The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)
Chapter 18
Thursday, May 30, 12 PM
By the time Lara drove into town her nerves had calmed and the panic had all but gone away. She’d called Dr. Granger and confirmed their one o’clock appointment. With an hour to kill, she’d swung by the school to check on the students at today’s open lab, being held in lieu of a final class.
There were a half dozen kids milling around the classroom attached to the lab and more in the darkroom. She counted seven students and to her disappointment, Danni was not present.
Danni had never missed a class or a chance to work in the darkroom. The kid was always early. Work done. Good, engaged questions. And now she was MIA.
Remembering Danni’s drawn features yesterday, Lara quickly scanned her student list for Danni’s cell number. She dialed. It rang once and went straight to voice mail. “This is Danni. When the tone beeps, you know the drill.”
“Danni, this is Lara Church. Just checking to make sure you’re okay. Call me.”
She’s a kid, Lara reasoned. Bound to skip a class now that classes were wrapping in her high school. No doubt she had graduation practice or parties or whatever normal kids did when high school wrapped.
She was feeling edgy so everyone else could join her. “Let’s see what you’ve done in the last week.”
“Our projects aren’t due until tomorrow,” Wally complained. He stared at a collection of drying prints. His subject matter always focused on baseballs or footballs.
“I want a final look. I might be able to offer some helpful tips.”
She moved to the first table, where three girls focused on matting their black-and-whites. The first girl, Tiffany, had taken pictures of her front porch. “The play of shadows is nice.” The next two girls had taken pictures of their cars. Not original, but they’d put forth the effort. The next few students had completed varying degrees of work. Most were close to completing their portfolio, but all could use more work.
Tim sat at the back table where Danni usually sat. He leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, his demeanor telegraphing a lack of interest. “Want to see my stuff?”
She arched a brow. “You’ve been photographing?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Working like a dog. He flipped open a portfolio to reveal a collection of stunning shots of the Texas State Capitol building.
Carefully, Lara inspected the prints. “You took these?”
“Sure did.”
She lifted her gaze to him. “I got the impression you hadn’t done much.”
He leaned forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the floor. “Told you, it’s easy to snap a few pics.”
“Snap. A. Few. Pics?”
“Wasn’t that hard.” He leaned forward. “I mean, come on, it’s photography.”
“Whoever took these is a talented photographer.”
“Why, thank you.”
“I’m having a hard time believing you took these.”
“Believe it.”
She shook her head as she gazed again at the portfolio.
“What?”
“I don’t believe you took these.”
“Well, I did.” His voice, peppered with defiance and anger, raised a notch.
“I’d like to see the negatives.”
“I don’t got them with me.”
“Then get them. I’d like to watch you develop one of them.”
Tim glanced around the room at the other students, who were all staring at him now. He was a hothead, but smart enough to understand that confronting a teacher publicly wasn’t wise. He shrugged. “Whatever.”
She studied him an extra beat and then shook her head. “How about tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
She lingered another twenty minutes, answering questions and making suggestions, and then she and Lincoln headed out so she could make her one o’clock with Dr. Granger.
As she got to her truck, she tossed her bag in the seat and turned it on so the AC would cool the interior. Lincoln jumped in the front seat and went to sleep.
She happened to glance back and realized that her back tire was flat. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Really?”
She strode to the tire, squatted, and spotted the knife that had been driven into the tire. Tim or one of his buddies came to mind. “Damn.”
Lara rubbed the back of her neck and rose. She shrugged off her jean jacket and reached for the metal box mounted to the back of her truck bed. She spun the dial of the combination lock and opened it, yanking out a jack and wheel wrench.
If seven years on the road had taught her any lessons it was how to take care of herself and her car. She’d changed several tires over the years, and though she did not enjoy the task, she could do it.
She moved to the cab and shut off the engine. “Sorry, Lincoln. Let’s get out and sit in the shade while I change the tire.”
He yawned and jumped out of the truck and sauntered to a bit of shade. She pushed up her sleeves, popped off the hubcap, and placed her wheel wrench on the first lug nut, loosening it half a turn. When she’d loosened all the nuts a fine bead of sweat pooled down her back, and she could feel her temper ratcheting up.
