Thirteen #2
They were forced to repeat the same statements they’d given to the officers on scene, before being cleared to leave.
Even then the detective wanted Creed’s weapon.
Creed refused to relinquish the gun, stating he’d have it to the officers by Monday.
The detective wasn’t happy, but Creed and Jackson pulled rank, stating their boss would follow up with his boss.
In the garage, Jackson double-checked his license plate alteration on the SUV before they piled in with their laptops.
“Okay, let’s do a quick drive-by past Cartland’s house,” Jackson said as Creed sneaked the SUV past the officers still lingering outside. Jackson noticed Fletcher’s body was gone, obviously transported to the closest morgue.
“What’s the address?” Creed asked. “Not far from the trailer park?”
“Correct,” Nina replied. “Take a right at the next intersection.”
Jackson turned in his seat to watch the road behind them. Not that he didn’t trust Creed, but another set of eyes would be good. The officers had searched the area around the rental property, but Jackson worried the gunman who’d followed them across the lake could be lurking somewhere nearby.
Nobody followed them, though. The early morning hour, going on four o’clock, worked in their favor.
“Follow this road for three miles,” Nina said.
Creed nodded in understanding. “The closer we get to the city, the more likely we’ll run into more traffic.”
“I know.” Jackson shrugged. “We’ll have to take the risk.”
They rode in silence for several minutes. Jackson glanced over his shoulder again, surprised to realize Nina was still working on the computer. “What are you doing?”
She grimaced. “I know you think I’m going down the wrong path, but I’m looking at pictures of Robert and Daniel Cartland in the yearbook.”
He wanted to tell her the connection to her mother’s cold case was thinner than ice, but didn’t. Instead, he focused his attention on the road behind them, making sure they weren’t followed.
Ten minutes later, Nina directed them to a neighborhood that was more upscale than the trailer park. Maybe not wealthy, but certainly the people living here were better off than those in the trailer park.
“It’s the third house on the north side of the street,” Nina explained. “Drive slowly past, then find a place to turn around.”
Creed did as instructed. Jackson fixated his gaze on the house, noting there were no lights on inside. The garage door was closed as well. It was hard to know if the occupants were home and sleeping, or if Zane was driving around somewhere.
“Wait a minute, I think this might be his parents’ place,” Nina said. “I’ve logged into the city records and it’s owned by a Robert and Evelyn Cartland.”
“Looks like Zane is their son, huh?” Jackson wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Maybe we’re wrong about this guy being involved. A drug bust from five years ago doesn’t mean much. A lot of kids get in trouble.”
“But if he’s a known associate, that means he must have been with Esperanza at some point,” Nina argued. “That typically happens when they’re arrested together.”
“I know how it works.” He offered a reassuring smile. “We’re here checking him out, right? We still need to stick with the facts.”
She frowned but didn’t say anything more.
Creed passed the home, cruising slowly through the rest of the subdivision.
The neighborhood homes were larger on this end of the neighborhood.
Jackson eyed the huge home at the end of the cul-de-sac.
It reminded him of how Ellen Carter had described the home Douglas Tillman’s parents lived in.
The mansion was close enough to the trailer park that he could easily imagine Nina’s mother, Anna, driving over to work here.
Was Nina right to connect Cartland to her biological father? Did Douglas ask his classmate Robert Cartland to kill Nina?
He gave himself a mental shake. Facts, remember? They were sticking to the facts. Not creating fiction.
“Now what?” Creed glanced at him as they made a second pass of the house. “Do you want me to park on another street and approach the place from the back? I might be able to see if anyone is home.”
“Yeah, I’d like to check it out.” Jackson shrugged. “We need to figure out if Zane still lives here. Maybe I’ll recognize him from the cabin.”
“I want to go with you,” Nina quickly interjected. “I saw the gunmen, too.”
Jackson momentarily closed his eyes, seeking strength. He turned to Nina. “Please stay with Creed. I don’t want to risk anything happening to you. I need you to alert me if Cartland comes home.”
“But—”
“No, Nina. Please don’t argue with me.” He held her gaze. “Please.”
