Elise listened and said the right things. I told her everything. I didn’t realize … maybe she was pumping me for information. I don’t even remember everything I told her, but I just felt like someone understood what I’d gone through and how conflicted I was about my life and family.”
“Do you know where Mitts would go if he wanted to hide? Not from the police, but from a rival gang?”
She bit her lip. “I really don’t. But there was this woman—an old woman, mean as anything, who kind of took the Saints in if they needed it. My brother used to say she was their alibi whenever they needed one.”
“Do you know her name? Where she lives?”
Marie shook her head. “They called her Aunt Rita, but I don’t know if that’s her name or if she’s still alive. The rumor was that the police killed her husband in a shoot-out and she hates cops, but that’s all I know.”
“That’s more than I knew coming in here,” Aggie said. “Thank you, Marie. I really appreciate your help. If Elise contacts you in any way, let me know.” She handed cards to both Marie and Rose. “But don’t engage with her. She’s unpredictable and dangerous, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lucy had Erica Anderson’s last known address, a small house near the Air Force base. Garrett drove while she read everything she could find on the corrections officer—which wasn’t much. She had a solid fifteen-year record in corrections. Prior to that, she’d been in a variety of jobs. Divorced, two kids. Her ex-husband, Bill, lived only a few miles from Erica. He was an electrician and co-owned a business with his brother.
It was after six on a Friday night, so Lucy expected Erica to be home. She wasn’t. The house was dark and there was no sign that anyone was inside.
Lucy convinced Garrett to stay in the car and she went to the neighbor’s house—a large house with a well-kept lawn and dozens of kids’ toys—bikes, trikes, scooters—out front. A dog barked before she even rang the bell.
She learned from the neighbors that Erica was rarely home; they didn’t know where she was working and since she quit the corrections department, she’d been aloof and antisocial. But Lucy did get the address of Erica’s ex-husband, which the family had in case of emergencies.
She went back to talk to Garrett, gave him the address, told him about Erica’s change of behavior.
“You want to talk to the husband?” Garrett asked.
“Yes. According to the neighbors, they had an amicable divorce, were friendly, and until she quit the kids were here nearly every weekend. Since then, the family hasn’t seen the kids more than once. They tried talking to her a few weeks ago and Erica brushed them off, said she was working a private gig.”
“Which is probably true.”
“Then the husband will know how we can find her, right?”
Garrett drove off without comment.
The private sector often paid more than law enforcement, though law enforcement had perks like retirement and generally good health benefits. Also, Erica had more than ten years in service, so would be vested—leaving when she did seemed odd. Law enforcement was stressful, but there was nothing in her record that said she’d had any problems until three months ago when she quit without notice.
Maybe there was nothing going on with her. Maybe it was personal. Maybe it had nothing to do with Elise Hunt.
Or maybe your instincts are right on the money.
Garrett pulled up in front of Bill Anderson’s house less than ten minutes later. He lived three miles from his ex-wife, down the street from a middle school in a house that was distinguished from its neighbors by a huge tree in the front yard. The roots must be deep otherwise a big storm would put that tree right across the roof of the single-story house.
The neighborhood was a typical middle-class San Antonio neighborhood where kids played on the street and a baseball game was being played at the park on the corner. It reminded Lucy a lot of the neighborhood she grew up in. Modest homes in a clean, well-loved neighborhood.
Lucy began to doubt herself. Maybe she was on a wild goose chase. Even if Erica left because of a confrontation with Elise—if that’s what it was—would she know anything to help Lucy get Sean out of jail?
Her head ached. She hadn’t eaten since coffee and a bagel this morning before she left the house. When everything