“It’s a good guess. I hope you’re right because otherwise we’re going to have to dig up the entire 30 acres.” Moffat pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “We’ll start with the pond. I think it will be easier to drain a pond than to dig up an orchard.”
De la Peña listened as Moffat phoned the Chief. Moffat explained where they were and what they were doing then asked for the Chief to bring in an agricultural irrigation engineer and high capacity pumps. They would need some small earth moving equipment and a lot of men with boots and shovels.
“I wonder how long that will take,” De la Peña said.
“Don’t underestimate the Chief. Come on, let’s take Mr. Buck into the house.”
Dale had been walking in a wide arc and was now about 20 yards from them. Moffat called out and waved for Buck to walk with them to the house. They entered through the kitchen door in the back.
“When I was here three weeks ago, I was in the kitchen and the living room. Wyman didn’t offer to let me see the rest of the place.” They walked through a service porch, a small den and then moved down a hall toward two bedrooms and the bathroom.
“Has anything changed?” Moffat asked.
“Yes it has,” Dale said with a smile. “My aunt’s closet is gone. Come and look. He led them into the back bedroom. There was a wide closet with sliding doors on the right as they entered. Buck took them to the interior left corner of the room. “There used to be a smaller closet here, the kind with a regular door. He’s walled it in.”
“Sergeant, is there an attic in the house?”
“Not exactly. One of the forensic investigators stuck his head up there yesterday. There’s a space ranging between three and five feet between the ceiling and the inside of the roof.” De la Peña led them to the hall where a two by three-foot piece of plywood painted to match the ceiling covered an opening to the space above. “Let me get a stool and I’ll go up there.”
Seconds later, De la Peña pulled himself easily through the opening. With his hands and knees on the rafters he maneuvered smoothly toward the area above the bedroom, the plastic handle of a large flashlight gripped between his teeth.
“I see it. It’s open from above.” De la Peña shone the light and saw rungs of a wooden ladder that was attached directly to the wall studs. After examining the closet carefully with the flashlight, he lowered himself from the rafters to the third rung of the ladder then stepped down to the wood floor. Shouting now to be heard through the wall, he said “This might be what we’re looking for, Captain.” De la Peña tapped on the interior of the wall. Then with a pocketknife, he pushed and turned the blade to open a small hole in the sheet rock and a covering of plaster.
“Hi, boss. How’s it going?” De la Peña said through the hole.
“What do you see?”
“Some shelves with cardboard boxes. There are a lot of folders, with papers. And some plastic bags with…” De la Peña picked up the nearest bag and examined its contents. “Oh. Um, looks like women’s clothing. Captain, it’s kind of a tight fit in here. Do you think you could open it up from your side?”
“Sure, we’ll find some tools.”
Moffat found a claw hammer in a kitchen drawer. He began to expand the opening in De la Peña’s closet while Dale Buck went to the garage. Buck soon returned with a crow bar and a dry wall rip saw and within minutes the two of them had opened up enough space for De la Peña to begin passing through folders and other items which they placed on the bed. Moffat passed the saw to De la Peña and while the Sergeant created an exit for himself, Moffat found the first of the documents they had been seeking since yesterday. Several minutes later, Buck helped De la Peña step through the opening into the room. The Sergeant was mostly covered with fine white powder.
“Good work, Sergeant. We have a passport - looks genuine - some counterfeit driver’s licenses, various bills and some interesting bank accounts. Oakdale and San Gabriel. Between the two he has almost twenty thousand dollars. I want you to notify the police in both cities. Ask them to go to those banks and see if he’s been there yet.”
* * *
The three men exited through the front door, stepping off the concrete steps to an irregular patch of grass by the front of the house. De la Peña turned on a hose, let it run for a few seconds then, leaning over, held the it above his head, washing the dust from his hair and face.
“We have to wait for the forensic investigators to get here, Mr. Buck. After that, can we drop you somewhere?”
