Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

But there were still unanswered questions, pieces that didn’t fit. “Hank, what happened to the knife you brought into the room?”

He looked confused for a moment. “I...don’t know. I think I dropped it when I ran to Avery.”

“Did Avery have blood on her hands? On her night clothes?”

Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Jaxon breathed a small sigh of relief. If Avery had stabbed Mulligan, she would have had blood on her. She was only nine, too young and traumatized to have stabbed someone and clean up the mess.

Hank made another guttural sound in his throat. “Then Avery didn’t kill him?”

“I doubt it,” Jaxon said.

“That’s the only reason I confessed, to keep her from being taken away.” Hank gripped the edge of the table. “But if she didn’t kill him, then I’ve spent my life in a cell for nothing.”

Jaxon knew his boss wasn’t going to like it. But he actually believed Hank Tierney.

“There’s one major problem with your story,” Jaxon pointed out. “You and Avery both claimed there was no one else in the house that night.”

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose again. “There had to have been. Maybe someone came over after Mulligan tied me up in my room.”

Jaxon gritted his teeth. That was a long shot. But it was possible.

Even if the man had killed Mulligan, Mulligan had deserved to die. Hell, Hank Tierney was a hero in Jaxon’s book.

He didn’t deserve a lethal injection for getting rid of a monster.

He should have been given a medal.

And if he hadn’t killed Mulligan, then someone else had. Someone who was willing to let Hank die to protect himself.

* * *

AVERY WAITED IN an empty office for the Texas Ranger while he questioned Hank. She was still reeling in shock over her conversation with her brother.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him over the years. She’d been too busy trying to survive herself, working to overcome the trauma and shame of her abuse and the humiliation that had come from being a Tierney, born from a family of murderers.

Therapy had helped put her broken spirit and soul back together, although she still bore the physical and emotional scars.

But she had been free all this time.

Her brother had been labeled a murderer and spent most of his life behind bars, living with cold-blooded killers, rapists and psychopaths.

Hank didn’t belong with them.

She had to talk to that lawyer. The guards had confiscated her cell phone when she arrived and would return it when she left, so she stepped to the door and asked the mental health worker if she could use the phone.

“I need to call my brother’s lawyer.”

The woman instructed her how to call out from the prison, and Avery took the card Hank had given her and punched the number. A receptionist answered, “Ellis and Associates.”

“This is Avery Tierney, Hank Tierney’s sister. I’d like to speak to Ms. Ellis.”

“Hold please.”

Avery tapped her shoe on the floor as she waited. Through the window in the office, she could see the open yard outside where the inmates gathered. Only a handful of prisoners were outside, four of them appearing to be engaged in some kind of altercation.

One threw a punch; another produced a shank made from something sharp and jabbed the other one in the neck. All hell broke loose as the others jumped in to fight, and guards raced out to pull them apart.

She shuddered, thinking about Hank being a target. How had he survived in here? He must have felt so alone, especially when his own sister hadn’t bothered to come and visit him.

How could he not hate her?

“This is Lisa Ellis.”

The woman’s soft voice dragged Avery back to the present. She sounded young, enthusiastic. “This is Avery Tierney, Hank Tierney’s sister. Hank told me that you came to see him and are interested in his case.”

“Yes,” Ms. Ellis said. “I’ve looked into it, but unfortunately I haven’t found any evidence to overturn the conviction. And your brother wasn’t very cooperative. In fact, he told me to let it go.”

Avery traced a finger along the edge of the windowsill as she watched the guard hauling the injured inmate toward a side door. Blood gushed from his throat, reminding her of the blood on Hank’s hands and Wade Mulligan’s body.

“Miss Tierney?”

“Yes.” She banished the images. “I just talked to Hank. We have to help him. He’s innocent.”

A heartbeat of silence. “Do you have proof?”

Avery’s heart pounded. “No, but I spoke with a Texas Ranger named Jaxon Ward and he’s going to look into it.” At least she prayed he would.

“I read the files. You were the prime witness against your brother.”

