“Thanks, Joseph. No, you don’t have to go yourself. Thanks, talk to you soon.”
Moffat turned back to De la Peña. “I want to clear up these questions about the vehicles. Now, let’s call San Leandro.” Moffat phoned a contact in the Criminal Investigation Division, Detective Paul Goodsell, exchanged greetings then pushed the “speaker” on the telephone. He and De la Peña waited several minutes while the officer who had e-mailed De la Peña the information about the Etcells was brought on the line.
“Good afternoon, Officer,” Moffat said facing the telephone. “I need to find out where the Etcell’s Nissan is now. Did you see it when you went to the home?”
A youthful male voice responded. “No, Captain. The garage door was locked and the one window was blocked by pegboard. The neighbor said they hadn’t taken the car and that it would be there in the garage. Give me just a minute to check my notes…OK, I have a name for their daughter.”
“Any contact info?” Moffat asked.
They could hear keyboard strokes.
“Yes. I have a number and address. She’s up in Walnut Creek.”
The San Leandro detective spoke. “Brian, see if you can get her on the line with us. Alex, we’ll see if we can get you some answers right now.”
Less than two minutes passed. The young officer returned to the phone and announced he had reached the daughter Lydia Ballard. A fourth phone was added to the teleconference with the push of a button.
“Thank you for speaking with us, Mrs. Ballard. I’m Police Captain Moffat in Segovia. An automobile matching the description of the one registered to your parents has come up in an investigation here. I understand your parents are out of the country?”
“Yes. They are on a twenty-one day bus tour through England, Scotland and Ireland.”
“Do you know where their 1996 brown Nissan Sentra is now?”
“In the garage. At least, I think it is. My niece drove them to the airport in her own car. Theirs has to be at home.” Her tone reflected a growing sense of concern. I have an emergency number for them in England. Should I call my mother?”
“There’s nothing for you to worry about, Mrs. Ballard. Let me ask you, do you have keys to your parents house and garage?”
“Yes. Should I go there?”
“It would be helpful for me to know that your parents’ car is in fact at their home. Paul…”
“Right, Alex. Mrs. Ballard, can you meet me at your parents’ house? In about a half hour?”
They heard a faint laugh. “Give me a few extra minutes, Detective Goodsell. I can’t drive quite as fast as you can.”
The others laughed.
“One more request, Mrs. Ballard.”
“Yes?”
“I’m assuming the car will be in the garage,” Moffat said. “If it is, would you phone your parents and ask them if they have made any visits to Segovia, Tuolumne or Amador counties with that vehicle? If so, get me as much detail as you can about when and where they stayed and what places they visited. It could be very helpful.”
“I will do that, Captain. I hope you can tell us what it’s all about sometime.”
“My Sergeant promises to do that just as soon as we can.” Moffat smiled at De la Peña, who made a note to comply with “his” promise, then Moffat gave his phone number to Mrs. Ballard.
“I’ll phone as soon as we’re at the Etcell’s, Alex.”
“Thanks, Paul, Brian, Mrs. Ballard. Talk to you soon.”
Fifteen minutes later, Assistant Chief Walker phoned Moffat with the results of the Lodi police’s check on the F-150. De la Peña thought he could guess what line Moffat was now pursuing and was not at all surprised when Moffat repeated what he had been told by his old friend. The pickup was in the driveway. Its owner had opened the door when the detectives came up the walk. He was unarmed, helpful and bore no resemblance to Moffat’s suspect. He hadn’t been in Segovia, Friday, or, for that matter, he hadn’t been there since his grandson played in a basketball tournament in 1999. The truck’s owner had driven it to Segovia on that occasion.
Not long after, Paul Goodsell called from his cell phone from the Etcell’s driveway. Moffat used the speakerphone again.
“Mrs. Ballard just drove up, Alex.” Goodsell narrated as she joined him and the two walked up the steps of the front porch.
