Nothing to Hide Page 27

  Padre had helped rescue the boys eighteen months ago, and would do anything to help them now. Better, the boys would feel safe with him. He ran a summer camp for fatherless boys, and the facility—located halfway between Hidalgo and San Antonio—was currently vacant. Sister Ruth packed up all the boys—except Brian and Michael.

  They were still at the boys’ home as they worked through their plan. Kane had gone off with Brian. Sean was worried—the kid might say anything to avoid getting in trouble. Brad was in the dining room talking with Michael about how he’d put the connections together. Nate was escorting Sister Ruth and would return in a few hours, while Brad’s two agents were watching the house outside. That left Sean alone with Jesse in the family room. Jesse sat glumly in the corner of the couch, still in his soccer uniform.

  Sean sat next to his son. “I’m sorry,” Jesse said, not for the first time. “I should have told you from the beginning.”

  “You didn’t trust me.”

  “That’s not it.”

  Sean had absorbed what Kane told him. “Then why? Because I don’t get it, Jess. You put yourself in danger and didn’t come to me for help.”

  “I—I didn’t think it would get this far. Michael promised we’d come clean if we couldn’t get Brian out from under his brother’s thumb. We thought if you and Mateo knew what Brian was doing, that he would be sent away. And—I guess I wanted to prove to Michael that he could trust me. That I’m not this soft kid who can’t do anything. But I am. I don’t know how to fight back. I don’t know how not to be scared.”

  “I can help with the first. But the second—we all get scared. Do you think that Kane is fearless? He’s not. The difference is that he knows how to manage the fear. I see why you look up to him—he’s practically a superhero.”

  “So are you, Dad.”

  “No. I’m just a worried father who doesn’t know what he’s doing. I knew when I saw the bruises that they weren’t caused by a soccer ball, and I knew you’d lied to me about it. I wanted to confront you then. I didn’t—but if I had, I would have known about Michael’s insane plan to give the DEA an anonymous tip. I didn’t because I was scared. I don’t know how to do this parenting thing. I second-guess every decision I make.”

  “I’m really, really sorry I lied. I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “I worried more because I knew someone hit you. I just didn’t know who or why or why you wouldn’t tell me.” Sean considered what Lucy had told him earlier this week. “You know,” he said, “I grew up in an unusual family. There were a lot of us, but we weren’t close like Lucy’s family. I was fourteen when my parents died. Duke left the army to become my guardian. I was an angry kid. Angry that my parents were dead and I couldn’t save them. Angry that Duke was so hard on me. I got in a lot of trouble. I should have been in juvie, but Duke had a lot of friends. Every time he got me out of a situation, I doubled down. I don’t know if I had a death wish or just wanted the world to know I wasn’t happy. I lied a lot, and every time Duke called me on it he tightened the screws and I fought back.

  “In hindsight, we were both wrong. But Duke didn’t know anything more about being a father than I do now.”

  “But he wasn’t your father. He was your brother. That had to be weird.”

  Astute, Sean thought. “Maybe. Duke had his own issues with our parents, and with Kane. Kane has always been this way. It’s like he was born a warrior. He joined the marines right out of high school. He left because he doesn’t take orders well and formed his own soldiers-for-hire group. He’s gone down some dark paths … but everything he’s done, the good and the bad, he’s done for the right reasons. When I was a teen, I didn’t do things for the right reasons. I did them because I could, because it pissed off Duke, and because I was angry. I don’t want you to go down that path. I know you have a lot of anger right now, and I don’t blame you at all if part of it’s directed at me.”

  “You? Why would I be mad at you?”

  Sean was about to tell him when Jesse continued. “I guess you’re right. I am angry. I’m angry that Brian’s brother used him and manipulated him and made him feel guilty so that he snuck around and actually considered joining the gang. I’m angry that I couldn’t fight back when Jose hit me. I’m mad that you didn’t stand up to my grandfather, that you let him make you feel bad about what happened to my mom, when it wasn’t your fault at all. I’m angry at myself that I didn’t tell you, because I do trust you, Dad. More than anyone. You’ve never lied to me, you’ve never said a bad word against my mom even though I know what she did to you, that she lied to me and she lied to you and to everyone else who ever asked who my father was. And I know she knew what Carson was doing with the drug cartels and just looked the other way. I mean, I look at what happened to Michael and the others and I get so mad that Carson and my mom were a part of that.”

  “They weren’t—that wasn’t Carson’s operation.”

  “You can say that with a straight face? They might not have been part of the people who actually hurt Michael and Tito and the others, but they were part of the people who hurt kids like Michael. Or is there a good drug cartel? A drug cartel that doesn’t hurt people or kill them or force them to do things they don’t want to do? Did Carson work for a good cartel?”

  Jesse was going from slow burn to full boil. “No,” Sean said quietly.

  “See? So they can pretend that they didn’t know what was going on, but that was because they chose to ignore it. And then Carson wanted you dead. And he might have said that he wanted you dead because you were in my life, but he really wanted you dead because you took down his illegal business and he got in trouble. And my mom—I can’t even tell her I’m so mad at her because she’s dead. I can’t yell at her or ask her why or say goodbye.”

