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“But she had ID?” asked Farrell.

  Mort pointed to his assistant. “Tim bagged it for the techs. Are they here yet?”

  “Haven’t seen them.” Standing behind Blaine, Farrell turned and shot a glance down the alley.

  “Has she been here all night?” asked Blaine.

  “Cleaners found her this morning when they were dumping bags of garbage,” said the doctor. “She’s been dead about six or seven hours, so that puts her death around closing time or slightly earlier.”

  “Sexual connotations?” asked Blaine.

  “I’m guessing yes, by the position of the body, but we’ll find out on the table.”

  “No blood,” said Farrell.

  “Strangulation would be my first guess. Her eyes tell me that’s what it was.”

  “Manual?” asked Blaine.

  The doctor nodded. “I’d say so, and there was not a thing here to indicate otherwise, but I’ll know more when we do the autopsy.”

  “Farrell, get the ID from Tim. We’ll do the notification and talk to her parents.”

  Engels Residence. East Austin.

  BLAINE and Farrell stood on the concrete front step of the Engels’ ranch house in East Austin. Tan brick on the lower half and cedar stripping on the top half between all the windows. A double attached garage on the end.

  Farrell rang the bell and they waited for someone to answer. “Hate this part, bro,” said Farrell. “Feel so bad for the parents.”

  “Maybe this ain’t a good one for you, Farrell, so soon after you and Neil losing your momma n’all. Why don’t you wait in the truck?”

  Farrell shook his head. “No, I’m okay. Honest.”

  Blaine raised a black brow, not sure whether he believed Farrell or not. “If you’re sure.”

  During their last case, Farrell and Neil’s biological mother who’d abandoned them years before came back into their lives briefly. Long enough for her two sons to watch her die a violent death.

  The door opened and the woman standing in front of them lost all color. “Something has happened to JoAnne,” she said, “We were frantic when she didn’t come home last night.”

  “Who is it?” called a man from inside.

  Blaine held up his credentials. “I’m Blaine Blackmore, and this is Deputy Donovan.”

  “It’s the police,” said the woman. She waved them inside and pointed to a cozy room off the small front hall. “Have a seat, please.”

  “Thank you,” said Blaine. He waited until both husband and wife were settled before he gave them the news. “I’m afraid there is no easy way to tell you this.”

  Mrs. Engels jumped up and ran from the room before hearing any more.

  Mr. Engels nodded. “When JoAnne didn’t come home last night, we thought perhaps she’d had too much to drink and stayed with one of her friends. We were waiting to hear from her this morning, and now y’all are here.” He ran his fingers through his brown hair. “Go ahead with your story. I’ll look after Bev after you leave.”

  Blaine started over. “Sir, your daughter was found a couple of hours ago downtown in the dance club district. If possible, we’d like you to come to the morgue and identify her body.”

  Mr. Engels dropped his head into his hands and sobbed. “Who would want to kill JoAnne? She doesn’t have an enemy in the world.” Engels paced, and he seemed short of breath. “Tell me how she died? Was she shot by one of those downtown gangs?”

  “The Medical Examiner thinks she was strangled, sir, but there will be an autopsy, possibly tomorrow.”

  “Strangled?” He shook his head. “I can’t tell Bev that. Do I have to come to the morgue right now?”

  “No, sir, you can take your time.” Blaine waited until the man pulled himself together a little before he went ahead. “I realize this isn’t a good time, but we need to ask a few questions to get us started in our investigation.”

  “Uh huh.” Engels looked up with a watery stare. “What do you want to know.”

  “Who was your daughter with last night?”

  He shook his head. “She didn’t tell us. Meeting friends was all she said.”

  “And how old was she?” asked Farrell who was taking notes.

  “Nineteen.”

  “Did she have a regular boyfriend?” asked Blaine.

  “She did in high school, but they broke up a long time ago—after graduation. Lately she’s been seeing a couple of boys she met online. I wasn’t happy about it. You hear a lot of stories about online dating, but she assured me she was being super careful who she talked to.”