“We’re ringing the bell. No answer. I’ll take your key, Mrs. Ballard. Nothing out of the ordinary, Alex. Very neat. I’ll go to the garage now. It’s detached from the house. Ok, we’re at the side door. There it is. Your Nissan Sentra. Mint condition. Plate reads ‘One Paul Ocean King three zero zero. When did you think this vehicle was in Segovia, Alex?”
“Now I think probably not for some time. There’s another explanation for what we saw.”
“I read you. Ok, Mrs. Ballard will phone you as soon as she gets a hold of her parents. It looks to me like the problem is all yours in Segovia.”
Moffat thanked Goodsell, then hung up the phone, sat back in his desk and saw his own smile mirrored by De la Peña.
“What do you think, Captain?” Mrs. Grubb asked. She had been working quietly at her own computer throughout the afternoon’s phone calls. Moffat turned to De la Peña who spoke first.
“Mrs. G, want to take a bet on whether the Etcells have ever been to Segovia? I can’t say when but I’ll tell you what car they drove. How about it, Mrs. G? Five bucks?”
“No.”
“Here’s our current theory, Mrs. Grubb,” Moffat said. “Our suspect sees a car or truck of the right make, model year and paint color from among the thousands of tourists who drive to the Gold Country on weekends. He doesn’t steal their plates because that would create a police report. Instead, he counterfeits them so that his vehicles can’t be traced back to him. It might not do him any good if he were pulled over, but it would rule out an eyewitness connecting him to a crime by catching his license plate number.”
“How hard would it be to counterfeit a plate?” She asked.
De la Peña said “Not hard, if you had the right equipment. It would be easy to match the colors of the paint on the plate. Maybe he uses the counterfeit when he’s stalking his victim…or attacking them. It seems like it would be too risky to use it all the time. What if he were stopped for speeding or an illegal turn? We would see the plate didn’t match the registration.”
“Maybe. What we know for sure, though, is that two vehicles with counterfeit plates have been seen following our decoy. That tells us our suspect is careful, methodical, maybe even obsessive. It fits with our idea of how he chooses his victims. He takes great pains to plan his crimes and avoid detection. If he gets the slightest hint that we’re trying to trap him, my guess is that he’ll disappear, maybe for years.” Moffat paused and seemed to be looking inward then turned his intense gaze to De la Peña.
“Sergeant, it’s a difficult balancing act this team has to perform. We can’t let him see any police activity around McLean or he’ll disappear but if we get a shot at him on the road, say following her on Highway 49 or Main Street, let’s take it. Have two more unmarked cars in the vicinity when you escort her to and from work from now on. If we see one of the two vehicles, block any escape, get back up and bring him in.”
De la Peña visualized the capture scenario as Moffat spoke. It sent adrenalin to his bloodstream. He nodded, biting his lower lip, then began to consider where he would find the additional resources for the twice-daily drives. An hour later the pieces were in place.
* * *
“You look tired, Sergeant De la Peña. Were you up all night?” Moffat finally noticed what Tashara and Mrs. Grubb had seen two hours earlier. The activity of the teleconferences and subsequent planning had given De la Peña a lift but now he suddenly felt the effects of sleep deprivation. He admitted to Moffat that he had had only three hours the night before. Moffat suggested that De la Peña go home, reminding him that they could not predict when the suspect might be seen again, that it could as easily be days rather
than hours and that the team had to be ready for the longer duration. De la Peña did not answer. Moffat had put on his jacket, picked up the portfolio that held his notebook and pulled his car keys from the drawer. De la Peña felt a strong desire to know where Moffat was going; his curiosity more apparent because of his fatigue.
“I’m going to Miner’s Flat to interview Wade Gillis again.” Seeing the interest in De la Peña’s face, Moffat could tell De la Peña wanted to accompany him. He laughed. “Sergeant, I think your time would be better spent getting some sleep.”
“Well, Captain. If you drive up and back, I can catch about an hour’s rest in the car and still join you for the interview,” De la Peña said smiling.
“Ok, if you want. Mrs. Grubb, have you got a pillow and blanket for the Sergeant?”
