Rita Herron - Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

Was he guilty?

An uneasy feeling prickled at Jaxon’s skin. If Avery didn’t remember the details of the murder, could she have stabbed her foster father, then blocked out the stabbing?

Damn. She’d only been a child. But if the man had been abusing her, and she’d fought, adrenaline could have surged enough for to fight the man and inflict a deadly stab wound.

Not likely. But not impossible.

The more believable scenario was the one the assistant district attorney had gone with when they’d prosecuted Tierney. They had concrete evidence, blood all over the boy and his hands, and those damning crime photos. For God’s sake, Hank was holding the murder weapon and had admitted to stabbing Mulligan.

And Hank and Avery were the only two people in the house at the time.

“Talk to Hank and you’ll see that he’s telling the truth,” Avery said. “Please, Sergeant, help me save him.”

Man, that sweet voice of hers made him want to say yes. And those soulful, pain-filled eyes made him want to wipe away all her sorrow.

But he might not be able to do that. Not if Hank were guilty.

Avery touched his hand, though, and a warmth spread through him, a tingling awareness that sent a streak of electricity through his body.

And an awareness that should have raised red flags. She was a desperate woman. A woman in need.

A woman with a troubled past who might be lying just to save her brother.

He’d fallen into that trap before and almost gotten killed because of it. He’d vowed never to make that mistake again.

But the facts about the case bugged him. Considering the circumstances, the kid should have been given some leniency. Offered parole. He’d been fourteen. A kid trying to protect his sister.

Unless those circumstances hadn’t been presented to the jury.

But why hadn’t they?

His boss would know. But hell, Landers wanted Hank Tierney to be executed.

Because he believed Hank was a cold-blooded killer?

Or because he’d made a mistake and didn’t want it exposed?

Chapter Three

Jaxon tried to reserve judgment on Hank Tierney as a guard escorted the inmate into the visitors’ room, shackled and chained. Hank’s shaved head, the scars on his arms and the angry glint in his eyes reeked of life on the inside.

A question flashed in Tierney’s eyes when he spotted Jaxon seated at the table.

“Hello, Mr. Tierney, my name is Sergeant Jaxon Ward.”

The man’s thick eyebrows climbed. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you, Hank. I can call you Hank, can’t I?”

The man hesitated, then seemed to think better of it and nodded. For a brief second, Jaxon glimpsed the vulnerability behind the tough exterior. But resignation, acceptance and defeat seemed to weigh down his body.

“I just talked to your sister, Avery.” Jaxon watched for the man’s reaction and noted surprise, then a small flicker of hope that made Tierney look younger than his thirty-four years. Maybe like the boy he’d been before he was beaten by Mulligan and he was locked away for life.

“I can’t believe she called you. I just saw her.” Emotions thickened his voice, a sign that he hadn’t expected anything to come of their conversation.

That he hadn’t expected anything out of life for a long time.

“She didn’t,” Jaxon said, knowing he couldn’t offer Hank Tierney false hope. In fact, all he really knew was that a jury had convicted him.

And that he and his sister might have concocted this story to convince a judge to order a stay of execution.

“I came at the request of my director. But your sister showed up at the warden’s office while we were talking.”

Cold acceptance resonated from Hank at that revelation. “So you came to make sure they stick the needle in me?”

He was world-weary.

Jaxon folded his arms and sat back, his professional mask in place. “I came for the truth. Your sister insists you’re innocent.”

Hank’s chains rattled as he leaned forward. He ran his hand over his shaved head, more scars on his fingers evident beneath the harsh lights. When he finally looked back up at Jaxon, emotions glittered in the inmate’s cold eyes. “You believe her?”

Jaxon scrutinized every nuance of Hank’s expression and mannerisms. According to his files, he’d been an angry kid. And according to Avery, he’d been abused.

Twenty years in a cell had only hardened him more. The scars on his body and the harsh reality of prison conditions attested to the fact that he’d suffered more abuse inside. But judging from the size of his arms and hands, he’d learned to fight back.

“I don’t know,” Jaxon said. “I read the file. You confessed. You were convicted.”

Hank shot up, rage oozing from his pores. “Then why did you come here?”

Because your sister has the neediest eyes I’ve ever seen.

He bit back the words, though. Avery Tierney had survived without him, and if she were the victim she professed to be, she might be lying now.

Worse, his boss wanted him to make sure the conviction wasn’t overturned. Wouldn’t look good on Director Landers if one of the cases that had made his career blew up and it was exposed that he’d sent an innocent man to prison on death row.

But something about the case aroused Jaxon’s interest.

Because Avery had created doubt in his mind. Just a seed, but enough to drive him to want to know the truth.

“I had my reasons for confessing.” Hank turned to leave, his chains rattling in the tense silence, his labored breath echoing in the room.

“Did you kill Wade Mulligan?” Jaxon asked bluntly.

Hank froze, his body going ramrod straight. Slowly he turned back to face Jaxon. The agony in his eyes made Jaxon’s gut knot.

“I wanted him dead,” Hank said, his voice laced with the kind of deep animosity that had been built from years of thinking about the monstrous things Mulligan had done. “I hated the son of a bitch.” He shuffled back to the table and sank into the chair.

“Every night I lay there in that damned bed across the hall from Avery, staring at the ceiling just waiting. The old lady would take her pills and pass out. He’d wait a half hour or so, wait till the house was dark and he thought everyone was asleep.” Hank traced one blunt finger over a fresh bruise on his knuckle. “But I couldn’t sleep, and I knew Avery couldn’t, ’cause we both knew what was coming.”

Jaxon gritted his teeth.

“Then I’d hear that squeak of the door....” Hank’s voice cracked. “At first, I was so scared I crawled in the closet and hid like a coward. But one night...I heard Avery crying and something snapped inside me.” He balled his hands into fists, knuckles reddening with the force. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to do something.”

Jaxon’s stomach churned as he imagined Avery at nine, lying helpless at the mercy of that bastard. “What happened then?”

“I ran in and tried to drag him off her.” Hank’s voice shook, his eyes blurry with tears. “He knocked me off him and beat the hell out of me. Used a belt that night.”

“It happened more than once?”

Hank dropped his head as if the shame was too much. “Yeah. After I started fighting back, I couldn’t stop. But the beatings got worse. Then he started locking me up at night, tied me to the bed so I couldn’t come in and stop him.” He groaned. “I had to lie there like a trussed pig and listen to that grunting, the wall banging. I wanted to kill him so bad I imagined it over and over in my head.”

Hank lapsed into silence, wrestling with his emotions. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.

“Tell me about the night of the murder,” Jaxon finally said.

“The old lady was gone, left for a couple of days.” Hank sucked in a deep breath, his eyes glazed as if he were thrust back in that moment. “I knew it was going to be bad that night, that he’d stay at it till dawn. So earlier, I hid a kitchen knife in my bed, under my pillow.”