“The Friday after Ronnie…I thought, oh man, what’s this guy going to want to talk about? I didn’t want to be stuck with him for who knows how long going on about the Bible. But no. He said he was sorry for my loss then wanted me to sell him some property. Where the Miner’s Flat church is. He wanted me to do the ‘right thing.’”
“What did you tell him?”
Gillis laughed. “Not much. I swore. I didn’t apologize to him. By then, I’d talked to the lawyer. I told Pane to call the office then gave him a shove out the door. He was still gabbing when I shut the door.”
“So that happened Friday, you say?” De la Peña asked.
“Yeah.”
“Did he mention an amount?”
“Maybe. Yeah, but I didn’t really hear. I was telling him to hit the road and he kept talking.”
De la Peña made notes. Moffat stood without speaking. The boys’ shouts seemed to grow louder. Gillis smiled sadly and shook his head. “Yeah. It’s been about two weeks of ‘out of the ordinary’ shit now that I think about it.”
Moffat patted his shoulder. “Thank you Mr. Gillis. We’ll let you get back to your coaching.”
“No problem.”
De la Peña thought Gillis seemed to have undergone a change of mood. He seemed now relaxed and alert. His eyes brightened as he watched the boys send the ball across the field. He and Moffat walked several yards when Gillis called out “Hey, Guys. We have a tournament here next month. You should come. Teams from the Bay Area and Sacramento. We should do well.”
Moffat looked at an enthusiastic De la Peña and smiled. The Sergeant answered. “Hey, that sounds great. I’ll be there.”
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 50
In the inner row of lockers, empty except for two persons hidden from the view of nearby classrooms, Julie Chancellor handed a five-dollar bill to a guy named Keith. He passed her a single orange capsule, wrapped in waxed paper like a piece of taffy. “Amps”, formally known as Adderal, a prescription drug used in the treatment of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, would keep Julie awake and energized through the night so that she could complete a term paper due tomorrow. Keith was not a student at Miner’s Flat but knew his way around. He had seen Julie with Scott Conti and had heard she was his girlfriend and so had determined he could do business with her. He said he expected to see her at the party Saturday night then checked his cell phone and moved on to his next appointment.
Julie - that is Officer Melanakos--walked through the open hall to the front of the school. From this point, she saw, in the distance, Captain Moffat and Sergeant De la Peña climb into Moffat’s Highlander, then drive toward the north exit of the campus. She walked along the sidewalk in front of the administration building. Though classes had ended an hour ago, cars were still pulling into the front drive to pick up children. She saw a 1994 gold El Dorado pull in just as Aaron and Michelle walked out from the south side of the Quad. Michelle carried a battered black case that Melanakos knew from her real high school experience contained a flute. Aaron opened the front passenger door, leaned in then stepped aside for Michelle to enter the car. He closed her door then moved quickly to take a seat in the back. Melanakos saw the driver, a gray-haired, elderly lady, accelerate rapidly and turn onto the main road without stopping. She had been close enough to see Aaron’s face. He looked relaxed and happy. She glanced at the time on her cell phone then walked rapidly to the back of the campus to meet Scott after practice.
* * *
At 4:10, Peake arrived at the stakeout, which had this day been moved from the van to a second floor room at the Travelodge. The room provided better visibility and was a lot more comfortable. She relieved Duncan who left minutes later to get into position as one of the five escorts for the decoy’s trip home from the winery. As requested, she brought Lang a sandwich from the cafeteria. While he ate, Peake watched the monitors and gazed through the window at the bungalow. At 4:20, she announced, “I see our white pick up, it’s just entered the street.”
Lang dropped his sandwich and picked up a pair of binoculars. He saw the truck pass between houses before it disappeared in front of the bungalow. It reappeared and turned into the driveway of the third home beyond McLean’s and parked.
“That’s convenient,” Lang observed as he got a good view of the truck for the first time. Then in a low voice he said “Sorry, Peake. You misidentified a 2004 ? ton Toyota as a 1992 1 1/2 ton Ford. Better take a refresher course…”
“Forget the white truck.”
“Huh?”
“Look.” She pointed to one of the monitors. The brown Nissan Sentra moved slowly behind the bungalows through a dirt and gravel area that encircled the outside of the homes. Lang raised his eyes to the window and saw the Nissan speed up and move toward Old Highway 49, leaving a growing cloud of dust.
