Beneath the Badge Page 11

“It’s looking that way.” He dragged in a breath. “It also turns out that that kid was me.”

  Brody’s eyes shot up and Egan’s mouth opened and closed. “Margaret Hathaway is your mother?” Brody croaked.

  Hayes swallowed hard and nodded.

  “You saw proof?” Egan asked.

  Hayes nodded again. “Yep. Saw the birth certificate and adoption papers where my mama signed me away.”

  “Holy hell, Hayes,” Egan said. “That means your family is rich.”

  “Yeah, rich.” He grunted in disgust. “But I don’t want their damn money. And Link Hathaway made it plain and clear that I’d have no part in their happy little family.”

  “What about Margaret?” Brody asked quietly.

  A sharp pain twisted his insides. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He cleared his throat, forcing a calm veneer to his voice. “Anyway, the point is that Link calculated to keep my existence a secret. He didn’t want Margaret locating her child.”

  “Which would give him a motive for murdering the private investigator,” Egan said, jumping on his train of thought.

  “And Taylor,” Hayes added. “I overheard him tell her that it was her fault, and that she would be sorry for nosing into his business.”

  Brody whistled, and Hayes tacked Hathaway’s picture onto the corkboard, then pointed to the picture of the button. “I found this button at the private investigator’s office beside his body.”

  He waited, watched, saw the moment Egan recognized the button. His gaze swung to Hayes’s, questions exploding in his eyes.

  “You know who that belongs to?” Tension strained Egan’s voice.

  Hayes nodded.

  Disbelief, then pain and worry flashed in Egan’s eyes. “And you think my father killed Morris for Link Hathaway.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hayes lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But we have to question him and Hathaway.”

  “What about your father?” Egan asked in a low voice. “Maybe he didn’t want Taylor snooping around. And maybe he didn’t want you found, either.”

  Egan’s comment cut to the bone. “That’s possible.” He ground out the words. “But Margaret claims he doesn’t know I exist. She never told him she was pregnant.”

  “He could have found out,” Egan pointed out.

  Hayes couldn’t argue that point. Meaning Hayes’s father would be a suspect, as well.

  Egan phoned Walt and requested they meet at his old house but offered no explanation.

  “I’ll call for a warrant for Link Hathaway’s house and Walt’s,” Brody said.

  “Remember we’re looking for a .38, probably unregistered.” Hayes gestured toward the photos on the corkboard and the whiteboard information. “In our preliminary research, I discovered that Hathaway has a .45 and a .38, Tammy Sutton a .22 and Kenneth owns a .38.” He turned to Egan. “Does your father own a gun?”

  Egan shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  But he could have bought one without Egan knowing.

  Egan clapped his hands together. “I say we pick up that warrant, then get this over with.”

  “I’ll work on obtaining Hathaway’s phone records while you’re gone,” Brody said.

  Hayes grimaced. Recently Walt had called Egan and apologized for giving him such a crappy childhood. Egan hadn’t totally forgiven him but they’d started to mend their relationship.

  This would throw a kink in that reconciliation.

  Hayes caught Egan’s arm. “Listen, man, I’m sorry.”

  Egan stared him in the eyes, his jaw tight. “Yeah, so am I.”

  Hayes nodded. Neither of them had expected this investigation to be turned on its tail and implicate their own family members.

  But now they had, they had to follow through. After all, they were Texas Rangers and the badge required it.

  THE PAIN IN HAYES’S EYES roused emotions and protective instincts that Taylor had never felt for a man.

  Yet she also felt protective over Margaret, and knew her friend was in turmoil, too. Besides, Hayes was wrong. Margaret had missed him, had seen his face in every child she’d tried to help since.

  She didn’t simply donate money to charities. She spent time at the teen center, had even earned a counseling degree and counseled girls on teen pregnancy.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Come in.”

  She expected to see Hayes’s face, but Ranger McQuade appeared instead. “Miss Landis, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be downstairs filling in for Hayes for a while. He and Egan went to question Link Hathaway and Walt Caldwell.”