She slipped the jack under the frame, stood, and pumped the jack with her foot. The car rose slowly.
“Looks like hot work.” Tim’s gleeful voice was right behind her. “Tough break.”
Slowly she turned around. He stood there sipping on a cold soda, grinning.
A pragmatic tone hid her anger. “Did you do this?”
He shrugged. “Why would I do that?”
Anger burned behind the ice. “Because you are an immature kid.”
His brow knotted. “You deserve every bit of grief you get.”
“Why? Because I care about doing a good job, and I don’t have use for slacker kids?”
Lincoln picked up on the tone of her voice and rose. His hackles lifted and he growled.
“And if your dog comes near me,” Tim said, “I’ll jab a knife in his throat.”
The heat coupled with the flat tire had put her temper on simmer, but a threat against Lincoln was enough. She could never take Tim physically, but she could challenge his work to the dean. She moved to the front seat of her car and dug her cell phone out of her purse.
“Who are you calling?”
“The police. And after that the dean.” She was just about to hit SEND when she felt a large hand clamp down on her shoulder.
He squeezed hard, forcing her to cry out and drop the phone. He twisted her arm behind her back and shoved her against the truck. “If we had more privacy,” he breathed into her ear, “I’d fuck you right here and now so that the next time you saw me you’d be afraid.”
Lincoln’s high-pitched bark cut across the lot, garnering some attention. When the dog lunged at Tim, the boy kicked at the dog. The intended blow skidded past the dog’s head.
“Let me go.” She tried to twist around, but he increased the pressure on her arm.
“Call your dog off, or I’ll break your fucking arm.”
She drove her foot into his shin, and though he flinched, the impact wasn’t enough to make him release his hold. He twisted harder. She screamed. Lincoln bit at the back of Tim’s leg.
Footsteps pounded behind them and in the next instant, Tim’s grip was broken. Circulation immediately rushed back into her arm, and she turned her fingers already curled into a fist.
Beck stood behind her, his large hands twisting Tim’s arms behind his back. “Give me a reason, kid. Give me a reason.”
The kid tried to break free, but Beck kicked his legs out from under him and sent the kid sprawling to the ground. Beck put his knee into Tim’s back and cuffed his hands behind his back.
Beck rose and opened his cell phone as he stared at Lara. “You all right?”
“I’m good.” She rubbed her arm, aware that if this encounter had gone on a little longer Tim would have broken her arm.
Beck spoke to local police and requested a car
be sent to their location. Satisfied police would soon arrive, he re-clipped his phone to his belt and hefted Tim to his feet. “Get up.”
“Christ, man, you’re hurting me.”
Beck got right on the boy’s ear and whispered words she couldn’t hear. Judging by the look on Tim’s face, whatever Beck said wasn’t pleasant. Seconds later two police cars arrived and officers got out. Beck explained the situation and Tim was led off in cuffs.
Lara sat under a tree with Lincoln. Against her will, her mind tripped back to the dream of the Strangler. A cold shiver slid over her body, puckering her skin with gooseflesh.
As Beck approached she rose to her feet, doing her best to shield her emotions. She didn’t speak, fearing raw emotions would make her voice crack. Lincoln also rose.
Beck scratched him between the ears. “Mind telling me what that was all about?”
“A student who can’t fail my class, or he’ll get kicked off the football team.”
“I trust that he is failing.”
“Hasn’t done a bit of work this semester, and today he turned in a stunning portfolio. I was going to challenge his work with the dean.”
Beck glanced at the tire that still hadn’t been replaced. A chilling anger rumbled under his voice. “How’d his hands end up on you?”
“He came up to me while I was changing the tire. I told him I was calling the police because I’d had it with his stunts.”
Beck cursed under his breath. “He’s the one that wrote the note?”
“I thought it was his sick idea of being funny. And I didn’t have strong proof it was him.” She shoved a shaking hand through her hair. “It stopped being funny when he cut my tire.”