“Honestly, you would think you were taking him to the drive-in. Go on. Tashara will call you if anything happens.”
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 49
That afternoon, Moffat drove his Toyota Highlander De la Peña reclined the passenger seat and within minutes was sleeping peacefully. On the floorboard next to De la Peña’s left foot, Moffat’s portfolio rested against the side of the stereo console. It contained his notebook but this time bulged with a plastic evidence bag that held the weapon used to murder Veronica Gillis--a Lady Smith revolver with a distinctive mother of pearl handle. Moffat enjoyed the ride. De la Peña began to awaken slowly when Moffat turned into the high school parking lot. Moffat followed a marked lane in the blacktopped area behind the football stadium that led to the other athletic fields. They parked at the intersection of a baseball diamond and one of several soccer fields. Moffat expected to find Gillis coaching field hockey practice. They stopped a custodian for directions and were pointed to a distant field below the plateau on which the baseball and soccer parks were located. Neither detective had any complaint about the walk through the freshly mowed grass between the fields.
De la Peña watched baseball practice as they walked by the outfield. The pitcher lobbed the ball to home plate where a batter - possibly a coach - hit a high fly ball to right center field. It flew over the heads of two outfielders and rolled in the grass to a point ten yards from the detectives’ path. The right fielder had run out in a vain attempt to field the ball, now stopped and called for “a little help” from the two men. De la Peña trotted away from Moffat to pick up the ball. He grasped it tightly and brought it up to his face, examining the ball carefully. Then with his left hand he signaled to a point in the sky above and beyond the outstretched glove of the right fielder. De la Peña pulled back his right arm and with a snap of his wrist hurled the baseball over the outfielder and two infielders in a direct line to home plate. The ball bounced eight feet from home and was fielded expertly by the catcher. Moffat watched and noted that De la Peña’s perfect throw of about 320 feet would easily have caught any runner trying to score on a sacrifice fly.
For De la Peña, the sun, the blue sky, the smell of the grass and the feel of the ball combined to send him back in his baseball memories of eighteen springs from age five when he played tee-ball to his last season of college baseball at age 22. A cheer broke out from the ball players. De la Peña waved then jogged to meet Moffat, showing a wide smile.
“Very impressive, Sergeant.”
The detectives continued walking across the grass. They approached another playing field, this one at an elevation about twelve feet below the baseball field. A gentle, grass-covered slope of about 20 degrees connected the two fields.
Fifteen boys were scattered about on a field 100 yards by 60, dressed in sky blue shorts extending to three inches above the knee, striped stockings covering the calves of their legs and nylon white and blue jerseys. Except for goalkeepers at both ends of the field, the boys carried matching hockey sticks, black with a wide orange stripe. Wade Gillis in blue jeans and a gray, sleeveless sweatshirt was the only adult.
“Scott Conti is on the team Sergeant. Look for him and watch how he reacts when he sees us.”
A few seconds earlier, two boys had apparently collided. They were being helped to their feet by teammates. De la Peña observed Conti running in a diagonal line to the center of the sidelines where he met Gillis. The Sergeant observed the moment when Conti recognized them and noticed that his movement changed then, he lowered his stick and slowed his pace. At the same time, Conti’s expression changed. When he reached Gillis, Scott stopped and stood with his head down, wearing an expression of slightly exaggerated attentiveness and respect. Gillis spoke rapidly, pointing to several players and positions on the field. As Moffat and De la Peña neared, Gillis followed Conti’s gaze over his own left shoulder. He acknowledged the approaching policemen, then turned back to Conti who seemed to have frozen in place. Gillis pushed Conti gently around and back toward the other players. Then, with a solemn expression, he shook both officers hands but said nothing.
“We have some more questions for you, Mr. Gillis,” Moffat said.
Gillis nodded. Moffat studied his face and posture. He showed no outward signs of sadness but seemed completely empty of emotion and sounded and looked mentally fatigued. Though clearly a superbly fit individual, his shoulders and head sagged, in contrast to the straight-backed, military posture Moffat had observed on their first meeting.