  Tears were streaming down his face and Sean pulled him into a hug. He was so tense, his body shaking with emotion as he fought the tears.

  Sean didn’t know what to say, and maybe there was nothing to say.

  “L-lucy,” Jesse said, “s-she said to forgive th-them. I c-can’t. I try. I c-can’t.”

  “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Sean took a deep breath, then extracted Jesse’s arms and looked into his face. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, held his head. “I promise you, Jess, that we’re going to get through this. We’ll find a way to forgive Madison. She loved you, I know that and you know that. We both have to let it go.”

  “Can you forgive Carson? Tell me the truth. Can you? After he wanted you dead?”

  “For that? Yes. He’s not the first person who wanted me dead.” Don’t lie to him, Sean. He’ll know. Don’t lie about your feelings.

  Sean took a deep breath. “Lucy is amazing, and I love her more than my life. But if you want the truth, I will never forgive Carson Spade for putting you and Madison in danger. Never. And I’m okay with that.”

  Jesse sighed, his whole body relaxing, and he hugged Sean again.

  Sean closed his eyes and absorbed the love coming from his son. “When this is all over, and when your rib is healed, we’ll start basic training.”

  “Basic training?” Jesse leaned back and wiped his face on his shirt. “What’s that?”

  “Self-defense, boxing, karate, whatever you want. I’ll teach you how to use a punching bag—it’s a great way to work out frustration, and it’s good exercise. I taught you basic gun safety, but you should know more than how to be safe with firearms. I can teach you, but I think Nate would be better. He has a lot more experience, and he’s part of SWAT. I would have loved to learn how to shoot with SWAT.”

  “That would be fun.”

  “You will be scared in your life—that’s a given. But I never want you to feel helpless again.”

  Sean knew exactly how that felt—when he couldn’t save his parents after the plane crash. When he couldn’t save Madison after she’d been drugged. The former made him angry, but the latter was different … he froze. Feared. Second-guessed himself. Doubted.
>
  No more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Saturday Afternoon

  It was nearly two when Lucy arrived at the sheriff’s office. Garrett King was in a holding cell—he’d been well on his way to drunk when a deputy located him at a bar near his apartment. They had him drinking coffee and sobering up all afternoon, and Jerry felt he was ready to talk.

  They executed a warrant on his apartment and truck while he slept off his drunk. That he’d started drinking early in the morning seemed suspicious at a minimum—kill his dad, drink off the pain.

  Except for Dillon’s voice rattling around in her head. That the killer would be cold. Calculating. Arrogant.

  Profiles could be wrong. Look at the profile in the case Jerry Walker had worked that resulted in a murder-suicide.

  Jerry walked into the small room they were using, which was now cramped with people working—going through statements and records and information gathered from Garrett King’s apartment. “Bingo,” he said.

  “You found the gun.”

  “No. But I found one more connection. Remember how the Browns said Garrett was fired a few months ago? Guess where he worked.”

  Lucy was tired, but she didn’t need to guess. “Sun Tower.”

  “In the catering kitchen.”

  “He’s connected to all four victims.” It was loose, but Garrett King was the only person they had identified with a connection to all four victims. Now to prove he had a motive to kill each of them.

  “We haven’t found any physical evidence yet,” Jerry said, “but I sent a search team to the area surrounding Victor King’s house. The neighbors say Garrett keeps odd hours, can’t tell when he comes and goes. We’re going through his phone and computer now, but I’m having him brought over from holding.”

  “I’m ready.” She wanted to face the man who had destroyed so many families. She didn’t know what she expected to see—remorse? Guilt? Gloating? Or the cool, calm arrogance she expected from this organized killer?

  They went downstairs to the interview rooms. Garrett King was already sitting in one, video camera on in the corner, clutching a water bottle. His clothing was disheveled and he looked exhausted. When Lucy and Jerry walked in, he glanced up at them. His eyes were red and he smelled like body odor and beer.

  “My dad is dead. Why am I here?”

  “Drunk and disorderly,” Jerry said, sitting down.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You took a swing at the deputy who found you. He just wanted to talk to you about your dad, and you took a swing at him.”

  “I thought he was lying to me.”

  “We’re sorry for your loss,” Lucy said in her most sympathetic tone as she sat directly across from him. While she could play bad cop well, it was clear that Garrett was far more intimidated by Jerry. He was an imposing cop, and he’d already hauled him into holding. It was best for her to be the sympathetic one. And based on the little they had gathered about his background, he had probably gone to his mother for support and encouragement. It wasn’t until after his mother died that his father was firm about Garrett finding—and keeping—a job.

  “Thank you,” he said and sniffed.

  “When was the last time you saw your dad?” Lucy asked.

  “Couple weeks ago. We—we had an argument. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Brown already told you that. They didn’t like me much.”

  “Families argue,” Lucy said. “I have six brothers and sisters and I’ve had some huge fights with them over the years. My dad was in the military, and he was a great dad, but you couldn’t disagree with him about anything. His word was law.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” he grumbled.

  “What did you argue about?” Lucy asked.

