Last Light (20 page)

“Why? What threat could a seven-month-old baby be to anyone?” Then she answered her own question. “Unless that baby wasn’t who everyone thought she was. Lily might have been the mother, but what if Peter wasn’t the father?”

“But he was targeted as well, so it wasn’t a fit of jealousy on his behalf.”

“Maybe the real father? Maybe he was a married man, needed to hide the affair?”

“Possible.” He drew out the word.

“Or maybe he was a married man and his wife found out about the baby?”

“Are you saying a woman might have done this?” Despite everything the two of them had seen, crimes that shattered the very definition of human depravity, his voice still held a hint of disbelief.

Lucy loved him for that.

For the first time in the months since she’d been sidelined by her injury, she felt as if she was finally back, body and soul reunited, focused, on mission.

At this point, she didn’t know or care who had butchered the Martin family. Man, woman, child, it didn’t matter. If it was the Manning brothers, she’d make sure Michael Manning never saw the light of day again. If it wasn’t, she was going to find them.

Because, civilian or not, that’s what Lucy did best.

“DON’T MIND MOTHER,”
Blackwell told TK after lunch as he led her out to the back patio. The heat was tempered by shade trees and a breeze as they strolled down a flagstone path toward the garage, a building that resembled a small airplane hangar. “She and my father were completely devoted to each other but their marriage was rather unorthodox.”

“Was she really implying that your father might have been involved in the Martin killings?” TK asked, wondering why Caleb and his mother seemed to think she needed another suspect to investigate if indeed the Manning brothers were innocent. And didn’t Roscoe Blackwell, dead for twenty-eight years and unable to defend himself, make the perfect fall guy?

Buy why?

Caleb shrugged and answered her question. “People always talk about how open-and-shut that case was but, as I said earlier, no case is without its unanswered questions. The Martin case is no exception.”

“I know,” she said, purposely adding a touch of breathless wonder to her tone.

Caleb beamed in response, obviously enjoying her undivided attention. The more she could get him to talk, the more she might be able to understand. Was he dangling his father as a suspect in order to strengthen the case for Michael Manning’s innocence? Did Caleb actually want Manning released from prison? Maybe to make his predecessor look bad? But then why was his mother playing along? Other than the fact that she obviously was still bitter over her husband’s affair with Lily Martin.

She matched her gait to Caleb’s and brushed his arm. “I have so many questions. Maybe you could help. Like what time did Peter get home? If he was shot because he surprised the killers, then how long were they in the house before he arrived?”

“Mother was right about one thing: Peter was a gambler. My father had all the gaming shut down here in Blackwell County, but I heard people say that Peter would leave work and go spend his paycheck in illegal games over in San Angelo or up in Abilene. Which means he might not have gotten home until late evening, early morning. Who knows?”

“Leaving Lily and the kids unprotected.”

“Well...” He slowed his pace, glanced back at the house. “I don’t know about that. My father wasn’t home most of that night. I remember him and my mother arguing about it after he and I returned from the crime scene the next morning. She accused him of spending the night with Lily Martin.”

“The night of the murders?” TK stopped and stared. “You don’t really think—”

He looked away. “Every family has their secrets. My father took his with him to the grave.”

TK had no idea what to say to that. Was he trying to point her in a direction that was too painful for him to investigate himself? Maybe Caleb actually was interested in finding the truth. But if he believed the Mannings might be innocent, why had he waited twenty-nine years?

Because that’s what you did for family, she thought. You protected them, no matter the cost. Like her own father had.

A rustling came from the bushes around them and a Jack Russell terrier came bounding up to Blackwell. “Here, Lily,” he called, squatting and clapping his hands. “C’mon here, girl!”

“Lily?” TK asked. “You named the dog after—”

“Not me, my mother,” he said as the dog came bounding into his arms, tail wagging. “All my life, far back as I can remember, any bitch we keep is named Lily.” He rubbed the dog’s belly and looked up at her. “I’m afraid my mother isn’t exactly the forgiving and forgetting type.”