  Blaine nodded. “Would you know the names of the boys she was dating?”

  “No, I wanted them to come to the house and pick her up properly, but she said that was old-fashioned, and the cool thing to do was to meet your friends downtown.” He shrugged. “I should have insisted.”

  “Would you be upset if I had a look at her room, sir?”

  “My wife will be. She’s probably in there right now.”

  “There will be forensic technicians coming by,” said Blaine, “maybe later today. It might be best if neither of you touched anything in her room.”

  “Okay, we’ll keep the door closed, and I can prepare my wife for that.”

  “Did your daughter have her own computer?”

  He nodded. “It’s in her room on her desk.”

  “I’m going to take her computer with me,” said Blaine, “if you wouldn’t mind getting it for me. I’ll give you a receipt.”

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  FARRELL set a large Starbuck’s container in front of Chief Calhoun, a big man in his fifties going a little gray at the temples. He’d talked about retirement a couple of times but hadn’t done anything about it yet. The boys hoped he’d never retire. Nobody could replace Randy Calhoun.

  The Chief popped the tab on his coffee. “Get the notification done?”

  “Yeah,” said Farrell, “hate that part, Chief.”

  “Worst part of the job. Were the parents up to answering any questions?”

  “A couple,” said Blaine. “I’ve got her computer in my truck. Seems she was doing some online dating.”

  “Oh, shit. Not that,” said the Chief. “Makes the suspect pool run into the thousands.”

  Farrell grinned. “Me and Blacky got wasted yesterday and signed ourselves up for that gig too.”

  “Jeeze,” said the Chief. “I thought you and Mary Polito were… never mind. I’ll mind my own.”

  “Me and Miss Mary had a falling out,” said Farrell. “The online dating was a rebounder. Maybe not too bright, but we done it anyway.”

  Blaine shook his head. “I already have about two hundred emails from women I don’t even know. I’m resigning before I even start.”

  “Too many Lone Stars on a holiday weekend,” said the Chief with a smirk. “Did yo momma have her big picnic?”

  Farrell nodded. “Yep. Good times. Her and Jesse are doing great too. That’s the best part.”

  “That is good news,” said the Chief. “Jesse coming back to work anytime soon?”

  “He said he’s ready to do more,” said Blaine. “You’ll be looking at him soon enough.”

  “I want to be looking at him, and the sooner the better. One of my best men, and a skilled interrogator.”

  “We’ve been short without him,” said Farrell.

  The Chief finished his coffee and set it down. “Are the parents coming in to ID the body?”

  “The father is,” said Blaine. “Soon as he’s up for it.”

  “Okay, see what you can find on her laptop,” said the Chief. “Should be full of friends and every detail of her life will be on her Facebook page—nothing is private anymore.” He tapped the end of his Sharpie on the desk. “That’s what my girls are like. Just say’n.”

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  LILY was busy in her office when Blaine and Farrell returned, and Travis was not so busy, sitting in Lily’s guest chair drinking coffee and distracting her.


  “Hey, where did you guys go?” asked Travis. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to start on.”

  “We got a new case this morning we can all start busting our butts on,” said Blaine. His voice had an edge to it every time he spoke to Travis. Didn’t intend it, but it was there all the same. Travis had some redeeming to do.

  Blaine perched a cheek on the corner of Lily’s desk, brought them up to speed, and assigned tasks. “Travis, take the dance club. Get a list of everybody on shift when the girl was there and see how many of the staff you can talk to today.”

  “Which club was it, boss?”

  Blaine looked to Farrell and Farrell checked his notebook. “Liquid.”

  “Were there any security cams?” asked Lily.

  Blaine nodded. “Sue has the footage and you can check with her—see if she has anything useful. The lab won’t be finished with a site that large for days.”

  “What else can I do?” asked Lil.

  “Check with Lopez in homicide—I heard he made Lieutenant—and see if he’s got any opens on his desk with similarities to this one.”

  Lily made a couple of notes.

  “And send him something for congratulations,” said Blaine, “like… you think of something, Lil.”