  She nodded and picked up the phone as he closed the door. So that was the way Hayes wanted to play it. He’d leave his friend to babysit her so he could interrogate Margaret’s father.

  She had to warn Margaret.

  She punched in the number for Margaret’s cell phone, hoping to avoid Link and speak directly to her friend. Margaret answered on the third ring, her voice hoarse.

  “Margaret, are you all right?”

  Margaret sniffled. “I don’t know, Taylor. Part of me wants to jump for joy that I finally found my son. But he hates me, and I don’t know how to make it up to him for all that he lost.”

  Taylor winced. “He doesn’t hate you,” she said gently. “He’s just bitter right now, and in shock.”

  “I never meant to hurt him,” Margaret said in earnest. “I did think Daddy was right at the time.”

  “And if the people who took Hayes in had loved him, he probably would have been. You were only a kid yourself and needed to finish school, Margaret.”

  “But he’ll never forgive me,” Margaret said. “And I want to have a relationship with him.”

  “Give him time,” Taylor advised. “You both need that, Margaret.” Maybe Hayes would come around at the party Saturday night.

  “I suppose you’re right.” A long pause ensued. “But I have to tell Devon. Maybe postpone the wedding.”

  “Margaret, do you think that’s necessary?” Taylor clawed her hand through her hair. It had taken Margaret months to agree to marry Devon. She hated for her to postpone it any longer.

  Devon would understand. Wouldn’t he?

  Or would it affect his run for the city council if Margaret’s illegitimate child were revealed?

  “How are things between you and your father?” Taylor asked.

  “Tense,” Margaret said. “He encouraged me to let Hayes go without even trying to get to know him, but I can’t do that. I won’t.”

  Relief surged through Taylor at the conviction in her friend’s voice. Link had manipulated Margaret far too long. He needed to see that forging a relationship with her son would finally fill the void in Margaret’s life.

  “Speaking of your father and Hayes,” Taylor said. “I think he’s on his way over there to talk to him now.”

  Margaret’s soft gasp echoed over the line. “About me?”

  A ripple of panic darted through Taylor. “About that private investigator’s murder.”

  “Oh my Lord,” Margaret rasped. “Hayes thinks that my father killed Mr. Morris because he didn’t want me to find out about him.”

  Unable to verbally answer that question, she let the silence serve as her reply.

  “He’s wrong,” Margaret insisted. “My father would never hurt anyone, Taylor.”

  Again, Taylor couldn’t respond. She hoped Margaret was right, but Link had never intended for his secrets about Hayes to be revealed. He probably feared that if Margaret discovered his lies, he’d lose his daughter.

  EGAN INSISTED ON DRIVING, and Hayes agreed. The silence between them was deafening as they parked at Egan’s father’s house, a modest home in the same neighborhood where he, Egan and Brody had grown up and connected as kids. Three boys who’d liked rough-housing, sports and fighting, who’d been like brothers.

  Now this case might tear them apart.

  He followed Egan up the overgrown sidewalk, w
ondering why Walt didn’t take more pride in his own place and why he was so ridiculously dedicated to Link Hathaway. Obviously not because he earned an exorbitant salary or had been given a fancy car.

  Not like the limousine Walt drove for Link.

  As kids, the boys had begged Egan’s father to take them for a ride in the swanky black vehicle, but Link had refused Walt the privilege, saying the car was too nice for hooligans like them.

  They had all despised Link Hathaway.

  And now that Hayes knew the man was his grandfather, he hated him even more.

  Although this house had once been Egan’s home, Egan balled his hand into a fist and pounded on the door, alerting his father to the fact that he had stopped by.

  “Dad, it’s Egan. We have to talk.”

  Walt approached from the back bedroom, looking disheveled. “What in God’s name is going on?” Walt bellowed. “I need to be at work, Egan.”

  Egan shoved the search warrant into his father’s hands. “Dad, this is official. We have a warrant to search your house and car.”

