Sarah Armstrong: Blood Lines Part 12

Maggie wound her way upstairs to bed about nine, after we spent the evening rotating between Emma Lous shed and Warriors stall. Mom and Bobby were at the barbecue cook-off on the rodeo grounds, most likely mingling with friends, and, I hoped, working in a few swings across the dance floor. Mom had worn a denim skirt and a suede top with fringe. She loved to two-step. Thinking of the old days, I closed my eyes and imagined the feel of Bills arm around my waist, the sway of our bodies across the dance floor, in unison yet apart. At its best, love was like two-stepping to a strong-beat country song. When the dance was good, two folks had someone to lean on and hold onto, someone who knew when the other needed s.p.a.ce and when all a person wanted was to be loved.

I closed my eyes and thoughts of Bill faded as I remembered Davids embrace, the smell of him, and the heat in his touch.

"Oh, heck," I thought, and minutes later I rooted through the fridge, where I discovered a second slice of armadillo cheesecake. "Gotta love Mom," I whispered. I grabbed a fork and the file on the top of the stack wed seized from Billie c.o.xs office and made myself comfortable at the kitchen table. The lab had called earlier in the day, and the dirt on Billies shoes was common in the Houston area, leading nowhere. I hoped the boxes of records proved more helpful. It turned into a long night. I combed through the files, inspecting each, skimming every page, without finding anything that appeared the least bit like evidence. Finally, I made my way down to Billies expense reports and credit-card bills. I pa.s.sed up the older doc.u.ments and started six months earlier, two months before Lena Suarez said she noticed "Miss Billie" going out more than usual.

What hit me right off was the size of the balance on c.o.xs platinum American Express card. It was paid off every thirty days but had a new balance in the twenty-thousand dollar range every month. Twenty grand a month on a credit card? When I thought about my paycheck, I felt embarra.s.sed. For what must have been the tenth time that day, I thought about the price of gas and shook my head. Somehow I felt pretty sure I was getting ripped off at the pumps.

First, I took out a sheet of paper and charted where all the money was going. Judging by what she wore in the crime-scene photos, I wasnt surprised that a bunch went for clothes, at least three grand a month at Saks and Neiman Marcus. Maybe the woman didnt wear anything more than once? Then there were the cla.s.sy restaurants, little French bistros and the fancy steak houses Id read about in the newspaper but never been to. When it came to travel, Billie made short hops to Dallas, San Antonio, and Austin, a two-day trip to Midland and three days in Amarillo. She, of course, stayed at the best hotels. Many, I figured, were business expenses, reimbursed by Century Oil. I wondered what the captain would say if I used my expense account to hit a steak house in Dallas on Sat.u.r.day, while I was there on the Collins case. Id order a thick porterhouse, one of those wedge salads, asparagus, and a good gla.s.s of cabernet.

Nah, I thought. That bird wont fly.

A couple of hours into it, I had c.o.xs credit cards charted, and I pulled out her expense reports and bank statements. As Id suspected, much of the Amex card was paid for by Century, including most of Billies clothes, which surprised me. Maybe when one is the head of an oil company a chichi wardrobe is a fringe benefit? Since the company was privately owned, it wasnt illegal. If anyone had a right to complain, it was Carlton Wagner, but hed approved and signed all the reports.

One check in Billies bank statements caught my attention, written a month earlier to a geological consultant. For some reason, Billie had paid fifty grand to the guy out of her own money-market account, and I couldnt find an entry for it on any of her expense accounts. Why would c.o.x lay out those kinds of funds to pay for what appeared to be a business expense and not be reimbursed, unless she didnt want anyone, even Wagner, to know shed hired the company?

I made notes on everything and put it into a file folder. The grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight, and I decided to check on the horses and then go to bed. In the shed, Emma Lou was still awake, her eyes drooping and sad. She must have been exhausted. Mom said shed hardly slept, just paced back and forth in the shed. I ran my hand over her long, muscular neck, and pushed her white mane to one side, then nuzzled up against her. "h.e.l.l be here soon, girl," I said. "Youll see. Warrior will be here soon."

