Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing. Rita Herron

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