beat cop no more. Mr. Fancy Pants, I called him.”
Beck tried to picture himself if he’d not cracked the Misty Gray case. Would he still be parked outside Dial’s apartment? Yes. Would he have been driven to retire?
“He wants in on my case.”
“He could be a resource. He was one hell of a cop.”
“Is he going to be a problem for me? Is he going to start stirring shit up?”
Grayson choose his words carefully. “He’ll give you some rope, but if you don’t deliver he won’t remain on the sidelines.”
If Raines had still been with Seattle Police, Beck would have demanded Grayson bring his man home. But Raines was a private citizen, and until he broke a law there wasn’t much he could do.
Beck thanked the man and hung up. He found his commanding officer and gave him the rundown.
“Go see this Lara Church,” Captain Penn said. “This Raines guy has given you a real nugget.”
“I’d bet my last dollar Raines doesn’t give much. And he’ll expect payback.”
“You don’t owe him squat. This is your case. Look, it’s been seven years since the attack. Something might have jogged free in Lara Church’s mind. Plus your second murder is going to hit the media outlets soon. I don’t want her reading about strangled women, connecting dots, and bolting.”
“I’ll head out there now.”
“Keep me posted.”
Chapter 5
Tuesday, May 21, 9:00 AM
Beck’s black Bronco kicked up dust as heat wafted on the horizon as he wound his way up the back road toward Lara Church’s home. Without Raines, it would have been a bitch to find Lara Church, who resided in a house still under her grandmother’s name. Raines got points for the tip.
Raines.
Raines shared a single-minded dedication with Beck. Firsthand experience had taught Beck that the trait was as valuable as it was volatile.
Beck slowed at the entrance of the driveway and noted the name on the mailbox. Bower. The Bower name tickled his memory, and for a moment he paused, staring at the scratched lettering on the rusted box.
The more he mined for the memory the more elusive it became so he tabled the search and drove down the winding gravel driveway. He shut off the engine, got out of the car, and surveyed the house.
Made of stone, the one-story house had to have been a hundred years old. Rustic with a bit of weather-beaten charm, the house had a low, wide front porch furnished with a couple of bright blue rockers and a scattering of painted planters filled with flowers. Lara Church didn’t know much about Texas summers if she thought keeping those flowers alive was going to be an easy task. Last summer’s heat had cracked foundations and dried out wells. One missed day of watering, and the heat would burn up those pretty little flowers.
A rustic wind chime dangling from the porch jingled gently in a breeze. Twin sets of windows decorated with faded red curtains flanked the front door. A new stained-glass oval hung above the door.
Before he’d headed up here, he’d run a check on Lara. There’d been no priors in the system, but a quick Internet search led him to the 101 Gallery located on Congress Street in Austin. According to the gallery site, Lara Church was having her first photographic exhibit opening this Friday. It was entitled Mark of Death . It didn’t take a shrink to figure out what lurked behind her subject matter. The gallery site included several of Lara’s black-and-white images, but there’d been no picture of the artist herself.
In the distance he heard a dog bark. Judging by the animal’s deep timbre, it was big and running in Beck’s direction. Absently, he moved his hand to the gun on his hip. Nice places like this could turn nasty or even deadly in the blink of an eye.
The dog’s barking grew louder. Tightening his hand on the gun’s grip, he scanned the wooded area around the cabin until his gaze settled on a path that cut into the woods. In a flash, a large black and tan shepherd emerged from the
Beck tried to picture himself if he’d not cracked the Misty Gray case. Would he still be parked outside Dial’s apartment? Yes. Would he have been driven to retire?
“He wants in on my case.”
“He could be a resource. He was one hell of a cop.”
“Is he going to be a problem for me? Is he going to start stirring shit up?”
Grayson choose his words carefully. “He’ll give you some rope, but if you don’t deliver he won’t remain on the sidelines.”
If Raines had still been with Seattle Police, Beck would have demanded Grayson bring his man home. But Raines was a private citizen, and until he broke a law there wasn’t much he could do.
Beck thanked the man and hung up. He found his commanding officer and gave him the rundown.
“Go see this Lara Church,” Captain Penn said. “This Raines guy has given you a real nugget.”
“I’d bet my last dollar Raines doesn’t give much. And he’ll expect payback.”
“You don’t owe him squat. This is your case. Look, it’s been seven years since the attack. Something might have jogged free in Lara Church’s mind. Plus your second murder is going to hit the media outlets soon. I don’t want her reading about strangled women, connecting dots, and bolting.”
“I’ll head out there now.”
“Keep me posted.”
Chapter 5
Tuesday, May 21, 9:00 AM
Beck’s black Bronco kicked up dust as heat wafted on the horizon as he wound his way up the back road toward Lara Church’s home. Without Raines, it would have been a bitch to find Lara Church, who resided in a house still under her grandmother’s name. Raines got points for the tip.
Raines.
Raines shared a single-minded dedication with Beck. Firsthand experience had taught Beck that the trait was as valuable as it was volatile.
Beck slowed at the entrance of the driveway and noted the name on the mailbox. Bower. The Bower name tickled his memory, and for a moment he paused, staring at the scratched lettering on the rusted box.
The more he mined for the memory the more elusive it became so he tabled the search and drove down the winding gravel driveway. He shut off the engine, got out of the car, and surveyed the house.
Made of stone, the one-story house had to have been a hundred years old. Rustic with a bit of weather-beaten charm, the house had a low, wide front porch furnished with a couple of bright blue rockers and a scattering of painted planters filled with flowers. Lara Church didn’t know much about Texas summers if she thought keeping those flowers alive was going to be an easy task. Last summer’s heat had cracked foundations and dried out wells. One missed day of watering, and the heat would burn up those pretty little flowers.
A rustic wind chime dangling from the porch jingled gently in a breeze. Twin sets of windows decorated with faded red curtains flanked the front door. A new stained-glass oval hung above the door.
Before he’d headed up here, he’d run a check on Lara. There’d been no priors in the system, but a quick Internet search led him to the 101 Gallery located on Congress Street in Austin. According to the gallery site, Lara Church was having her first photographic exhibit opening this Friday. It was entitled Mark of Death . It didn’t take a shrink to figure out what lurked behind her subject matter. The gallery site included several of Lara’s black-and-white images, but there’d been no picture of the artist herself.
In the distance he heard a dog bark. Judging by the animal’s deep timbre, it was big and running in Beck’s direction. Absently, he moved his hand to the gun on his hip. Nice places like this could turn nasty or even deadly in the blink of an eye.
The dog’s barking grew louder. Tightening his hand on the gun’s grip, he scanned the wooded area around the cabin until his gaze settled on a path that cut into the woods. In a flash, a large black and tan shepherd emerged from the
Similar Books