In the stable, Warrior looked small and fragile. Maggie had fed him right before bed, but when he woke up and whinnied at me, I went inside, fixed a bottle, and sat with him while he slurped it up. He was undersized, that was true, but if the colt had as much thirst for life as he did for that bottle, hed make it, I decided. I planned to go up to the house to bed, but instead I sat with the colt, on a pile of straw, thinking wed keep each other company. Before long, his head lay on my lap, and we both drifted to sleep.

The next thing I remember I woke up and found David standing over me. It must have been morning, because daylight filled the stable, but Warrior was still asleep, his narrow head on my lap.

I thought at first that I might be dreaming, but then David knelt down, pulled a piece of straw out of my hair, and dropped it on the shed floor. He had the saddest look in his eyes, as if he saw me from very far away. He gazed at me longingly and brushed his hand over my cheek. Then he leaned forward and pulled me close, wrapping me in his strong arms. He felt as inviting as I remembered. His lips gentle, he kissed me long and hard, hungry, and the feelings I remembered from a year earlier, the ones Id fought so unsuccessfully to bury, stirred.

"I shouldnt have done that," he said, when our lips finally parted.

"No? Why not?" I said. "Tell me why not."

David said nothing, and I pulled him toward me, and this time I kissed him. His body responded, yielded. He held me and returned every bit of my pa.s.sion. Then, suddenly, Warrior jostled awake, and David pulled away, jolting up to his feet.

To my disappointment, he ran the back of his hand over his lips, wiping away all evidence of my kiss.

"Doc Larson is up at the house with Maggie and your mom. Theyll be here any minute," he said, his face flushed. Why did he pull away? "They were looking for you. I said Id check the stable."

"Lucky you found me," I said. "Lately, Ive been wondering if you saw me at all. Its good to know that I havent disappeared."

"Sarah, you are without exception the most . . . ," he started but didnt finish. Instead he grabbed my hands and brought me to my feet. As soon as I was upright, he let go and concentrated on removing the bits of straw that covered his pant legs and shoes. He brushed at his clothes, and said, "We cant let them find us like this."

My jeans and T-shirt were covered, and I picked off the larger bits, just as my family and Doc Larson bustled into the stable.

"We were looking for you, Sarah," Mom said. "Why did you sleep out here?"

"Just keeping Warrior company," I said. Maggie stared, first at me, then at David. Attempting to distract her, I asked, "So, whats the verdict?"

Doc had a grin that gave away the news before he spoke a word. "Its high time Warriors momma gets to know the little fella," he said. "No more of that d.a.m.n bacteria. Lets introduce the colt to Emma Lou. Let them spend a bit of quality time together."

Minutes later, we had Warrior moved into Emma Lous shed. The colt was done with the bottles and enjoying the real thing, courtesy of the mare who looked, if a horse can, proud as a new momma. As we stood and watched, I slipped my hand into Davids, but, to my disappointment, he pulled his away.

"I have a summary of the Internet reports on the Collins case Id like to share with you," he said. "Lets take them to the picnic table, and Ill show you what our lab guys sorted out."

Trying to hide my disappointment, I nodded. On the way to the corral, I ducked into the kitchen, poured two cups of coffee, grabbed a breath mint, and then met him at the picnic table.

"Are you going to explain to me whats going on?" I asked, once we were alone again. "That wasnt the kiss of a man whos lost interest."

David took a long sip of his coffee, and then frowned at me. "Sarah, we made a mistake last time, allowing ourselves to mix our personal lives in with our work," he said. "I dont want to make that mistake again."

"Is that really it?" I asked. I wasnt convinced. Last time, during the Lucas case, wed never let our attraction to each other get in the way of the investigation. It never became an issue. What was different now?

"Thats it," he said, looking me squarely in the eyes. "Now, lets talk about these Internet records."

An hour later, hed walked me through a complicated maze of e-mail addresses and text message records that traced a pattern across the country, leaving no clues to where they originated. "This Argus knows how to work the Web," David said. "Our computer lab guys have been working on this night and day without a break since I joined the case. They havent uncovered a single clue to where the text messages and e-mails are coming from."

