The Last Move
Page 16
The shooter’s camera jostled in time to the steady beat of footsteps as he walked toward the driver’s side window. Dashboard lights silhouetted Gloria Sanchez’s body as she held a cell phone to her ear.
“Are you all right?” the shooter asked. “Looks like a flat.”
She glared at her phone before looking up. The closed window muffled her voice. “I’m safe in my car and can wait until help arrives.”
“Want me to change the tire?” The footage ended. Neither spoke, but simply stared. Kate hit “Replay” and leaned in, scrutinizing every move the killer made. She listened to not only what he said, but also his tone of voice, accent, and inflections. She played it again. This time she closed her eyes.
“You’re not alone. I’m here for you.”
The voice jostled dark memories buried deep inside her, a connection she quickly dismissed as improbable. Whatever familiarity she felt must have likened back to the Richardson tapes.
“What were Richardson’s tapes like?” Mazur asked.
She opened her eyes; she realized he was staring at her. She cleared her throat. “Very much like this. However, in three of the five cases, there is no audio.”
“The cases that he can’t be linked to.”
“Correct.” She rewatched the footage. “On all the first five tapes, the shooter stayed with the victim until she died. I believe on some level Richardson was concerned about how the world saw him. He’s worried about his legacy.”
“Why no audio on three of the five tapes?”
“Could be intentional. Could be technical issues with the tapes. Only Richardson can say for sure, and he’s not talking.”
Mazur drew in a breath. “A few kind words are supposed to negate putting a slug in a woman’s chest?”
“We’re dealing with psychopaths. There’s often impairment in a psychopath’s amygdala, the almond-shaped portion of the brain that generates emotion. They don’t feel guilt as we do, and so they focus solely on what makes them feel good. Period. If looking like a knight in shining armor makes him feel better, that’s what he’ll do.”
He sat back and shook his head. “I know one of the videos with audio was leaked.”
The detective had done more digging than she’d realized. “To a reporter by the name of Taylor North.”
“That would have given this guy a blueprint.”
“And North has done a good job of unearthing a great many case details during his investigations. He’s visited all the jurisdictions and spoken to as many people as he can. He knows this case as well as law enforcement.”
“What’s his angle?” Mazur asked.
“Attention. Book deal. Movie deal. I’ve no idea.”
“This murder should be a boost to Taylor,” Mazur said. “The Samaritan case faded away after the Richardson arrest. Once the details of the Sanchez murder get out, he’ll be back in the spotlight again.”
“That makes sense,” she said.
“How much did you interface with Taylor?” Mazur asked.
“He was at each press conference ready with a question. He asked me for several interviews, but I declined them all.”
“Whoever committed this murder wants you involved. He’s calling you out. Could Taylor be involved?”
“He had solid alibis for the murders I’ve yet to link with Richardson.” She shook her head. “Maybe we’re all overthinking this. Maybe it’s as simple as Martin Sanchez ordering a hit on his wife. He wouldn’t be the first spouse to kill his wife and try to blame it on someone else.”
“Believe me, that idea is still in play.”
“I’ve spoken to all the other victims’ families. And an interview with Mr. Sanchez will help me to gauge his guilt or innocence.”
“I’m happy to set it up. Let me talk to Palmer.”
Mazur caught Detective Palmer as she passed in front of the conference room and updated her on Kate’s request to speak to Sanchez. He reentered the conference room. “Ready to talk to Sanchez?”
She looked up from the screen. “Is Detective Palmer joining us?”
“She’s going to check with the Forensic Department and ask them about the bullet. She’s also going to track down the sketches of those Samaritans who didn’t kill their victims.”
“You think this killer might have been making a practice run in those cases?”
“We need to look at this case from all the angles,” Mazur said.
“Understood.” She followed Mazur down the hall and into the elevator. The doors closed.
As they rode the elevator down, she was aware of Mazur looking at her. But neither spoke as they stepped off the elevator and crossed the lobby to the parking lot.
