Chapter Thirteen

Cassandra picked up her order and glanced around the café. The Island Beanery was packed today. She was about to take her food to her car when a woman with a stroller got up from a table near the window.

Cassandra swooped in. “Is this free?”

“Yep. Just leaving.” The woman frowned down at the crumbs all over the table. “We made kind of a mess, though.”

“No worries. It’s fine.”

Cassandra set her plate down and then grabbed some napkins from the condiment bar as the woman navigated her stroller through the café. Cassandra wiped up the crumbs and then settled into the chair facing the window with her back to everything else.

She took out her phone and checked her messages. Nothing new from Reese. Late last night Paula had sent a text informing the staff that classes were canceled for the remainder of the week. Both the yoga studio and the martial arts academy were closed in the wake of Danielle’s death.

Cassandra’s stomach knotted as she reread Paula’s message. Then she reread her back-and-forth with one of the other tae kwon do teachers who said that Danielle had had a seizure while driving and crashed her car into a utility pole.

Cassandra was still trying to absorb it. She couldn’t. Beautiful, bright-eyed Danielle, the vision of health, was suddenly gone.

“Hi.”

She jumped.

“Whoa.” Alex Breda smiled down at her. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t. I was just... reading.”

“Are you alone?”

“What?”

He gestured to the three empty chairs. “They’re crowded today. Mind if I...?”

She blinked up at him, at a loss for words. He wore a dress shirt and slacks, and a computer bag was slung over his shoulder. On the plate in his hand was a ridiculously large muffin.

“If you’re meeting someone—”

“No. It’s fine.” She slipped her phone into her purse and gestured to the empty chair across from her. “Please sit.”

He set down his plate and pulled out the little café chair. He was too big for it, and he turned sideways to make room for his long legs.

He smiled at her. “So, you’ve figured out the secret, huh?”

She just looked at him.

“It’s eight,” he said. “By nine, they’ve usually got a line out the door.”

“Oh. Yes.”

She glanced down at her untouched croissant and tore it in half.

“Double shot cappuccino with extra foam.”

She turned around as Leyla Breda reached over her and placed a cup of coffee in the center of the table. Then she set a pastry bag beside it.

“And two of our fresh-baked oatmeal cookies, on the house.” Leyla winked at Cassandra. “Y’all can share. It’s good to see you again, Cassandra.”

“You, too.”

“Thanks, Ley,” Alex said.

She smiled and sauntered off.

“That was nice of her,” Cassandra said.

“Yes.” He sighed. “She’s matchmaking, too, in case you didn’t pick up on that. Sorry.”

Cassandra glanced over her shoulder as Leyla walked behind the coffee bar and disappeared into the back.

“I didn’t realize your sister worked here.”

“This is her shop.” Alex picked up his coffee and took a sip. “This and the Java Place over at the Windjammer Hotel. You been there?”

“No.”

She looked down at her croissant and pinched off the crusty corner, hoping to cover her nerves. She hadn’t expected to see Alex right now. She had needed to get out of her apartment, where she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. Between the anonymous card on her doorstep and the phone call, she’d been so unnerved she couldn’t sleep last night. Was this just her paranoia rearing its head again? Or did she have a legit reason for freaking out right now? She was so confused, she didn’t know anymore. So she’d needed a break from her apartment, but she hadn’t counted on bumping into anyone she knew and having to make conversation.

“Everything okay?” Alex asked.

“What?”

“Your food.” He nodded at it, and she realized she had pulverized the bite of croissant into tiny little flakes. “Yes. Fine.” She tore off a bigger piece and put it in her mouth.

He looked her over as he set down his coffee cup.

“So, I’m glad I ran into you,” he said. “I was going to call you today, see if you wanted to meet.”

“Oh?”

Something about his expression put her on guard.

“Have you made headway on the will?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. Some.” His brow furrowed. “But that’s not really what I wanted to talk about.”

She just looked at him.

He took another sip of coffee and then slid the cup away.