“I know, but that was a mistake,” Avery said. “A horrible mistake. I was traumatized at the time and blocked out the details of that night.”

“Now you’ve suddenly remembered something after all these years?” Her tone sounded skeptical. “Considering the timing, it seems a little too coincidental.”

Frustration gnawed at Avery. The lawyer was right. Everyone would think she was lying to save her brother.

“I didn’t exactly remember anything new,” Avery said, although she desperately wished she did. “But I just spoke with Hank, and we had a long talk about that night. It turns out that he confessed to the murder because he thought I killed Wade.”

Another tense silence. “Did you?”

Avery’s breath caught. That was a fair question. Others would no doubt ask it.

And if she had killed Wade... Well, it was time she faced up to it.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t think so. But Hank said when he came into my bedroom, Wade was already lying on the floor with a knife wound in his chest. He saw me crouched on the bed, crying, and he thought I killed Wade in self-defense, so when the police came, he confessed to cover for me.”

“That’s some story,” Ms. Ellis said. “Unfortunately without proof, it’ll be impossible to convince a judge to stop the execution and reopen the case.”

Despair threatened to overwhelm Avery. She understood the lawyer’s point, but she had to do something.

“Can’t you argue that someone else came in, killed Wade Mulligan and left?”

“With you in the room?”

Avery closed her eyes, panic flaring. If only she could remember everything that had happened that night...

“The social worker and doctor who examined me afterward can testify that I was traumatized, but that it was possible.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Tierney, I want to help. But I need more.”

Determination rallied inside her. Then she’d get more.

Footsteps pounded the floor, and she looked up and saw the handsome-as-sin Texas Ranger appear in the doorway. His square jaw was solid, strong, set. Grim.

His eyes were dark with emotions she couldn’t define.

He didn’t believe Hank. He wasn’t going to help her.

She could see it in his eyes.

Hank’s scarred face haunted her. She’d let him down years ago when she told the police she’d seen him stab Wade. And then again when she stayed away from the prison. When she let holidays and birthdays pass without sending cards or writing or paying him a visit.

If Ranger Ward wouldn’t investigate, she’d do some digging around on her own.

Chapter Four

Jaxon’s insides were knotted with tension. He believed Hank Tierney.

But he would be in hot water with his boss if he challenged his opinion and the verdict that had landed Tierney on death row.

Landers also knew Jaxon’s past and would question his objectivity regarding the situation. Hell, the man had practically dragged Jaxon from the gutter himself.

Jaxon owed him.

But...Avery had sounded upset, and the way she described that night sounded so heart wrenching that she couldn’t have made up what had happened or been acting.

Could she?

Unless...she’d been so traumatized that the details of the evening were distorted to the point that she believed the story she’d told.

Or...there always the possibility that she and her brother had concocted this story at the last minute to create enough reasonable doubt that the governor would have to grant a stay and retry the case. And if they both stuck to their story, it was possible they could garner enough sympathy to convince a jury that Hank was innocent. That they were both victims.

Which he believed they were.

Avery dropped the phone into its cradle. “You aren’t going to help me, are you?”

Jaxon’s lungs tightened. Damn if she didn’t have the sweetest voice.

He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. What the hell was wrong with him? When had he become such a sap?

“I will investigate,” Jaxon said, knowing he was jeopardizing his career, but that he had to know the truth. “I’d like to talk to the foster mother you lived with at the time.”

Avery’s eyes widened in surprise. “I have no idea where she is. At the trial, she said Hank and I ruined her life.”

They had ruined her life? “What happened to you after the trial?”

“They placed me in a group home. I never heard from her again.”

“She and her husband should have been prosecuted for child abuse and endangerment.” And the old man for rape.

“Did you tell the social worker about the abuse?” he asked.

Avery averted her face. “No. I was too ashamed at the time. I thought...that I did something wrong. And Wade said if I told, he’d kill me and Hank.”

He wished Wade were alive so he could kill him himself.

Worse, if the social worker hadn’t documented evidence of abuse, then it was Avery and Hank’s word against a dead man’s. A prosecutor would argue that they’d invented the story to save Hank.

