The Last Move
Page 42
“When did she move out her furniture?” Kate asked.
The guard stood by the door. “It was about two weeks ago, right after she sold this unit.”
“When did she put it up for sale?” Kate asked.
“About six weeks ago. The plan was to clean the place for the new occupants, who show up the first of December. The cleaning lady got sick on Sunday, so she never made it by. Mrs. Sanchez was scheduled to make the final walk-through with the new buyers on Monday morning. Of course, we all know what happened. Terrible.”
“We’ll let you know when we’re finished,” Mazur said.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be at my desk.”
Kate moved to the large bank of windows that overlooked the city, its green parks below, and the Rio Grande River. “The view is stunning.”
“Agreed.” He moved into the kitchen and found a couple of bottles of champagne chilling, cheese, and a box of crackers. The cabinets were empty. The trash can in the pantry closet was filled with paper plates, takeout boxes, and bottles of wine.
“How often did she come down here?” Kate asked as she entered the kitchen.
“About two or three times a month.”
He opened a drawer to crackers and ketchup packets. “This is not the place of a woman committed to an area.”
“It was supposed to be cleaned. No one was supposed to see it this way,” she said. “Appearances were very important to her. The cleaning lady got sick according to the guard. We should be seeing a spotless place.” Kate pulled out the trash can.
“I’ll get local police to send a forensic team here.” His phone chimed with a text.
She moved into the bedroom, and Mazur followed. There was an air mattress on the floor, a few rumpled blankets, and small trash can. In the can were several empty pill bottles with another woman’s name on the prescription. “Oxy. She was taking some high doses of pain meds and deliberately keeping it off the radar.”
“We both figured a cancer like hers would be tough to manage.”
“Did Ryland find any record of cancer treatment?” she asked.
“No.”
“She took pride in her appearance, and the chemo would’ve stripped her of her hair, health, and the ability to work,” Kate said.
“But she was spared all that when she was randomly killed by the Samaritan,” Mazur offered.
“I want to pay a visit to her mother’s nursing home.”
“According to my notes, it’s ten minutes from here.”
Less than half an hour later they were following the Lady of Lourdes facility manager, Sister Maria, toward the memory-care unit of the nursing home. The facility was clean and the staff friendly. Crucifixes hung on many of the walls.
“How long has Mrs. Hernandez been here?” Mazur asked.
“A couple of years.”
“How often did her daughter come to visit?” Kate asked.
“We haven’t seen her in over a month. And we heard the news of her death.” She made the sign of the cross. “Terrible.”
“Was Mrs. Sanchez current with her bills from you?” Mazur asked.
“Until three months ago she paid like clockwork. Then she wrote us a big check to cover the next five years. She said if her mother died before the five years to donate the money to someone else.”
“Did she say why she paid in advance?” Mazur asked.
“No.” She led them to the glass doors that overlooked the common area. “As I told you when you arrived, she doesn’t communicate.” She pointed, indicating a slender woman sitting in a chair staring sightlessly at her hands. Gray hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and she wore a pink housecoat with slippers.
When Kate looked at the woman, she hesitated as she stared at the lined, wrinkled face and the thick stock of hair. “I know her.”
Mazur looked at her. “How?”
She seemed to search for the answer. And then, “She was the housekeeper for the Bauldry family. Her name is Anita Hernandez.”
“Isabella called her Nina.”
“An endearment, I suppose.”
“She knew William Bauldry?” Mazur asked.
“Yes. She’d worked for the family even before William was born. He was very fond of her.”
“Has anyone else visited Mrs. Hernandez?” Mazur asked.
Sister Maria shook her head. “No. Just her daughter.”
“I have memories of a quiet, attractive woman with gray hair swept into a bun. But I don’t remember Gloria. But by the time I was dating William, Gloria was in her early twenties and must have been married to Martin Sanchez. I never saw her at the Bauldry house.” Kate sat beside the old woman. Mrs. Hernandez’s head was bent, her fragile thin hands threaded and resting on an orange crocheted blanket. “Nina?”
Mrs. Hernandez’s gaze didn’t waver.
Kate laid her hand on the old woman’s hand. “Nina, it’s Katie. I used to date William. We’ve met before.”
