Fat and De la Peña observed her entrance. The laundromat had several customers already and was filling up rapidly. De la Peña guessed that Thursday after work was a busy time in this business, with people getting ready for the weekend. More customers arrived by car. There was also a substantial amount of foot traffic. For a while the officers could not get a good look at all of the customers entering the shop. De la Peña would have Fat come back after closing time to collect surveillance videos for review tomorrow at the station by Tashara. Yesterday he had examined the hidden camera and recording system, which was installed at the laundromat after closing. De la Peña remembered then with some envy the new digital surveillance system at the Miner’s Flat Minimart - the one that caught Scott Conti in a lie about his alibi for Veronica Gillis’s murder. The Segovia Police Force’s recording system was not nearly as advanced. De la Peña expected it would be harder to use and would provide video with less resolution, but he thought it would serve their purpose on this operation.
* * *
A few minutes before six, Officer McLean moved her clothes from the dryer to the basket, which she carried to a Formica counter that extended from the back wall. There she began to carefully fold the garments one by one, stacking them neatly on the surface before returning the folded clothes to the basket. Any observer could see that this woman was doing laundry for herself and not for a husband, boyfriend or children.
McLean realized that this position, with her back to the room, prevented her from being able to detect if anyone were watching her but she guessed it would seem more natural and told herself it was more important that the “bait” be seen by the fish than the other way around.
McLean’s first visit to the laundromat concluded at 6:05. Clean laundry on the passenger seat, she backed out of the parking space, executed a slow u-turn during the break in traffic provided by the traffic lights north and south of this block of downtown Segovia and drove just a half a mile to Denny’s, on the left.
Officer Peake, in a parked car two blocks north of the laundromat, waited for word from De la Peña that McLean was moving. As McLean moved onto the road, Peake watched hopefully for a vehicle following the decoy. If anyone followed McLean on that short drive, Peake couldn’t spot him. The cars and a truck that came up behind McLean’s car as she drove south continued on after she turned into Denny’s parking lot. Peake was about a minute behind. She walked into the restaurant, saw McLean at a booth by the window and then saw her “real-life” husband Kyle. Kyle, though unaware of his role supporting Peake’s cover as the wife of a young couple meeting for dinner after work allowed the team to save a male officer for a future undercover role during the stakeout. He performed his part perfectly, giving Peake a modest kiss when she arrived, moving dutifully to a second booth when Peake thought it gave her a better view and not complaining when his wife pulled his arm and pushed him gently to the other side of the table to allow her the vantage point she desired.
McLean’s meal proceeded as per the routine of any one of millions of restaurant dinners served that night. A friendly waitress chatted briefly with an attractive, slightly self-conscious young woman dining alone. McLean opened a newspaper and glanced at the headlines while waiting for her salad. A toddler leaned over from the next booth to say hi, his mother apologizing for the disturbance, the young woman smiling to her, saying that it was no bother and waving to the child.
Peake looked out at a room full of suspects or, more accurately, half full since only the men were of interest to her tonight. She saw that McLean was the recipient of glances and sometimes leers from most of the male occupants. The fry cook who had aroused Lang and Schoenberg’s suspicion shared a brief conversation with a teenage busboy, obviously about the shapely blonde. Men of all ages noticed her. Fortunately for Kyle, his back was turned so that he could pay his full attention to his slightly distracted wife. The Peakes’ meals were placed before them just as her cell phone rang with the call from De la Peña requesting three “to go” orders. Fifteen minutes later, across the dining room, McLean finished an order of chicken-fried steak then requested a cup of decaf which she sipped until the Peakes walked to the cash register to pay their bill.