“My camper is parked in the mall in front of the city building. Uh oh. I a must have a ticket by now.”
“Don’t worry. That won’t be a problem.”
“Aha. Very nice. Can you give me directions to a campground or trailer park?”
As a new arrival to the area Moffat couldn’t comply with Buck’s request but he told him an officer would meet them at the station and would show Buck the way.
De la Peña was combing his hair when a five-vehicle convoy approached. A flat bed truck held a Bobcat earthmover and what he guessed were three irrigation pumps. Chief Halvorsen led the convoy in his Cadillac Escalade.
“Fast enough for you Sergeant?” Moffat asked.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 63
At ten thirty, roughly three hours behind Moffat’s original plan for the day; he and De la Peña pulled an unmarked police car into a concrete driveway four doors from Lewis Franke’s house. April Slater, a twenty seven year old stay-at-home mom whose Army husband currently served in Iraq, welcomed the policemen and led them from the front door left into the kitchen and through there to the dining room where a four-year old boy sat at a table with a large box of crayons - 96 count - and an Army Ranger coloring book. He had about twelve crayons scattered before him and was busily filling in the black outline of a shrub in the foreground of a picture showing two soldiers running through a jungle. He was using a magenta crayon to color the shrub.
“Ethan, say hello to these men. They are here to ask you some questions.” The boy continued to look down but shyly whispered “Hi.”
“They are policemen, Ethan,” his mother continued. Ethan looked at Moffat then De la Peña with curiosity.
Moffat introduced himself then asked the boy if he remembered talking to a policeman in uniform.
“Yes. He had a gun.”
“Do you remember what you told him?”
“No.”
April prompted him. “You said you had seen an orange lady walk by while you were playing in the front yard, Ethan. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah.”
She turned to Moffat “I’m not sure if he can help much, Captain. Two weeks is a long time to him.”
De la Peña placed six photographs at the end of the table. He and Moffat examined the pictures with exaggerated interest. The little boy slid off the chair and walked to Moffat’s side, looking with him at De la Peña’s display.
“Can you tell me if any one of these ladies was the one you saw the evening the policeman talked to you?”
“I don’t remember.”
De la Peña lay out another six photos. Ethan examined these carefully. “Grandma,” he said.
“No, Ethan. Grandma wasn’t there.” Addressing the men April said, “He told the first policeman that.” She smiled and said, “I swear Captain. My mother-in-law was nowhere near the house. She lives in Seattle. You’d think my little darling was trying to frame his own grandmother.”
“Which one looks like Grandma, Ethan?” Moffat asked.
“All of them.”
“That’s helpful,” De la Peña said smiling broadly at the boy.
“Did you see or hear anything that night?” Moffat asked April.
“No. I’m sorry. I was cooking dinner. I think I heard the s h o t.” The last word she spelled out. “But I didn’t pay attention at the time. I’m sorry.”
Moffat nodded. He collected the photos and moved next to De la Peña now standing and watching Ethan who had returned to hi
s crayons and picture. The choices of colors struck Moffat as odd. The soldiers’ uniforms were a careless splatter of amber and maroon. The earth was a muted purple. The overall appearance was almost nauseating.
April Slater walked to De la Peña’s other side. “Do you think we have a young Picasso, here Sergeant?”
De la Peña pretended to loosen his tie and laughing said, “Oh, I’m not too sure about that, Mrs. Slater. Maybe he should try music.”
She laughed again.
Moffat picked up a crayon from the box. It bore the name “raw sienna.”
“Ethan, what color do you call this?”
The boy looked at the crayon then shrugged.
“He doesn’t know his colors very well, Captain. We think he may be color blind like my brother.”
“That’s interesting. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Slater.”
Donna Ferguson guided the detectives into the closed off section to the left of the front door, to the same booth Moffat had shared with Martha Pane seven days earlier. Two juice glasses filled with a red liquid were already on the table with breakfast menus.
