“Did Crow kill her?”

Delany’s cuffs clinked as he rubbed his nose. “That I don’t know. All I heard was that he dug the grave for a woman and a child.”

“Who told you about the graves? Why did they end up on your land?”

Delany looked over Hayden’s shoulder to the warden. Hayden caught Westchester’s reflection in the glass as the warden shifted his stance.

“The Ranger asked you a question politely,” Westchester said. “You can help or not.”

“Are the cameras recording?” Delany asked.

“I’ll switch them off.” The warden made a call from a phone mounted on the wall and after a few seconds turned and said, “They’re off.”

“Who told you about the graves?” Hayden asked.

Delany stared at the warden. Hayden guessed the prisoner was as good at reading the warden as the warden was him. “My stepsister, Heather.”

Heather. For a moment the name didn’t trigger any memories and then, he asked, “Heather Sullivan? She works for Garnet.”

“Is she still with him?” Delany asked. “Imagine that after all this time. That girl had nothing but blind loyalty for Garnet. She’d do anything for him.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Wednesday, June 27, Midnight

Faith knew Hayden had mentioned Detective Franklin and he was reaching out to her to search missing persons. On the chance that the detective had found something, she called.

“Dr. Hayden,” Franklin said after Faith introduced herself. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m working with the Texas Rangers on several missing persons cases.”

“I spoke to Hayden a few hours ago. I have his files,” the detective said.

“Do you? Would you mind if I came by and looked them over? The remains are arriving in my office soon.”

“Sure. I can go over the cases with you.”

“Thank you.”

Fifteen minutes later she entered the lobby of the Austin Police Department and took the stairs to the third floor.

Faith found a short woman in a small conference room painted in a faded beige and furnished with a rectangular conference table, several worn chairs, and a whiteboard covered in head shots. Franklin was frowning over a collection of files. She wore black, slim jeans, a cotton blouse, and heeled boots. Her hair was tightly twisted into a bun, and her badge hung from a chain around her neck.

“Detective Franklin?” Faith asked.

“Dr. McIntyre. I took the liberty of pulling all the files that not only matched the initials the captain gave me, but also fell during the suggested time frame of 1985 to 1993. That actually narrowed it down to three files.”

Faith set her purse on the conference table and rested her hands on her hips as she studied a stack of files the detective had decided didn’t match the criteria.

“All those women are missing?” Faith asked incredulously.

Franklin tacked up one last photo and stepped back. “There are always women who vanish, but it’s moments like this when I realize just how many.”

The disappearances of these women likely had never made the evening news, and if they had, it had been a brief mention quickly forgotten by the public. The fact that many lived on the streets and near the margins was what made them such easy prey. A hunter could go on for years, choosing and killing, without ever being caught.

“I’m particularly interested in Josie Jones,” she said.

Franklin tapped on the smiling face of a woman with feathered blond hair that skimmed her shoulders. She had bright-blue eyes and high cheekbones that could have been Faith’s own.

“What do you know about her?”

“A majority of the women I initially identified as missing had been prostitutes. But interestingly, the women who corresponded to the initials the captain gave me had only minor legal infractions and offended once or twice. All were also runaways, with blond hair, Caucasian, and under the age of twenty.”

“Tell me what you have,” Faith said.

Franklin tapped her finger on Josie’s face. “Josie Jones was the first to go missing, in 1987,” Franklin said. “Next was Olivia Martin in 1988, Kathy Saunders in 1989, and of course, Paige Sheldon in mid-May.”

Faith was impatient to hear about Josie but kept her thoughts to herself, allowing the detective to continue.

“Ironically, Josie Jones’s sister was very involved in her sister’s case until about ten years ago. Her name at the time was Maggie Jones. In the case of Olivia Martin, her brother, Ralph Martin, who’s fifty now and runs a sandwich shop in Austin, last checked in with the department a decade ago. Kathy Saunders’s father, Rex Saunders, also stayed up-to-date on his daughter’s case. He died five years ago, but she has a sister now listed as a contact.”

“Do you have addresses for these people?”

“I have last-known addresses for all these individuals, but I don’t know if they’re current.” She handed her the family names written in bold ink on a yellow legal pad.