"Pretty disappointing," I said.

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

"Well then, we go ahead as planned," I suggested. "We leave for Dallas this afternoon and do our best."

"What about Justin Peterson?" he asked. "Have you totally ruled that kid out as a suspect?"

"No," I said. "The captain has two undercover squads on duty tonight to keep track of him. Since hes our only suspect, Im not ready to walk away yet."

When Id poured the coffee, Id also retrieved the bag of teen magazines Id bought at the convenience store. "David, weve got four hours before the chopper takes off, and Ive got some research to do," I said. "If theres nothing more youre ready to talk to me about, I guess youd better leave. Ill meet you at the airport at one."

He looked at me for a moment but said nothing. Got up and left. Afterward, I thought about that kiss. I didnt believe for a minute his reluctance was about work. Something was going on with that man, but I had too much on my plate at the moment to spend a bunch of time trying to figure it out.

Twenty-one.

Our chopper landed at a heliport in downtown Dallas late that afternoon, on the roof of the convention center. Dallas P.D. had an unmarked squad car waiting, and David and I were at the redbrick-and-granite American Airlines Center minutes later, where we were summarily ushered through a side door. To my great frustration, the only thing Id accomplished on the c.o.x case before leaving the ranch that morning was a quick phone conversation with the geologist whod run the study. He confirmed that Billie paid for the work personally.

"It was kind of a strange deal. Am I going to get in trouble for this?" he asked. "I knew I was on someone elses land. c.o.x told me, but she was paying a bucket of money for such a small study. Ive got a kid in college, and I couldnt pa.s.s it up."

"Im not interested in a trespa.s.sing charge," I a.s.sured him. "This is a murder investigation. Just tell me how Miss c.o.x explained paying for the study on her own."

"I offered to invoice the company, but she said not to. She said she didnt want anyone to know about the work Id done," he said. "I thought it was really strange when she said especially the folks at her company, Century Oil. Part of the money was payment for keeping my mouth shut."

I couldnt help wondering, why?

Outside the arena, Id noticed a tour bus near the freight entrance, bright pink with b.u.t.terflies and Ca.s.sidy Collinss name scrolled across the sides, surrounded by uniformed Dallas P.D. officers. Inside the lobby, our heels clicked on terrazzo floors, and sweeping arched windows framed the citys ultramodern skyline. We had four hours until the concert, and in the arena proper all remained dark except a stage in the center of what was usually the Mavericks basketball court.

"Wheres the superstar?" I asked the Dallas P.D. sergeant who guided us in.

"The kids on the bus," he said. "Shes supposed to be here any minute for a sound check. That Barron guy, her security head, said to wait here."

With that, the sergeant left to make sure the equipment was in place for the door searches. Despite our instructions to stay put, David and I trekked down an aisle toward the stage, into a frenzy of activity. Wed already been informed that since she was playing in a sports stadium, not a traditional theater with all the equipment, Collins couldnt put on her whole show. The arena didnt have trapdoors to raise her up from below the stage or rafters to anchor her flying harness, so, both here and in Houston, thered be no gold coc.o.o.n or Peter Pan act. Instead the Dallas set consisted of a rather spartan round stage ringed with footlights and a canopy of spotlights. Still, there appeared to be a lot to do, and last-minute checks were being done by a crew who all seemed preoccupied with the smallest details. As we drew near, we were abruptly stopped.

"Stage pa.s.ses?" a man in a golf shirt and jeans with an identification card dangling around his neck demanded. The guy must have been six-foot-five, the muscles in his arms bulging like a professional bodybuilders.

I opened my black suit-jacket, flashing my badge, while David flipped his wallet open to display his, and the guy nodded. "Mr. Barron is expecting you," he said. "Ill let him know youre waiting."

"Boss, that Texas Ranger is here," Muscles said into a walkie-talkie the size of a cell phone. "The one you said to be on the lookout for, and a guy with an FBI badge."

"On my way," the answer crackled back.