But he didn’t think Avery was lying about the abuse. That kind of pain was hard to fake.

Besides, any woman who stood by and allowed abuse of any kind to take place in her home was just as guilty as the perpetrator.

Although psychologists argued women were too afraid physically of their abusers to leave or stand up to them. And they often felt trapped by financial circumstances.

Worse, if a woman sent her abuser to jail, when he was released he often went straight home and took his anger out on her all over again.

It was a flawed system, but if it were his child, he’d die to protect him or her.

“I’ll find her,” Jaxon said. “I’d also like to speak with the social worker who placed you and Hank in that home.”

Because that social worker should have realized what was happening and stopped it.

* * *

AVERY COULDN’T BELIEVE the Ranger’s words or that his voice sounded sincere. But something about the man’s gruff exterior and those deep-set dark, fathomless eyes, told her that he was a man of his word.

Not like any other man she’d ever known.

Don’t believe him, a little voice in her head whispered. Men who make promises either lie or have their own agenda.

He’ll want something in return.

She was not the kind of girl to do favors like that.

“You really are going to talk to them?” she asked.

He tipped his Stetson, a sexy move that spoke of respect and manners and...made her heart flutter with female nerves.

Good heavens. She had to get a grip. Jaxon Ward was a Texas Ranger. And she needed his help for Hank.

Nothing more.

He took a step closer, his masculine scent wafting toward her and playing havoc with her senses. “Hank said he stabbed Wade Mulligan, but that he was already dead. If you didn’t deliver the deadly blow and Hank didn’t, that means there was someone else in the house.” The silver star on his chest glittered in the harsh lights. “Who else might have wanted the man dead?”

Avery had desperately tried to forget everything about the man. But if she wanted to help Hank, she had to confront the past.

“Avery, can you think of anyone?”

“His wife,” she said, her heart thundering. “If she knew he was coming into my room, maybe she tried to stop him.”

Jaxon’s expression was grim. “That makes sense, but didn’t she have an alibi for that night?”

Avery’s head swam. “She claimed she was at her mother’s.” Panic began to claw at her chest. “Maybe Joleen lied about going to her mother’s. Or she could have come back for some reason, and she saw Wade tie up Hank and come into my room. Then she slipped in and killed him.”

Although even as she suggested the possibility, despair threatened. The problem with that theory was that Joleen hadn’t cared for her or Hank.

She certainly hadn’t loved them enough to kill her husband for them.

* * *

JAXON GRIMACED. DISCUSSING the case would definitely reopen old wounds for Avery, but questions had to be asked and answered. “Do you know if Mrs. Mulligan continued to take in foster children after her husband was murdered?”

“I have no idea what happened to her,” Avery said.

“What about the social worker who placed you with the Mulligans? What was her name?”

Avery rubbed her forehead as if thinking back. “I...think it was Donna. No, Delia. I don’t know her last name.”

“There should be records,” Jaxon said. “What do remember about her?”

Avery shrugged. “Not much. She gave me candy on the ride to the Mulligans’ the day she dropped us off.” Her voice cracked. “But I don’t remember her coming back to visit.”

Jaxon bit back a response. “Did she testify at your brother’s trial?”

Avery rubbed the scar around her wrist. “I don’t think so. But I was so young that they didn’t let me inside for some of the trial.”

That made sense.

“I’ll pull the transcripts from the trial and review them, then question her.”

Avery squared her shoulders. “I’d like to go with you to see her.”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Avery folded her arms, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “I may have been a child then, Sergeant, but I’m not anymore. My testimony put my brother in prison, and got him the death penalty. Now that I know he’s innocent, I have to make things right.”

Jaxon lowered his voice. “Avery, do you think it’s possible that Hank twisted the truth because he’s afraid to die?”

She shook her head. “No. Hank’s not like that. He always owned up to things he did wrong. Even if it meant he’d be punished for it. Besides, he just said that he confessed because he thought I killed Wade.”

Oddly it sounded as though Hank Tierney had character, that he wasn’t the bad seed the prosecutor had painted him to be.