  Walt’s shocked gaze swung to Egan, then Hayes. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Egan chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’m afraid not. One of the buttons off your uniform was found at the scene of a murder investigation, Dad.”

  Walt sucked air between his teeth. “How do you know it’s mine?”

  “It’s identical to the one on your uniform,” Hayes said, cutting in. “And we matched your prints, as well.”

  Walt sighed shakily and sank into his big plaid recliner. “I can explain.”

  “Yeah?” Egan snapped. “I bet you can.”

  “Don’t disrespect me, son,” Walt snarled.

  Hayes cleared his throat. “We have to follow every lead. Can you explain your relationship to a P.I. named Mr. Morris?”

  “Morris?”

  “Yes.”

  Walt cut his steely blue-gray eyes sideways, shifting restlessly. “I don’t have a relationship with the man.”

  “Look, Dad, there’s no need to lie or deny that you knew him,” Egan said in a clipped tone. “We have prints proving that you were in his office. And Morris is dead.”

  “I did go there,” Walt admitted. “But he was already dead when I arrived.”

  “What was the nature of your visit?” Hayes asked.

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” Walt said.

  “You work for Link Hathaway,” Hayes accused. “You went there for him, didn’t you? You knew that his daughter had a baby when she was a teenager and gave it up for adoption?”

  Walt’s eyes widened. “How did you find that out? No one was supposed to know.”

  Hayes’s jaw tightened. “You obviously did. Did you help Link get rid of the kid when he was born?”

  Walt’s face turned a pasty greenish white, and Hayes’s stomach clenched. “You did, didn’t you?”

  Walt gripped the chair edge. “I was his driver. I did what he told me to do.”

  The picture of the events of that night rolled through Hayes’s mind in a sickening drunken rush. Margaret giving birth. Link sending Walt off to dispose of the child.

  To dispose of him.

  “Link discovered that Taylor Landis had hired Morris to find Margaret’s child,” Egan said, his tone hard, yet pain darkened his eyes. “And he sent you to take care of his business, didn’t he, Dad?”

  Walt lurched to his feet. “I went there, yes, but I didn’t kill Morris. He was already dead when I arrived.”

  Hayes arched a brow. “Really?”

  “I swear it.” Walt turned a panicked look toward Egan. “Honest, son, I smelled blood the minute I walked in, and stooped down to see if the man was alive.” His hand combed over his uniform finding the missing button. “That’s when I must have lost the button. He didn’t have a pulse, and I heard a sound and thought the killer might still be there, so I ran as fast as I could.”

  “You didn’t call 9-1-1?” Hayes accused.

  Walt swiped a hand over his sweating face. “I…was going to, but then sirens wailed and I figured someone else heard the shots and had called it in.”

  “And you didn’t want to stick around and answer questions?” Egan asked.

  “I…didn’t want to expose my reason for being there. Link Hathaway’s interests had to be protected.”

  “What about yours?” Egan asked.

  Walt reached for Egan, but Egan snapped a hand back. “Stop it, Dad. I don’t know why you’re so dedicated to that man.”

  Walt glanced back and forth between the two of them. “He’s not a bad man. He only wanted to protect his daughter.”

  “Do you have a gun in the house?” Egan asked.

  Walt shook his head. “No, you know I don’t like guns, Egan.”

  “I have to look anyway, Dad.” He paused. “You know that if you’re covering for Link Hathaway or lying, you can be charged as an accomplice to murder.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone, son,” Walt said firmly.

  But he still might be covering for Hathaway. Egan stared at his father for a long moment, then strode toward the hall desk and started to search.

  Hayes gritted his teeth. “Answer me one more question, Walt. Did you know that I was Margaret’s son, the one Hathaway threw away?”

  Walt staggered backward, then slumped into the chair again. “No, I had no idea. All Link said was that he told Margaret the kid was happy.”

  So that part of Margaret’s story was true. But it didn’t mean that his grandfather wasn’t a killer.

