Читать книгу Lone Star Christmas Witness - Margaret Daley - Страница 14

Taylor pulled in behind Sierra’s car that she’d driven into the garage, while Dr. Yates parked along the curb. On his trip here, Taylor had checked Sierra’s alibi and the accounting firm had confirmed her presence and the time she left that morning. He hadn’t thought she was the killer, but he’d learned to check every lead out.

In fact, the interviews with both of them had been difficult for him, especially Ben’s. The little boy with brown hair and eyes reminded him of his deceased son. TJ had died from cancer at the age of six over three years ago. He’d left a hole in Taylor’s heart that he’d never been able to fill. Months after his son’s death, Taylor had been accepted as a Texas Ranger after serving as a Texas State Trooper. He’d thrown himself into the job as though that would cover the pain of his loss. It hadn’t. That was why he preferred working from behind a computer rather than in the field. At least until a few months ago. Working a case with Texas Ranger Dallas Sanders involving kidnapped babies had made him realize he couldn’t hide forever.

When he realized he was gripping the steering wheel so hard pain shot up his arms, he pried his fingers loose and slid from his vehicle. He bridged the distance to Sierra, holding her car door open while Ben slowly crawled from the back seat. As he straightened, Ben glanced up at Taylor. The look of terror in the child’s eyes reminded him of when TJ had gone for his first chemo treatment. Taylor hadn’t been able to protect his son then. He intended to protect Ben now. He wasn’t helpless in this situation. He’d find the murderer.

When John Yates joined them, Sierra put the garage door down and walked with her hand on Ben’s shoulder to the porch of the two-story, adobe-styled home. Taylor hung back and surveyed the surroundings. No one had followed them to the house, but it wouldn’t have been hard for the killer to figure out where Dr. Markham lived with her sister and son. There was still a possibility the shooting was random, but more likely it wasn’t. So, what motivated the person to kill six people? If he could answer that, it would be a lot easier to find the shooter.

Taylor was the last one to enter the Markham home. He locked the door behind him and faced Sierra across the foyer. Her long, curly strawberry blond hair reminded him of a setting sun striking the mountains in Big Bend National Park. But what really drew his attention were her big brown eyes with long, dark eyelashes, filled with pain from losing a loved one. That look drew him. In the past nine years, he’d gone through the same kind of sorrow twice. He felt a connection with her, which surprised him because he worked hard to keep himself walled off. He couldn’t deal with that kind of pain for a third time.

Sierra tore her gaze away from his. “We should go into the kitchen.” She led the way down a hall, and when she entered the room, she gestured toward the table in a nook with a bay window overlooking the fenced backyard. While they were all settled except her, she asked, “What would you like to drink? We have sweet tea, water and milk, but if you would like coffee, I can make some.”

“Sweet tea is fine for me,” Taylor said while John nodded. He rose and strolled to the counter next to the refrigerator as Sierra opened the door. “Here, let me help you. Where are the glasses?”

“The cabinet in front of you.” Her hand shaking, she immediately set the pitcher on the ceramic tiles.

Taylor leaned close to her. “You have enough to do. The least I can do is take care of this. Go sit down.”

“Thanks.”

He quickly filled the glasses, set them on the table and returned the pitcher to the refrigerator. When he took his seat between Ben and John, he looked up into Sierra’s brown eyes across the table, glimpsing a sadness he was all too familiar with.

After John finished chewing a bite of his hamburger, he said, “Ben, this is fantastic. Now I see why this is your favorite place to get a burger.”

The boy kept his head down while eating his food.

Taylor fixed his attention on Ben. “Dr. Yates, I agree with you. This is great.”

The child slid his glance to Taylor for a fleeting few seconds.

John nodded at Taylor, a signal they had talked about earlier. If Ben wasn’t responding to John, his friend wanted Taylor to ask a few questions and see what response he could get from the traumatized boy.

Over the years Taylor had interviewed a lot of victims and witnesses, but in this case, he felt the weight of what he was doing. He wasn’t a child psychologist, but at least John was here to guide him.

“Ben, sometimes when I’m upset, I can’t explain things well. That’s normal. I noticed some pictures on the refrigerator. Are those yours? Do you like to draw?”

The young boy turned his head slightly toward Taylor, then went back to eating.

“Ben draws a lot, as you can see.” Sierra pointed toward the fridge. “He has an area in his room where he has paper, pencils, markers and other items for a budding artist.”

“That’s great, Ben. Maybe after lunch, you can show me your room.”