The sun hung low on the horizon and cast a rich burnt orange over the buildings of San Antonio. She’d forgotten how stunning the sunsets could be in Texas. The big open sky. Land as far as the eye could see. Bright bold stars. There were many magnificent places in this country, but none quite possessed the beauty of Texas. She missed that. Out here, of all places, she could breathe.
This newfound nostalgia was ironic. Living in San Antonio had not been a particularly joyful time. There had been happiness in her family when her father was alive, but after his death, the family had splintered. Maybe if he’d died in a normal way, such as a heart attack or cancer, the Haydens would have fared better.
Mazur parked the car in front of the Sanchezes’ home and shut off the engine. “We’re here.”
She looked up at the five-thousand-square-foot brown adobe-style home. The rock and cactus gardens were neatly manicured, with a stone path that cut through the center of the yard.
“The car business has been very good to the Sanchez family,” Mazur said.
“Have you checked their financials?” she asked.
He cocked a brow. “The judge signed the order about three this afternoon, so we should have numbers later tonight.”
“All is rarely what it seems.”
“Very true.”
Out of the car, the evening air had cooled to a comfortable seventy degrees. They moved along the path to the large ornate, hand-carved front door. “Are the Sanchezes from this area?”
“They’re local. Both were born to immigrants who worked hard and made good. Sanchez’s first wife died in a car accident, and eight months later he married Gloria.”
“Have you looked into the first wife’s death?”
“Dr. Ryland is reviewing her autopsy report.”
Mazur rang the bell, and seconds later it opened to a young Hispanic woman wearing a simple white dress. Long black hair was coiled at the base of her neck.
Mazur held up his badge as Kate reached for her own shield. “I’m Detective Theo Mazur. I spoke with Mr. Sanchez yesterday. Is he here?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, sir. He said you would return; please come in.”
They followed the woman down a long well-lit hallway that opened up to a large room that overlooked the rugged terrain in the distance.
There were two gray-haired men in the room, but Kate sensed immediately that Sanchez was the shorter man on the right. His hands were thick and calloused like a man comfortable around a car engine, and though the fabric of his clothes was expensive, they were simple. He was from humble roots and looked slightly out of place in the richly decorated room.
“Are you all right?” the shooter asked. “Looks like a flat.”
She glared at her phone before looking up. The closed window muffled her voice. “I’m safe in my car and can wait until help arrives.”
“Want me to change the tire?” The footage ended. Neither spoke, but simply stared. Kate hit “Replay” and leaned in, scrutinizing every move the killer made. She listened to not only what he said, but also his tone of voice, accent, and inflections. She played it again. This time she closed her eyes.
“You’re not alone. I’m here for you.”
The voice jostled dark memories buried deep inside her, a connection she quickly dismissed as improbable. Whatever familiarity she felt must have likened back to the Richardson tapes.
“What were Richardson’s tapes like?” Mazur asked.
She opened her eyes; she realized he was staring at her. She cleared her throat. “Very much like this. However, in three of the five cases, there is no audio.”
“The cases that he can’t be linked to.”
“Correct.” She rewatched the footage. “On all the first five tapes, the shooter stayed with the victim until she died. I believe on some level Richardson was concerned about how the world saw him. He’s worried about his legacy.”
“Why no audio on three of the five tapes?”
“Could be intentional. Could be technical issues with the tapes. Only Richardson can say for sure, and he’s not talking.”
Mazur drew in a breath. “A few kind words are supposed to negate putting a slug in a woman’s chest?”
“We’re dealing with psychopaths. There’s often impairment in a psychopath’s amygdala, the almond-shaped portion of the brain that generates emotion. They don’t feel guilt as we do, and so they focus solely on what makes them feel good. Period. If looking like a knight in shining armor makes him feel better, that’s what he’ll do.”
He sat back and shook his head. “I know one of the videos with audio was leaked.”
The detective had done more digging than she’d realized. “To a reporter by the name of Taylor North.”
“That would have given this guy a blueprint.”
“And North has done a good job of unearthing a great many case details during his investigations. He’s visited all the jurisdictions and spoken to as many people as he can. He knows this case as well as law enforcement.”
