The Last Move
“Good morning to you, too.”
Blinked. Felt like a computer processing unexpected data. “Good morning.”
“That sounded as if you were in pain. Pleasantries can be a challenge, can’t they, Agent Hayden?”
She heard the laughter in his voice. There was a time she could have accepted good-natured ribbing about her stiff demeanor. But there wasn’t anything in this day or the hours ahead that was remotely amusing. “There’s a plaza in the center of the city. See you in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
She packed up her backpack, left her room key on her dresser for the maid, and made her way down the elevator. She checked out at the front desk and hurried to her rental car. She loaded her suitcase in the trunk and tossed her backpack in the front passenger seat. Behind the wheel, she started the engine. She paused to again familiarize herself with the knobs and buttons. Satisfied, she drove to the plaza.
She found Mazur leaning against his car. His head was bowed as he checked his phone.
As she approached, he typed a message. He hit “Send” and looked up. “I haven’t eaten breakfast yet this morning. Been busy with a last-minute homework assignment with a teenager who needed a rundown on my side of the family for an American history project. There’s a diner over there.”
“That would be good. I’m hungry.”
“So you’re now eating and perhaps sleeping regularly?”
“Badly on both counts,” she countered.
He pushed away from the car and walked beside her. “Seems to be a hazard of law enforcement.”
“I’ve been terrible at both most of my life.”
“Because of your father’s shooting?” He slid the question in as if it were perfectly natural.
She looked at him. “Most likely. I’m a fairly easy puzzle to figure out.”
He opened the diner door and as she passed said, “Your idea of easy and mine are different.”
A hostess escorted them to a booth in the back. He took the seat that placed his back to the wall and faced the front door. She sat, and a waitress approached and offered coffee to both.
“How’s the hotel?”
She scanned the menu. “Like a million others. Very predictable and different enough that I stubbed my toe on a chair.”
“I can’t imagine being on the move all the time.”
The waitress filled the stoneware mugs and took Kate’s order for a western omelet, while Mazur ordered pancakes. He sipped his coffee and waited until the waitress was out of earshot before asking, “Has Sara Fletcher spoken yet?”
She was oddly touched that he’d remembered. “No.”
“And Drexler?”
“Still on the loose.” She thought about the girl lying in her hospital bed, pale, emaciated. Her eyes had seen things that no human should ever see in a lifetime. Pivoting the conversation back to him, she said, “You seem off.”
He set his cup down carefully. “My ex announced she’s moving to Washington, DC.”
“You haven’t been here long, so I’m assuming she hasn’t either.”
“Another big promotion is in the works. She’s one talented attorney.”
“Is she taking your daughter?”
Absently he tapped his thumb on the table. “She’s going to let our daughter finish out the semester here with me.”
“And then she moves to Washington in January.”
“Yeah.”
Pain, loss, and longing huddled around the word. “You would find the area around Washington an acceptable place to live. I’ve connections in law enforcement there.”
“I didn’t say I was moving.”
“You’re a dedicated parent. Each time you speak of your daughter, it’s clear you love her very much. I’d wager you’ll be there by spring.”
He shook his head. “You can’t be sure of that. Hell, you just met me two days ago.”
“I had your priorities figured out after the first two hours I met you, Detective.”
He shook his head, a pained smile on his lips. “I’m not saying I’m going to make a move. But keep this under your hat.”
“Of course.”
The waitress arrived with their food, and they both sat back, each momentarily lost in thought.
“There’s more evidence that Martin Sanchez was having an affair,” Mazur said when the waitress left again. “He called a Rebecca several times a day for the last year. It makes sense. Man kills wife to be with mistress. But somehow I keep going back to Bauldry.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know. Hate to say it’s a gut feeling, but that’s about all I have right now. He’s been out of prison eleven months. Has he contacted you at all?”
“No.”
Mazur picked up his fork and stared at the stack of pancakes. “Could Bauldry and Richardson have crossed paths?”
Her brow knotted. “Dr. Richardson did consulting work with several prison systems. He studied criminal behavior and profiled dozens of serial killers.”
“Did he visit Bauldry’s prison?” Mazur asked.
Kate frowned. “Bauldry was in Bastrop Federal Correctional Institution near Austin. Because my father was a prosecutor, it became a federal case.” She thought back through Richardson’s professional associations. “I don’t remember Richardson being at Bastrop. Maybe I missed something. I’ll check with the detectives in the local jurisdictions who are still digging into Richardson’s past and see if he visited the facility.”
“I’ll have Palmer make some calls.” Before she could respond he pulled out his phone and typed a text. The phone chirped with a response almost instantly. “She’s on it. Why did Richardson develop a taste for killing?” Mazur asked.
“He had a history of violence as a child. All his cruelty was directed at animals. He also had a history of frequenting prostitutes, who reported he could be violent.”
“And Bauldry?” Mazur asked.
“There were problems of animal abuse in his past that came out at his trial. His parents did an excellent job of hiding his issues.” She stared into the depths of a half-empty cup. “It’s been seventeen years.”
“That kind of crazy is forever. He keeps a picture taken of the two of you in the cabin.” He stabbed a section of pancake. “Palmer won’t get back with me for at least an hour or two, and we’ve got every cop in the area looking for Bauldry. Come down to Laredo. One way or another I have to prove or disprove Martin Sanchez as the shooter.”
“Sure.”
Traffic headed south to Laredo was heavy, but Mazur was glad for the time alone with Kate. He liked being with her, especially breathing in her soft scent and watching the way her brow wrinkled when she was working a case. More and more he wanted to peel off that damn suit and see the woman beneath it.
She was silent, lost in her thoughts. He was learning that silence was almost a constant condition. He sensed she was thinking a few moves ahead of herself, but right now he needed her focused on the moment at hand.
They arrived at the condo building where Gloria Sanchez kept her unit. They showed their badges to the guard at the front station. He was a burly man with thinning hair, but the creases of his uniform were sharp and crisp. He accompanied them up to her condo. It was empty. Tile floors were scuffed with bits of debris, and discarded packing boxes were scattered about.