"Show me how the audios fed into Miss Collinss earphones," I asked. Muscles nodded and led the way as we circled below the revolving stage. All around us workers double-checked electrical connections and repositioned props. Muscles stopped in front of three black tents set up on one side of the stage. Flaps were open, and inside I saw the kids wardrobe changes lined up on metal clothes racks and a fully stocked hair-and-makeup station. In the third tent, Muscles pointed out the mixer desk, a black panel the size of a small pickup truck bed, lit up like a pa.s.senger jet c.o.c.kpit.

"Meet our audio guy, Jake," he said. Jake, a kid adorned with silver earrings, two chin piercings, and a backward baseball cap, nodded, paying no more attention, everything focused on what he heard through his headset. Just then another mammoth of a man walked toward us, as immense as Muscles but dressed in a tie-less suit with narrow-framed sungla.s.ses dangling from his unb.u.t.toned shirt collar. He had one of those tanning-bed tans, unnaturally even, and brown hair bleached blond at the tips.

"Rick Barron," he said. We shook hands, and I introduced David. "Were glad you both came. Ca.s.sidy has been frantic waiting for you, Lieutenant. She should be here in a few minutes," Bar-ron said. "But I want to review things with you first. Is everything set up, all the arrangements we discussed on the telephone?"

"Everything," I said. "The search dogs are on their way to sweep the arena. The scanners are all in place at the doors. I a.s.sume you have the monitors I requested, to allow us to listen in on Miss Collinss audio feed?"

"Yes," he said. "And the recording device you suggested is hooked into the sound system, to record Arguss voice if he breaks in again."

"Great," I said. "My understanding is that David and I will be positioned in this tent with your audio person."

"Yeah," Barron said. "It was Ca.s.sidys decision. She wants to be able to see you from the stage."

"Thats right, because I want you close," a young voice said from behind. I turned and found Ca.s.sidy Collins, looking younger in person and without makeup than she did on the magazine covers, walking toward us. "I want to know youre there, because if that Argus dude makes a move, you need to be close."

"Ca.s.sidy, I was just explaining . . ." Barron interrupted.

"Yeah, I heard," she said.

"As I gather you know, Im Lieutenant Armstrong," I said, holding out my hand to greet the kid. Whether or not she was going to show some manners, I was. "And this is Agent Garrity, with the FBI. Theyre a.s.sisting us on this case."

"Thats great," Collins said, not even acknowledging my extended hand. "I dont care how many cops you need. Bring in everybody. Its cool with me. I want to get out of this stupid state alive. You need to get this creep outta my face. Understand?"

"That is, of course, our goal," David said. At the moment, I was too annoyed to speak.

"Great, then were all in sync," she said. "Im headed onto the stage for the sound check. Lady Cop, when Im done, you come with me to the bus. Make sure youve got your gun."

"Its right here," I said, patting my blazer. I didnt tell her who I fantasized scaring with that gun, but instead said what was bound to be the first in a long line of such corrections, "But the name is Lieutenant Sarah Armstrong, not Lady Cop."

"Thats great," she said. "Ill call you Sarah."

"Id rather you didnt," I started.

"Be here when I get back, Sarah," she said. Ignoring my objection, she turned her back and quickly clambered up the wooden ramp that led to the stage.

Frowning at David, I put on a headset Jake handed me, and the audio started. David did the same, and within a few moments Collinss backup band kicked in. They ran through a few bars of a song I didnt recognize, and then Collins began to sing. All I could hear through the headset were the drums and backup singers. I motioned for Barron.

"Somethings wrong," I said. "I cant hear everything."

"Youre hearing what you asked for, what Ca.s.sie hears. Thats a feed off her monitor," he said. "Jake can plug in anything she wants, but all she likes are the drums and vocals, to keep her on time and in tune."

"Oh," I said. "Got it."

David nodded at me and shook his head, and I figured he felt as out of place as I did. By then the dogs had arrived, and we could see them circulating with their handlers through the boxes and seats. "You can live your life, just do it right," Ca.s.sie sang.