“Thanks. What can you tell me about Olivia Martin and Kathy Saunders?”

“Olivia Martin, aged nineteen, vanished in 1988. She’d left home after a fight with her parents, but by the time her parents tried to find her, she’d fallen off everyone’s radar and whatever trail there might have been had gone cold. There were no hospital or arrest records for her. She’d been arrested the year before for trespassing and being drunk in public.”

Faith moved closer to the board, studying the faces of the victims. Like Josie, Olivia had a slight frame and light-colored eyes and hair.

“And Kathy?”

Franklin sifted through the three folders until she found the files. “Kathy Saunders was seventeen and had dropped out of high school. She was originally from Waco, Texas, but after a fight with her mother hitchhiked to Austin in 1988 and was arrested for larceny in December of the same year. Police determined she’d checked into a hotel in East Austin but vanished from there. The owner remembered her because she stiffed him a night’s rent. That was the last she was ever seen.”

“Were any of these women pregnant?”

Franklin flipped through several pages. “Not that any of their families were aware of.”

“And they were all last seen in East Austin, correct?”

Franklin grabbed a handful of red pushpins and pressed each into the last known locations of all the missing girls.

Faith studied the pins tightly clustered in the area where she’d just been. “They’re all within walking distance of Second Chances.”

“I know the owner of Second Chances. He’s kind of a bright spot in the community. Whenever the cops collect for kids in need, he always steps up. He’s well liked,” Detective Franklin offered.

“How long has Garnet had his bar?”

“I’ve been on the job fifteen years, so at least that long. Since I’ve known him, he’s never had any problems with the law.”

That made sense. Any arrest records would draw attention to him. “So how does a former enlisted army soldier come up with the cash to open a bar?” Faith asked.

“Good question.”

“Maybe he sold two babies,” she said, more to herself.

“Two?”

“Twin girls. If my theory pans out, Josie gave birth to twin girls before she died. The Rangers found the body of Jack Crow on Sunday, and Hayden believes Crow knew about the ranch and the twin girls.” Jack Crow didn’t appear to have the kind of money a black market baby would cost, but he’d ended up with Macy. What had Crow done all those years ago, and how had he gotten custody of Macy?

“Funny you should mention stolen babies. Hayden called and asked me to identify any pregnant missing girls. I found four. They don’t look like these women, but they were in Austin and pregnant when they disappeared.”

“They were never found?”

“Not a trace of them or their children.”

Right now they had lots of pieces and few connections. “Who represented Olivia and Kathy in court?”

Franklin scanned the files. As she moved through the pages in each folder, mild curiosity hardened into suspicion. “Slater and McIntyre represented them all.”

Paige’s belly was contracting. Not hard and not often, but the pains had started to tighten and release, warning her the time for the baby was coming soon.

She rose up off her cot and walked around the small room toward the door. The cuff on her ankle stopped her from reaching the handle. Its metal rubbed her flesh raw. Blood oozed onto the floor when she stood.

He’d been saying from the beginning that he was doing all this for her own good. He said he was saving her immortal soul by forcing her to bring this baby into the world. She never once believed him. He didn’t care about her soul, or even his. It was always about the money.

In a perverse way, she missed her initial holding area. At least there she’d had the magazines she’d found in the vent shaft on one of those early nights when she’d searched every corner for some kind of way to escape.

The notes had started with Josie, who of all of them had written the most. Olivia and Kathy wrote far less. But Josie had used up every available bit of space. And when she’d filled the first magazine, she’d used another until her notes abruptly stopped. Paige had read the notes so much she had memorized them.

Things I hate. Broccoli. English class. Parachute pants. Perms. My foster family. This room.

Paige glanced toward the door, listened to make very sure he wasn’t close, and then pulled the torn magazine page from her bra. She stared at her words, which echoed the thoughts of the other girls, who’d understood the horror of being locked up, the isolation, and the fear of delivering a baby alone.

She didn’t have her pen, but she glanced around the room until she saw a heating grate. She folded the paper and pushed it through the vent until it disappeared behind the grate. Then she flipped over a small wooden table. With her fingernail she started to dig her initials into the cheap wood because she needed to believe that someday, somehow, someone would realize she’d been here. The world was not going to eat her alive.