“What’s his angle?” Mazur asked.
“Attention. Book deal. Movie deal. I’ve no idea.”
“This murder should be a boost to Taylor,” Mazur said. “The Samaritan case faded away after the Richardson arrest. Once the details of the Sanchez murder get out, he’ll be back in the spotlight again.”
“That makes sense,” she said.
“How much did you interface with Taylor?” Mazur asked.
“He was at each press conference ready with a question. He asked me for several interviews, but I declined them all.”
“Whoever committed this murder wants you involved. He’s calling you out. Could Taylor be involved?”
“He had solid alibis for the murders I’ve yet to link with Richardson.” She shook her head. “Maybe we’re all overthinking this. Maybe it’s as simple as Martin Sanchez ordering a hit on his wife. He wouldn’t be the first spouse to kill his wife and try to blame it on someone else.”
“Believe me, that idea is still in play.”
“I’ve spoken to all the other victims’ families. And an interview with Mr. Sanchez will help me to gauge his guilt or innocence.”
“I’m happy to set it up. Let me talk to Palmer.”
Mazur caught Detective Palmer as she passed in front of the conference room and updated her on Kate’s request to speak to Sanchez. He reentered the conference room. “Ready to talk to Sanchez?”
She looked up from the screen. “Is Detective Palmer joining us?”
“She’s going to check with the Forensic Department and ask them about the bullet. She’s also going to track down the sketches of those Samaritans who didn’t kill their victims.”
“You think this killer might have been making a practice run in those cases?”
“We need to look at this case from all the angles,” Mazur said.
“Understood.” She followed Mazur down the hall and into the elevator. The doors closed.
As they rode the elevator down, she was aware of Mazur looking at her. But neither spoke as they stepped off the elevator and crossed the lobby to the parking lot.
The sun hung low on the horizon and cast a rich burnt orange over the buildings of San Antonio. She’d forgotten how stunning the sunsets could be in Texas. The big open sky. Land as far as the eye could see. Bright bold stars. There were many magnificent places in this country, but none quite possessed the beauty of Texas. She missed that. Out here, of all places, she could breathe.
This newfound nostalgia was ironic. Living in San Antonio had not been a particularly joyful time. There had been happiness in her family when her father was alive, but after his death, the family had splintered. Maybe if he’d died in a normal way, such as a heart attack or cancer, the Haydens would have fared better.
Mazur parked the car in front of the Sanchezes’ home and shut off the engine. “We’re here.”
She looked up at the five-thousand-square-foot brown adobe-style home. The rock and cactus gardens were neatly manicured, with a stone path that cut through the center of the yard.
“The car business has been very good to the Sanchez family,” Mazur said.
“Have you checked their financials?” she asked.
He cocked a brow. “The judge signed the order about three this afternoon, so we should have numbers later tonight.”
“All is rarely what it seems.”
“Very true.”
Out of the car, the evening air had cooled to a comfortable seventy degrees. They moved along the path to the large ornate, hand-carved front door. “Are the Sanchezes from this area?”
“They’re local. Both were born to immigrants who worked hard and made good. Sanchez’s first wife died in a car accident, and eight months later he married Gloria.”
“Have you looked into the first wife’s death?”
“Dr. Ryland is reviewing her autopsy report.”
Mazur rang the bell, and seconds later it opened to a young Hispanic woman wearing a simple white dress. Long black hair was coiled at the base of her neck.
Mazur held up his badge as Kate reached for her own shield. “I’m Detective Theo Mazur. I spoke with Mr. Sanchez yesterday. Is he here?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, sir. He said you would return; please come in.”
They followed the woman down a long well-lit hallway that opened up to a large room that overlooked the rugged terrain in the distance.
There were two gray-haired men in the room, but Kate sensed immediately that Sanchez was the shorter man on the right. His hands were thick and calloused like a man comfortable around a car engine, and though the fabric of his clothes was expensive, they were simple. He was from humble roots and looked slightly out of place in the richly decorated room.