“Sure. No problem. Hang on a sec.” Gillis called out “5 players offense, 4 defenders, diamond rotation,” then turned to Moffat and De la Peña.
Moffat said “I remember you from the ’84 Olympics, Mr. Gillis. I saw you score two goals against Malaysia. It was a great game.”
“Thanks.” Gillis’ eyes showed a flash of life. “It was my best game ever. We lost though, 9-8 on penalty strokes. Well, we never had a shot at a medal but we did better than anyone expected. In game five, we held Australia to two goals. They finished fourth.” Gillis’ mouth formed a faint smile.
“You were a lot smaller then.”
“Oh, man. Yeah.” He chuckled. I weighed 160 then with a 38-inch chest. I had powerful legs though. I could tear up the field and change directions like a jack rabbit.” The smile remained on his face. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “This team is looking pretty good. Conti, Baker, DiCioccio…these guys are talented. Give me a couple of years; any one of them could make the Olympic team.
“Mr. Gillis, I need you to confirm something.” He placed his hand on Gillis’ shoulder and guided him to the right so that his back was to the playing field. De la Peña moved to Gillis left side and opened the portfolio to give Gillis a view of the evidence bag and its content.”
“Can you tell us if this gun belonged to your wife?” Moffat asked.
With a large index finger he pushed the gun in the bag to reveal the handle.
“Yeah. That’s Ronnie’s.”
“You’re sure? No doubt about it?” Moffat asked.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Can you tell me…”
“There’s a hairline crack. She dropped it once. I fixed it. New screw, resin filler. You can barely see it.”
Gillis confirmed that his wife routinely carried a handgun in her purse. Asked who else would have known this, he replied “everybody.” His wife, he explained, had a habit of showing the gun at parties. Elsewhere too, he guessed.
De la Peña sighed but said nothing. He wanted to chastise Gillis for not telling them about the gun but realized that Moffat had not revealed that it was the murder weapon and apparently the Captain didn’t want Gillis to know that his wife had been shot with her own gun.
“When we spoke last week, you said you couldn’t think of anyone who might have had a reason to commit this crime. Is that still true?” Moffat asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you know some of the people your wife worked with?”
“Yeah. It’s a small town.”
“Do you know Cheryl Haugen?”
“Sure. I used to see her when Ronnie would drag me out. I coached her son in soccer. That was quite a whil
e ago.”
“Were you aware of any problems your wife had with her?”
“Problems? No. I never paid much attention. I guess I wouldn’t know one way or the other.”
“Since your wife’s death, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?”
“Huh?” Gillis tilted his head, staring at Moffat with a mystified expression. Moffat returned his gaze and waited for an answer.
“Well, yeah. People called about business. They think they get to explain something to me and I should say ‘ok.’ I don’t want to have anything to do with all that. My mother-in-law was going to take care of it but now with the problem with the kid, I don’t know…Well, I hope she’ll go back to the office pretty soon. There’s no way I’m going to do it.”
“Who did contact you, Mr. Gillis?”
“Rees called me the next night. He wanted to come over, wouldn’t say why, said it had to be discussed in person. When he got to the house, he said he and the other employees wanted to buy the company. He said they already had the money lined up and we should do it fast so that business wouldn’t be hurt.”
“What did you tell him?”
Gillis shrugged. “What could I say? I didn’t know what he was talking about. I didn’t even know who our lawyer was then. I got kind of mad. Not at him but just because it was frustrating. I said a few words, I mean, I swore.” Gillis laughed. “He didn’t like that. I apologized. I just told him I’d have to figure it out and let him know. Next day, Loraine went into the office. First time in years. That’s all I needed. I’m telling anyone now to talk to her.”
“I understand. Did anyone else contact you?”
“Ah, well. The lawyer called me the day after that. We had a meeting last week, he and I and Loraine. Then the skinny preacher came over. Pane.”
“When was that?”