To his surprise, she relented. “Okay, I’ll stay here. But you better stay safe, Jackson. I’ll be mad if you get hurt.”
Since he felt the same way about her safety, he nodded. “This won’t take log.” He gestured to the next intersection. “Turn right and head around the block.”
“Got it.” Creed did as he asked. Five minutes later, Creed had found a spot in the road that was partially covered by a large tree. “We’ll wait here. This angle allows us to see between the houses in case a car pulls in.”
“Great.” Jackson quickly pushed out of the car. “If you see lights approaching, let me know.”
Without giving Creed or Nina time to respond, he softly closed the door behind him. Then darted into the five-foot opening between the two houses, one of which butted up against the property belonging to Robert Cartland.
Approaching the house cautiously, Jackson tried not to consider this a wild-goose chase. A drug arrest from five years ago was hardly probable cause to link Zane Cartland to cold-blooded murder.
He told himself the sooner he verified the guy wasn’t there, the sooner they could get out of there to find a local motel. As the thought went through his mind, he considered it might be smarter to head back toward Dallas, rather than staying in Temple.
Pausing near a tree, he surveyed the windows. Several were not covered by curtains, which was a bonus. After watching for a few seconds, he silently moved in a crouch to the closest uncovered window.
Peering through the opening, he found himself looking at a large king bed. It was neatly made, clean and obviously empty. The decor was on the frilly side, something he could imagine Evelyn Cartland choosing, not twenty-six-year-old Zane. Were the elder Cartlands out of town for the weekend? Maybe.
He moved along the side of the house to the next window. That one was covered, so he moved on. Soon he was looking into the living room. Again, it was neat and tidy. Remembering himself at that age, he found it difficult to imagine Zane keeping the place looking so nice while his parents were gone.
He doubted Zane was still living there. Yet while he was here, he moved on to the next window.
This bedroom had curtains pulled across the opening.
There was a narrow gap, but it was hard to see into the room in the dark.
He thought it was a bedroom but couldn’t visualize enough of the bed to determine if it had been slept in recently.
For all they knew, the Cartlands used it as a guest room.
A place for Zane to sleep if he came home for the holiday.
He was about to head to the front of the house when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pressing his back to the brick wall, he pulled the device out to peer at the screen.
Headlights, take cover.
Sinking lower to the ground, Jackson glanced toward the road along the front of the house. Sure enough, a vehicle was approaching from the same direction they’d come.
He waited as the headlights grew brighter. Then they pulled into the driveway.
Jackson’s heart slammed against his rib cage. Either the Cartlands had arrived, or their son Zane was using the place.
Moving quickly, he lightly ran along the length of the attached garage. He needed to see who was in the car!
He made it to the front corner, just as the engine shut down. The garage door didn’t open, which he found strange.
Taking a deep breath, he peeked around the edge of the garage. The driver of the car sat behind the wheel for a moment, looking down and to the right. He frowned, trying to figure out what the guy was doing. Looking at a phone?
Then the figure behind the wheel straightened and he realized the driver was a woman. He pulled back when she glanced in his direction.
Probably Evelyn Cartland. Although he wasn’t sure why she was coming home at this hour. A quick glance at his watch confirmed it was five minutes after four in the morning.
He didn’t hear a car door, which was also strange. Then it dawned on him. She was waiting for someone.
He took another quick glance around the corner. The car was a dark sedan. From this angle he couldn’t see the make or model, but it looked sleek and expensive. The woman’s head was down again, and this time he could make out the glow of a phone screen.
Definitely waiting for someone. He frowned, trying to understand why she’d be sitting in her own driveway, waiting for another person to arrive.
Her husband? Had she forgotten the house key?
Or maybe the woman wasn’t Evelyn Cartland at all.
Torn by indecision, he debated his options. Stay here to wait for the second party? Or head back to the car so they could drive past to get a license plate.
A third option was for him to crawl from the corner of the garage to the rear of the car to see the license plate for himself.
Before he could move one way or the other, another pair of headlights hit his peripheral vision. As it was too late to escape, Jackson flattened himself against the wall of the garage, holding his breath.
Hoping and praying he’d recognize the newcomer as one of the gunmen. Or better yet, Zane Cartland.