You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers 3)
The warehouse by the car was a two-story brick building with rows of broken windows. Faded paint on the building’s top floor read MCGREGOR’S. The building had once been a dry goods store and later a restaurant that had closed three years ago. The place was up for sale, but Sara Wentworth did not have the listing.
The forensic tech was a short woman with an olive complexion and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and had tucked under an APD ball cap. She wore a blue regulation T-shirt that read AUSTIN POLICE and rumpled khakis in need of hemming. Standing back from the scene, inches inside the yellow tape with a clipboard in hand, the technician sketched the scene.
As Bragg moved closer to the tape she turned and nodded. “Ranger Bragg?”
He touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Carla Sellers. I’m with Austin PD.”
“Yes, ma’am. Can you tell me what you’ve found?”
“We had a BOLO on your victim’s car. The uniform who spotted it realized the car was out of place. This isn’t the kind of place most leave a Lexus unattended. My guess is the damage done to the vehicle was done by vandals and thieves.”
He rested his hands on his hips and searched for a security camera. He spotted two on the building across the street and hoped they were operational. Many businesses put up cameras but many also didn’t bother to connect them hoping the camera alone would be a deterrent. “Has anyone contacted those businesses about their cameras?”
“Had a couple of uniforms knocking on doors and trying to find out about them.”
“Good. I want to see that footage.”
Carla stuck her pencil in her ponytail. “Where was your victim found?”
“Five point two miles from here. I just clocked the distance.”
“And she was a suicide?”
The doubt in her voice echoed his concerns. “Remains undetermined.”
Sara Wentworth certainly could have assisted Rory in his suicide. And she could have parked her car here and walked five miles in high heels in the Texas heat to the warehouse. Yeah, he’d seen all kinds of things. But unless she’d totally lost it, the scenario didn’t hold water. There’d been the matter of the bloody doll in her trash can, her heels found by her body had been pristine, and the medical examiner had found no traces of blistering on her feet.
“I’m going to need the footage from those cameras ASAP. I’d bet good money she didn’t walk away but was taken away.”
“Sure.”
“Mind if I have a look in the car?”
“I’ve dusted for prints. Found a lot of them, by the way. But seeing as the car was torn apart no telling whose we’ll find. Also photographed the interior. The GPS, radio, and air bag were gone. Another day, it would have been stripped clean. It’s all yours.” She pulled a set of rubber gloves from her back pocket and handed them to him.
“Appreciate it.” He pulled on the gloves and then ducked under the tape, moving to the driver’s-side door first to study the light tan interior. There was a coffee cup from one of those high-end shops in Austin with red lipstick smudging the top’s spout. The glove box was open and inside he found area maps. GPS could be wrong and a savvy Realtor needed to get around efficiently to make a living. The car looked as if it once had been showroom clean. He imagined no trash, vacuumed carpets, and polished windows. Between the seats was a collection of CDs. Classical music, self-help and motivational tapes. The Million-Dollar Deal. Ten Steps to Record-Breaking Sales. Not fodder for thieves.
He popped the trunk and walked around to the back of the car. In the trunk there was a bin with one remaining sandal but he suspected they’d been full of shoes. Sara would have been prepared for any kind of terrain or trip. A five-mile walk was feasible, but remembering the pristine shape of her heels, he doubted it. There was also a cooler filled with water bottles and a collection of signs sporting the MANLY AND DOBBS real estate logo and Sara’s smiling photoshopped face.
By all appearances, Sara Wentworth was an ambitious woman with her sights set on the future. She had no apparent reason to track a drug-addicted man from her past, kill him, and then herself. Sure, it could have happened. Rory could have sent her the doll and triggered a deadly chain reaction.
It could have been a murder-suicide scenario; however, if he had to bet money, he’d wager someone else had murdered them both.
Bragg arrived at the real estate office of Manly and Dobbs a half hour later. Located in the center of Austin blocks from the white dome of the state capitol, the building had lots of glass, a sleek sign out front, and manicured planters with lush green plants.
He pushed through the office door and a young, blond receptionist glanced up at him with a bright smile on her face. The instant she saw his white hat and star badge the smile vanished. He wasn’t a customer. And he was here about Sara.
She rose. “Ranger. You’ve come about Sara?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She flipped her hair out of her eyes. “We are all in shock about it. No one can believe Sara would kill herself. Her life was perfect.”
“She didn’t give you any indication that she wasn’t doing well?”
“Nothing. She was a happy woman.”
Smiles could hide a lot of pain and everyone had secrets. “There someone here that kept up with her appointments?”
“All our agents are independent. They use the office primarily for mail and the occasional meeting. Often, I’d not see Sara for days or weeks. She was in her car most of the time. But I can buzz Rita Herbert. She’s our office manager, and if Sara had been in touch with anyone it would have been Rita.”
“Appreciate it.”
When she vanished down the hallway, he waited in the lobby studying the glossy pictures of high-end properties in the Austin area. Manly and Dobbs handled the best clients, which fit with Sara’s profile.
Greer and Sara had come from the same privileged world and ended up at Shady Grove. But Shady Grove had been a fork in the road. Sara had returned to her old, sheltered world, whereas Greer had upended herself and built a life the opposite of her roots. She’d traded beauty salons, manicures, and high-end clothes for jeans, hard work, and a vineyard that likely took as much as it gave. This reinvented Greer fascinated him to no end.
“Ranger Bragg?”
He turned to find a tall brunette studying him. She wore conservative dark pants, a white long-sleeved shirt, and a matching jacket that skimmed full hips. Horn-rimmed glasses accentuated large blue eyes heavily made up. Gold hoop earrings matched a gold rope necklace that dangled below full breasts.
He extended his hand, and she moved to meet it easily as if she’d shaken millions of hands in this office. “Ms. Herbert?”
“Yes. I’m Rita Herbert, the office manager.” Her thick brows drew together. “I hear you’ve questions about Sara.”
“I’m trying to piece together her last day or two. I was hoping you might have an idea about some of the clients she met with that last day.”
With manicured fingers, she combed away a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t understand. Why do you need her client list? I thought Sara killed herself.”
No sense triggering alarm bells. For now he wanted answers. “It’s standard to examine the deceased’s last days.”
She sighed. “I still can’t believe it. Sara was our best agent. She had just sealed the deal and made a six-figure commission. She was at the top of her game.”
“What kinds of property did she sell?”
“Some high-end residential but for the most part she handled the corporate sales. Her family has been in Austin for fifty years, and they had all kinds of connections. She used those connections to get her start. But she quickly proved to everyone she was more than just a rich girl. She was talented in sales and worked harder than anybody.”
“Did you keep track of her appointments?”
“No. She kept her own book. She did call in on Tuesday asking about a missing business card. She sounded ratt
led and upset.”
He thought about the trash-can discovery. “She say what was bothering her?”
“I asked but she laughed it off. Said she was a little forgetful these days.” She dug a card from her pocket. “This is the card she wanted. I still had it on my desk.”
He accepted it. “She have anything to say about the client?”
“Only that he owned restaurants back East and had his eye on Austin.”
He glanced at the card. Howard Corwin. From Washington, D.C. His chain was called Legends. “Have you contacted him since Sara’s death?”
“No. We’ve all been a mess since we heard the news. Sara really was the backbone of corporate sales.”
He glanced at the number. “Where’d they have coffee last week?”
“I don’t know.”
“May I keep this?”
“Sure.”
“Any more details you can share about him?”