“I heard a scream,” she told Logan and the two local officers.
“It might’ve been those dratted birds,” the older one said.
“And it might not have,” Kelsey insisted. “We’ve got to go in.”
“Cover the back,” Logan said tersely. The officers moved around the side of the house, while he and Kelsey hurried toward the front door.
They didn’t have to break in; it was open. When they walked inside, they discovered a sunken living room with white and brown furniture, chrome and glass tables, and the finest in ultramodern luxury. There were two filled wineglasses on the coffee table, neither of them touched. Logan headed toward the kitchen and family room, and Kelsey hurried down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
She found Jeff Chasson’s room easily enough. It was filled with pictures of him posing with various actors, many of them stars. She didn’t focus on the pictures, but on the bed.
It was wildly rumpled, sheets half on the floor, pillows scattered.
A moment’s relief swept through her.
Well, she was pretty sure she knew where Sandy had spent most of the night.
Logan came up behind her. “I think we know where Sandy was, and what she was doing,” he said lightly, echoing her own thought.
“Still, she left the inn with nothing? No purse, no keys, no overnight bag…”
“Maybe she thought she was just going out for a while,” Logan said.
“So where is she now?”
“Where’s Jeff Chasson? Neither of them are answering their cells. Maybe they decided on a romantic interlude.”
“Sandy wouldn’t just walk off. She would’ve told me, or if she’s angry with me because of what I started, she certainly would have told Ricky. She stuck him with a real mess,” Kelsey said.
Logan listened to her, but then shook his head. “We’re already on dangerous ground, Kelsey. Sandy is an adult and she hasn’t been missing twenty-four hours. Jeff Chasson’s an adult, too—chronologically speaking—and at the moment, we’re guilty of breaking and entering. They might’ve had such a magnificent, tumultuous night that they went somewhere for a few days. And maybe Sandy’s angrier at you than you think.”
“We don’t know that Sandy was the one who shared this bed with Chasson,” Kelsey said. “And no matter how angry she might be with me, she loves the Longhorn. She would never just walk away from it. Besides,” she added, “the front door was open!”
“But there’s no sign of foul play here,” Logan said.
“Yes, there is.”
“What?”
“The birds,” she said. “The birds are everywhere. Something definitely happened here.”
Logan looked across the table at Ned Bixby. He sat with his attorney, who appeared to be frustrated. The guy was young, a civil servant, and Logan was sure that nothing in law school had prepared him for a client who wanted to confess to everything.
Since Logan was now convinced that Bixby hadn’t even killed his own wife, he knew that he had to trip the man up. “Tell me about the way you stabbed your wife, Ned. It’s important that we get the details.”
Bixby stared back at him. “I don’t remember.”
“Sure you do. She was your wife. You loved her. Were you angry? Furious that she wanted to leave you and sleep with other men? I mean, that’s what you believed, right?”
“She didn’t want me,” he said quietly. He looked down at his hands. “I drove her away.”
“You drove her away because you wanted to control her with your love?”
“I…I expected too much. Please, I said I did it. I don’t need a trial. I did it. I killed her. I killed them all.”
Logan leaned forward. “If you make a confession like that, Ned, and law enforcement is pulled off the case, more women could die. Do you want that to happen?”
“Okay, I didn’t kill them all. But I killed Cynthia.”
“So tell me about the knife.”
Bixby was crying again, tears streaming down his cheeks. “What’s to tell? It was a knife. A carving knife, I guess. I grabbed it out of the holder in the kitchen. I thrust it into her heart.”
“Ned,” Logan said wearily, “we’re going to release you.”
Ned Bixby gaped at him. “But…I just confessed to killing my wife!”
“You didn’t kill her, Ned. Cynthia wasn’t stabbed. She drowned.”
“What do the details matter? She was in the bathtub. I was so angry, I forced her head under the water,” Bixby said.
The young attorney shook his head and lifted his hands. “He wants to be convicted.”
Logan eased back in his chair, looking at Bixby. “Ned,” he began, “you didn’t kill your wife, but you feel responsible. You believe that if you hadn’t been so possessive and dictatorial, she wouldn’t have left you, and if she hadn’t left you, she wouldn’t be dead. But what you’re doing is wrong. You didn’t kill Cynthia, and what you don’t see is that now her killer could get away with it.”
