Читать книгу Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing - Rita Herron - Страница 12
ОглавлениеOn the way to Cherokee Crossing, Jaxon stopped for lunch at a barbecue joint, wolfed down a sandwich, then looked up the number for the attorney interested in Tierney’s case. The receptionist patched him through immediately.
“Sergeant Ward, I talked to Avery Tierney earlier. She said you were investigating the murder conviction.”
“I am,” Jaxon admitted. “Did you find anything that might exonerate Hank?”
“Nothing specific,” Ms. Ellis replied. “I just had a feeling when I read the story that there was more to it. Foster-care kids get bum deals. I wanted to know more.”
“You may be right.”
“Listen,” Ms. Ellis said, “if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. If that man is innocent as his sister claims, he deserves justice.”
He agreed with her on that. “Thank you. Call me if you learn anything that might be helpful.”
He hung up, then used his tablet to access police databases and search for Joleen Mulligan. It didn’t take long to find her. She had a rap sheet.
Two DUIs and an arrest for possession of narcotics. She’d also been dropped as a foster parent after Mulligan’s death, so she’d resorted to government assistance and project housing.
Jaxon phoned a friend with social services—Casey Chambers, a young woman in her twenties whose parents had been killed when she was twelve, throwing her into the system. She’d seen enough of it to want to help other kids get out like she had.
“Hey, Jaxon, what can I do for you?”
“I need some background information on a case that came through the social service agency twenty years ago.”
“What’s this about?”
“The Hank Tierney murder conviction.”
“You’re looking in to that?” Casey made a soft sound in her throat. “I’ve seen the protestors, and I heard some young lawyer was asking questions, too. Is that true?”
“Yeah. I was at the prison and some questions have come up regarding the conviction. I need contact information for the social worker who placed Hank and his sister, Avery, in the Mulligans’ home. Her first name was Delia.”
“That was a long time ago and the agency has a pretty high turnover rate. Burnout and all.”
“I understand. But can you find it?”
“I’ll see what I can do and get back with you.”
“Thanks, Casey.”
“Jaxon, what do you think? I read about the murder and the guy’s confession. He admitted to stabbing the man. But something doesn’t ring right to me.”
Avery’s pain-filled eyes taunted him. “I know. That’s why I want to talk to the social worker.”
A hesitation. “Jax?”
“Don’t repeat that to anyone,” he said. “Just get me that information.”
“You got it.”
The waitress brought his check, and he paid the bill and left her a nice tip, then drove toward the courthouse. The land seemed even more deserted with winter taking its toll. Everything looked desolate, deserted, dry, almost like a ghost town.
Cherokee Crossing looked like a throwback in a Western movie with a bar/saloon in the heart of town, and a tack-and-boot store beside it. Life moved slower here. Residents told stories about the Cherokee Indians being the dominant tribe in the area, and the canyon that had literally and figuratively divided the Native Americans and early settlers.
The town had been built to bridge that gap.
Jaxon parked in front of the county courthouse, noting the parking lot was nearly empty. It was four-thirty; people were heading home for the day. He parked next to a pickup, then strode up the sidewalk to the courthouse steps. He identified himself, then went through security and headed to the clerk’s office.
He greeted the secretary, reminding himself to use his charm. Death penalty cases were always controversial and stirred emotional reactions on all sides.
Alienating people would not get him what he wanted. Avery’s tormented expression haunted him. He hoped to hell he wasn’t being a sucker and being lured into believing an act.
Maybe the social worker could shed some light on the situation. He also needed to review the trial transcripts, study the way the lawyers handled the case, make sure nothing was overlooked or evidence hadn’t gotten lost, misplaced or intentionally omitted.
Roberta, the clerk in charge of records, was always friendly and knew more about the goings-on in the courthouse than anyone else. She’d also worked with the court system for thirty years.
Jaxon had only been a year older than Hank Tierney when Hank was arrested. That was probably one reason he remembered the case so well.
It had been all over the news. Jaxon’s uncle, the only living relative he’d had at the time, was disabled and had watched the story with him, then had a come-to-Jesus talk with Jaxon. He’d told him he was going to end up like Hank Tierney one day if he didn’t get his act together.
Unable to raise him, that uncle had shipped Jaxon to a military school, where he’d learned to be a man. He’d hated it at first.
But looking back, he now saw that that school had saved him from going down the wrong path.
“Hi, Roberta, I need some help. Can you get me a copy of the transcripts of Hank Tierney’s trial twenty years ago?”
Roberta’s eyebrows climbed. “The Tierney man who’s about to die?”
“Yes. My director wants me to review the matter because of some young lawyer looking to get the conviction overturned.”
Roberta sighed. “I always felt sorry for that boy and girl. Folks said the boy was scary, that he stabbed that man a bunch of times, but if you ask me, something else was going on in that house. Something nobody wanted to talk about.”
“You remember the trial?” Jaxon asked.
“Of course.” She reached for a set of keys in her drawer. “Never forget how terrified that poor child looked when the reporters pounced on her. That young’un was scared to death. Something bad happened to her, I tell you. Children don’t look like that unless they’ve seen real-life monsters.”
True.
She ambled around the side of the desk. “Those files are old, Sergeant. They’ll be archived downstairs.”
“That’s fine. Can you find them and make a copy for me?”
“Sure. But it might take a few minutes.”