In the parking lot, Officer Peake told her husband why she would not follow him directly home and took the Denny’s receipt from his hand. Now he understood the purpose of the sandwiches in the Styrofoam containers. He was pleased about being reimbursed by the Police Department for their dinners but thought his wife should have let him in on the secret so he could help examine the other patrons as possible suspects. She smiled and kissed him. Back at the wheel of her car, she watched McLean leave. Peake waited to see if anyone followed, then pulled onto the highway, keeping McLean’s car in sight on the ride to the bungalow. No obvious results yet, Peake thought, but Kim McLean was doing an excellent job. She had seemed so “in character” at the restaurant. She looked lonely and eager for human contact. She seemed shy and just a bit awkward eating out alone. The acting part of an undercover assignment suddenly had more importance than Peake had ever realized. Now she knew why the Captain, De la Peña and Mrs. Grubb had stressed the importance that none of the team look like cops when they were in public, in the possible view of their target.
While McLean dined at Denny’s, Lang and Schoenberg drove an extended van filled with electronic equipment from behind the laundromat four blocks south, three blocks east and four blocks north to the back parking lot where they picked up De la Peña. (Fat had already left for the day.) The three drove to the Travelodge parking lot. They pulled the van into a long space at the corner farthest from the building, closest to the back of the bungalow then turned on the monitors and settled in to watch the possible entry points of McLean’s new home. They saw McLean arrive. De la Peña took her call moments later. She reported the bungalow was empty, all windows and doors secure. Not long after that, Peake phoned. De la Peña determined it would be OK for her to drop off the food at this time. She wished them luck. The three agreed to sleep in shifts. The first night of the stakeout was uneventful.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 36
Barely five minutes before De la Peña took his first bite of a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, Moffat and Jean sat down to a dinner of grilled wild Alaskan sockeye salmon seasoned with lemon and fresh herbs. That morning Jean had been to the fruit and vegetable stand on the other side of Highway 49, returning with corn on the cob, broccoli and Santa Maria strawberries. She steamed the broccoli, microwaved the corn and prepared the berries with a drizzle of Gran Marnier.
Jean filled their glasses with Chardonnay then sank into her chair at the dining room table and exhaled with pleasure. She asked about his day. She eagerly took in every detail of Aaron Jamison’s early release from the hospital and his and his grandmother’s transformation. Wasn’t it odd, Jean suggested, that a murder could lead to such dramatic changes for the better in the lives of two people close to the victim. Moffat agreed but pointed out that it was still quite soon, though he was optimistic for both. Jean was less interested in the matter of the guns, one used to kill Veronica Gillis and a similar one taken to the high school by her distraught nephew. The decoy operation and stakeout were less interesting than the guns but she was curious about the younger officers on his team. Of all involved she had met only Tashara. Mrs. Grubb, of course, she knew well from their frequent phone conversations, department social events and their monthly lunch date.
“How was your day, dear?” Moffat asked.
“Oh. I have a surprise for you. Allison phoned. She’s is coming to visit the weekend after next.”
“Great.” Moffat smiled as he searched his mind for an upcoming birthday, an anniversary, Mother’s day, maybe. His smile didn’t fool Jean.
“Relax. You haven’t forgotten anything. I was telling her about the North County Pioneer Days Spring Festival and she thought it would be fun.”
“Is she bringing anyone?”
“No. There’s no one to bring at
the moment.”
Good, he thought. Her last boyfriend only lasted three months but Moffat had quickly and accurately decided he wasn’t good enough for her. Jean and Allison had eventually come to the same conclusion.
“Will you be able to take some time off?”
“It doesn’t look like it now but who knows.”
“Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing her.”
Moffat could tell she had more to say and looked at her expectantly.
“Now that the house and garden are completely finished, I’m starting to feel a bit lost for things to do.”
“I guess it’s quite a change not to have any contractors and landscapers around. Everything is just they way we want it now. Can’t you just relax and enjoy it?”
“Yes, but with you away all day, I’m starting to get a little bored. All those years I had rental properties to manage, that kept me busy.”
“You’re not thinking of buying anything more, are you?” Over the preceding three years Jean had sold most of their real estate investments one by one. Now they had only the house and three undeveloped lots, one in Miner’s Flat, a second in the Lake Tahoe area and the third near Pismo Beach in the central coast area. These had been acquired as possible locations for their retirement home before the decision had been made to build in the hills outside of Segovia.