He nodded but didn’t look at Taylor.

Ten minutes later Ben and Sierra headed upstairs with Taylor behind them. John was waiting a moment before following. When Taylor entered the bedroom, the sight of a large corkboard with a ton of drawings pinned to it sent relief through him. According to John, some kids expressed their emotions through their artwork. He remembered in the baby kidnapping case how Michelle Sanders, the daughter of Dallas Sanders, a fellow Texas Ranger and friend, and the thirteen-year-old babysitter of the first child abducted, had helped their case and had been pivotal in solving the crime.

“You’re quite an artist, Ben. I’d love for you to draw a picture for me,” Taylor said.

Ben sat down at his table but didn’t do anything except stare at a blank sheet. Taylor and Sierra hovered over the child, not sure what else to do. When John appeared in the doorway, Ben finally picked up a black marker and scribbled all over the paper. Then he snapped up the picture and wadded it into a tight ball. Tears ran down his face as he threw it at the wall. Hanging his head, he hunched his shoulders.

Sierra squatted next to her nephew, putting her arm around him. “Sweetie, I’m here for you.” She gave him a hug, tears glistening in her eyes. “Can you tell us anything about this morning?”

Silence.

Taylor knelt on the other side of the boy. “You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Remember, I promised.”

After five long minutes, when Ben didn’t say anything or make any kind of movement to indicate he’d even heard him, Taylor glanced over his shoulder at John, who motioned for Taylor to come into the hallway. He rose and took a step away. Suddenly Ben shot up, his chair tumbling backward, and threw his arms around Taylor as though to stop him from leaving.

Still he spoke not a word.

Taylor clasped the boy, not sure what he should do.

Sierra came to Ben’s side. “Hon, it’s okay if you don’t want to draw. Texas Ranger Blackburn was only going out into the hallway to talk with Dr. Yates. You need to let him do that.”

“Ben, I’ll be right back.”

The child let go and immediately clung to his aunt.

As Taylor left the bedroom, he heard Sierra say, “You won’t be alone. You’re safe now.”

He hoped so for the child’s sake.

Taylor joined John in the hall, and they moved away from the doorway. “What do we do?”

“Ben needs to feel safe. After the kind of trauma he went through, he’s frightened, possibly wondering when the person will come back and get him. He took his anger and fear out on the paper.”

Taylor frowned, remembering the young boy crammed into a cabinet, probably told not to say a word. “I can’t imagine the horror he went through when he witnessed his mother being murdered. He could have seen the whole thing through the slats in the cupboard door. At the very least, he heard it. I was hoping he would tell us what he saw and heard. We don’t have a lot to go on right now. What should we do?”

“We?”

“How can I turn my back on the boy?” And Sierra.

“I see the resemblance of Ben to TJ. Is that why you feel you need to go above and beyond your job?”

John had helped TJ deal with his leukemia and then even helped Taylor deal with TJ’s death. “Don’t bring my son into this. Ben isn’t TJ. I know that. But he’s a scared child and the only witness to the shooting.”

“Are you being honest with yourself?”

“I’m going to make sure he’s safe. What if the man comes after Ben because he thinks the child saw him?”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure out something. If anything happens to Ben, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Like TJ?”

Taylor balled his hands. “I did everything I could to save my son. And I’ll do the same for Ben.” The memory of the boy clinging to him when he rescued Ben from the cabinet wasn’t something he would forget anytime soon.

John stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I know. But don’t mix the two up. Ben needs to feel safe. His view of the world has been shattered today. And there’s a chance he’ll never remember the details of what happened or even talk again. Our mind sometimes will suppress a tragic incident in order to cope with what happened.” He looked over at the door to Ben’s room. “That doesn’t mean it won’t affect the boy on a subconscious level.”

A sound to Taylor’s left brought him around to face Sierra as she came into the hallway. Grief had carved lines into her features, darkened her eyes. “How’s Ben?”

“He’s asleep right now.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Intense emotions are exhausting.” All Taylor had wanted to do when TJ had died was retreat from life and sleep.

Sierra’s mouth thinned into a tight line. “I want to find who did this.”

“And I don’t want Ben to overhear this conversation.” John turned toward the stairs. “Why don’t we go downstairs and discuss what needs to be done in the days to come.”

Taylor followed behind Sierra, descending the steps and crossing to the living room. In front of the large window stood a Christmas tree, laden with tiny white lights, red garland and dozens of ornaments, a lot of them appearing homemade. He felt as though he’d stepped into a Christmas store. Since his son died, he hadn’t even put up a tree.