“No problem. I’ll be glad to wait.”
She maneuvered her bulk toward the door and walked down the hall. Jaxon phoned Avery. She answered on the third ring. “Hello.”
“Avery, this is Sergeant Jaxon Ward. I found an address for Joleen Mulligan. I’m going to visit her tonight.”
Her breathing rattled in the silence that fell between them. “I’ll call you after I talk to her,” he said.
“No,” Avery said in a shaky voice. “I want to go with you.”
Jaxon gritted his teeth. “Are you sure you’re up for that?”
“No,” she said softly. “But I’m the reason my brother is in this mess. It’s my place to get him out.”
A wealth of guilt underscored her words.
Jaxon found himself wanting to erase that guilt. But that might not be possible. Chances were slim that they could get her brother’s execution postponed, and even slimmer that they could prove him innocent and free him.
* * *
AVERY LOWERED HER head between her legs and inhaled slow, even breaths just as her therapist had instructed to do to ward off panic attacks.
That had been years ago, although occasionally old fears swept over her when she least expected it. The least little thing could trigger a reaction.
A sudden dimming of lights. A noise. The sound of someone breathing too hard. The smell of smoke or...body sweat.
And cologne, the one Mulligan wore. The musty smell hadn’t mixed well with the rancid odor of his beer breath.
“Avery?”
The Texas Ranger’s voice startled her, jerking her back to reality. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to pick you up, or do you want me to meet you somewhere?”
Her first reaction was to meet him. She didn’t like to be in enclosed spaces with men. But Jaxon Ward was a law officer, and he was trying to help her.
He’d think she was strange, rude, maybe paranoid or unstable if she balked at riding in the car with him.
“I’m almost to my house if you want to meet me there.”
“Fine. I’m at the county courthouse. It’ll probably be a while before I leave. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“That works.” She needed that hour to pull herself together. Maybe do some yoga to relax and focus her energy on her well-being.
On the fact that she had survived the Mulligan abuse and family years ago, and she was an adult now. Joleen Mulligan couldn’t hurt her.
She wouldn’t let her.
* * *
BY THE TIME Roberta returned with the files, it was already getting dark outside.
“I had to dig deep,” Roberta said. “But you have to sign in to have access, and that took a while. The guard in charge asked a half dozen questions. Said you were the second person in two weeks to ask for a copy of the trial transcripts and copy of the police investigation report.”
“Did he mention who else made the request?”
“That lawyer, Ellis. Said she was gonna talk to Hank Tierney, too.”
“Thanks, Roberta,” Jaxon said. “You take care.”
Roberta caught him by the arm before he could leave. “You do right by them, Mr. Jaxon, you hear me? They were just kids when all that went down.”
She was obviously sympathetic to Avery and her brother.
“I will,” he said, although he couldn’t make any promises to her, either. When Landers found out what he was up to, he might pull him from the case.
Or fire his butt.
Tension knotted his shoulders as he carried the file through the building and outside to his SUV. The sky had turned a dismal gloomy gray while he was inside, the sound of thunder rumbling.
Texas temperatures could drop quickly, and the chill of the night was setting in.
He checked his phone for Avery’s address as he climbed into his SUV, his pulse quickening when he realized she lived only a few miles from the government-funded project housing where Joleen Mulligan had spent the past few years.
As he expected, traffic was thin. The storm clouds gathered and rolled over the horizon, making it look bleak for the night. He maneuvered through the small town, around the square, then turned down Birch Drive, a street lined with birch trees.
The houses were small, rustic and quaint, but even with winter, the yards looked well-kept. A few had toys indicating small children, a Western theme evident in the iron mailboxes that all sported horses on the top of the barn-shaped boxes.
Avery’s house was the last one on the right, with flower boxes and a windmill in the front yard. He couldn’t see the back, but it was fenced in, which surprised him since the land didn’t back up to anything else. Then again, she might have a dog.
He pulled up behind a Pathfinder and shifted into Park, then climbed out, reminding himself that he was here on a job.
Not because meeting Avery Tierney sparked an attraction that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Hell, the woman had been abused as a child. That fact alone warned him to keep his distance. He had no idea what kind of scars she carried inside her, but he’d bet his life trusting men wasn’t high on her list.
A bad side effect of foster life—kids grew up learning not to get attached. They were shuffled around so much, and it hurt too much to leave friends and people behind.
Besides, Avery was a case, nothing more. At least if he investigated, maybe he could sleep without those wounded, pain-filled eyes haunting him, telling him that he should have done something other than accept everyone’s word that Hank Tierney deserved to die.
He punched the brass doorbell, then heard footsteps clattering inside. Seconds later, Avery opened the door.
He grew very still when he saw her pale face. Obviously today’s visit at the prison had done a number on her.
What would facing the woman who should have protected her from that monster Mulligan do to her tonight?
* * *
AVERY PASTED ON a brave face, determined not to let Sergeant Ward see how the idea of confronting Joleen Mulligan was affecting her.
“Are you ready?”
She clutched her purse strap and nodded, but her heart was pounding as she locked the front door and followed him to his vehicle. She reached for the door handle and startled when he beat her to it and opened it for her.
Her nerves raw, she twisted her head up to look at him.
“I’m just opening the door for you,” he said. “Relax, Avery. I’m trying to help you.”
“Why?” The question flew from her mouth before she could stop herself from asking.