“No. I’m done with real estate. Nothing that drastic. Maybe I should get out my violin and start practicing.” She broke into a playful smile. Five years earlier, after never having played a musical instrument, Jean had decided to take up the violin. After lessons and months of practice her playing had a certain screeching quality that Moffat suspected had led to the demise of a gold fish, caused the cat to run away and prompted Allison to move to her own place six months earlier than planned.
“You always said you’d like to learn French. What about taking classes?” This was not an unreasonable suggestion considering Jean’s previous study of the Italian language that proved a delight to the natives when she, Moffat and Allison had vacationed there the summer after Allison’s junior year in college. “I think you have a talent for languages.”
“Maybe. I was thinking I might like to get a dog. What do you think?”
“Fine.” Moffat could think of no reason against the idea.
“A puppy, I think. I wonder what breed we should get.”
“Anything but a schnauzer.”
Jean nodded, absentmindedly, then rose quickly from her chair, took their plates to the sink and returned with the strawberries.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 37
Friday, May 19
Schoenberg saw the light come on in the bungalow and reached for De la Peña’s cell phone on the table next to monitor no. 1 before it rang. McLean reported that she had nothing significant to report and said she would be dressing for work now and would leave in one half hour.
De la Peña had been dozing but was aware of Schoenberg taking the phone. By the end of the conversation, when Schoenberg told McLean there was no activity in the exterior of the bungalow, he was fully awake. Schoenberg passed the phone to De la Peña. De la Peña called Duncan. She and Peake were in position, parked on Main Street, ready to follow McLean after the decoy turned left en route to the winery. Schoenberg roused Lang from a deep sleep. Lang took over at the monitors. Schoenberg and De la Peña determined they would be unobserved and took the opportunity to slip quietly out of the van and walk through the interior courtyard of the motel to their cars parked on the street. Schoenberg went home, Sergeant De la Peña drove to headquarters so that he could be in radio and telephone contact with McLean and her escorts during the drive to the winery.
Duncan started the engine. Seconds later she saw McLean’s Ford Taurus approaching Main Street from the side road that led from her bungalow. She watched McLean signal a left turn, wait for traffic to clear left and right, then carefully turn onto Main Street at a moment when there would be adequate space for Duncan to fall in behind her.
“Wait!” Peake shouted. On the corner of the T intersection, on McLean’s right as she stopped for her turn, there was a small old grocery store with a fairly large parking lot. Peake saw a brown, older model Nissan Sentra move rapidly to the exit of the lot. Its wheels squealed as it completed its own left turn, heading the same direction as McLean. Before Duncan could pull into the street, a second car passed, leaving two cars between McLean and the vehicle driven by Duncan and Peake. All four cars proceeded at about forty miles per hour, just five m.p.h. over the speed limit, through the southern end of the city of Segovia. Peake phoned De la Peña who was by now at police headquarters in the Communication Center with Officer Tashara. She described the vehicle nearest them - a new, blue Toyota Corolla - and dictated the license number to the Sergeant. Duncan and Peake were more interested in the Sentra but were too far behind to see the plate. McLean had also noticed the Sentra driver’s maneuver. It appeared to be driven by a man but it maintained a following distance of four or five car lengths, preventing her from getting an adequate view of the driver. McLean slowed, hoping to be forced to stop by a red light. The perfectly synchronized traffic lights prevented her from accomplishing this as the Segovia County Traffic Engineer’s handiwork ushered McLean smoothly out of town.
Eight minutes later, McLean signaled a left turn into the winery’s driveway. The Sentra moved to the right and passed McLean. The Corolla signaled left and followed McLean up the drive way as did Duncan and Peake. Peake reported status to De la Peña. A moment later, the Corolla parked in front of the Tasting Room. McLean continued on the driveway to the back of the building. McLean phoned De la Peña that she had been unable to get the Nissan’s plate number which was obscured by a coating of dried mud but, in any case, the car had passed before she could get a good look. She could tell that the driver was a tall man and appeared to be over forty. Meanwhile, Duncan and Peake watched two young women exit the Corolla and walk to the Tasting Room entrance where they seemed to be noting the opening time.