“Cassandra...” His voice was lower now. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her, as though waiting for her to answer her own question. His blue eyes were steady and patient, and she suddenly remembered her grandfather giving her that same look when she was a child and she’d accidentally broken the model sailboat in his office.

She stared at him, determined to wait him out.

“So, I ran a quick background check,” he said casually.

“Why?”

“Habit.” He shrugged. “I’ve represented a pretty broad spectrum of people over the years.” He paused. “Some of my clients don’t always fill me in on relevant data.”

She stared at him, not blinking. He didn’t blink either.

“What’s your point?” she asked.

“Well. I wanted to get some more info.”

“About?”

He watched her for a moment. “For instance... your driver’s license is outdated.”

The knot in her stomach was back again.

“And Cassandra Miller isn’t really your name.”

She bristled. “Yes, it is. It’s my maiden name.”

“Catherine Cassandra Miller is your maiden name.”

She bit her tongue as she formulated a response. “I’ve been going by my middle name since I filed for divorce,” she said with a shrug. “I needed a change.”

He nodded. “I get that.”

“Good.”

Nerves started to dance around in her stomach. A background check. What did that mean, exactly? How deep would he dig?

“Look.” He leaned closer and pinned her with those eyes. “I don’t want to put you on the spot here. I just want you to know—you asked about attorney-client privilege the other day, and I want to make sure you know that you can talk to me. I’m a problem-solver. That’s what I do.”

She stared at him, pulse thrumming as she tried to imagine really talking to him, spilling her guts. Part of her was tempted. And part of her wanted to run out of here and never speak to him again—forget about her updated will and everything else.

“I’m your attorney, Cassandra.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He eased back, looking her over with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

She glanced at her watch. “I need to get going.”

“Okay. That’s fine.” He paused. “Maybe we can talk more later? You can come by the office?”

“Maybe.”

“And you’ve got my number.”

“Yes.” She grabbed her purse.

He slid the pastry bag across the table. “Don’t forget these.”

“Oh. Thanks, but I’m trying to avoid sweets.”

He gave her that charming smile again. “They’re oatmeal. Practically health food.”

She laughed, and immediately felt a rush of guilt. How could she laugh today?

“You have them.” She stood up. “Thanks, anyway.”

Nicole stepped out of the San Antonio FBI field office and took out her phone as she headed to her car.

“What’s the word?” Brady asked the instant he picked up.

“I just dropped off the thumb drive,” Nicole told him.

Ostensibly, the purpose of her trip was to hand-deliver the memory stick containing the surveillance footage Emmet had collected from the convenience store near Aubrey Lambert’s apartment. The footage showed a man in a dark hoodie and sunglasses walking down the street toward the back gate to Aubrey’s apartment complex.

But the real reason for her visit was to remind Brady’s FBI contact of the video evidence they had already dropped off.

“And? Did they take a look?”

“No,” she said. “Agent Driscoll was in the middle of something. But he said he’d take a look later today.”

Nicole already knew what the special agent was going to say when he opened up the file. The black-and-white footage was grainy at best, and the view of the man in the dark hoodie was from a distance—at least a hundred feet. But who knew? Maybe the FBI’s tech wizards would be able to enhance it into something usable. Nicole was more hopeful about the first video they had submitted because the shot was closer, and it actually showed someone behind the wheel of Aubrey’s car.

“And what about the other thing? The video of the Subaru driving out of the gate?” Brady asked. “They’ve had that for days now.”

Nicole slid behind the wheel of her unmarked police unit. Emmet had beaten her to the new car this morning, and this older one definitely smelled like vomit.

“Yeah, he told me that’s next on their list,” Nicole said. She turned on the heater, and a blast of cold air shot out.

“You mean they haven’t started yet? What the hell have they been doing up there?”

“I think they’re pretty swamped,” Nicole said, trying to shake off the image of the video she’d seen on the agent’s screen when she stepped up to his cubicle. Driscoll told her he’d been at his desk since seven this morning combing through videos. “Agent Driscoll’s got a child-trafficking case brewing, and it seems to be demanding his whole team’s attention.”