  Lily smiled. “I’ll take care of it, boss.”

  Blaine pointed, “I’ll see if I can get into the victim’s laptop and as soon as I pinpoint some of the friends, Farrell can start on those. In the meantime, he can get us some fresh coffee.”

  Farrell gave his foster brother a hand signal and headed for the kitchen.

  Blaine strode down the hall, opened the door of his office and the smell of lemony furniture polish hit him in the face. He settled into his leather high back behind his desk thinking he’d never noticed it before. Maybe Carm was on a cleaning binge. She wasn’t supposed to clean. They had a service for that.

  Gardening and cooking are the two things she enjoys. That’s all I want her to do.

  He moved his laptop out of the way and set up the girl’s computer. What was her name again? He checked his phone where he kept most of his data. Oh, yeah, JoAnne Engels. Date of birth—he had that too. Terrible password choices, but most young people weren’t too careful.

  The password screen came up and he tried a couple of combinations. Bingo. “Let’s see what her most popular sites were.”

  “Shit, that’s the same dating site Farrell signed us up on.” He gave a holler for Farrell.

  “What? I’m getting the fuckin coffee. I had to make a fresh pot. Hold up.”

  “Not coffee. Look at this. The victim was on the same dating site as us.”

  Farrell screwed up his face. “Yeah, and so are a million other people.”

  Club District. Downtown Austin.

  TRAVIS called ahead and made an appointment with the manager of the club ‘Liquid’ and as many of the staff as the manager could round up who’d been working the previous evening. Statements had been taken by uniformed officers, but sometimes first time around things were missed. Blacky insisted on the second time around for witnesses, and it had paid off several times over. The smallest detail remembered later could get the team off and running.

  Yellow tape barred the double front doors and a uniformed officer stood close by to make sure the tape did its job. “Hey, Deputy Bristol. Long time.”

  Travis gave the uni a fist bump, ducked under the tape and went inside. The interior was dim and cavernous although most of the lights were on for the techs. Travis nodded to Sue, head of the forensic team, as he strode by to scout out the manager.

  A bartender was busy stocking shelves and polishing glasses as Travis approached, “Can you tell me how to find Mr. Hawthorne?”

  “Stairs at the end of the hall. Go up and you’ll see his door.”

  Travis nodded his thanks, found the stairs and the office labelled as ‘manager’. He tapped twice before somebody hollered for him to come in. “Mr. Hawthorne, Travis Bristol from Violent Crime.”

  Hawthorne, a short, bulky man in a rumpled blue suit, scowled at him and didn’t take the hand Travis offered. “Know how bad this is for business, Detective?”

  “I can see where it would slow you down for a week or so,” said Travis, “Uh huh.”

  “A week or so? This could ruin us. The kids will start calling us the ‘murder club’ or some freaking thing and it will be all over Facebook in minutes.” He held up a pudgy hand, “No, make that seconds.”

  “Could happen, I guess,” said Travis, “So the faster we catch the murderer, the better it will be for y’all.”

  “Ask your questions,” said Hawthorne, “I’ve got work to do.”

  “Were you on the premises at closing time, sir?” Travis pulled out the new notebook Blacky had given him. He lost his notebook and a lot of Blacky’s respect between the time he quit the Agency and the time he begged for his job back.

  “No, I wasn’t here. I left about midnight and let the assistant manager close up.”

  “And did you bring the assistant in for me to talk to?”

  “Everybody is waiting in the meeting room next door to talk to you, Detective.”

  “I’m not a Detective, sir. “I’m a Deputy with the Texas Rangers.”

  “I don’t care what the fuck your title is, buddy. Every minute you’re here is costing me money.”

  Travis ignored the insult and kept going. “Did you know the victim? Was she a regular?”

  The man glared at him. “No, and I don’t know. Do you know how many kids in their early twenties come here in a given week? It’s mind boggling.” Hawthorne’s face was red, and Travis wondered if he had blood pressure issues.

  Travis stood up, “Let’s talk to the others.”

