The Unseen

Page 18

“You look upset,” Sandy said. Then she grinned. “I wouldn’t be. I love your Texas Ranger.”
“He’s not my Texas Ranger,” Kelsey muttered. “We’re just working together.”
“Okay. Well, then, I wouldn’t mind working with your Texas Ranger.”
“Sandy, have you ever met Logan before? Was there information about him in the paper when his wife died?”
Sandy frowned, and her eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, he’s that Texas Ranger! I didn’t make the connection… . I definitely remember the case!” She shivered. “Oh, it was horrible. The poor woman died. The killer was playing a time game. Except that he had some kind of oxygen system supposedly rigged up when he buried her alive, but he didn’t do it right. The Ranger—her husband—found her, but she’d been dead for a while, according to the papers. Oh, that’s so sad! But Logan Raintree seems so…well, normal. Considering what he’s been through.”
“He is normal,” Kelsey told her.
As normal as I am, she thought.
But her distress about the tragedy in his life—and her anger that she hadn’t been told—continued to bother her.
“I’ve got to get going.” Kelsey drained her coffee cup and put it down.
“Okay,” Sandy said. “Oh, and, by the way, thank you again.”
“For?”
“Oh, for dealing with Corey Simmons. He’s a happy camper now, and I was sure he’d leave the inn and tell terrible stories about it!”
“Not a problem.”
“And you’re still okay with the room?” Sandy asked anxiously.
“I’m absolutely fine.”
“I just remember when we were growing up…”
“What?” Kelsey arched a brow. She’d never shared any of her impressions or visions with Sandy, even though they were close friends. She’d learned early that it was too easy for people to misunderstand—or to make fun of her.
“When we were kids, at camp, you’d tell great stories about history. And those ghost stories you told by the campfire… You were so good, I always felt as if you knew something the rest of us didn’t—almost as if you had imaginary friends whispering in your ear.”
“I was an imaginative kid,” Kelsey said. “Listen, I’ve got to get to work. See you this evening—and thank you. It’s great to have a place to stay.”
She didn’t want to get involved in a discussion about the Longhorn. She wanted to accost Jackson Crow and find out why he hadn’t told her anything about Logan Raintree.
Crow was alone when she walked into the dedicated room at the police station.
“You had no right to put me in the situation you did,” she said angrily, marching toward him at his desk. “None.”
“And what situation was that?” he asked her.
“Setting me up with a man—a potential team member—without any explanation about his past.”
He leaned back casually, watching her.
“And why does his past matter right now? We’re looking for a murderer, not planning a therapy session.”
“Oh, I see. You’re giving me a ‘this is business’ speech? Well, I’m sorry, that’s not acceptable under the circumstances. You obviously want us using abilities we don’t usually share. And just as obviously, that’s going to bring us closer than most business associates, team members, whatever we’re going to be!”
“Do you think Logan Raintree is emotionally crippled? Or that he’s going to go off on some kind of rampage? Shoot up the streets?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, then?”
“I should have known. That’s all.”
“Logan’s past is his concern. He chose to tell you about it.”
“Yes, but…what happened to him wasn’t something like, oh, his house was robbed. His wife was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew it.”
“I make a point of knowing everything about anyone I’m asking to join this team,” Jackson told her.
Frustrated, she scowled at him.
“It’s important that you get to know each other on your own terms, not that I outline your lives.”
“But—”
“A team only works when every member learns to trust every other member,” Jackson said.
She would have spoken again, still irritated, but the door opened and Logan Raintree came into the room. He greeted them with a solemn, “Good morning.”
They both responded. Kelsey felt guilty; she wondered if he could tell she’d been talking about him.
He probably could. But he didn’t press it. “We need to get back on the streets. We have to find Vanessa Johnston. I read and reread the files last night. We can’t compare lives and histories on all the victims, since we don’t know who some of them are, but I spent last night looking for a common thread between the two women we do have. So far, all we’ve got is that both were young, attractive, fascinated with the Alamo and headed there. But,” he said, glancing from Jackson to Kelsey and offering them a crooked, almost sheepish smile, “I believe I’ve found a connection between one of them, Chelsea Martin, and Sierra Monte. And it’s something that’s been staring us in the face.”