Bixby’s face contorted with anger. “I did it. I am responsible,” he said. He frowned at Logan. “I thought I was fine. I thought I could live without her. But then you showed me…her body.”
Logan rose. He walked around and set a hand on Bixby’s shoulder. “She’s gone, and you didn’t do it. Get angry again because she was someone you loved, and she’s dead, murdered.” He pulled a chair closer to Bixby. “Tell me about her, Ned. Did she like the Congregational church a lot? Did she like music? Was she a dancer? Did she like jewelry? Did she prefer romantic comedies or horror movies or what? Help me out here.”
Bixby inhaled on a deep, rattling breath. “She was full of light. She sang around the house.” He paused. “She loved being in San Antonio. She’d go to the Alamo and just sit in the plaza and stare at the old chapel. She told me she could see them—that she could see the ghosts there. I’d laugh at her, and she’d be indignant and tell me that there could be a plane somewhere between this life and the next one, and I shouldn’t be such a skeptic. She was happy about the ghosts she saw. She said it meant there was another world, one where everyone was happy.” He winced. “I didn’t make her happy.”
“Ned, she did leave you, right? You saw her leave, as in take her things and walk out of your home, right?” Logan asked.
He nodded. “But she didn’t take much. She just wanted out.”
“Did you two have a computer?”
Bixby nodded.
“May I have it?”
Again, Bixby nodded.
Logan straightened and turned to the young attorney. “I’ll see about getting all the charges against him dismissed.”
The attorney looked as if he was about to kiss him. Logan stepped away.
Kelsey stood with Sean at the rear of the internet café. The business offered dozens of computers as well as coffee, sandwiches and pastries. The manager, Shelby Horton, was a harried man in a full apron and a hair snood who wanted to be helpful, but also wanted to get them out as quickly as possible.
“As many as a hundred people come in here on a typical day,” he said. “Tall, short, men, women…so many of the hotels still charge for internet, and guests don’t want to pay. I have strangers and locals and—”
“How about Jeff Chasson?” Kelsey asked. “Do you know who he is?”
Horton arched his eyebrows. “Actually, he has been here. He sometimes comes in when he’s working on local shoots. He acts like he’s afraid he’s being followed or fans are going to come screaming after him. Frankly, not that many people even notice him. He’s not that big a celebrity.”
“But he comes in regularly?”
Horton nodded.
“What about the newspaper guy—Ted Murphy?” Sean asked.
“He’s always in here. I guess he thinks he’ll hear something, pick up some gossip and scoop the wire services, but he’s crazy. Moms come in to connect with their kids. My computers all have Skype. Soldiers come in—we’re not far from several bases and major military hospitals. Yeah, maybe Murphy thinks he’s going to overhear some national secrets. Oh, and we get the cowboys. Now, that’s funny. The guys in their rodeo getups pecking away at the keyboards. We get all kinds here.”
“We’re looking for someone who logs in as Mr.Alamo,” Sean told him.
“I have no idea what people log in as,” Horton said. “Did you trace it?”
“The name is on a free service. The address is fake, the phone number’s fake, everything about it is fake.”
Kelsey produced her badge. “Mr. Horton, someone is logging in from here to contact women and lure them to the Alamo—and their deaths. We need your help.”
The man froze. He turned white. “Oh, my God. You’re talking about all the murders…the women who had their pictures in the paper.”
“I’m afraid I am. What I need is for Sean to spend the day here, searching through your computers.”
“I can be discreet,” Sean promised.
“I’m figuring you could get a warrant if you wanted, anyway, except… Oh, God, I’d never make you do that. I…oh. Oh, God,” Horton said.
“I’ll leave the two of you together then.” Kelsey flashed Sean a smile and headed out, then paused and turned back. “Mr. Horton, what about interpreters? Actors in costume, say, from the time of the Alamo?”
Horton waved a hand in the air. “Sure!” he said. “Those guys and gals are stranger than the cowboys. They’re pretty funny-looking in their period clothing, hunched over computers.”
“Thank you.”
Hurrying out of the internet café, Kelsey walked back to the Longhorn.
Tyler Montague was still on guard, and Kelsey noticed that he was making a point of talking to the men at the bar.