Sierra took a seat on the couch at one end while he sat in a chair across from her. John joined her on the couch. For a long moment silence ruled.

John cleared his throat. “For the next few days, I’d like to visit with Ben here at this house. This is where he’s felt safe and secure. I’m hoping that will help him begin to bring down his walls.”

Sierra folded her hands together in her lap as she faced the doctor. “I’m concerned. He hasn’t said a word so far. And like I said, Ben is a talkative child. He never goes long without talking.”

“Selective mutism is often caused by trauma. If we can deal with the cause, he’ll hopefully begin to talk again. But if he does, that doesn’t mean he’ll pour out the details of what happened this morning. I want to give him techniques to deal with stress and trauma. I think one of the best ways for him will be through his art. He’s very good at drawing for his age. He may never be able to say what happened with words, but maybe he will in pictures.”

Taylor remembered the myriad illustrations plastered all over the large corkboard in Ben’s bedroom, not to mention some in frames hanging on the walls. He wondered if Michelle Sanders could help Ben get started. The teenager had a way with children and certainly knew about being involved in a traumatic situation. Two people had kidnapped her nephew while she had been babysitting him and had left her injured. He’d call her father, Dallas, and see what he thought about it.

“What should I do to help?” Sierra asked John, twisting her hands together while chewing on her bottom lip.

“Love him. Keep his routine as normal as possible. And make sure he feels safe.” John stood and gave her a business card. “Call me at any time if you need me. I’ll be back tomorrow at eight before I go in for my first appointment.”

“I’ll walk you out.” Taylor pushed to his feet and accompanied John into the foyer. At the front door he finally said, “Thanks for coming on such short notice. I didn’t know what to do at the clinic. He wouldn’t let go of me.”

“Anytime. We’ve been friends for a long time.” He shook Taylor’s hand. “You know, there’s a chance we’ll never know what happened from Ben.”

“But the killer doesn’t know that. That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Ben’s in good hands with you.”

As John left, a news van pulled up to the curb in front of the house. While Taylor gripped the edge of the door, a cameraman and woman reporter climbed from their vehicle and started for the porch. He immediately stepped outside and met the pair on the sidewalk leading to Sierra’s home.

“We understand Ben Markham was the only surviving person at the clinic. Has he said anything about the shooting? What does the killer look like? Can the boy identify him?”

Although the police had withheld Ben’s name, he’d known it wouldn’t take the press long to figure it out, and now the killer would know for sure there was a potential witness. In addition to working the case, now he needed to find a place to keep Ben safe from the media and possibly the shooter.

He threw his shoulders back in an imposing gesture as he made a statement. “The families of the victims are dealing with a difficult situation. Please respect their privacy and grief. The police department will be giving a statement later today. Do not trespass on this property, or I’ll arrest you.”

He spun around and marched to the porch while the reporter asked, “Why wasn’t Sierra Walker at the clinic? She’s the office manager.”

He felt the urge to slam the front door but refrained. He didn’t want to alarm Ben in any way. So he closed it quietly.

Sierra stood in the foyer with her arms folded over her chest. “I don’t want them to upset Ben any more than he already is. Are they leaving?”

Taylor headed into the living room and stared out the large front window. “No. They’re standing by their van. There’ll be more before the day is over.” He turned toward Sierra.

The ashen cast to her face highlighted her large, dark brown eyes. “No! They can’t. Ben will see them. They will scare him even more.”

“As long as they stay off your property, there’s little I can do except find you and Ben another place to stay for the time being. A place that the reporters don’t know about.”

Sierra eased down onto the couch. “Like what? A hotel?”

As a second car parked in front, Taylor left the window. “I have an idea. Y’all can stay with my dad. He lives in a small town right outside of San Antonio. He’s a retired Marine and loves children. My sister, who lives three hours away, has a nine-year-old daughter and a five-year-old son. Besides that, the holiday season is a big thing for my dad. It might help Ben to get away.” He didn’t know if it would, but the boy’s safety was the most important aspect to consider.

“We can’t impose. We can keep the blinds closed. The press might get tired of waiting.”

“First, you aren’t imposing. I know my dad. He would be the first to tell you to come to his place. I’ll be there, too. I think Ben needs to be protected until we find the shooter. It didn’t take long for the reporters to find where y’all were. The same can be said of the killer.” Taylor sat next to her on the sofa, so close a whiff of vanilla teased his senses. “Let me call him and—”

A piercing scream reverberated through the house.