Back at the station, Tashara suggested contacting a reserve officer in Manzanita, the small town twelve miles south of Segovia. She opened a folder and slid her thumb down a list of phone numbers.
Sixty-eight year old Gerald Barker was in a red Chevy pick up on his way to his volunteer job at the County Railroad Museum when Tashara reached him. He made a u-turn and drove north on Highway 49 until he approached the winery. He did not see a brown Nissan. He made another u-turn and systematically checked the four side routes branching from Highway 49. Two were dead ends because of the river on one side and foothills on the other. The last of the four was a paved road just a hundred yards to a trailhead. There Barker saw what he assumed was the vehicle he had been sent to find. There was no one in sight. He guided his truck past the back of the 1996 Sentra, reading and memorizing the plate, California 1POK300 before heading back to the highway. Officer Barker parked at the side of the highway, just beyond the road to the trailhead. He phoned the information to Tashara and asked for further instructions. De la Peña considered asking him to wait for the Sentra driver to get back on the road but concluded it might be hours and would consume too much of the volunteer’s time. Also, if this were actually the suspect, De la Peña didn’t want to risk scaring him off too early in the operation. De la Peña would wait for more information on the Nissan and its driver.
A few minutes later, Duncan phoned to confirm that she had joined Fat and they were back on the trail of schnauzer owners. At 8:15, Peake joined De la Peña and Tashara at the Communication Center. Moffat arrived some time after that.
De la Peña discussed the plan for the rest of the morning and the afternoon with the others. Officer Tashara would take yesterday’s laundromat surveillance videos to the winery where she and McLean would study the customers who had come and gone during McLean’s visit and the two hours prior. Peake would remain in the Communication Center, in contact with Lang at his surveillance post in the van, as well as the other officers on
the team. De la Peña would review plans to staff the operation through the following week. After that, De la Peña would return home for a shower, several hours of quality sleep in his own bed and a change of clothes.
“Here’s the information on the Sentra,” Tashara announced. “1996, brown, four-door, belongs to Harold and Marjorie Etcell ages 67 and 65 of San Leandro. No warrants, no police activity of any kind. They are the original owners.”
“San Leandro?” De la Peña looked at Moffat.
“It’s in the Bay Area, about 150 miles away.”
De la Peña’s face revealed his disappointment. “Probably tourists. I can’t see someone driving clear across the state to stalk a random woman.”
“It doesn’t seem likely,” Moffat said. “Still, let’s look a little deeper. Tashara, would you phone the San Leandro police? Ask them to determine if the Etcells are visiting the Gold Country this weekend.” Moffat stopped, considered a few moments then modified his request. “Ask the police to determine the whereabouts of the Etcells’ car. Maybe they loaned it to someone.”
Moffat and De la Peña left Tashara and Peake at the Communication Center and walked across the ground floor of the administration building to the task force’s now deserted home in the Team Center. They greeted Mrs. Grubb, working at her computer on the departmental reports then sat at De la Peña’s desk in the corner.
“We’re already burning up our resources on the decoy op,” De la Peña said. “As of now, only Fat, Lang and Schoenberg have not been undercover around McLean. Lang and Schoenberg act so much like cops, I’m afraid the target will spot them.”
“Mrs. Grubb told them not to shave. Maybe two days of growth might help.”
“Maybe. We could dress them like fishermen or hunters.”
“That would work for Denny’s. I can’t see fishermen spending the morning at a laundromat.”
De la Peña laughed. “None of the fishermen I know. They’d rather buy new clothes than give up a day fishing. Anyway, I’m planning to use more reserve officers. I’ll need a few of them to shadow McLean at the restaurant, laundromat and, on Sunday, the park.”