  “You go ahead. Have at it. I’ve got calls to make.”

  Travis spent the next two hours in the room next door with the assistant manager, a woman named Amanda Woller, and the wait staff from the night before—all tired, irritable and less than helpful. He gave up on the lot of them and headed down to talk to the bartender.

  Travis plunked down on a stool with his notebook in front of him and waited while the barkeep unloaded another case of Lone Star into the glass-doored fridge unit.

  The bartender turned with a beer in his hand and held it up. Travis nodded, and the guy reached for a glass and a coaster. “Finished the inquisition upstairs?”

  Travis nodded and reached for his pen. “Didn’t amount to much. I don’t think I got your name.”

  “Gordie Gold. Most call me ‘Goldie.’ Mr. Gold was older than the crowd upstairs—maybe early forties—with a mop of blond hair and a fit body.

  “Thanks for the brew,” said Travis, “I’m bone dry after all that talking.”

  “Figured you wouldn’t get much. Not too many Mensa candidates in that bunch.” He grinned.

  “Had you seen the victim in here before?” asked Travis.

  “I didn’t see her face outside, and that’s the only way I would recognize her. If the kids are regulars, I get to know the faces. Her name didn’t ring any bells. Sorry.”

  Travis laid an eight by ten on the bar and Gordie stared. He shook his head. “Might be two or three hundred blonde twenty-somethings in here every night. Sorry, I can’t help you.”

  “Let’s concentrate on any males that you might have noticed—not because they looked like a killer—but for any other reason that you can think of.”

  Gordie shook his blond head. “I make drinks so fast on a weekend or a holiday like last night that most of the time I don’t even have time to glance at the purchaser. I shove the drinks towards them, grab the money, make change and go on to the next.”

  “A lot of guys buying drinks for girls?”

  “Mostly, yep. Sometimes there will be groups of girls together and they’ll buy their own—at least for the first couple of rounds.”

  Travis slid a card across the bar. “Thanks for your time and for the beer. If you think of anything, call my cell.
I always answer it.”

  Gordie picked up the card and stared at it. “Are we gonna see the Super cop in here?”

  Travis smiled. “Problem with him?”

  “Always wondered about the stories you hear. Like that fuckin gang war. Jesus. He got shot, didn’t he?”

  “Just got the tape off his ribs. He had an apron on, but the bullet in his chest busted him up all the same.”

  Gordie winced. “Bet that hurt.”

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  AFTER spending a half hour on JoAnne Engel’s computer, Blaine gave Farrell a list of her ‘besties’ and sent him on his way, while he continued probing the dating site and reading the latest messages the girl had responded to.

  Lily brought fresh coffee and looked over his shoulder. “Wow, boss, look how many guys she talked to just the past week.”

  “You’re not cheering me up, Lil. Too goddam many suspects. Like the black hole of maybes. Holy fuck, I hate this.”

  “Print off all their screen names, and I’ll work on a warrant to get their real identities from the company.”

  “Let’s see who she talked to yesterday before we do that. Might narrow it down.”

  Lil pulled a chair up beside Blaine, so she could see the screen. “Start just before she went out for the evening and work backwards.”

  “Uh huh. The last asshole was called Superman. Let’s look at his profile.” Blaine clicked on it. “Look at this fuckin bullshit, Lil. He listed his income at five hundred K. What kid in his twenties is making that kind of money?”

  Lil raised a perfectly drawn eyebrow at Blaine and said nothing.

  “Besides me, I mean.”

  Lily smiled. “Keep going. What was the last message Superman sent her?”

  “Friday at Zilker. The race is on.”

  “Maybe she was a cyclist,” said Lily. “Zilker Park has all those bike paths. Let me go call her father and check that out.”

  Blaine nodded. “I’ll move on to the next one.”

  The one she talked to before Superman was Dance Idol. “Okay, Dance Idol, what are you all about?” Blaine scanned the profile and it seemed like it could be true. College kid majoring in biology. Good looking if that was his real picture. He wrote: “Best music is at Asylum. Meet me there.”