His tone was normal—just two folks talking about family pets. But his gaze moved past hers and his smile died.

She turned to glance back at the house. Carole Blackwell stood at the window watching them, an unfathomable sneer twisting her features. A sudden chill forced TK to step back, away from the older woman’s dead cold stare.

Maybe Caleb
was
trying to tell her something, something he couldn’t admit to himself.

Caleb glanced away, talking to the dog as much as to TK. “Like I said, families are complicated, mine more than most.”

“How old were you when it happened?”

“Thirteen—no, wait—twelve. My birthday was the day after.” He shrugged, appearing boyish and charming. She had to keep reminding herself that he was in his forties. “Kind of got forgotten in all the chaos, as you can imagine. Poor kid—the son, Alan, I mean. They called me a hero for finding him in time—said he’d have died for sure if I hadn’t been there. But it wasn’t me who was the real hero. It was Sheriff Saylor. Standing up to my dad and making sure things were done right, that folks felt safe again.”

The dog rolled at his feet, tail thumping against the lush lawn as it begged for more loving. A man playing with his dog, what could be more innocent?

As she turned her back on Carole Blackwell’s all-seeing gaze, TK’s training told her to keep her hands free, prepared to face a threat. But she couldn’t stop her instincts that had her wrapping her arms across her chest, rubbing the goose bumps from her flesh. The sun beat down, relentless, but she couldn’t get warm.

Maybe it wasn’t Caleb’s father he was protecting, but his mother.

She’d felt like this before. In another sunbaked land, half the world away. First time she met her squad’s new leader, a fresh-scrubbed piece of American pie who still had creases in his lieutenant’s uniform. She’d ignored her instincts then, allowed him to charm her, crawl below her defenses.

Not this time.

TK cupped her hand over her eyes and squinted in the direction where the Martin house had stood. “You were their closest neighbors.”

“Yes, but you can’t see their house from here—could barely see the fence between our land.”

“I don’t see a fence.”

“Long gone. My dad bought their holdings, merged their land with ours.”

Was he giving her yet another motive for his father to annihilate an entire family? Of course, now that Roscoe was dead, it was Carole Blackwell who had gained.

“Do you want to see it? It’s still there—pretty much the same as it ever was, except for the graffiti. Kind of a rite of passage for kids around here—sneak into the Martin house, spend the night, make their mark.”

Before she could answer, he strode briskly off the path, crossing over the manicured landscaping until it ended abruptly in a meadow of parched wild grass. The land curved down and she made out the single-story frame house partially hidden by trees and scraggly bushes.

“C’mon,” he said, turning back to the path toward the garage. “It’s on our way.”

They continued onto the garage where the Escalade stood waiting, motor running. But that’s not what surprised her. Beside the Escalade were three more cars—all Cadillacs—and beyond them sat a Bell Ranger helicopter.

“Nice bird,” she said.

“Glad you like it. First thing I bought with the proceeds of the forfeiture auctions. I keep it here since so far I’m our only pilot.” His cheeks flushed and he looked twenty years younger in the light streaming through the hangar doors. “If you like, I can take you up some time. You really appreciate the beauty of this land when you see it from the air.”

“That’d be nice,” she murmured, not sure if she’d just made a date with a man almost twice her age or if she was just being polite. So many things about Caleb left her uncertain—it was intriguing and exciting and a touch frightening. Which made for a dangerous cocktail of attraction.

She climbed back into the SUV and they headed down the lane to the highway. After a half-mile or so, they swung onto a rutted dirt lane.

“That’s the federal land.” He pointed to the west. “Powell grew his weed there, squatted, and sold other drugs there as well.”

“Did they ever find him? He disappeared that night, right?”

“Never seen again.”

“Too bad.” They drove another three quarters of a mile and she glimpsed the sun gleaming from the Martin house’s tin roof. They parked at the end of the drive. “Any chance you could try to find Powell? It might answer a lot of questions.”