At the station, Schoenberg answered Lang’s call. They quickly ruled out sending black and white’s to the area with sirens and flashers. They agreed there were too many possible escape routes to be confident of stopping the vehicle. Instead, Schoenberg radioed for every available unmarked car - which was only three due to the decoy escort demands - to proceed immediately to the area and perform a discreet search for the Nissan.
When Schoenberg returned to the line, Lang asked, “Where’s De la Peña?”
“Up in Miner’s Flat with Moffat. Too boring for him, I guess.”
“He’s going to freak that he missed this.”
“Good. I’ll call him right now.”
De la Peña didn’t freak. He was once again asleep in the passenger seat of Moffat’s SUV which was still fifteen minutes from Segovia when Moffat took the call from Schoenberg. Moffat told him as they walked through the parking lot of the County Administration Building. By then, all reports indicated that the Nissan and its driver had disappeared once again.
* * *
Monday night the entire team and half of the force were ready to act. Patrol officers were diverted from the rest of the county and held in reserve at the station. Five black and whites would swarm the neighborhood, surrounding McLean’s bungalow at De la Peña’s signal. He and Moffat prepared to sleep at the station. De la Peña instructed McLean to sleep in the living room, protected by double-locked windows and doors, with her gun, radio and phone by her side. The bathroom window was too small and high to be of concern. The bedroom window was left as it was when the team placed McLean in the bungalow. Sticky paint provided more security than the simple latch between upper and lower windows. The target was being lured to that one point of easiest entry. The Travelodge stakeout team was increased to four and would monitor every sound inside and out, in addition to the remote cameras.
As soon as the sun set, two teams of one male and one female officer were sent into the area on foot. Appearing as young couples out a stroll, they ascertained that the area behind the bungalow was deserted. Undercover of darkness, one of the men slipped into the bungalow where he would remain on watch through the night until an hour before dawn.
During the night, there was no intruder, no alarm of any kind. An expanded escort followed McLean back to the winery in the morning, then the extra personnel were sent home, the day shift of patrol officers resuming their normal duties, but with a reminder to look for a 1996 brown Nissan or 1992 white Ford truck, whatever the license plate might read. De la Peña slept soundly from 1:00 am to 8:00 on a foldout cot in the communication center. Moffat went home for a shower and a change of clothes and met De la Peña in the cafeteria for breakfast and more planning and waiting.
* * *
In his cubicle in the first floor, a large envelope lay in Officer Fat’s in-basket. It had been delivered the previous afternoon by the mailroom clerk. Also on Monday, four hours earlier, an e-mail had arrived and was waiting unopened in Fat’s in-box folder somewhere within the equipment of the Segovia Police’s computer network. Not until soon after he arrived at nine a.m. Tuesday and Fat turned on his PC in the Team Center would it load onto
his hard drive. From there, Fat would run downstairs to his cubicle.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 51
Tuesday, May 23
Moffat and De la Peña sat at their usual table in the third floor cafeteria, next to a floor to ceiling window with a view of the pedestrian mall. Their trays held identical meals: on pale green melamine plates, hash browns, 2 fried eggs and 2 slices of bacon. Each had a cup of coffee with cream. The only difference was that De la Peña added a half teaspoon of sugar to his coffee. As they ate, Moffat recounted the details of a 4:30 a.m. voice mail from Lydia Ballard. Her parents had driven their new car to the Gold Country in the spring of 1996 and hadn’t been back since. That piece of information confirmed for Moffat that the suspect had been active at least ten years. Moffat and De la Peña turned their conversation to observations of the previous day’s events. De la Peña acknowledged that, after the surge of excitement upon learning of the Sentra sighting, the rest of the day and night had been a disappointment. “Where do I go to complain?”
Moffat smiled. “I know how you feel.” Seeing that De la Peña had finished eating, he pushed his own plate to the side and leaned across the table. “Let’s go over the plan for today.”
De la Peña slid his tray to the side as well and leaned toward Moffat
“I think I’d like earlier warning,” the Sergeant said. “What if we put officers in three unmarked cars, one near each end of Horseshoe Drive and one at Old Highway 49 where the gravel road joins it? Since we know the two vehicles he drives, we should see him before he gets to the house. We’d be able to respond sooner.”