And if a jury heard his testimony now and heard Avery’s story, they might let Hank Tierney go.

So why hadn’t the D.A. and Tierney’s defense attorney pleaded not guilty and put the kid on the stand?

Dammit, he needed to see the autopsy report for Wade Mulligan. If someone else had delivered the fatal stab wound before Hank Tierney had unleashed his rage, it might show up in the autopsy report.

* * *

AVERY’S PALMS BEGAN to sweat at the idea of dredging up the details of the past. Already she felt drained from the day’s visit with Hank and now this Texas Ranger.

And if she helped Hank—and she had to help him—this was only the beginning. Everyone in the town—hell, everyone in the state—would know her sordid story.

Taking a deep breath to fortify her resolve, she lifted her chin. “Please. It’s time for me to face the past. Maybe seeing Joleen Mulligan and the social worker will jog my memory of that night.”

“That’s possible.” Sergeant Ward’s dark eyes met hers. “But are you ready for that?”

No. She wanted to run as fast as she could and as far away as possible. But Hank’s troubled voice claiming he was innocent, that he’d taken the rap to save her from arrest, echoed in her ears. There was no way she could allow him to be put to death when he’d confessed to protect her.

“Yes. I have to do this, Sergeant.”

“All right. Give me your number, and I’ll call you when I locate them.”

Avery recited her cell number, and he entered it into his phone.

The dark, handsome Ranger tilted his head to the side. “One thing, Avery—I will look into Hank’s story, but I can’t promise anything. It’s almost impossible to get a murder conviction overturned this late in the game.”

“It’s not a game,” Avery said, her senses prickling. “This is my brother’s life.”

A heartbeat of silence stretched between them. “I know that. But I don’t want you to get your hopes up.” He pierced her with a dark look. “And if I find out either of you is lying and using me, I won’t hesitate to tell the judge that, either.”

Her heart hammered against her breastbone. “Hank and I aren’t lying,” she said. “Hank didn’t kill Wade Mulligan. That means that the real killer has been walking around free for twenty years thinking he got away with it. And I can’t live with that.”

A muscle twitched in his strong jaw. “You may have to. Sometimes the justice system fails.”

Yes, it had done so twenty years ago.

But she’d do everything within her power to change that now.

* * *

JAXON’S PHONE BUZZED as soon as he left the prison. His director.

Still contemplating what to tell him, Jaxon let the phone roll to voice mail.

Wind whistled across his skin as he climbed into his SUV and pulled from the parking spot. He’d worked in law enforcement for ten years, yet the razor wire and armed guards made sweat bead on his skin. He liked the law, thought the system worked for the most part.

But occasionally a case went wrong. An innocent victim fell through the cracks.

Hank Tierney had been locked up since he was a teenager. Should he have been free all this time?

Had his life been stolen from him by someone who’d murdered his foster father, then walked around free for twenty years while he lived in hell?

Chapter Five

On the way to Cherokee Crossing, Jaxon stopped for lunch at a barbecue joint, wolfed down a sandwich, then looked up the number for the attorney interested in Tierney’s case. The receptionist patched him through immediately.

“Sergeant Ward, I talked to Avery Tierney earlier. She said you were investigating the murder conviction.”

“I am,” Jaxon admitted. “Did you find anything that might exonerate Hank?”

“Nothing specific,” Ms. Ellis replied. “I just had a feeling when I read the story that there was more to it. Foster-care kids get bum deals. I wanted to know more.”

“You may be right.”

“Listen,” Ms. Ellis said, “if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. If that man is innocent as his sister claims, he deserves justice.”

He agreed with her on that. “Thank you. Call me if you learn anything that might be helpful.”

He hung up, then used his tablet to access police databases and search for Joleen Mulligan. It didn’t take long to find her. She had a rap sheet.

Two DUIs and an arrest for possession of narcotics. She’d also been dropped as a foster parent after Mulligan’s death, so she’d resorted to government assistance and project housing.

