CHAPTER ONE

Thursday

A line of flashing blue and red lights led the way to a pale green single-wide trailer on the north edge of Stillwater, Texas. Firemen, sheriff deputies and EMTs huddled in front of the house, talking, looking around, and laughing. All eyes turned to Jack McBride’s car as it pulled into the dirt packed front yard, which doubled as the driveway.

Jack set the alarm on his phone and said, “Stay in the car,” to his 13-year old son, Ethan. He opened the door, got out and leaned back in. “I mean it.”

“I know, Dad.”

Neighbors grouped behind yellow crime scene tape. Some wore pajamas, others wore work clothes, women held babies, children craned their necks to see better, eager for information to share at school. A young officer guarded them.

It was Officer Nathan Starling’s file that fell from Jack’s lap when he was startled awake by the early morning call. If Jack hadn’t read Starling was the youngest and newest member of the force he would have guessed it from his role as crowd control. Starling shifted on his feet and looked over his shoulder at the crowd, as if debating whether he should leave his post to introduce himself or stay put. Jack waved an acknowledgement to him and moved toward the trailer.

Jack nodded at the group of first responders as he walked by and received a couple of muttered hellos in return. Some looked at Ethan and back at Jack. Jack climbed the uneven concrete steps, stopped at the door and put on paper booties and gloves. Behind him, he heard a low conversation start back up, the words “alone,” “wife,” and “no one knows” carrying across the yard as if announced through a bullhorn. He walked into the trailer. The screen door slapped shut behind him, cutting off the rest of the conversation.

The smell of chili, paprika and cumin hung in the air of the trailer. Flimsy wooden cabinets topped by a chipped orange Formica counter were wedged against the back wall of the main room by a strip of ugly, peeling linoleum. Brown shag carpet, flattened by years of traffic, marked off the living area of the room. Left of the door, under a loud window unit dripping condensation, sat a couch of indeterminate color too large for the room. A black haired man with blood-shot eyes and a green tinge underneath his dark skin sat on the couch, chewing his nails. He looked up at Jack and stopped chewing, the signal for his leg to start bouncing. A bull-necked police officer, his thumbs crooked underneath his gun belt, stood guard over the man.

“Officer Freeman,” Jack said.

If Michael Freeman was surprised Jack knew who he was, he didn’t show it. His face remained expressionless.

“Chief McBride.”

A third officer stood at the mouth of the hallway to the right with a portly elderly man. Relief washed over the officer’s face. He moved forward, hand outstretched. “Chief McBride,” he said. “Miner Jesson. This here is Doc Poole.”

Jack shook their hands. “Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Dr. Poole.”

“Helluva case to get on your first day, eh?” the doctor said.

Jack nodded and gave a brief smile. He pulled gloves and more paper booties from his coat pocket and handed them to Jesson and the doctor. Jack walked down the hall and entered the room. Jesson stopped at the door.

“Gilberto and Rosa Ramos,” Jesson said. “Found dead this morning by Juan Vasquez.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the man sitting on the couch. “Says he’s Rosa’s brother. He don’t speak much English but from what I gathered, he came to pick Gilberto up for work and heard the baby screaming. When no one answered, he let himself in. Door was open. Found them just like that.”

They were both nude. The woman lay facedown, covering half of man’s body. The right side of the man’s head was blown across the pillow. Blood and brain matter were sprayed across the bed, under the woman and onto the floor. A clump of long dark hair was stuck to the window with blood. Her right arm was extended across the man’s chest, a gun held lightly in her grip.

Jack walked around the bed.

Doc Poole stood next to Officer Jesson. “It takes a special kind of anger to kill someone you are in the middle of fucking, doncha think?” Doc Poole said. “Ever see that in the F-B-I?” Derision dripped from every letter.

Jack ignored him. “Where’s the baby?”

Jack hoped the revulsion on Jesson’s face meant scenes like this were rare in Stillwater. If he wanted to deal with shit like this on a regular basis, he would have taken a better paying job in a larger town.

“Officer Jesson?” Jack said. “Where’s the baby?”

“Oh. It’s with a neighbor.”

“Has anyone called CPS?”

“Why?”

“To take care of the baby.”

“The neighbor offered.”

“And, what do we know about this neighbor?”

He shrugged. “She didn’t speak much English.”

“So, she could be in the next county by now?”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Jesson said. “She seemed like a nice sort. Very motherly.”

Jack cocked his head and puzzled over whether his most senior officer was ignorant, naive or an amazing judge of character.

He turned his attention to Doc Poole. “What’s the time of death?”

“Sometime last night.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Didn’t see the need. Seems pretty obvious what happened.”

“Oh, are you a detective?”

“No. I’m a general practitioner.”

“You’re the JP, aren’t you?”

“No. I used to be.” He chuckled. “Too old for this now.”

“Yet, here you are.”

“JP is on the way, Chief,” Jesson said.

Jack kept his focus on Doctor Poole. “So you heard this over the radio and decided to come? Or did someone call you?”

“Well, I —”

“Do you have the instruments necessary to establish a time of death?”

“Not with me, but —”

“Then get off my crime scene.”

The little man straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I can see why Jane Maxwell liked you.” He started to leave but turned back. “We do things different here in Stillwater.”

“Not anymore we don’t,” Jack said.