Brady made a frustrated sound.

“But he promised they’d get to us.” She passed through a gate and waved at the guard who’d checked her ID on the way in. “He said he hoped to have something for us by Friday.”

“Friday.”

She could tell by the chief’s tone that he wasn’t happy. Neither was she. But Brady’s contact was inundated with child porn, and the man had been downing antacids and coffee throughout their brief meeting. She was lucky he’d even agreed to see her, much less do a favor for Brady.

“Chief?”

“Yeah, I’m just thinking.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he gave me his personal number. He said to call him by Saturday if we hadn’t heard anything by then.”

Nicole exited the FBI campus, which was set apart from the rest of the city. The San Antonio field office had once been located in the heart of downtown, a stone’s throw from the Alamo. But the combination of the Oklahoma City bombing and 9/11 had resulted in many federal offices being relocated.

“Well, thanks for making the trip,” Brady said.

“No problem,” she told him, even though it had killed half her day.

“As long as you’re up there, I’d like you to swing by the county crime lab on your way back here. See if we can rattle some cages there, too—see what’s going on with that DNA evidence.”

Nicole cursed inwardly. The county crime lab wasn’t “on her way” at all—it was an hour detour, minimum.

“I checked in with Miranda yesterday, and she said—”

“Talk to the lab director,” Brady cut in. “See what you can get from him.”

Right. Because the lab director probably had nothing going on today and was just waiting for surprise drop-ins from impatient detectives. Brady had sent Nicole on this mission before, and she’d ended up cooling her heels in the lobby until she was lucky enough to get five minutes of the man’s time.

Brady was a big proponent of rattling cages to get results, and he always said it was better to do it in person. He believed electronic nagging was too easy to ignore. Nicole didn’t disagree with him, but she’d burned her morning driving to San Antonio, and now it looked like the afternoon was going to get derailed, too. She was still trying to track down the Sam Pacheco lead.

Not to mention the other interesting item she’d discovered in the victim’s phone records. There were numerous calls between Aubrey and Cassandra Miller—more than Nicole would have expected if the women were mere acquaintances, as Cassandra had indicated. It was yet another bit of info about Cassandra that seemed odd. Clearly, she and the murder victim were closer friends than she had let on. The question was, why mislead a detective about her relationship to the victim? Nicole was tired of being lied to, and she needed to get a straight answer. She had planned to pay another visit to Cassandra at home today and pin her down.

But her follow-up with Cassandra, like everything else on her list today, had been torpedoed by this road trip.

“Lawson? You there?”

“Yes, sir. I was just thinking, we’re really swamped today, and I’m wondering if driving out to the lab is the best use of time when—”

“I want you networking,” he interrupted. “You need to build relationships with key contacts. That’s how things get done around here.”

She sat there, at a loss for words. Was Brady mentoring her? Was that the reason he’d sent her driving all over the state to meet with people face-to-face? She’d thought he’d just been wasting her time because he was old-school when it came to phones.

“All right. I’m happy to go by there,” she said. “But I had also hoped to make some headway on tracking down the address of the victim’s ex, Sam Pacheco—”

“Don’t worry about that. Emmet said he’d follow up.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, he was in here a minute ago, said he had a new lead.”

What new lead? And why the hell hadn’t Emmet called her?

“What’s your ETA?” Brady asked.

“Probably four o’clock,” she said, reshuffling her afternoon. “Five if I hit traffic.”

“Okay, call me from the road, let me know what you get.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Lawson?”

“Yes?”

“Hang in there. We’re bound to catch a break soon.”

The visitors’ lounge at the Crossroads Recovery Center had beige walls, beige carpet, and oversize furniture in every shade of beige. The color scheme was probably intended to be soothing, but Samuel Pacheco looked anything but calm as he reached for the empty pocket of his beige jumpsuit for the third time.

Emmet glanced at Adam. “Why don’t we move this conversation outside? I need some air.”

Adam blinked at him for a moment. “Sure. Yeah.”