“Pomegranate juice.” Donna pointed to the glasses. “I’m trying something new. Fresh coffee is brewing. I’ll be right back with two cups and to take your orders. Then I’ve got what’s left of the morning free. I’ve been looking forward to our talk, Captain.”
Several minutes later Donna returned with two large mugs filled with hot coffee. A young waitress followed her with a small pitcher of cream. She took their orders and left her employer with the two policemen in the quiet room.
“Sergeant, your boss wanted me to dish some dirt on a recently deceased member of the community,” Donna said. “Did you know he has such an appetite for gossip? He seems so serious and distinguished.”
De la Peña smiled. “That’s just for show. He only became a detective so that he can get the really juicy stuff.”
Moffat nodded smiling then said to De la Peña: “It seems we can eliminate extramarital activity on the part of Lewis Franke as a motive for the murder. Donna said there was never a hint of anything during his years here in Miner’s Flat.”
“What are you talking about, Captain?” Donna asked incredulously. “Isn’t this about Ronnie?”
“No. That’s why we’re here. I want to ask about your high school days…January 1970. Do you remember a body of a young woman was discovered in Segovia? She was dead from a gunshot wound. Police believed she surprised thieves who were burglarizing the office in which she worked.”
“Not really. I didn’t read the paper much in those times. You think it has something to do with Ronnie?”
“The two crimes are linked in two aspects but we haven’t been able to make sense out of it. Lewis Franke was interviewed in the first crime. He was the victim’s employer.”
None of this sounds familiar. Who was the woman?”
“Her name was Sandra Smith.”
Donna’s eyes widened. She raised her voice with excitement. “I knew her. She went to school here, six years ahead of Cheryl and me. I haven’t thought about her in years.”
De la Peña also grew excited. “Captain, that’s a third link. She was from Miner’s Flat.”
Moffat nodded. Donna looked at De la Peña then Moffat, trying to determine if they really didn’t know another fact about Sandra. “Guys, you don’t know, do you?”
“What?” De la Peña asked, shaking his head.
“Sandra was Cheryl’s sister.” She let the statement sink in. “I knew her pretty well. She moved out of the house when she graduated from high school. She got her own apartment and had some secretarial jobs. I remember she seemed very grown up and independent. I didn’t know she worked for Major Franke. She must have got that job later.”
Moffat flipped back several pages in his notes. “Police interviewed the victim’s father. Was Cheryl’s father Alfred Smith?”
“Yes. He and Catherine separated a few years earlier. Cheryl was in junior high then. He moved to Segovia. He died in the 1980’s, I think.”
The waitress arrived with two large plates - a Denver omelet with fruit bowl for Moffat, scrambled eggs with bacon and hash browns for De la Peña - and a small plate with a half sandwich of tuna salad for Donna. The two policemen waited while the waitress made a second trip to refill their coffee cups. During the silence, it was obvious that Donna was reminiscing.
Alone again, Moffat touched Donna lightly on the hand. “What have you been thinking about?”
“I was back in high school,” she said softly with some sadness. “You know, I had put it out of my memory, but that year wasn’t very happy for us. We were just sophomores and really very immature, just involved in our own small world. But now that you mention Sandra, it reminded me of the war. Miner’s Flat didn’t have a single soldier killed in World War II. I remember people pointing that out because earlier, maybe in ’67 and ’68, we had two boys killed in Vietnam. Then in 1969, before Sandra, I think, three boys were killed at the same time in one of those cities you always heard about… Da Nang or Saigon, I don’t know, but the whole town was so upset. We all knew those boys. The war, the dead soldiers, Sandra’s death…it all kind of blurred together. What a sad time that was. All the girls with older brothers or boyfriends were in a panic about them getting killed. The adults were just as fearful. But there were so many arguments. People getting crazy about communists. I remember some of the men who had been in World War II said they had had their war and now their sons had this war as though it was just natural to go overseas to shoot people and bomb them. Nothing made sense to me. It was such a strange time.”