“Good idea. Six officers or three?”
“One per car would be less noticeable. Besides, we’re running out of manpower. I’m pulling in three reserve officers to work with Fat, Duncan, Lang and Schoenberg today. Peake is off duty until midnight. During McLean’s return home, I’ll have two black and whites just off each side of 49, not visible from the highway. And we’ll put a patrolman in plain clothes to ride with Tashara.”
“Then what about tonight?”
“We’ll keep cars in place near the bungalow…relieve the three officers around eight so that they can move to the Travelodge unit and get some sleep. We’ll do undercover foot patrols like last night.
An older woman, one of the cafeteria employees came to the table. She placed her left hand on Sergeant De la Peña’s shoulder as she approached. “Let me give you some room to work,” she said with a warm smile. She stacked the trays, plates and utensils, leaving just the coffee cups.
“Captain, I’d like to take one of the surveillance cars on Horseshoe Drive. I can be in touch with everyone by radio. I don’t think that will be a problem.”
“Sure. Any reason?”
“I’d like to be closer if anything happens.”
Moffat nodded. They sat silently for a few seconds. Then Moffat saw Fat rushing toward their table. He carried some papers.
“I’ve got news. It’s big. Really big,” he said then his tone changed. “Although…I don’t have a clue what it means.”
“Let’s have it,” De la Peña said eagerly.
Fat handed De la Peña several typed sheets attached by paperclip to a 10” by 13” mailing envelope. De la Peña flipped over the stack of papers and saw the return address:
California Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence
Sacramento
“CBI? What did they send?” De la Peña passed the papers to Moffat.
“They found a match to the ballistics evidence I sent in from the 1970 murder case, the one where the young woman was shot at the government office. The same weapon was used in a murder in Segovia County that occurred just two weeks ago…Veronica Gillis.”
“What the ‘F’?” De la Peña shouted.
At the same time, Moffat turned the pages of the report with great force. He looked up at De la Peña shaking his head.
“I can’t believe it,” De la Peña said. “Two murders, thirty-six years apart. It can’t be a coincidence, can it? I mean, we don’t know where or when Gillis got the gun. Who would sell a gun they’d used to commit a murder? Wouldn’t you throw it to the bottom of a lake? Make sure it was never seen again?”
Moffat put his chin on his hand and sat motionless, his unblinking eyes staring beyond De la Peña.
Fat smiled, pleased at the impact of his new evidence. “Not exactly a break in your case, is it?”
Moffat ignored the question. He spoke to De la Peña. “I’ll have to think about this one. Sergeant, I don’t know exactly why, but I think we’re going to have to solve the 1970 case in order to learn who killed Veronica Gillis.”
De la Peña shrugged. “Doesn’t it seem like these two cases - Gillis and Nicole Davies - are playing tug of war with us? Every time we go to work on one, the other gets hot.”
“You’re right. Gillis will have to wait, though. We have to keep our attention focused in the decoy operation.”
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 52
De la Peña was an hour into his shift in the car on one end of Horseshoe Drive. He was parked between the first and second bungalows on the south entrance from Highway 49. Duncan was positioned similarly on the north entrance. The early afternoon sun had moved so that the car began to heat up. De la Peña lowered the two front windows, letting in cool, grass scented air. His eyes moved from the left side mirror, to the rear view mirror to the right side mirror then to the view ahead. “Lather. Rinse. Repeat,” he whispered as he continued the routine.
Trying to look like a salesman, De la Peña opened a red plastic three-ring binder in his lap then phoned Lang.
“Everybody checked in?”
“Yes, Sergeant. All in position. Nothing to report. This is one quiet neighborhood on the weekdays. I’ve seen the mailman, a rabbit and two squirrels. That’s it.”
“Keep at it, Lang. Ah, yeah, I see the mailman. Talk to you later.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, in the leftmost area of his view from the motel room, Lang saw a man walking onto the dirt and gravel area behind the bungalow next to McLean’s. He radioed all units.
“We have a male on foot, wearing dark green Levis, a brown wind breaker and a khaki hat. Carrying a hiking pole - about 4 feet, I think. He’s got a gray waist pack, water bottle attached. He’s about thirty yards from the ‘nest’ moving parallel to the bungalows.”
