Page 6 of Lone Star Witness

She had to shake her head. “I don’t know who he is. He claimed to be Jack Smith when he signed the visitors’ log, and he said he was a lawyer for Rosa’s wife. He’s not. I checked with her on that. The guy had an ID with that name, but I’m betting the ID was fake.”

“You spoke to him or signed him in?” Slade wanted to know.

“No, I personally don’t screen the visitors,” she replied. “I was in my office when he arrived about six hours ago, but our receptionist on duty at the time had him fill out the usual paperwork to get a visitor’s pass.”

“What did he say or do that wasn’t usual?” Slade pressed.

“Everything from the moment he was escorted to the colonel’s room.” She stopped, sighed. “Let me say upfront that visitors, even those with IDs, aren’t simply allowed into a client’s room. A duty nurse asked the colonel if he wanted to see Mr. Smith, Attorney at Law, and he agreed. Then, per our protocols, the nurse waited outside the room with the door closed. Within seconds, the visitor locked the door, and the nurse heard the visitor use what she described as a menacing tone.”

Slade frowned. “What did the guy say?”

“The nurse thought Smith said You’re a dead man. That’s when she hit her silent alarm for me to come right away.”

It hadn’t been a long trek from her office to Rosa’s room but it’d sure felt like it. Marise had worked at Patriot’s Retreat for four years, and this was the first time something like this had happened.

“I could only hear murmurings when I reached the door,” she went on, and I used a master key to let myself in.” She stopped again. “The colonel was in a fighting stance, body braced, fists up. So was Smith. I stepped in, identified myself, and Smith immediately turned to leave. He said under his breath that I should mind my own business and tacked on a bitch to that.”

Slade’s forehead bunched up, probably an automatic gesture for his deep thought mode. But he winced when the movement tugged at the cut on his head. It was a reminder that she needed to try again to convince him to go to the hospital.

Slade glanced at the corners of the ceiling and out into the hall. “You’ve got security cams.”

“We do, but the visitor must have jammed them or there was a malfunction because when I went to view the footage, it was blank.” That’s when she’d gotten really spooked because everything about this had felt menacing and calculated.

She could practically hear him processing all of this. “What did the colonel say about all of this?” Slade wanted to know.

“Exactly nothing. He wouldn’t talk to me about it. He also didn’t want to speak to you when I suggested it. And he vehemently refused to talk to his wife or let me phone the cops.”

“Did you call the cops?” Slade went on.

“I did,” she admitted. “I called them anyway, and a Detective Louis Gonzales came here. The colonel wouldn’t even see him, but the detective took my statement. Without the cam feed and only the muttered threats, there wasn’t much the detective could do, so he gave me a blanket Be careful warning and to call him if the man returned.”

“And did he return?” Slade asked. “Because I’m guessing he did for you to believe he wants Rosa and you dead.”

“Oh, he returned, all right.” She hiked her thumb toward the front of the building. “A couple of minutes after the detective drove off, I went to the window to look out, and I saw Mr. Smith step out from behind one the trees in the side garden. I snapped his picture.” She took out her phone to show him.

Though there really wasn’t much to show.

It was a grainy, smeared shot because Smith had darted to the side when he’d seen what she was doing and had ducked back behind the tree.

Slade leaned in closer and studied the image. “Text that to me,” he instructed, and when she did, he fired it off to someone else. “We have techs who can enhance that and maybe get a clearer image.” His gaze met hers again. “What did Smith do after he hid behind the tree?”

Ah, he knew her well. Knew that she wouldn’t have called him out because of hunches and bad vibes.

“I went outside to confront him,” she admitted.

Slade interrupted her with a groan. “Since I know guns are a problem for you, I’m guessing you went out unarmed and with no backup.”

She tried not to be too insulted by his tone. “I took a paperweight from my desk with me. It’s smooth quartz, the size of a baseball, and I would have bashed him in the face with it if he’d come after me.”

His mouth quivered a little, threatening to smile. It faded quickly when he no doubt remembered she might have been in danger. “And did you have to use the paperweight?” he asked.

“No. By the time I got out there, he was no longer behind the tree.” She brought up another picture on her phone. “But this was.”

Definitely no threat of a smile this time. Slade scowled when he looked at the picture. “Is that a dead rat?”

“It is,” she verified, enlarging the photo so he could see what else was on the mangled body.

A silver eagle.

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