He considered. “The man is long gone. Probably Mexico. If he’s not dead. It has been twenty-nine years.”

“I know. Don’t remind me.”

“I’ll run his name, see if anything pops. But no promises.”

“Thanks, Caleb. You want to find out what really happened that night as well, don’t you? I mean, it wouldn’t just be the Mannings we’d be clearing if someone else is responsible.” She hesitated, aware she was crossing a line. “Your mom, she doesn’t really think your dad did it, does she?”

He frowned, turned east to look toward his home. The Martin house might have been invisible from his lands above, but there was no mistaking the Blackwell estate. A trick of the topography made it appear as if the Blackwell mansion floated above the trees, gleaming white as the sun blasted it head on.

“No, not really. His suicide hit her hard—I think making up stories like that helps her to not blame herself.” He turned back to her, his gaze searching. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course. When someone goes like that, it’s hard to fill the void of the questions they leave behind.” Especially if you’re a crazy old bitch, she thought, wondering if maybe Roscoe had been driven to kill himself—or had some help from his wife.

She felt sorry for Caleb. Bad enough he was the one who found the bodies. At such a young age, it would have scarred him for life. But to also have grown up in that house, raised by that woman, never certain if she might be a killer…She shook herself, reining in her imagination. All she had were innuendoes and vague gossip from twenty-nine years ago.

Caleb continued toward the empty house. The place would have been spooky even without knowing its history. Spray-painted pentagrams and other occult symbols vied with profanities on the once-white siding. Windows were broken, tattered curtains caught in the glass fluttered despite the fact that there was no discernible breeze. It was hotter down here, so humid that TK found herself taking deep breaths as if the air took more effort to move.

Caleb went still, staring at the front door still about ten feet away, his gaze lost in memory.

“You sure about this?” she asked.

“It still gets me, every time.” His voice was haunted. A shudder rocked through him and he nodded as if answering a question in his own mind.

“Okay. This is about where I left my bike. Lily’s car was there and Pete’s truck there.” He pointed at the gravel driveway overgrown with weeds. “I ran to the door, was going to ring the bell when I saw it was open.”

Together they walked over the cracked sidewalk pavers to the small concrete stoop in front of the door. The door had once been Kelly green, but what little that hadn’t been covered in layers of graffiti was faded by the sun and by years.

TK watched as Caleb pushed the door open. It moved slowly, hinges squeaking with disuse. A rush of musty air emerged, carrying the stench of marijuana, urine, and decay.

“Right there,” he said, pointing to the narrow foyer. “That’s where I found Pete.”

“What did you do?”

“I wet my pants.” He grimaced at the memory. “Ran back to my bike, but knew I couldn’t leave them, not like that. I have no idea how I found the strength to do it, but somehow I went back. I was so scared—even now, I’ve never been that terrified. I listened, couldn’t hear anyone else inside, I knew Pete was dead—that was obvious—but what about Lily and the kids?”

As he spoke, he pulled his Maglite from his duty belt and turned it on, lighting their path as he entered. A rustling came from the rear of the house, a small animal or bird. It stilled again as their footsteps creaked against the rotting carpet and the house went completely silent.

“The kitchen looked okay and the phone was right there, so I called my dad. It was the only the number my fingers remembered how to dial.”

“How long did it take him to come for you?” TK could only imagine the anguish of waiting, not knowing if the killer was still nearby.

“I’m not sure. Probably only a few minutes. I hid out in the bushes on the side of the house until I saw his truck. But that was the side where the baby’s room was.”

TK’s heart about broke at the sadness coloring his voice. “You saw?”

“I couldn’t help it.” His voice caught. “I looked inside the window. And there was Lily, staring right at me. Except her eyes—they were gone.”

LUCY WAS STILL
trying to wrap her mind around the idea that an infant was the killer’s main target when her computer alerted: Wash inviting her to video conference. “Wanted to fill you in on what I found with the forfeiture stuff.”

“I need to update you and Tommy on the Martin case as well. Is he there?”