“Melissa, what about the cameras around Second Chances?”

“Based on Macy Crow’s ATM receipt, I did locate her three blocks from Second Chances five minutes before she was hit. The dark truck that was identified as stolen passes behind her. I’ve taken a freeze-frame of the driver. It’s only a partial and it’s fuzzy, but I’m trying to enhance it as much as I can. That’s going to take some time.”

“Anything else?” Hayden asked.

“Still piecing it all together,” she said.

“Keep me posted.”

“Count on it.”

Hayden hung up. “Brogan, see what you can pull up on Josie Jones.”

“Will do.” As Hayden drove, Brogan accessed the database for arrest records. “Not much in her file. She was arrested a day after her eighteenth birthday, and there is a note from the arresting officer, who noted that the judge of record was Ryder Templeton.”

“I know Templeton. He was a buddy of my father’s.” At eighty-five, Judge Templeton was still active in Austin politics, never missed a UT football game, and met his buddies at his favorite bar every Thursday for a beer.

Hayden checked the time and, taking a chance, dialed Judge Templeton’s number. The phone rang twice, and then he heard his father’s friend say, “Well, as I live and breathe, Mitchell Hayden. How are you doing?”

“Doing very well.”

“Glad to hear it. Let me say again how sorry Leticia and I were to hear about Sierra.”

He didn’t remember the judge and his wife of forty years at the funeral, but he didn’t remember much of that day. “I appreciate that.”

“So, boy, seeing as you’re not one to call and just chat, what can I do for you?”

“I’m working on a case and came across the name of a Josie Jones. She was arrested for stealing in 1987, and her arrest records tell me she appeared in your court.”

“I have a good memory, but you’re going back thirty-plus years. I presided over thousands of cases.”

“I remember you used to keep a personal log on your cases and sometimes made notes. I thought you might have a note or two about this woman.”

“Leticia has been after me for years to throw out all those logbooks. They’re taking up too much attic space, she says. Though what the hell else she wants to put in the attic is beyond me.”

“Tell me you saved them.”

“Of course I did. I can’t throw out my logs.”

Dogs barked in the background, and Hayden pictured two basset hounds, which had always been the judge’s preferred breed. No doubt the judge was sitting on his back porch overlooking Lake Travis and sipping a whiskey. “Let me poke around. Might take me a day or two. And it would be nice to prove to Leticia that those old logbooks still have a use.”

“Any help you can offer would be much appreciated,” Hayden said.

“Mind telling me why you care about a case from the eighties?”

“We came across several graves on a Hill Country ranch. I think Josie Jones might be one of the bodies. Her name could very well be a dead end, but I’ve got to at least try.”

“Understood.” His chair squeaked as if he had leaned forward. “I hear you and Dr. McIntyre were friendly at the fundraiser the other night.”

Austin was a big small town. “She and I are on the board of the shelter together.”

“You two make a handsome couple.”

A quick glance to his right caught Brogan now looking toward him with a renewed interest. He could have backed away from the comment and denied it, but he didn’t. “I guess we shall see.”

“Well, you’re a fool not to chase that gal. Smart as a whip. If I were forty years younger, you’d have some real competition.”

The comment wasn’t lost on him. Faith might be his shot at a new life. “I’ll keep all that in mind, sir.”

“Okay. Now I’ll get back to minding my own business and will call with an update soon.”

“Appreciate it, Judge. I’ll owe you one.”

Two hours later, Hayden and Brogan arrived at the Texas State Penitentiary in Huntsville. Built in 1849, it was the oldest Texas state prison. It held the State of Texas execution chamber—the most active chamber in the United States.

“The warden knows we’re coming and will have Delany up and ready to talk,” Brogan said.

As Hayden stopped at the guard station and stated their purpose, each Ranger showed his identification badge before they were waved through the gates. Moonlight bathed the prison’s red brick walls. They removed their hats and made their way through security, where they checked their weapons, and into the building.

The warden, Buddy Westchester, a short man with a round belly and dark-brown hair, met them just inside. They all shook hands. “Well, I can tell you Mr. Delany was not happy having his beauty sleep interrupted.”