Emmet got up and led the way through the double doors. The courtyard outside was landscaped with native Texas plants, and wooden benches were scattered along the paths.

Emmet led them to the farthest corner of the yard to a pair of benches under a mesquite tree with a little sign posted beside it: Prosopis Glandulosa.

“Have a seat,” Emmet said.

Pacheco sat down and stretched his legs out, then crossed his arms over his chest. Adam took the other bench.

Emmet propped his foot beside Adam and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket.

Pacheco’s eyes locked on the pack.

“Want one?”

“Yeah.”

Emmet lit his own cigarette before handing Pacheco one and lighting it for him.

“So, you were saying?” Emmet studied Aubrey’s ex-boyfriend through a stream of smoke. “How you found out from Caitlyn?”

Pacheco closed his eyes as he took a deep drag. “Yeah.”

“And this was what day?” Emmet glanced at Adam, who was taking notes on their conversation on his little spiral notepad.

“Monday night. We get, like, thirty minutes on the phone. I called her up, and she told me about Aubrey.”

“And you’re sure that was the first you heard about it?”

“Yeah, man.” Pacheco tapped an ash near his plastic shower shoes. Shoelaces—like belts and cell phones—were prohibited here. Smoking probably was, too, but Emmet was on a mission to connect with this guy, so he’d brought a pack of cigarettes with him.

“And, so you’d been here, what? Two days, by this point?” Emmet asked.

“Three, man. I told you, I checked in Saturday.” He nodded at Adam’s notepad. “Be sure you get that right.”

Adam looked at Emmet.

“All right, and you said before that you were staying at your folks’ place in Austin?”

“Yeah.” He took another drag.

“How long was that?” Emmet watched him, trying to get a read on his gaunt features as he walked through the series of events for the third time.

“So, I wrecked my car two weeks ago.” Pacheco ran a hand through his longish brown hair. “February second.”

Emmet nodded. He’d already jotted down the details about Pacheco’s car accident in Corpus Christi.

“My dad drove down to pick me up, and he was like, hey, this is it. You’re going to rehab, or your mom and I are done.” He flicked his cigarette. “So, they set all this up, and as soon as a bed here opened up, we drove down. That was Saturday morning.”

Emmet had already confirmed his check-in date. But he still wanted to nail down some details—namely, what had he been doing since his accident and where had he spent Friday night? Aubrey’s whereabouts the night before her murder were still unknown.

“And you were at your parents’ place that whole time?” Emmet asked.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t go back to Lost Beach? Pick up any stuff? Maybe connect with any friends?”

“My dad went and picked up my stuff at the place where I was staying.”

Emmet would bet money Pacheco had at least tried to get in touch with his dealer, if not driven back to Lost Beach to try to see him. And if he’d been in town, had he reached out to Aubrey?

“Did you go with him to help?”

“No, man, I told you. I was at my parents’ house in Austin. My fucking car’s totaled. I was stranded.”

Emmet let his cigarette burn down as he stared at the guy, gauging his credibility. His story was consistent—Emmet would give him that. He’d answered three different versions of the same questions over the past half hour as Adam took notes. But Emmet still felt like he was missing something, like this guy knew something about Aubrey that he wasn’t saying.

Emmet stubbed out his cigarette as Pacheco savored his last few puffs.

“So, let me ask you this,” Emmet said. “If you had to guess where Aubrey was Friday night, what would you say?”

“I told you, she wasn’t with me. I was in Austin.”

“No, I got that. I’m saying, if you had to guess.”

“I don’t know.” He tossed his butt on the ground and flattened it with his plastic shoe, and Emmet shot Adam a look. “Did you try Lauren, her roommate?”

“She told us Aubrey didn’t come home,” Emmet said.

“Yeah, but I mean did you ask her about who Aubrey was with?”

“Was she seeing someone?”

“Yeah, I mean, she was talking to other people online. We both were. That’s how we met in the first place.”

“You mean the dating app?”

“Yeah. I think she’d met someone.”

“You know a name?” Adam asked.

