“I’m no expert, but I’ll try to explain. It was a partial match. Some of the markers in our sample were a perfect match to Roper’s. But not all of them.”
Sam exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “So the DNA you found isn’t Roper’s. So whose DNA is it?”
“It didn’t match any of our other samples. I’d say it belongs to a relative of Roper’s. A close relative, likely a family member.”
“But that doesn’t make—” Sam’s jaw dropped as the truth struck him like a thunderbolt. “Oh, my God!” he muttered. “I’ve got to go, Nick. I’ll fill you in later.”
He made a quick call for backup. Then, taking time to think, he walked around the side of the arena toward the gate.
With each step, a missing piece from his mental puzzle crashed into place. The two matching stories. The barking dog. The skunk. Roper chasing the animal away, putting the dog in the barn, returning through the dark kitchen and finding his mother there, clad in her full-length chenille robe—the robe she’d flung on over the clothes she’d been wearing when she returned home by way of the front door.
The skunk had been a wild card. Roper wasn’t supposed to have been awake. But in the end, his presence had furnished Rachel with an alibi. All she’d needed to do was tell the truth.
Only one question remained. Why would a religious woman like Rachel risk her immortal soul by murdering her neighbor?
Hopefully, Sam was about to find out.
Glancing up toward the concourse, he saw the two uniformed officers who had just come into the arena. They’d been patrolling the crowds outside, so they’d been closeby. Sam gave them a nod and continued toward the space inside the gate, where most of the crowd was still gathered.
Berta Jansen had already gone, and the TV crew was packing up, but Roper, still in the saddle, was doing a last-minute interview with a blond female reporter. She stood next to the horse, smiling up at him as if she were hoping he’d ask her out.
Sam could tell that Roper had seen him. His expression froze before he glanced away. Sam avoided making eye contact. Roper would welcome the news that he was no longer a murder suspect. But how would he take the discovery that his mother was about to be arrested?
At first, Sam couldn’t see Rachel. Then he spotted her and her two children at the rear of the crowd. Separated from Roper by a jam of people, they were waiting for a chance to get through. Sam stayed back, biding his time, sizing up the emotionally charged situation. Making an arrest was one of the most dangerous parts of his job. The wrong move at the wrong time could touch off a tragedy.
With the interview finished, the TV crew retreated, and the crowd began to thin out. Sam could see Lila now, waiting with her daughter, back toward the entrance to the barn.
Roper had noticed the two uniformed officers coming down the steps. His mouth hardened. His shoulders tensed. For a moment, Sam feared that he might panic and try to make a break on the horse. But Roper held firm, sitting tall astride One in a Million, with the stallion’s hooves planted solidly on the sawdust-covered floor.
Rachel broke away from Stetson and Cheyenne and pushed through the crowd toward him, her arms outflung as if to embrace her firstborn son. Roper shifted in the saddle, preparing to dismount. Sam moved in closer.
At that moment, something happened to the stallion.
One in a Million snorted. His nostrils flared. His ears went back. A scream of rage erupted from his throat as he made a lunge for the woman in front of him.
Caught off guard, Roper was nearly thrown from the saddle. As he flung himself against the reins to pull back the horse, Sam caught Rachel by the waist, yanking her off her feet and dragging her to safety.
It was over almost before it began. Roper had the quivering, snorting stallion under control, and Sam was helping Rachel to her feet. Her face was pale. She was unhurt except for a shallow gash where a hoof had grazed her cheek. Sam handed her the clean handkerchief from his pocket.
As she dabbed at the blood, her gaze flickered toward the horse. “He remembered, didn’t he?” she said in a quiet voice. “I was wondering if he might.”
Sam unhooked the handcuffs from his belt. “Rachel McKenna, I’m arresting you for the murder of Frank Culhane. You have the right to remain silent—”
“Never mind those fancy words, Agent.” Her demeanor was one of icy calm. “And you can put those cuffs away. I’ll go peaceably. And I waive my right to silence because I have something to say, and I want these good people to hear it.”
Sam could see the two officers closing in. He nodded.
The crowd fell into a hush as she began to speak. “Yes, I killed Frank Culhane. But I didn’t just kill a man. I killed a monster—a creature who preyed on young girls and women—a creature who took advantage of my pure, innocent daughter and stole her virtue.
“The Good Book says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ But he had to be stopped—and I’m not sorry I stopped him. My family’s honor demanded it. Now I hope to live my life in a way that will atone for my sin and earn God’s grace.”
She turned to Sam. “This isn’t how I wanted things to end, Agent Rafferty. I was hoping you would just go away and leave us in peace. That was not to be. But I would never have let you arrest my son. I would have come forward and confessed first.”
“I understand.” Sam nodded to the two officers. They took their places on either side of her. One took out a pair of cuffs and linked her wrists behind her back. “Ready?” he asked Sam.
“Ready. I’ll go with you, make some calls, and take care of the paperwork. She’ll need to be extradited to Texas. Let’s go.”
They’d started for the exit when Cheyenne caught up with them. Flinging her arms around her mother’s neck, she sobbed like a child, murmuring words that Sam couldn’t make out.