“That’s a shame,” Hayden said. “I know he’s got to be worried about fine lines and wrinkles at his age.”

Westchester laughed. “We’ll make it up to him somehow.” The humor quickly faded from his expression. “Brogan tells me Delany has Hill Country land and there are bodies on it?”

“That’s right. We think we have three sets of remains.”

“I read up on Delany’s file while I was waiting on you two. As you would guess, Delany’s a mean son of a bitch. Was in and out of prison, but a murder conviction landed him here.”

“He killed his girlfriend, correct?” Hayden asked.

“That he did.” They made their way down a tiled hallway toward the interview room at the end. “Beat the hell out of her. She’d just given birth five days before to their son.”

“What happened to the boy?” Hayden asked.

“Social services scooped him up,” Westchester said. “I suppose he was adopted.”

“Did Delany ever say why he killed his girlfriend?” Brogan asked.

“Said he was hungry and she didn’t have his supper made.” Westchester shook his head. “Don’t underestimate this convict, gentlemen. He’s smart, and he’s mean.”

The warden opened the door to the interview room, which was divided by a thick pane of glass. Law enforcement sat on one side and the inmate on the other.

“I’ll be standing right back here if you need anything,” Westchester said.

“Thank you,” Hayden said.

The two sat and had less than a minute to wait before the door on the other side of the glass opened and Delany was escorted into the room. His hands and feet were chained, and he wore a short-sleeve orange jumpsuit that showed off a collection of tattoos stretching from his hands to up under the sleeves. He had buzzed gray hair, a bushy white mustache, and a leery gaze that didn’t hide his curiosity.

Delany straddled his chair and stared at the two Rangers. “Surprise, surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Hayden introduced himself and Brogan. “Your property tax on your ranch in Hill Country. It’s been paid regularly for the last thirty years.”

Delany glanced at his hands, inked with symbols and letters, and then slowly looked up at Hayden, a slight grin on his lips. “I forgot all about that place. Been years since I been out there.”

“And yet someone has been looking out for your place,” he said. “Also looks like someone has been using the place pretty regularly.”

“How could I know that?” Delany said. “I’m here.”

Hayden leaned forward. “I’m on a tight clock, so I’m going to cut to the chase. You help me, and life as you know it won’t change. Whatever you have coming or going into this place will remain the same.” He paused, rubbing his thumb against a callous on his palm. “But if you don’t help me, you will spend the rest of your life in a stripped-down cell and will find yourself in solitary as much as the law will allow.”

“Coming at me with both barrels, aren’t you, Ranger?”

Hayden and Brogan let the comment lie there.

Delany sat back, studying the Rangers, and if he thought in any way this was going to be a negotiation, he was wrong. “And all I get is the same old, same old as my reward?”

Hayden checked his watch. “The deal is off the table in thirty seconds.”

Delany sized up Hayden, seeming to realize Hayden would obliterate whatever comfort he had in this prison. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about a guy by the name of Jack Crow.”

“Who’s that?”

“Are we going to play games?” He was bluffing, acting as if he had all the puzzle pieces.

Delany was silent for a moment. “Oh, Jack Crow? Yeah, I know him. Shit, I haven’t seen him in years. Tell me the son of a bitch is rotting in hell somewhere.”

“Why do you say that?” Hayden asked.

“I’m pretty sure he’s the one that tipped the cops off to my hiding spot when I went on the run after he patched me up.”

“Why would he do that?”

He stroked his mustache and sat back. “He took exception to what I did to Susie.”

“Susie Gallagher, your girlfriend,” Brogan said.

“That’s right. Sweet Susie,” Delany said. “Crow could be a real high-and-mighty kind of guy. Always said he’d never hurt a woman, but his hands weren’t clean either.”

“What dirtied his hands?” Hayden said.

“You’ve been to the ranch, Ranger?” Delany said.

“Spell it out for me,” Hayden said.

“I don’t have firsthand knowledge, but I heard there might have been a grave or two out there.”

“Who’s in the graves?” Hayden asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” he said. “But I know for a fact that Crow dug at least one of them.”

“Which one?” Hayden said.

“From what I heard, the first.”