  “Look, I made some mistakes. I borrowed money without asking, and I said I was sorry, that I would repay him, but he didn’t believe me. So I didn’t talk to him for a while. But … I went over there on Labor Day, you know, to just talk to him, ask him for a little help … did you see my apartment? It’s shit. It’s a shitty apartment and I can’t think let alone sleep with all the noise, and I just wanted to move back in, for a couple months until I got a regular job.”

  “I completely understand,” she said. “And he didn’t want to help?”

  “Said that I was almost thirty and needed to stand on my own two feet. But he had all that space—he let me keep stuff there. Why not live there? Why should I pay six hundred dollars for the shit of an apartment when I could give him the six hundred?”

  “And he didn’t want to take rent?”

  “I didn’t get that far. I just—I can’t believe that the last time I saw my dad, we fought. I wish—damn. Damn!” He pounded his fist on the table.

  “Do you know who might want to hurt your dad?” Lucy asked.

  “No one. I mean, he was cheap and all, but he was a nice guy, you know?”

  “So no one threatened him? Did he have problems with any of his neighbors?”

  “No. They’re all old-timers. A couple people have vacation cabins nearby, come up on weekends and stuff. But no problems.”

  “Can I show you some pictures? Tell me if you recognize any of these people.”

  “Okay.”

  Garrett hadn’t asked for a lawyer. He hadn’t asked any questions about how his dad was killed—he was told he was attacked and murdered while walking his dog, but given no details.

  Lucy had printouts of everyone she’d shown the other families, but she only wanted to show him the victims. She pulled out Standish.

  “Do you know this man?”

  He scowled. “Yeah. He worked on my dad’s deck. I could have done that work, I don’t see why my dad paid him a ton of money for something I could have done for half the cost.” He frowned. “Did he kill my dad?”

  “No,” she said. “He was murdered eight weeks ago.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s too bad.”

  She showed him Steven James. “What about him?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know him.”

  “His name is Steven James. He’s your father’s accountant.”

  “Oh—yeah, I know him. I mean, I don’t know him, but he was my dad’s estate planner.” He rolled his eyes. “My dad was always cheap, but he got cheaper after he hired that guy.”

  “When was that? This year?”

  “Two or three years ago. Right after my mom died. My mom handled all the money in the house. She was really smart, a math teacher and everything, and Dad had never been that good with money. So he hired that guy to help him with tax stuff.”

  “And you’ve never met him?”

  “No, why would I? But my dad thought he was brilliant. He told my dad to put more money into his retirement account, which was ridiculous because he had like a great pension, you know? He’s been a teacher forever, why did he need to save more money?”

  “More for you?” Jerry said.

  “That’s not what I meant. But James enabled my dad, you know? Enabled him to be cheaper than he already was.”

  This guy was clueless. He had no idea that Jerry had been baiting him. If he was guilty, wouldn’t he have been suspicious?

  He knew the other victims. No one else knew all three victims.

  She showed him a photo of Julio Garcia. “Do you know him?”

  “Well, yeah, of course. I worked for him for like six months.”

  “At Sun Tower?”

  “Yeah. Until I was fired. I screwed up one time and they fired me.”

  “When was that?”

  “July. Why? What’s going on here?”

  Now he was suspicious.

  Lucy laid out the three pictures, then added the DMV photo of Garrett’s dad. “These four men were all killed by the same person.”

  He stared, his brows furrowed. He was confused … or a good actor.

  It took an actor to set up those crime scenes. Was he playing them like he had been playing them with the murders?

  “That sucks,” he said.


  Jerry slammed his fist on the table. “They were beaten to death and shot in the face.”

  Lucy wanted to tell Jerry to tone it down. So far, Garrett was chatty.

  “I’m sorry,” Garrett said.

  “Where were you last night?” Jerry said. “Start at eight p.m. and go from there.”

  He blinked. “Home.”

  “Alone?”

  “So?”

  “You were drinking in a bar at ten this morning. We were at your apartment before eight to tell you about your dad, but you weren’t there. Where were you?”

  “I was standing in front of Home Depot trying to get a day labor job. Rent’s due on Tuesday, man. I got there at seven. When I didn’t get hired, I went to the bar for a bite to eat. Drank a bit too much because I hadn’t eaten much. I didn’t mean to hit the cop.”

  Lucy slid over a pen and tablet. “Can you write down exactly where you were? Who you talked to?”

  “Why? Why—you don’t think I killed my dad, do you?”

  He stared at the four pictures and then what Jerry had said came clear to him. “All four of those guys are dead?”

  “Yes, Garrett,” Lucy said. “The same person killed all four of these men.”

  “Not me. I have never killed anyone. Ever. I didn’t.”

  “We need to verify your alibi, and then we’ll talk again, okay?”

  “I need a lawyer, don’t I?”

  “Do you?” Jerry asked.

  “Yes. Yes. I think I might. Are you arresting me?”

  Jerry picked up the pad, looked at the one line Garrett had written. “I’ll be right back.” Then he walked out.

  Garrett looked at Lucy. “Where’s Justice?”

  “We’re looking for justice, for your dad and all these men.”