Sarah Armstrong: Singularity Part 10

"Santos said shes dead. Is Mary dead?" she asked, her shoulders stooped, her hands spotted from decades of exposure to the sun, trembling with age.

"Yes," I said. "Marys dead."

"No, Dios mio" she cried. "How could someone kill Mary? How could he do this? She was such a good woman, a wonderful mother."

Lily sobbed for a few moments, Detective Morales helping to support her as she appeared ready to collapse from the weight of the tragedy.

"Senora Salas," Morales said, softly. "Dgalos. Tell the officers what you saw."

Slowly she fought back the tears, collecting her thoughts.

"Senora Salas," I prodded, holding her frail hand in mine. "Please help us find the person who did this to Mary."

She nodded and took a long steady breath.

"Last night," she said. "I saw a man, outside, on the street. Dressed all in black. I nearly hit him with my car, when I drove home from the market. I didnt see him until he was before me, and I could hardly stop."

"What did he look like?" David asked.

"Young, about the age of my grandson, Ramon. Maybe nineteen, as old as twenty-four or twenty-five, no older, I think. He had blond hair, long and straight. And he had terrible eyes, blue eyes, like ice, cold and dead. I rolled down my window and apologized. I said, 'I am sorry. I did not see you in the dark all dressed in black. I think, nothing is really hurt. I didnt touch him. At the most he is maybe frightened. But he is not frightened. I can tell by the way he says nothing, just looks at me with those eyes, peligroso, muy peligroso."

"Dangerous," Detective Morales interpreted. "Senora Salas is saying that the man looked dangerous."

Lily fell silent, lost in her thoughts.

"Tell us what happened then," I asked.

She nodded and continued. "I was frightened, very frightened. How I knew this man was bad, I cant explain. Its like I know other things in life," she said, her hand fluttering to her heart and then her head. "It is here, inside me, that something told me to say nothing more. I roll my window quickly up and I drive home. Just here, it happened, a few houses from my home. He stood there," she said, pointing perhaps a hundred feet away. "And he watched me, even until I walked inside and locked my doors."

"What time was this?"

"Maybe eight, a little earlier."

"What happened next?"

"A little while later, I am watching television, and Perroito begins racket that is so loud, I know something is not right."

"Perroito?"

"My dog. He is in my backyard, fenced up. I name him Little Dog, but he is big and very mean."

"And then?"

"I look out the windows but see nothing. I listen but hear nothing, until I hear Mary drive up, just like every night after work at the restaurant," she said, her eyes filling with fresh tears. "And then nothing more happens, nothing until Santos runs to my house screaming that Mary is dead, that someone has slaughtered her like a beef or a hen."

Two hours, I thought. The dog barked, and if he planned to make Lily Salas his next victim, he knew hed lost any hope of surprise. Instead, it was Mary. She drove up, parked her car, walked inside. He saw her. Climbed through the rear window. Perhaps he confronted her then. Maybe he waited, watching her undress, watching her prepare for a night with Santos. And then...two hours later she died. Perhaps she begged for death when it finally, mercifully, came.

"Thank you, Senora Salas. This is very helpful," I said. "Would you do something for me?" I asked.

"Anything."

"Would you sit down and talk to me, tell me what this man looked like, while I draw what you remember?"

Lily Salas nodded.

We sat in her living room together, alone, Lily Salas and I, while she described the details that made up the mans face. I carefully monitored every word I said, not wanting to implant any images in Lilys mind, to in any way distort her memory. I wanted her clear, unpolluted recollection of the killers face. In college Id sketched portraits of my friends; now I drew a brutal serial killer.

"Around here, the chin, it was round but not too round. The cheeks were very high, thin. He carried little weight in his face, in his body. A slight young man, all bone," she said.

With a charcoal pencil on a sketch pad the detective had sent to the scene for me, I outlined a lean, thin face with a slightly rounded chin.

"No," Lily said. "Thats not right. Make his chin longer and he was thinner in the cheeks. Very thin and long, but at the base of the chin round."

I erased and began again. "Ah, thats right," she said. "And let me tell you about the mouth..."

Ninety minutes later, Lily looked down at the face wed drawn together and nodded.

"Thats him," she said. Shed remembered incredible detail, so much more than most witnesses. Her memory was fresh, and it helped that shed had time to look at the man before she became frightened of him, before her mind switched from curiosity of the stranger to alarm.

Back at Mary Gonzaless house, where David waited for me, I gave the sketch to Morales.

"Fax us a copy as soon as you get to the office," I said. "Then start using it to canva.s.s the neighborhood and in the local newspaper."

"Itll be waiting for you in your office when you land in Houston," Morales said, as I shook his hand.

"Well, well be going then," David said to Morales. "Well be in touch with you later this afternoon, when were back in Houston, to find out what else youve uncovered. Fax us a copy of the fingerprint fragment as soon as you can, too?"

"Certainly," said Morales. "Along with anything else were able to pull together from the scene."

"Thank you," I said. Then, turning to Lily, I added, "Senora Salas, I thank you. What youve done tonight may help us stop this animal."

"I will do everything I can to stop this beast," she said. "Anything."

"I am truly sorry for your loss," I said. "I can tell that you adored Mary and her children."

"She was a good woman, a good mother," she said. "Why would anyone do such a thing?"

"For some questions, there are never good answers," David said, taking the old womans hand in his. "Perhaps you can help Detective Morales and Senor Maida help find the childrens grandparents in Mexico?"

"I can," she said, her face brightening at the prospect. "I know the village where they live in Oaxaca. Mary told me once. And I know her mothers name."

"Good," I said. "That will make it easier to reunite them with family."

