The Last Move
Kate sat silent, staring out the front window of the SUV as the endless horizon of dry Texas scenery passed by as they headed northeast. She’d received word from the warden at Bastrop that Richardson had volunteered his time at the prison. He’d never been on the payroll and had visited as part of a church group. She felt like a fool for having missed the connection. They were now driving there. As much as she wanted to remain objective, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was now responsible for not only her father’s death but the deaths of Gloria and Rebecca.
“You need to get out of your head,” Mazur said.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“You’re playing the blame game,” he said. “I’m a master at it. That’s how I know you’re doing it now.”
She released a breath and looked at him. “What do you blame yourself for?”
“There’re a couple of cases that went sideways that I’ll never forget.” His jaw tensed. “But I never go to bed now without wondering if I could have saved my son if I’d woken up the night he stopped breathing.”
When he spoke, all the lightness she’d come to associate with him vanished. Kate knew there was nothing she could say.
“I’d have moved heaven and earth to save Caleb. And you’d have done the same to stop Bauldry from shooting your father.”
She tugged at the center button on her jacket. “Logic and emotion never mix well.”
“No, they sure as shit don’t.”
They made the rest of the hour-long ride in silence. At one point, he turned on the radio, allowing a country-music song to drift lazily around them.
They arrived at the Bastrop Federal Correctional Institution, and after passing through the guarded main entrance, parked. Inside, they showed their identification and secured their weapons in lockers for visiting police.
Bastrop was a minimum-security prison a little under two hours from San Antonio. The fact that William, a convicted murderer, had been placed here spoke to the influence his father had wielded. Without his old man’s pull, William would have been slated for a maximum-security prison twice the distance away, with all solitary units and strict conditions.
The Bastrop warden, Jim Smith, a tall, lean man with a gray swatch of hair, greeted them on the other side of the locked doors.
Smith shook their hands. “Welcome.”
“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Kate said.
Mazur shook his hand. “Detective Theo Mazur. You spoke with Agent Kate Hayden on the phone.”
“About William Bauldry. I’ll help you if I can.”
“We’d appreciate that,” Mazur said.
Smith guided them down a plain hallway toward an office at the end. Inside he nodded to his administrative assistant, a plump middle-aged woman, and offered each a chair in front of his large wooden desk.
The walls were covered with pictures of the warden and several key Texas politicians. There was a collection of well-read books that dealt with prison reform, psychology, and law. A plant sat in need of watering on the credenza behind his desk, but there were no personal pictures. Not surprising. Most who worked in the prison system revealed as little as they could about their private lives. Prisoners had a great deal of free time to think and scheme against their jailers.
“What do you want to know about Richardson and Bauldry?” He motioned for them to take a seat before he sat behind his desk. “Mind telling me first what’s prompting all the questions?” Smith asked.
“We have two murders that we’re investigating,” Mazur said. “One is a Samaritan copycat; the other is a look-alike of the Soothsayer case. In both cases William Bauldry’s name has come up.”
“I know William committed murder when he was a kid, but he was one of the few I never saw reoffending. From day one William was one of our best inmates. And to be perfectly candid, I was worried. We don’t house violent offenders, but his daddy knew important people and pulled strings. You know how it goes.”
“He never gave you any trouble?” Mazur asked.
“Didn’t so much as look at anyone crossways. In his last two years, he helped my administrative assistant with filing. He was a big help, and I was actually sorry to see him go.”
“When did Richardson and William see each other?” Kate asked.
“They never had a formal appointment—that’s why I didn’t get right back to you. Took some digging to find the connection. Richardson was here to give motivational speeches. William’s good behavior earned him the job of setting up for prison events. Richardson was just one of many programs we had for the prisoners.”
“Did they get time alone?” Kate asked.
“Sure. There was always a guard in the hallway, but there were times when they were alone. I know William enjoyed talking to Richardson. William is very intelligent.”
“Warden Smith,” Mazur said. His grin was easy, natural, as if he and the warden were old friends. “We aren’t here to second-guess you. We both know you run a tight ship.”
“Did Richardson ever give William anything?” Kate asked.
Frowning, the warden shook his head. “That’s forbidden.”
“How long did Richardson visit this prison?”
“About a year. The men in his group spoke highly of him. He was very effective with the men.” He shook his head. “Do I have a problem here? Are you trying to say I let something slide?”
“No.” Mazur said. “We’re just gathering information, sir. We’re trying to connect a few dots.”
The warden’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his expression had turned guarded. “As I said, William was a model inmate. He checked books out of the library weekly, and as I understand it, he read every book we had in stock. He was one of the success stories.”
Kate’s temper scraped against her skin like nails on a chalkboard. She remembered how her father’s body twitched when the bullets cut into his flesh. “Did William have any visitors?”
“His brother visited in the beginning but not in the last ten years. However, his sister continued to come several times a year.”
“Sister?” Kate asked. “He didn’t have a sister.”
“Well, half sister is more like it. She said they had the same father.”
“What was her name?”
He moved to his desk and checked William’s file. “Gloria. Gloria Hernandez.”
Gloria Hernandez, now Gloria Sanchez. As Nina’s daughter, she had grown up in William’s house. They had been close as kids. Were they half brother and sister, or had that just been a story they told?
Mazur scrolled through his phone and pulled up Gloria’s picture. “This her?”
The warden leaned in. “Yes, I believe it is. Though she didn’t wear makeup or jewelry like that. She was always modestly dressed.”
“How often did Gloria visit her brother?” Kate asked.
The warden checked several pages in the file. “Two or three times a year ever since he was first incarcerated.” He squinted and he checked an entry. “Five times during his last year.”
“Did you two ever speak?” Mazur asked.
“Sure. I make it a policy to know something about regular visitors. She was always nice. The two of them liked to play chess when she was here.”