “What do you blame yourself for?”
“There’re a couple of cases that went sideways that I’ll never forget.” His jaw tensed. “But I never go to bed now without wondering if I could have saved my son if I’d woken up the night he stopped breathing.”
When he spoke, all the lightness she’d come to associate with him vanished. Kate knew there was nothing she could say.
“I’d have moved heaven and earth to save Caleb. And you’d have done the same to stop Bauldry from shooting your father.”
She tugged at the center button on her jacket. “Logic and emotion never mix well.”
“No, they sure as shit don’t.”