The Last Move

“What guy?” Kate asked.

“Tall, thin, dark hair. Well dressed.”

“How old?” Kate asked.”

“Midthirties, maybe. I didn’t know him, so I asked Rebecca if he was a friend of hers. She said no.”

“Did you believe her?” Kate asked.

“Funny you should ask,” Emma said. “I never caught her in a lie, but that time I got an odd feeling.”

“You think she knew the man?” Kate said.

“I asked her later again, but she shrugged it off. Said for me not to worry.”

“Did you ever see the guy again?” Kate asked.

“No. Not after that day.” Her brow knotted. “Do you think he killed her?”

“He could have just been a guy standing on the street corner,” Kate said.

Mazur scrolled through his phone and found Bauldry’s picture. “Is this the guy?”

Emma studied the phone a long moment. “It’s an older picture of him, but yeah, I’d say so.”

“You’re sure?”

“Ninety percent.” Emma was frowning when she looked up at him. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Did he kill her?”

Mazur knew in his gut he was on the right track but kept his voice even and his expression blank. “He’s a person of interest.”

A sad smile tipped the edge of Emma’s lips. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. She had so much life ahead of her.”

“Do you have security cameras?” Mazur asked as he tucked the phone back in his pocket.

“I don’t. But the restaurant across the street does.”

He texted the information to Palmer. “I’ll have my partner check.”

“She had a locker in the back if you want to look inside it,” Emma said.

“Lead the way,” Mazur said.

They followed Emma to the back, where she pointed to a locker with a combination lock. She rattled off the numbers before she returned to the front. “That was one of my rules. I needed access, seeing as she’d been an addict. I didn’t ever look in the locker, but I could if I wanted.”

Kate opened the locker and gazed at the contents, which included postcards featuring Hawaii, colored beads that looked as if they had been tossed from a Mardi Gras float, a small mirror, a hoodie, a hairbrush, and lipstick.

“She doesn’t exactly fit the profile,” Kate said softly. “The Soothsayer’s other victims were all prostitutes and drug abusers.”

“How did you catch the Soothsayer?”

“I sensed he stalked his victims before the kill. Anticipation is just as strong for males like this as the murder itself. The local cops dug through hundreds of credit card receipts from each of the businesses near where the girls worked. His card appeared multiple times at one store nearby. With that same card, Carter also bought a carving knife at a cooking store and duct tape at the hardware store. An identical knife matched the nick marks found on the victims’ rib cages.”

“And you’re certain you have the right guy?”

“His DNA matched hair fibers we found on victims two and three. We also matched his thumbprint to the steering wheel of the first victim. We had evidence to connect him to all three victims.”

“Solid work.”

She sighed, rebuffing the compliment with a shake of her head. “We need to know what William was doing outside this store and learn more about his relationships with Rebecca Kendrick and Gloria Sanchez. The fact he crossed their paths is not a coincidence.”

“William right now is in the wind. Let’s check out Ms. Kendrick’s apartment and see if she left anything behind. I want to know what Bauldry’s connection is to her.”

“Agreed.”

Rebecca Kendrick lived in an efficiency in the Ridgefield Manor Apartments. Located in central San Antonio, the apartment units occupied the second level, and the first level was an open deck for resident parking. The building was covered in a dull-gray synthetic paneling, and the units’ front doors were painted red.

Mazur located the manager’s unit and showed the old man his badge. With little fanfare, the man took him to Unit 1C and unlocked it. Mazur thanked him and promised to let him know when he and Kate had finished.

Mazur moved inside the room while Kate held her position. Moments like this were always tense for cops. These apparently routine situations could just as quickly result in an ambush.

He checked the closet and the bathroom before he holstered his weapon. “It’s clear.”

Kendrick’s place was six hundred square feet and included a small kitchenette. Next to the small sink was a dish rack filled with neatly stacked blue dishes. The dishtowel was neatly folded over the edge of the clean sink. The countertop had a coffeemaker, a sugar bowl, and a small ceramic utensil holder with several wooden spoons and a spatula. Inside the fridge was a head of still-crisp lettuce, a box of cookies and muffins from Emma’s café, and a carton of milk that still had a week to go before expiration. The cabinets held more dishes and several boxes of sugar-coated cereals.

The brown tiled floor of the foyer led into a small living room covered in faded brown carpet. A bright indigo cotton rug added a spark of color. The avocado-green couch was draped with an American Indian blanket that tied in well with the carpet. The vertical blinds looked standard issue, and a standing lamp provided secondary light. The television that sat on a bookcase in the corner was several generations old. Stacked on top of the television were three books that dealt with sobriety, living with addiction, and positive affirmations, respectively. On top of the table a collection of sobriety chips was lined up in a neat row. One month, two months, and up to over a year’s worth. The table was free of dust, and the few fashion magazines were arranged in a crisp stack.

“Sobriety meant something to her,” Mazur said.

“So did order and control. But that is common in recovering addicts who are focused on the program.”

Mazur removed the sofa cushions. “There’s a pullout sofa, and judging by the smell, the sheets covering this lumpy mattress are fresh.”

Kate picked up one of the magazines. “A couple of dozen pages are dog-eared. The articles she’s marked feature makeup tips.” She selected another magazine. “All about brides and exotic travel locations. I wonder who she was dreaming of marrying.”

“Marrying?”

“Makeup, bridal gowns, honeymoon locations. She was dreaming big.”

“Her boss said she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“She might not have spoken about him to her boss, but she’d set her sights on someone.”

“Like Martin Sanchez?”

Kate entered the bathroom. “Expensive lacy undergarments hanging on the shower curtain rod to dry, and in the drawers there’s pricey makeup, feminine products, and a nearly full box of condoms.” He moved to the threshold to see her open the medicine cabinet. “Empty except for a bottle of aspirin, a razor, and a small can of men’s shaving cream.”

The trash can was filled with piles of tissues. He gingerly lifted several. “And below these tissues is a used condom and a DNA sample for Ms. Calhoun.”

“It might tell us who the boyfriend was.”

Mazur replaced the tissues and in the bedroom found a small dresser with an empty flower vase on top, with more expensive undergarments neatly folded in the top drawer. The second drawer held shorts and T-shirts, and the last, socks. All organized. The lone closet contained one navy-blue peasant dress, a black skirt and white shirt draped on the same hanger, a collection of a half dozen tops, and three pairs of jeans. One pair of boots, one pair of sneakers, and flip-flops.