Jaxon phoned a friend with social services—Casey Chambers, a young woman in her twenties whose parents had been killed when she was twelve, throwing her into the system. She’d seen enough of it to want to help other kids get out like she had.

“Hey, Jaxon, what can I do for you?”

“I need some background information on a case that came through the social service agency twenty years ago.”

“What’s this about?”

“The Hank Tierney murder conviction.”

“You’re looking in to that?” Casey made a soft sound in her throat. “I’ve seen the protestors, and I heard some young lawyer was asking questions, too. Is that true?”

“Yeah. I was at the prison and some questions have come up regarding the conviction. I need contact information for the social worker who placed Hank and his sister, Avery, in the Mulligans’ home. Her first name was Delia.”

“That was a long time ago and the agency has a pretty high turnover rate. Burnout and all.”

“I understand. But can you find it?”

“I’ll see what I can do and get back with you.”

“Thanks, Casey.”

“Jaxon, what do you think? I read about the murder and the guy’s confession. He admitted to stabbing the man. But something doesn’t ring right to me.”

Avery’s pain-filled eyes taunted him. “I know. That’s why I want to talk to the social worker.”

A hesitation. “Jax?”

“Don’t repeat that to anyone,” he said. “Just get me that information.”

“You got it.”

The waitress brought his check, and he paid the bill and left her a nice tip, then drove toward the courthouse. The land seemed even more deserted with winter taking its toll. Everything looked desolate, deserted, dry, almost like a ghost town.

Cherokee Crossing looked like a throwback in a Western movie with a bar/saloon in the heart of town, and a tack-and-boot store beside it. Life moved slower here. Residents told stories about the Cherokee Indians being the dominant tribe in the area, and the canyon that had literally and figuratively divided the Native Americans and early settlers.

The town had been built to bridge that gap.

Jaxon parked in front of the county courthouse, noting the parking lot was nearly empty. It was four-thirty; people were heading home for the day. He parked next to a pickup, then strode up the sidewalk to the courthouse steps. He identified himself, then went through security and headed to the clerk’s office.

He greeted the secretary, reminding himself to use his charm. Death penalty cases were always controversial and stirred emotional reactions on all sides.

Alienating people would not get him what he wanted. Avery’s tormented expression haunted him. He hoped to hell he wasn’t being a sucker and being lured into believing an act.

Maybe the social worker could shed some light on the situation. He also needed to review the trial transcripts, study the way the lawyers handled the case, make sure nothing was overlooked or evidence hadn’t gotten lost, misplaced or intentionally omitted.

Roberta, the clerk in charge of records, was always friendly and knew more about the goings-on in the courthouse than anyone else. She’d also worked with the court system for thirty years.

Jaxon had only been a year older than Hank Tierney when Hank was arrested. That was probably one reason he remembered the case so well.

It had been all over the news. Jaxon’s uncle, the only living relative he’d had at the time, was disabled and had watched the story with him, then had a come-to-Jesus talk with Jaxon. He’d told him he was going to end up like Hank Tierney one day if he didn’t get his act together.

Unable to raise him, that uncle had shipped Jaxon to a military school, where he’d learned to be a man. He’d hated it at first.

But looking back, he now saw that that school had saved him from going down the wrong path.

“Hi, Roberta, I need some help. Can you get me a copy of the transcripts of Hank Tierney’s trial twenty years ago?”

Roberta’s eyebrows climbed. “The Tierney man who’s about to die?”

“Yes. My director wants me to review the matter because of some young lawyer looking to get the conviction overturned.”

Roberta sighed. “I always felt sorry for that boy and girl. Folks said the boy was scary, that he stabbed that man a bunch of times, but if you ask me, something else was going on in that house. Something nobody wanted to talk about.”

“You remember the trial?” Jaxon asked.

“Of course.” She reached for a set of keys in her drawer. “Never forget how terrified that poor child looked when the reporters pounced on her. That young’un was scared to death. Something bad happened to her, I tell you. Children don’t look like that unless they’ve seen real-life monsters.”

True.

She ambled around the side of the desk. “Those files are old, Sergeant. They’ll be archived downstairs.”