Wed been there for nearly five hours, and I hadnt noticed the press milling on the street in front of the house until David and I walked toward his car, but theyd obviously noticed us, and one of them, a photographer, fired off frames before wed even reached them. A man I judged to be his counterpart, the reporter he traveled with, ran toward me.

"Lieutenant Armstrong," he shouted. A wiry man in his thirties with a bristly manner, he followed along beside us as we hurried past. "Is this murder in any way connected to the killings of Edward Lucas and Annmarie Knowles?"

Startled, I turned to confront him.

"What?"

"Evan Matthews of the Galveston County Daily News," he said, extending his hand.

I didnt take it.

"Im working on an article on the Lucas murders, and Ive been told by someone close to the investigation that you and Agent Garrity have an alternate theory, that you believe those deaths can be linked to others, and that theyre all the work of a serial killer."

I said nothing, as David nudged my shoulder and urged me away.

"Shouldnt people be warned if this is the work of a serial killer?" Matthews shouted. "Shouldnt they be told to take precautions?"

How could he have known! I wondered. Who told him about the Gonzales murder so quickly that he made his way to San Antonio to confront us here?

David and I rushed to the rented green Saturn Ion. He hit the keypad and the locks popped open. I swung open the door and got in, just as Matthews inserted his knee between the car and the open door.

"Lieutenant, do you deny that you and Agent Garrity are investigating a serial killer and that you believe this killer is actually the one responsible for the Galveston double murder?" he prodded.

"Youre off base here, Matthews," David shouted.

"Am I, Agent Garrity?" he asked. "Is that true, Lieutenant Armstrong?"

I said nothing.

"Didnt you, in fact, argue strenuously against charging Priscilla Lucas with solicitation of murder?"

"This is an ongoing investigation," shouted David. "Well make no comments at this time."

"Is that true, Lieutenant?"

Finally regaining my composure, I pulled on the door. "I have no comment on this case, the Galveston murders, or any other case currently under investigation," I said, vainly attempting to push Matthews out of the way. He didnt move.

"Dont you have a theory that this murder is linked to the Galveston killings? Isnt that why youre both here," he shouted, as I pulled harder, this time succeeding in pushing him back and slamming the door hard on the tip of his knee.

"d.a.m.n," he cursed, as he pulled his leg out in obvious pain. "d.a.m.n it, Lieutenant, just answer the question."

I yanked the door shut and David threw a U-turn, gunned the engine and we were gone. As we drove toward the airport where the chopper waited to take us home, he shot me an exasperated glance.

"How did he know all of that?" he charged. I could see the anger in his hands as he gripped the steering wheel. "Did you tell anyone, anyone at all what we were working on?"

"No," I answered. "Dont you know me better than that?"

David was angry, furious at the confrontation with Matthews. "So how did he find out?"

"I dont know."

"Take a guess."

"Someone in Galveston is talking. Nelson, Scoggins, maybe Judge McLamore?" I said. Then I mentioned something Id kept to myself about my meeting the day before. "All I know is that when I got to Priscilla Luca.s.s house, her father knew wed argued against charging his daughter with solicitation of murder and that we were chasing a suspected serial killer."

"You didnt confirm that?"

"No," I said. "I didnt deny it, but I told them nothing about the investigation."

"Come on, Sarah," he chastised. "Think about it. You didnt have to confirm it. That you wouldnt voice some kind of a denial, even a vague one, was enough for him to call Matthews and clue him in. What better for his daughters defense than for the newspapers to contaminate the Galveston jury pool with speculation about a serial killer?"

"David, this isnt coming from me and it isnt coming from Bobby Barker, at least not without a police source, a well-placed informant. Barker had no way of knowing about Mary Gonzaless murder so quickly. Its got to be, as Matthews said, someone close to the investigation. He must have gotten the call and left for San Antonio not long after we did."

David thought about that for a minute. "So whos responsible?"

"My guess is Nelson."

"Why?"

"I dont think Nelson needs a reason, that he dislikes me is enough," I snapped. "But the truth is that weve got history between us, not a good situation, and sticking me in the hot seat wouldnt give him a moments hesitation."

David chewed on that for a few minutes, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm but strained. "Lets not jump to conclusions," he said. "Why would Nelson jeopardize his own investigation?"

"Maybe he doesnt see it that way," I speculated. "Or maybe he wants me in a position to take the blame if his case against Priscilla Lucas falls apart. We both know that the evidence he and Scroggins pulled together is full of holes. A good defense attorney will make fools of them."

"Well. Maybe," he said, considering the possibility. "Nelson could be setting you up as a scapegoat."

"So, where does that leave us?"

David considered the possibilities.

"However it happened, youre now in the frying pan with flames licking the sides," he said, with an angry frown. "Wed better find this killer before you end up in the fire."

Fifteen.

Sarah," Mom called out the following morning, a Friday. "Youve got a phone call."

"The phone?"

"The captain," she said.

I stepped out of the shower, toweled off and threw on a robe.

After leaving San Antonio, the rest of the previous day had been long and unproductive. David and I went over the Mary Gonzales homicide in detail with the captain, and then followed with a briefing session for Nelson and Scroggins. Wed been ordered to bring them up to date, but they were less than grateful. In fact, they showed up at the office loaded for bear, ready to shoot down any and all theories that didnt implicate Priscilla Lucas. I finally gave up and kept my mouth shut while David contended with them. Still, I couldnt keep from watching Nelson, wondering if he was the one whod tipped off the reporter. I purposely didnt mention the confrontation with Evan Matthews to the captain. David and I decided I hadnt really given him anything to run with. Why cause a problem when none existed? At least, thats the way we saw it at the time.

"Armstrong here."