Sure, I thought, my mind sarcastically adding, if right is to be a spoiled brat. I gave up on that thought, concentrating on the dogs scouting the American Airlines Center and keeping track of the goings on around the stage. I didnt know any of the folks in the arena, but everyone seemed comfortable, like they belonged. The sound check went without a hitch, except for one time, for some unknown reason, when Collins snarled at the prop manager. He groaned and whispered a rather colorful string of expletives as he walked past me. Moments later, Collins clomped down from the stage, motioning toward me. I sighed, handed my headphones to David, and we were off.

Inside the bus was dressed to the nines, as Mom likes to say, posh furniture covered in taupe suede and granite countertops in the small kitchen. Collins had a bedroom at the rear, which she lost no time in disappearing into the moment we entered the bus, slamming the door behind her. A plump woman dressed in black leggings and a big sweater introduced herself as Germaine Dunn, Ca.s.sies stylist, and apologized for the kid.

"Ca.s.sies been under a lot of pressure," Dunn said. "Dont take it personally."

"To take it personally, I have to a.s.sume she realizes Im a person," I said. "That doesnt appear to be the situation."

Dunn let loose a hoa.r.s.e, gruff, cigarette laugh. Her red-and-banana-yellow-streaked hair seemed to fit her come-what-may demeanor. The woman was so laid back, I figured it would take an elephant crashing through the trailer roof to surprise her. Still, her face was well lined, like shed experienced more than her share of lifes disappointments.

"That girl always so polite?" I asked.

"No," Dunn said. "Shes got on her best manners because she likes you." I laughed, and then she went on. "Ca.s.sidys really not a bad kid, Lieutenant. I think most of the tough stuff is an act. She can be really sweet. Shes just been kicked around a lot in life, and shes scared right now, more than shed admit."

"I can understand that," I said. "So what happens now?"

"Ca.s.sidy rests for about an hour, gets up and eats a burger and fries, and then the dressers come in and get her ready for her performance," she said.

"Okay. Youre secure here with the guards outside. Im heading back to the arena. Ill pop in later to escort her to the stage."

"No," Germaine snapped, looking alarmed. "Like I said, Ca.s.sies scared. Sh.e.l.l freak if youre not here. The kid may act tough, but she really is spooked. We promised the world to get her here. We told her that you and the other cops would protect her, no matter what."

Thats great, I thought. No pressure here.

I considered what had to be done inside the stadium and reasoned the others had it covered. To make sure, I called David. Once he rea.s.sured me that everything was on schedule, I took my jacket off, claimed the seat opposite the stylists, slumped back into the chair, and stretched out my legs, one gray lizard-skin cowboy boot propped up on the other. With all the commotion at the ranch, I hadnt had a bunch of sleep lately. There was enough security in the surrounding area to protect a president, so I figured I was ent.i.tled. That was before I looked over at Dunn and thought maybe there was a better way to spend my time.

"So tell me about the superstar," I said. "Anything you think I should know."

"Well, since you asked, like I said, you have to give the kid a break, Lieutenant," she said. "Ca.s.sie acts tough, but shes just a sixteen-year-old whos lived the life from h.e.l.l."

"Yeah," I scoffed. Id read all the celeb rags, with pictures of the mansion and Ca.s.sidy standing in her closet, the size of my living room. "I guess a fortune to spend any way she wants and the adoration of millions can be tiring."

The woman smacked her lips in disapproval. "That may be how shes living, but thats not Ca.s.sie. I dont know a lot about the kid, she keeps her past to herself, but my impression is she came from nothing, no money, no one to rely on. I know her mom died, and I havent heard her mention a father," Dunn explained. "The only thing that made a difference was that Ca.s.sidy could sing. No one gave that girl a free ride. Shes had to sc.r.a.pe for everything. That tends to make most kids a bit harsh."

"Tough breaks," I said. "Hard way to grow up. So she doesnt have any family?"

"I dont think so. If she does, Ive never heard about or met any of them," Dunn said. "I guess all of us, the crew, were the closest she has to a family, but even with us, she keeps a distance."

I nodded. "Have you got any theories about this stalker, this Argus?" I asked.