“The Galveston diamond?” Kelsey asked.
He nodded. “Sierra Monte was presumably killed at the Longhorn,” he said. “The diamond was brought to Galveston by pirates. It was apparently stolen, then disappeared from history after it was won in a poker game in Galveston. Historians agree on that much. The legend that says Rose took it with her is based on conjecture but the diamond’s never been found in Galveston. People with metal detectors have searched the beach for it often enough. I can imagine that someone might’ve thought Sierra Monte was looking for it at the inn, but Chelsea Martin never got there. She made it to the Alamo—her last known location. But in her spare time, she studied gems.” Logan paused. “I went to her Facebook page,” he said. “She truly loved stones and wanted to work with jewelry. But I’m willing to bet she knew about the Galveston diamond. Sierra Monte was a diamond girl, too.”
“Did you find out anything similar about Tara Grissom?” Jackson asked him.
“Everything I read reinforced what we’ve already learned—she loved history, especially state history revolving around the Alamo, the massacre at Goliad and the road to independence for Texas. She must have been aware of Rose Langley and the Galveston diamond. Although a lot of it’s legend, the story’s been around in Texas as long as I can remember.”
“But these other women… We’re assuming they were runaways or prostitutes because we haven’t been able to match them to any missing-persons cases,” Kelsey said. “How could they be involved with the Galveston diamond? Do you really think it’s possible that they all died because of a diamond that’s been missing for a century and a half?”
“I think it’s the only connection I’ve found between any of the victims,” Logan said.
Kelsey sat on the edge of Jackson’s desk and picked up one of the sheets he’d been studying, a synopsis of the medical examiner’s reports.
“The Longhorn isn’t far from the Alamo,” she pointed out. “And if you’ve studied the Alamo, you probably know about the Longhorn. Most of us learned about Davy Crockett, Lieutenant Colonel Travis and Daniel Boone as school kids, no matter where we grew up, but the sad tale of Rose Langley isn’t as well-known. All the local kids would’ve heard it, of course, and so would anyone with a fixation on the period. But the Longhorn’s been torn apart over the decades. If there was anything hidden there, it would’ve been found by now. And where else would you look? But if the women never even made it to the Longhorn… Anyway, just because someone liked gems and knew Texas history, why would you murder her?”
“We need to know more,” Logan said quietly. “More about all the women.”
Jackson looked across the desk at Kelsey. “We’re going to try to do that.” Jackson was thoughtful. “And yes, we have to find Vanessa Johnston. Every officer in every agency in the city is searching for her. I’d like to take an hour and go back to the morgue.”
“We’re testing at the morgue—with Kat as the M.E.?” Logan asked. “We’re bringing Kat in?”
“Yes, and I’m going to bring in our fourth and fifth team members, too. Jane Everett is meeting us at the morgue.”
“She does facial reconstructions,” Logan informed Kelsey. “And she’s very good. She can work with all kinds of material, but she’s worked with computer images, too.”
“Jane’s done assignments for several anthropological societies,” Jackson added, “and also for the Rangers and the police.”
“Why wasn’t she brought in before?” Kelsey asked.
“Everything costs,” Logan reminded her, looking at Jackson.
“We’re also getting a computer whiz,” Jackson said. “Film and sound effects, computers—every team needs someone who’s good at those things.”
“Do I know him or her?” Logan asked.
“You both do,” Jackson said.
Kelsey was startled. “Oh?”
“Sean Cameron.”
Kelsey almost fell off the desk. “Sean Cameron? My cousin, Sean Cameron?”
“Is there family rivalry, Marshal?”
“No, nothing of the kind. Sean…Sean is great. But he…works on movies. Documentaries—like the one he’s doing now, about the Alamo.”
“He’s done computer work for us before,” Logan said. “Crime-scene recreations.”
“But Sean isn’t a cop.” Kelsey frowned, looking at Jackson.
“No,” Logan agreed. “Neither is Jane.”