At Connors’s apartment, he didn’t answer the front door. Brody called the landlord who promised to be right up.
Minutes later, a tall, lean man with a white shock of hair fumbled through a ring of keys as he walked up the steps to Connors’s apartment. “Connors owes me a couple of months’ rent. He kept saying, ‘Once I get married I’ll settle my debt.’ But then that girl vanished. He kept promising she’d be back. When she turned up dead, he didn’t have any more excuses. I served him with eviction papers two days ago.”
The landlord opened the door. “Technically the place belongs to me again. So have at it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brody said.
“Mr. Connors,” Brody shouted. “Texas Rangers. Mr. Connors, are you here?”
No answer.
Santos shook his head. “This is not right.”
“No, it is not.” Brody walked into the living room.
Pizza boxes and empty Chinese takeout cartons scattered over the living room coffee table and the floor. A kitchen trash can overflowed with beer cans. The place smelled of stale air and spoiled milk.
Brody flipped on the kitchen light switch. A large, square fluorescent bulb flickered but didn’t fully illuminate. “What happened to the furniture?”
“Taken back,” the landlord said. “All rentals.”
Santos wrinkled his nose. “I don’t remember it being so rank last week.”
Brody looked back at the landlord. “Thank you, sir. We’ll take it from here.”
The older man nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”
After Brody closed the door behind the landlord, he looked at Santos. “He’s coming apart.”
“World’s caving in fast.”
Brody moved through the living room, now furnished only with an old television and a couple of lawn chairs. The bathroom looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.
The Rangers moved to the single back bedroom and flipped on the light. A mattress on the floor and a single floor lamp furnished the room.
Brody spotted a pile of papers on the floor by the bed and moved toward them. They were newspaper articles. Brody immediately recognized Christa’s smiling face. Above the picture was the headline: MISSING FIFTEEN DAYS.
He pulled rubber gloves from his back pocket. Once gloved, he picked up the top article. The next several pieces concerned Christa. Below Christa’s articles were several on Sheila Dayton.
“His fiancé vanishes and he collects articles about another missing woman.”
“Did the local PD vet this guy?”
“They did, thoroughly. He has no record. And I know this place has been searched.” Brody flipped over the next article and saw the name Hanna written in bold ink on an Austin Realty sticky. “Look at this. Hanna. We never released her name to the media.”
Santos studied the room’s bare interior. “He was marrying Christa for her money. Why kill her? Her death left him high and dry,” Brody said.
“Smith was dying. Robbie was running out of time if he wanted to prove himself to his father. If Connors is Robbie, then he realized he couldn’t wait for the wedding.”
“He gives up a big payout to please Smith.”
Brody flipped through the articles. The last concerned Smith and his death. The article detailed Smith’s dark past and his battle with cancer.
“He’d be about the right age for Robbie. Height and build also fit,” Santos said.
“How far did local police dig into his past?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Maybe not far enough.” Something about all this did not feel right. “Smith was smart as hell. Always thought steps ahead of the cops. That’s why he was hard to catch. Doesn’t make sense that he trains a guy who leaves a stack of incriminating articles behind. Seems he’d have done a better job of coaching his successor.”
Brody and Santos found Christa’s sister, Ester, at the elementary school where she worked. She taught first grade.
The Rangers stood by their Bronco, waiting for the kids to file in for morning assembly. Half a dozen young boys walked up to Brody and Santos. The shortest of the group pushed through his friends to face Brody.
The kid glanced back at his friends and then squarely at Brody. “Are you a Ranger?”
Brody touched the tip of his hat. “Yes, sir, I am.”
Excited whispers spread through the boys. “Are you here to arrest a bad guy?”
Brody kept his expression stoic. “Not arresting anyone today, pardner. Here to have a look around.”
“There’s a fifth grader who likes to take my lunch. I don’t like him.”
Brody didn’t dare glance at Santos, fearing he’d smile. He cocked a brow. “That so?”
The boy nodded. “His name is Colin. We figured you were here to arrest him.”
“Not here for Colin today but”—he pulled a notebook from his vest pocket—“I’ll make a note of it.”
“Good. It’s Colin Bainbridge. He has red hair and lots of freckles.”
“Got it.”
The boy smiled. “Thanks.”
“If I don’t catch up to him,” Brody said, his expression stern, “you tell him Ranger Brody Winchester was asking after him.” He handed the boy his card. “In case he doesn’t believe you.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Will do.”
Brody and Santos found Ester Bogart’s room easily. She was writing the morning assignment on the board as the children put their lunches and books in cubbies.
“Ms. Bogart?”
The woman turned, her smile dimming when she realized it was the law. She met them at the doorway and escorted them to a teacher’s lounge where they could speak in private. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much time. The bell is ringing soon. Did you find Christa’s killer?”
“We’re working on it, ma’am,” Brody said.
She set down her eraser and folded her arms over her chest. “What do you need to know?”
The weariness in her voice testified to the number of times she must have been interviewed about Christa’s disappearance and death. “When is the last time you saw Scott Connors?”
Surprise flashed in her gaze. She’d not expected that question. “The day of Christa’s funeral.”
“You two walked arm and arm out of the church that day.”
A crease in her brow deepened. “We had lost the most of anyone in the room. We understood each other.”
“I hear you weren’t too fond of Scott when Christa dated him.”
“I didn’t like him. I thought he was after her money. Christa was to have taken control of her trust on her wedding day. It’s a substantial sum. I told her to keep that detail to herself, but she wasn’t good about that.” She folded her arms. “When she vanished he was devastated. And he and his friends organized the Find Christa! campaign. It was clear he was devoted to her. After the funeral all he could talk about was finding her killer. Tim and I tried to talk to him but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Did he mention he was leaving town?”
“No.” Her brow wrinkled. “In fact, he and I were supposed to have dinner tonight.”
“That so?”
Color rose in her cheeks. “We’re really good friends. We get each other. The loss of Christa, I mean. We’re friends.”
Santos studied her. “But you’d like it to be more.”
Her fingers tightened around her arms. “No! I mean I like him, but I get that he loved my sister.”
Santos shifted his stance. “I heard you two fought before the funeral. He wanted her cremated.”
She lifted her chin. “I convinced him it was better for Christa if she was at rest with our parents.”
“How much money are you worth now that Christa is dead?” Brody said.
“It’s not like that.” Her words sounded clipped, angry. “I can’t believe you are asking me these questions. I loved my sister.”
Brody shook his head. “Never said you didn’t.”
“What is your point?”
r />
“Have you ever been by Scott’s apartment?” Brody said.
She frowned. “No.”
“We found articles in the back bedroom of the house.”
Her hand rose to her slender neck. “What kind of articles?”
“Articles that dealt with Christa’s disappearance along with articles on Harvey Smith.”
She shook her head, her lips flattening into a frown. “I’m not sure what you are getting at.”
“We’ve not released it to the media, but there was another woman buried like Christa. Surveillance tapes show this last victim getting into his car the day she vanished.”
Her face paled. “No.”