Pacheco sighed and looked at his feet. “Gimme a sec. I feel like she mentioned it.”

Emmet waited, gazing down at Aubrey’s ex.

Adam looked at Emmet with a raised eyebrow, then shot a pointed look at the cigarette butt. Emmet nodded.

“Think, Sam,” Emmet told him. “Who was she seeing?”

He rubbed his chin, still staring at his feet. “It was like, Brian or Brandon?” His gaze jerked up. “Brenden. That was it. Some guy named Brenden.”

“Last name?”

“No idea.”

Emmet studied the man’s face. The guy had been credible until now, but Emmet’s gut told him that this part of his story was bullshit. Witnesses lied all the time, and the real question was why. Was this guy lying because he was guilty of something? Or because he wanted to get the police out of his face?

Emmet asked a few more questions that didn’t go anywhere and wrapped up the interview. Then he stopped by the director’s office for a minute before returning to the parking lot.

Adam was waiting by the unmarked police car.

“You get the cigarette?” Emmet asked.

“Yeah.” He held up a small brown evidence envelope. “You think we’ll need this?”

“You never know.”

They slid into the car.

“His alibi check out?” Adam asked as Emmet started the engine.

“He was admitted here on Saturday, like he said.” He glanced at Adam. “Nine a.m.”

“Shit.”

“I know.”

“So, now what? He was our only suspect.”

Emmet gritted his teeth and didn’t answer. They crossed the parking lot and exited through the electronic gate.

“Could be it’s this Brenden guy,” Adam continued. “Or maybe he just threw out a name so we’d shut up and go away. That sounded kind of made up to me. What do you think?”

Emmet looked at him. “I think you’re getting the hang of this.”

Nicole turned into the gas station on fumes and pulled up to a pump.

OUT OF ORDER, read the hand-printed sign.

Cursing, she checked her watch, then circled around and pulled up to wait behind a pickup truck. A text message from Owen landed on her phone.

DNA update?

She grabbed her phone from the cup holder and texted him the same message she’d texted Brady as she was leaving the crime lab.

Nothing new. DNA results Friday at the earliest. Also I just went by Cassandra’s to ask her abt vic’s number on her phone, but she wasn’t there.

Owen had agreed that Aubrey’s phone records showed an unusual number of calls to Cassandra if their relationship was limited to student and teacher. And if there was more to it, why hadn’t Cassandra said so from the beginning?

Why don’t u call her?Owen responded.

I want to ask her in person.

Face-to-face interviews worked better in terms of determining people’s credibility. Chris Wakefield was a case in point.

Nicole tossed her phone on the seat and checked the time again. It was after six, and she still had to go home to get ready for her date with David. She’d be lucky if she had time to shower, much less put on makeup or do anything with her hair.

On the other hand, why stress when there was a strong chance he was going to cancel anyway?

Then she remembered the look in his eyes when he’d apologized to her back at the lab on Sunday, which was the last time she’d seen him. He had seemed so sincere. And same for last night on the phone. And he had teed up Angelo’s, which was known for its wine list and romantic ambience.

Maybe Siena was right, and she needed to think positive.

Suddenly, she pictured Emmet by his front door with that heated look in his eyes. He’d seemed like he’d wanted to kiss her, which was crazy. She couldn’t go there with him. Besides the important fact that she was dating someone else right now, anything with Emmet was guaranteed to blow up in her face. Word would get around at work, as everything always did, and she’d end up being the subject of a bunch of locker room gossip.

Shuddering at the thought, Nicole glanced at the truck in front of her. The driver wasn’t nearby, so he was probably in the store buying something. She checked her watch again, then looked at the store.

Nicole glanced at the truck again, and her pulse quickened as she studied the dented bumper and dusty license plate. She’d seen this same pickup on Monday over in Sunset Shores.

The door to the store swung open, and a man emerged. He handed something to a red-haired little boy.

“No freaking way,” she muttered, watching them walk together. This was the landscaping guy she had interviewed Monday.

