“Suppose I got a suspicious mind.” He grinned. “But then I guess that’s why the Rangers pay me the big bucks.”

Louis did not laugh, but he tempered his annoyance and tried to relax his stance. “I don’t like Greer going toe-to-toe with me, but I’ll live with it. I like her. Respect her. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Hadn’t that been what Bragg’s daddy had said when he’d been beating the tar out of him? You make me lose my temper.

“Sure about that?”

Louis ran long fingers through already ruffled hair. “Yes, damn sure. Look, do I need to get a lawyer?”

Bragg worked the stiffness from his shoulders. “Only if you feel like you need one.”

Bragg studied the guy, not liking him for no other reason than he’d stood too close to Greer last night and had spoken words that had made her laugh. He pulled a card from his breast pocket and handed it to the man. “If you see anyone up here, Mr. Louis, best let me know. Someone is spying on Ms. Templeton, and I don’t like it one bit. Not one bit.”

Bragg’s cell rang as he approached the front doors leading into Ranger headquarters minutes after eight. He unclipped the phone, glanced at the number, and recognized it as dispatch. “Ranger Bragg.”

“Sir, this is Officer Paul Smith with DPS. I’ve been asked to give you a call.”

Bragg paused, hand on the front door. “What can I do for you?”

“We have a body. A woman froze to death in a meat locker on the east end of town.”

Bragg turned from the air-conditioned lobby sensing he’d not see his desk anytime soon. DPS didn’t call the Rangers on a whim. “I’m not sure why you’re calling me.”

“The responding officer first thought the woman had committed suicide but on closer inspection he believes she was murdered.”

Like Rory Edwards. “Have you identified the victim?”

“Her purse was in the room beside her. Her driver’s license identifies her as Sara Wentworth.”

“I’m not familiar with the name.”

“Judging by her clothes and home address she comes from money.”

Like Rory. “Where’s the body?”

The officer gave Bragg directions, and he was in his car and headed toward East Austin in less than a minute. As he drove, he called Winchester and filled him in on the details.

“I’ll be there soon,” Winchester said.

The drive took Bragg twenty minutes in morning traffic. When he pulled up in the East Austin parking lot, his mind already ticked through a checklist that might connect this victim to Rory Edwards or Greer Templeton.

Surrounded by cop cars and media, the area had a frenetic quality. Cops, clearly not assigned to the case, had gathered here, curious as anyone about what was happening. Two media vans were set up across the street.

He scanned the perimeter tape to make sure the area was under control. He didn’t need anyone, curious cops or media, contaminating the scene.

He got out, settled his white hat on his head, and moved toward the first uniformed officer. He approached a tall slim officer with graying hair and a thick mustache. The nameplate on his chest read SMITH.

Bragg extended his hand. “Officer Smith. You called me?”

Smith’s handshake was firm. “Yes, sir. I wasn’t sure if this case fell into your jurisdiction, but I remembered the Edwards murder from the morning briefing. Rich. Apparent suicide. Murder. This victim hit all those notes. Plus you don’t often see a rich white woman in East Austin frozen to death.”

Bragg nodded as he pulled rubber gloves from his pocket. “Appreciate the call. I’ll have a look.”

He ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape and moved toward the three-story building once housing meat. The paint peeled and the sign that had read SAWYER’S PACKING had faded. A thick, rusted chain, cut in two, and a padlock lay puddled by the front door and several of the windows were busted.

He nodded to several other uniforms and paused as his gaze adjusted to the dimmer light. He glanced around the large space, full of dust and cobwebs. Crossing the cracked tile floors, he moved toward the bank of freezers and the one sectioned off with more crime-scene tape. The forensic tech’s camera flashed several times inside the freezer.

He waited outside the freezer door and glanced inside. Rebecca Rio, with DPS forensics, stood over the body, her camera focused on the light blue, frosted face of a young woman. The woman lay on her side, curled in a tight ball as if she could draw deeply in herself and protect her body from the frigid temperatures. The room had been open for a couple of hours but still held a chill, making his skin prickle.

The victim was nude from the waist up. Discarded near her body were a beige, lightweight suit jacket, blue silk blouse, and bra. She still wore her skirt and pantyhose, but no shoes. Her fingers curled into tight fists clutching the folds of her jacket close. Hair was blond, pulled back in a neat ponytail and make-up applied with a skilled hand. However the mascara, frozen and now thawed, streaked over pale cheeks leaving a trail of black tears.

Despite the state of undress, she was no homeless woman or hooker from the streets. This woman did indeed come from money and quality. Women like her did not come to this part of town.

“Officer Rio,” Bragg said. “So what are your impressions?”

Rio brushed a springy black curl off her face with the back of her hand. “She froze to death.”

He studied her naked torso, curled into a C shape. “Signs of sexual assault?”

“None I saw but the medical examiner will have to check. I think the undressing isn’t a case of sexual assault but of paradoxical undressing.”

“Explain.”

“In about thirty to fifty percent of the cases, the victim suffering from severe hypothermia gets confused and disoriented and actually believes they’re getting hotter. They take off their clothes. Of course this just accelerates heat loss, and they die that much faster.”

He thought about her peeling off the lightweight jacket, designed for Texas’s summer heat, and believing she was hot. He glanced at her discarded clothes and noticed the blouse had been ripped, as if she’d torn it off herself. “Be sure to run a rape kit. I don’t want any assumptions at this point.”

“Will do.”

“Signs of trauma?”

“None I’ve seen so far. No cuts or scrapes and no bruising. Like she just walked in here and closed the door behind her.”

At first glance, Rory had hung himself. Only a closer inspection revealed the hand of another. “Fingerprints?”

“I’ve not dusted yet. That comes next. But I’m sure I’m going to get a lot of prints. A place like this sees vagrants.”

“I’d like a tox screen run. I can’t believe she merely walked in here.”

Rio glanced toward her purse. “See her purse in the corner?”

He glanced toward the black bag, tossed on its side and the contents spilling out. “Yeah.”

“If she were going to kill herself, why bring in her purse? She’d not have needed it where she was headed.”

“Habit?”

“Maybe. But it seems she’d have not bothered. And her cell is missing and the interior contents missing, as if someone rifled through her bag, took it, and tossed her purse in here.”

“Maybe she lost her nerve. Maybe she was looking for a way out of here.”

Rio shrugged. “That option wouldn’t get my vote.”

Bragg nodded. “What about a driver’s license?”

“By the purse.”

He moved to the purse and spotted the license lying faceup. He shot a picture with his phone. Straightening, he studied the image. Sara Jane Wentworth. Age thirty-two. No denying the victim was Sara Wentworth.

The old picture of Greer and Rory came to mind. “Find any pictures at the scene. Photographs?”

“No.”

“Make sure you bag all the clothes and her belongings. I want to go through them all.”

“Sure. And did the officer tell you about the tape?”