The old woman mumbled but didn’t look up. Whatever was locked in her head wasn’t retrievable anymore. “Nina, do you remember William?”
The old woman’s brow knotted, but she didn’t speak.
Mazur turned to the sister. “If anyone else does visit her, will you contact me?” He handed her a card.
“Yes, of course.”
Leaving Laredo, Mazur knew this case reached way beyond a murder for hire. He and Kate drove back to San Antonio and pulled up to the criminal justice building. They made their way through the building toward the stairs to the Forensic Department. She kept pace with him as he moved quickly to the second floor.
Down the hallway, they found Calhoun sitting in front of a microscope, her blond hair tied in a tight ponytail.
“Tell me you have ballistics,” Mazur said.
“I do.” She looked up from the scope. “The weapon that killed Gloria Sanchez was used in the other five I-35 shootings.”
“Are you sure?” Kate asked.
“Have a look for yourself,” Calhoun said.
Kate took a seat and glanced in the viewfinder. She adjusted the focus a couple of times before she released a sigh. “Although both hollow points deform by design on impact, the copper jacket has very pronounced and identical striations that cut into it.”
As she stepped aside, Mazur looked into the microscope. The markings on the bullets matched. “I’ll be damned.”
“I personally spoke to every forensic technician who tested the ballistics in the Samaritan murders,” Calhoun said. “I also reviewed each of their findings personally. All are a match to the bullet that killed Gloria Sanchez.”
She laid an enlarged photo taken of the Sanchez bullet next to images from the other five cases.
Kate stood very still. “The gun was never retrieved. Richardson was working with someone else.”
Mazur’s phone rang, and a glance at the display had him frowning. He answered the phone. “Palmer, what do you have?
“I was called to a homicide on I-35. Really ugly.”
He glanced toward Kate. “A shooting?”
“No, a stabbing. It’s south of San Antonio not five miles from where Gloria Sanchez was found. I’m on scene now. You might want to bring Dr. Hayden. This is the kind of shit she deals with.”
“We’ll be there in less than an hour.” He nodded toward the door. “Another murder on I-35. Palmer wants you to see the scene.”
The guard stood by the door. “It was about two weeks ago, right after she sold this unit.”
“When did she put it up for sale?” Kate asked.
“About six weeks ago. The plan was to clean the place for the new occupants, who show up the first of December. The cleaning lady got sick on Sunday, so she never made it by. Mrs. Sanchez was scheduled to make the final walk-through with the new buyers on Monday morning. Of course, we all know what happened. Terrible.”
“We’ll let you know when we’re finished,” Mazur said.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be at my desk.”
Kate moved to the large bank of windows that overlooked the city, its green parks below, and the Rio Grande River. “The view is stunning.”
“Agreed.” He moved into the kitchen and found a couple of bottles of champagne chilling, cheese, and a box of crackers. The cabinets were empty. The trash can in the pantry closet was filled with paper plates, takeout boxes, and bottles of wine.
“How often did she come down here?” Kate asked as she entered the kitchen.
“About two or three times a month.”
He opened a drawer to crackers and ketchup packets. “This is not the place of a woman committed to an area.”
“It was supposed to be cleaned. No one was supposed to see it this way,” she said. “Appearances were very important to her. The cleaning lady got sick according to the guard. We should be seeing a spotless place.” Kate pulled out the trash can.
“I’ll get local police to send a forensic team here.” His phone chimed with a text.
She moved into the bedroom, and Mazur followed. There was an air mattress on the floor, a few rumpled blankets, and small trash can. In the can were several empty pill bottles with another woman’s name on the prescription. “Oxy. She was taking some high doses of pain meds and deliberately keeping it off the radar.”
“We both figured a cancer like hers would be tough to manage.”
“Did Ryland find any record of cancer treatment?” she asked.
“No.”
“She took pride in her appearance, and the chemo would’ve stripped her of her hair, health, and the ability to work,” Kate said.
“But she was spared all that when she was randomly killed by the Samaritan,” Mazur offered.
“I want to pay a visit to her mother’s nursing home.”
“According to my notes, it’s ten minutes from here.”
