Buried Memories - Irene Pence

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      NO REMORSE

      Betty’s nightgown clung to her as sweat and Wayne’s blood ran down her body, the stench of gunpowder filling her nostrils. Blood poured through the open star-shaped wounds in the back of her husband’s head where she’d just fired three shots of her .38-caliber Colt revolver.

      Eager to wash the blood from her hands, Betty went into the bathroom, exchanging the sopping nightgown for an old T-shirt. After tucking the sheets of green plastic around Wayne’s body, she stuffed the dead weight into a blue canvas sleeping bag. With a healthy push, the body tumbled off the bed and landed with a thud.

      Little by little, she dragged the gruesome package into the closet and closed the door. The body safely hidden, she scrubbed away every last trace of her husband and his murder before returning to bed.

      Without remorse or guilt to trouble her, Betty fell soundly asleep.

      Other books by Irene Pence

      A CLUE FROM THE GRAVE

      TRIANGLE

      Published by Pinnacle Books

      BURIED MEMORIES

      IRENE PENCE

      PINNACLE BOOKS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       http://www.pinnaclebooks.com

      All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

      Table of Contents

      NO REMORSE Other books by Irene Pence Title Page Dedication ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Copyright Page

      For

      Mark, Laurie, and Lisa,

      who were raised with love,

      and are loving adults

      ONE

      Rick Rose hadn’t slept for three days. As the chief criminal investigator for the Henderson County Sheriff, he had spent that time taking statements and searching for evidence. But the dark-haired, ex-Green Beret’s job wasn’t over yet. In fact, it had just begun.

      Shaded by towering oaks in a heavily forested yard, the DA’s chief investigator, Michael O’Brien, stood beside Rose as they waited impatiently to see how their hunch played out. The subdivision, called Cherokee Shores, bordered on the twenty-mile-long Cedar Creek Lake in north Texas. The yard sat on an inlet to the lake, and the air was claustrophobic with humidity.

      Both men, handsome, tall, muscular, and in their late thirties, had seen action in Vietnam. Now the area in front of them resembled a battlefield with the uniformed men and all the equipment.

      “Sure didn’t take you long to get the warrant,” Rose said.

      “You did the groundwork,” O’Brien replied. “I just had to convince Judge Holland we had enough probable cause to dig up somebody’s yard.”

      “Digging’s a little more intrusive than knocking on someone’s door. But we’re not exactly doing this with smoke and mirrors. The judge knows by now we’d only take him hearsay we can back up.”

      “Just the same,” O’Brien said, “it’s hearsay, and our informants aren’t all that credible. Think about it, we don’t have a shot-glassful of physical evidence.”

      O’Brien glanced at the road running in front of the property. “Look at all those rubberneckers out there. It’s going to be embarrassing if we tip over the wishing well and nothing’s there.”

      “If that well’s empty, I know a couple lawmen who’ve stuck their necks out for nothing.”

      “And there’s a district judge who’ll think twice before giving us another evidentiary search warrant.”

      “Let’s be positive. I’ve got that warrant right here,” Rose said, patting his shirt pocket. “Nobody can keep us from digging up Betty Lou Beets’s yard, and we won’t stop ’til we find what we’re looking for.”

      “If it’s here.”

      “Right,” Rose replied thoughtfully, “if it’s here.”

      Rose and O’Brien made a good team. Rose had great energy and a dry wit. He acted as the unofficial spokesman for the sheriff’s office, and possessed the tenacity to keep trying to solve a case long after others had dropped the ball. O’Brien had a calm demeanor and a quick mind. His photographic memory gave him the ability to remember a crime’s minute details, even years later. The legal side of issues was his forte.

      While they waited for deputies to unload the backhoe from a flatbed truck, Rose’s gaze wandered past

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