De la Peña and the other two officers in the cars as well as Moffat and Tashara at the station heard the message. De la Peña constructed a mental image-- bird’s eye view--of the terrain, buildings and a solitary hiker.
In the motel room, Lang called Schoenberg, Fat and Reserve Officer Becker to join him at the window. “Fat, watch the monitors. Schoenberg, Becker, keep an eye on the whole view while I watch him.”
De la Peña listened intently for Lang’s next words. Back on the radio, Lang said “Ok. He’s directly behind the Nest. Ten yards away.” Lang’s voice rose. “That’s it. He’s walking right to the bungalow. He’s crossing the drainage ditch. He’s heading for the window. Hey, I can see he’s wearing gloves. He’s at the window, Sarge.”
“Lang, have your guys move down, but stay out of sight.”
In the motel room, Lang told Fat to man the window and the radio. He, Schoenberg and Becker put on light weight black jackets with “POLICE” printed on the back in large yellow letters. They ran from the room, down a concrete staircase to the parking lot and moved to a position about sixty yards from the back of the bungalow, sheltered from view by a half dozen large shrubs.
Fat continued the description of the man at the bungalow. “He’s got something in his hand - could be a screwdriver. That’s it, Sergeant. He’s prying up the lower window.
De la Peña noticed the change from Lang to Fat, was momentarily curious then radioed for all units to move as soon as Fat reported the intruder had entered the bungalow.
“He’s got the window completely up. He’s pulling himself up and in. That’s i
t. Go guys.”
From their different starting points, Duncan, De la Peña and Reserve Officer Baldwin drove toward the bungalow. Duncan arrived first, parking diagonally in the street in front of the bungalow just north of McLean’s. Seconds later, De la Peña arrived at the corresponding position before the bungalow to the south. De la Peña looked for Baldwin’s vehicle moving more slowly from the gravel area. Less than a minute later he came to a stop. The three officers left their vehicles and moved quietly toward the bungalow.
At the station, Moffat directed three black and whites to the scene. According to the plan they would drive to where Duncan, De la Peña and Baldwin had parked and remain there to prevent any escape.
“He’s in the bedroom. I can still see him,” Fat reported.
Lang and Reserve Officer Becker crossed the open ground down the slope from the motel parking lot. They jumped over the drainage ditch moving in a north westerly direction to avoid being seen from the bedroom window. Schoenberg took a circular route to approach the bungalow from the south. From opposite sides, Lang and Schoenberg arrived at the bedroom window, stopping four feet from the window, their guns drawn and attention focused squarely on the open window. Becker left Lang and took his position on the windowless north side of the bungalow, where he could see Duncan’s vehicle parked and saw the female officer moving toward the front of the house.
“Lang and Schoenberg are in place, Sergeant. Becker is in place,” Fat radioed from his vantage point above the scene.
De la Peña approached the front of the bungalow, watching the curtains in the front window. They were drawn completely, as McLean had left them six hours earlier. To his right, De la Peña saw Reserve Officer Baldwin move into position on the south side of the building, crouching to stay below the small kitchen window that was located fairly high up the wall. De La Peña signaled to Duncan who relayed to Becker that they were in position.
Fat saw the signal from Becker. At the station, Moffat heard Fat’s announcement. “The team is in place.”
Duncan and De la Peña took two wooden steps up to the porch. There was a faint creak as De la Peña stepped toward the door. Thinking he should have mentioned it earlier, Fat announced that he had lost view of the intruder several minutes ago. De la Peña listened for any sound from inside the bungalow. There was silence. With his left hand, he removed a single key from his pocket and slid it silently into the deadbolt lock above the doorknob. With his right shoulder pressed against the wall next to the door, his gun in his right hand, De la Peña turned the lock without a sound. He nodded to Duncan. She turned the knob. It’s lock had been removed and her action was just as silent as De la Peña’s had been. De la Peña nodded to Duncan. Expecting the door to open easily, he shouted “Police Department” and kicked the lower part of the door with his right heel. The door moved a half-inch then stopped, resisting De la Peña’s push. With his right arm and right leg De la Peña slammed against the door. It gave with a cracking sound. De la Peña moved back behind the wall.