Less than half an hour later they were following the Lady of Lourdes facility manager, Sister Maria, toward the memory-care unit of the nursing home. The facility was clean and the staff friendly. Crucifixes hung on many of the walls.
“How long has Mrs. Hernandez been here?” Mazur asked.
“A couple of years.”
“How often did her daughter come to visit?” Kate asked.
“We haven’t seen her in over a month. And we heard the news of her death.” She made the sign of the cross. “Terrible.”
“Was Mrs. Sanchez current with her bills from you?” Mazur asked.
“Until three months ago she paid like clockwork. Then she wrote us a big check to cover the next five years. She said if her mother died before the five years to donate the money to someone else.”
“Did she say why she paid in advance?” Mazur asked.
“No.” She led them to the glass doors that overlooked the common area. “As I told you when you arrived, she doesn’t communicate.” She pointed, indicating a slender woman sitting in a chair staring sightlessly at her hands. Gray hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and she wore a pink housecoat with slippers.
When Kate looked at the woman, she hesitated as she stared at the lined, wrinkled face and the thick stock of hair. “I know her.”
Mazur looked at her. “How?”
She seemed to search for the answer. And then, “She was the housekeeper for the Bauldry family. Her name is Anita Hernandez.”
“Isabella called her Nina.”
“An endearment, I suppose.”
“She knew William Bauldry?” Mazur asked.
“Yes. She’d worked for the family even before William was born. He was very fond of her.”
“Has anyone else visited Mrs. Hernandez?” Mazur asked.
Sister Maria shook her head. “No. Just her daughter.”
“I have memories of a quiet, attractive woman with gray hair swept into a bun. But I don’t remember Gloria. But by the time I was dating William, Gloria was in her early twenties and must have been married to Martin Sanchez. I never saw her at the Bauldry house.” Kate sat beside the old woman. Mrs. Hernandez’s head was bent, her fragile thin hands threaded and resting on an orange crocheted blanket. “Nina?”
Mrs. Hernandez’s gaze didn’t waver.
Kate laid her hand on the old woman’s hand. “Nina, it’s Katie. I used to date William. We’ve met before.”
The old woman mumbled but didn’t look up. Whatever was locked in her head wasn’t retrievable anymore. “Nina, do you remember William?”
The old woman’s brow knotted, but she didn’t speak.
Mazur turned to the sister. “If anyone else does visit her, will you contact me?” He handed her a card.
“Yes, of course.”
Leaving Laredo, Mazur knew this case reached way beyond a murder for hire. He and Kate drove back to San Antonio and pulled up to the criminal justice building. They made their way through the building toward the stairs to the Forensic Department. She kept pace with him as he moved quickly to the second floor.
Down the hallway, they found Calhoun sitting in front of a microscope, her blond hair tied in a tight ponytail.
“Tell me you have ballistics,” Mazur said.
“I do.” She looked up from the scope. “The weapon that killed Gloria Sanchez was used in the other five I-35 shootings.”
“Are you sure?” Kate asked.
“Have a look for yourself,” Calhoun said.
Kate took a seat and glanced in the viewfinder. She adjusted the focus a couple of times before she released a sigh. “Although both hollow points deform by design on impact, the copper jacket has very pronounced and identical striations that cut into it.”
As she stepped aside, Mazur looked into the microscope. The markings on the bullets matched. “I’ll be damned.”
“I personally spoke to every forensic technician who tested the ballistics in the Samaritan murders,” Calhoun said. “I also reviewed each of their findings personally. All are a match to the bullet that killed Gloria Sanchez.”
She laid an enlarged photo taken of the Sanchez bullet next to images from the other five cases.
Kate stood very still. “The gun was never retrieved. Richardson was working with someone else.”
Mazur’s phone rang, and a glance at the display had him frowning. He answered the phone. “Palmer, what do you have?
“I was called to a homicide on I-35. Really ugly.”
He glanced toward Kate. “A shooting?”
“No, a stabbing. It’s south of San Antonio not five miles from where Gloria Sanchez was found. I’m on scene now. You might want to bring Dr. Hayden. This is the kind of shit she deals with.”
“We’ll be there in less than an hour.” He nodded toward the door. “Another murder on I-35. Palmer wants you to see the scene.”