She jumped out of her car just as the man pulled open the passenger’s side door.

“Excuse me!”

The kid climbed into the truck cab. The man closed the door and then walked around the front and reached for the gas nozzle.

“Hey!”

He glanced up. A look of dread came over his face, and she felt a spurt of outrage.

“We spoke Monday afternoon?” She pulled her windbreaker back to show him the badge clipped at her hip. “I’m Detective Lawson?”

He stared at her, nozzle in hand, as she walked up to him. She eyed the side of his truck. Islandscapes, it said. Then she glanced into the truck cab at the boy sitting in the passenger seat with a bag of Skittles.

“What’s the problem, Officer?”

She smiled. “It’s Detective.” She nodded at the gas pump. “You mind putting that down, please?”

He replaced the nozzle and turned to face her, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops with the What could you possibly want with me? look that she had seen a thousand times.

“I talked to you Monday over in Sunset Shores.”

He darted a glance at his pickup. “Do we have to do this now? I’ve got my kid with me.”

“Yes, we do.” She dipped her head down and looked into the truck again. “And he looks pretty happy with his Skittles.” She eased closer, sizing the guy up. He wore a dark green golf shirt, faded jeans, and mud-caked boots. He had a slight paunch and a resigned look in his pale blue eyes.

“Monday you told me you were not on the beach near Lighthouse Point last Saturday.”

His eyebrows arched but he didn’t respond.

“Yet a man who fits your description was seen at that location in a green truck.” She paused. “This witness also described seeing a black dog and a little boy with red hair.” She tipped her head toward the truck. “You want to offer an explanation for that?”

He shook his head slightly. “Look, Officer—”

“Detective.”

“I’m trying to run a business here. My whole crew is day laborers.”

“And? So?”

“So, people at the jobsite see me talking to cops, my guys will up and disappear on me.”

She took a deep breath, trying to tamp down her temper. A horn beeped behind her, and she ignored it.

“It’s Shaunessy, right?” she asked.

He nodded.

“What is your first name, Mr.Shaunessy?”

He sighed. “Liam.”

“Step over here for a moment.”

A horn beeped again, and she glanced back at the black SUV waiting behind her. She wanted to flip them off, but instead she turned back to the witness.

“Mr.Shaunessy, like I said Monday, I’m conducting an investigation. In fact, it’s a homicide investigation. That means it doesn’t matter what you do or don’t feel like talking about at your jobsite. I need you to answer my questions truthfully. Do you understand, sir?”

He nodded.

“Were you at the beach near the lighthouse on Saturday evening?”

“I was there with my son.”

“And you were flying a remote-control airplane, correct?”

He frowned at this bit of information, then gave a stiff nod. “Yes.”

“And your dog was with you as well, correct?”

Another nod.

“While you were on the beach there, can you tell me if you saw anyone else, either on foot or in a vehicle?”

He heaved a sigh. Then he pulled his cap off his head and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“There were some joggers, I think.” He snugged the cap back on his head.

“Male? Female?”

“I remember one. A woman.”

“All right. What about vehicles?”

He looked down and pursed his lips. “I think there was a blue car parked a ways down from us. I don’t remember any people.”

“Are you sure? Think back.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone. It was just a car parked there between the dunes.”

She watched him, trying to tell whether he was being straight with her finally. She was so tired of BS that she wanted to scream.

She took a deep breath. “This remote-control aircraft you were flying—is that like a drone or—”

“It’s a stunt plane,” he said. “My son got it for Christmas and wanted to try it out.”

“And does it have a camera on it?”

His eyebrows tipped up. “A camera?”

“Yes, like a drone cam? Does it have a camera attachment that records video?”

“No.”

She felt a jab of disappointment. It had been a long shot, but she’d been hopeful about a possible camera. It was the reason she’d been so intent on locating this witness.

“I got some video on my phone, though,” he said.

“You did?”

“My dad gave my son the plane, so I took a video for him on the beach there.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and started scrolling through. “Don’t know what all’s on it, but you’re welcome to have a look.”