  “What about my father?” Hayes’s throat felt dry as if he had sawdust clogging it. “Do you know his name?”

  Walt gave him a steady look. “Mr. Hathaway never told me his name, and I never asked. Didn’t think it was any of my business.”

  But it was his business, and his father might be the killer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the time they reached Cantara Hills, Hayes had adopted his poker face. He refused to allow Hathaway to know how much he was hurting. On some level, he realized Margaret had only been a kid herself and under the direction of an overbearing powerful father when she’d given him up.

  Keeping him would have ruined her life.

  But the ache of being unwanted ate at him, especially knowing Hathaway had had the money to give him a decent home.

  His gut tightened as Egan parked in front of the mansion. Margaret’s pricey car still sat in the enormous garage.

  Egan whistled. “I still can’t get used to walking up to these damn estates.” He eyed Hayes. “Unbelievable, man, that your mother grew up here.”

  Hayes growled. “I can’t think of Margaret Hathaway like that.”

  “They owe you,” Egan said in a low voice.

  “I don’t want anything from them but the truth.” And to know if Hathaway had tried to kill Taylor.

  He focused on that thought as he and Egan crossed the path to the front door and knocked. A minute later, a butler answered the door.

  Egan cut straight to the point. “We need to speak to Mr. Hathaway. And we have a search warrant for the premises.”

  The butler’s expression was stony, but he led them to Hathaway’s office. “I’ll call Mr. Hathaway.”

  Egan and Hayes both nodded, Hayes’s gaze traveling around the glitzy interior again and landing on a portrait of Margaret hanging over the fireplace. She wore a graduation cap and gown, so it must have been in high school, probably a finishing school. If she had been fifteen when he was born, this picture was taken afterward. He stepped closer, studying her youthful face, yet something about her eyes disturbed him. They held a haunting sadness that made his throat thicken.

  Had she regretted giving up custody of him? Had she missed him and thought of him over the years?

  Was it possible that she really cared about him?

  The sound of Hathaway clearing his throat jerked him back to the present. “What are you doing back here?”

  Hayes gritted his teeth. “We
have a search warrant.”

  “You can’t think that I killed that private investigator?” Hathaway barked. “Unlike you, I’m a prominent well-respected citizen of this community.”

  Unlike him. The words echoed through his head, rousing his temper.

  “Father, don’t speak to him like that.” Margaret moved into the arched doorway, her frame elegant and graceful, although wariness filled her eyes.

  Hathaway pivoted, his jaw set. “He practically accused me of murder. Now he knows who he is, he wants to get revenge on us. Hell, he’s probably going to plant a gun to frame me so he can go after my money.”

  Margaret’s eyes flared with anger. “Stop it, Father. He’s not here to do any such thing.” She gave Hayes an odd look, a mixture of hurt that he’d accuse her father of a crime and acceptance that he had to ask questions. “Hayes, is this really necessary?”

  Egan cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. We have to check out every lead. And right now, your father is a prime suspect in Mr. Morris’s murder.” His voice turned low. “We also questioned my own father and searched his house.”

  He didn’t have to add that explanation, but Hayes realized that Egan was smoothing things for him.

  Hayes wasn’t ready to latch on to the olive branch.

  Hathaway reached for the phone. “I’m going to call my attorney. Don’t say anything else, Margaret.”

  “I need you to tell me my father’s name,” Hayes said.

  Margaret winced. “I told you he has nothing to do with this, Hayes. He really doesn’t know about you.”

  “But he could have found out, so you have to tell me.”

  She hesitated, tears blurring her eyes. “All right. But please let me talk to him first. He has a right to hear that he has a son from me.”

  He hesitated, considered what she was asking. If his father really didn’t know, then he deserved the truth from Margaret. But allowing her to tell him might put her in danger.

  Her eyes were so pleading, though, that he relented. “All right. But do it soon.”

  She nodded, the anguish in her eyes tearing at him.

  Still, if she was wrong, his father could have offed Morris to keep Hayes from finding the truth.