She paused and shook her head slightly. Her usual cheery expression returned. “Well, anyway, so that’s why you asked about Lewis Franke. He was Sandra’s boss. Well, I still can’t imagine him being involved with her. And, you know, she wasn’t the kind of girl to be impressed by anybody, especially an older guy in authority.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?” Moffat asked.
“She dated one boy during her senior year in high school, but it wasn’t very serious. He joined the Marines and had a pretty good career as I recall. I haven’t seen him in years. I guess he never came back after his mother died. Well, anyway, I don’t think she had any serious boyfriend after that. You could ask Cheryl. I’m sure she would know.”
The lights came on in the back of the room. Two busboys came in to set tables. Donna explained they were getting ready for the lunchtime rush.
“You’re expecting a big crowd?” De la Peña asked.
“Oh, yeah. Always. Business is good.” She smiled leaning toward Moffat “I’ll have to leave you two handsome policemen on your own. I don’t know if I helped any. It’s strange, but thinking about those days the way they really were…it’s made me feel better about these days. Kind of a reminder that the ‘good ol’ days’ weren’t as great as we try to make ourselves think they were. That’s me, I guess. Anyway, you’ve got a bigger mystery now than ever, don’t you? And complicated too.”
Moffat had placed a twenty-dollar bill above the check. She picked it up with her left hand, a plate and cup in her right, and wished them luck.
* * *
Sometime earlier, before Moffat and De la Peña left for their latest visit to Miner’s Flat, Mrs. Grubb walked into a large room at the back of the first floor of the historic Ledger Dispatch Building. Called the “Stacks” by the newspaper employees, it held copies of the editions published from 1855 through 1975. Mrs. Grubb was surprised that they had never been converted to microfilm but now the plans were to scan the old papers into a computer format that would be searchable. Raymond Sato explained this project was to be accomplished gradually, as time and money permitted. For now, Raymond showed Mrs. Grubb to a cabinet, where he removed a box of two dozen lightweight, 100% cotton gloves. She opened the box and placed a pair on her hands before being led to a large shelf containing editions from the year 1970. Mrs. Grubb made a quick estimate of the time that would be
required to complete her task and decided immediately to call for help. It was the fourth Friday of the month, so she knew who would be available.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 64
On the return trip from Miner’s Flat, Moffat phoned Sergeant Clark for the latest developments. The search had been greatly curtailed earlier in the day and had now been shut down completely when word came back from Oakdale that Buck had apparently been in the area. The security officer from the local branch of the Bank of San Joaquin reported that the account De la Peña had inquired about this morning had been closed yesterday. The account owner had come in first thing.. He also accessed a safe deposit box. The bank employee who helped the customer remembered a bald man with glasses. The security officer told Clark he would e-mail a video file from the bank’s surveillance cameras within minutes. There was no word yet from the bank in San Gabriel, in southern California, near Los Angeles.
Moffat’s voice mail had a message from Chief Halvorsen. Clearly in an exuberant mood, Halvorsen announced that the pumps were draining Buck’s pond. The irrigation engineer expected the task to take less than two hours.
* * *
“OK, Sergeant, we’ve got some time now to work on this undisturbed,” Moffat said to De la Peña who, since they returned from Miner’s Flat, had removed his coat, retrieved the Gillis and Smith homicide investigation files and placed them on space at the end of his desk where it abutted Moffat’s desk. Now, he sat with his back straight gazing intently at Moffat.
Moffat placed his notebook on the table, glanced at it briefly then continued. “There are some facts that overlap the two cases. I said before I believe we must solve the 1970 case to solve the Gillis murder. That may or may not be true but look at the facts that push me toward this belief. First, there is the fact of the same murder weapon. This is either a coincidence or a clue. It’s possible, for example, that Veronica Gillis bought the Lady Smith from a dealer in, let’s say, 1985, who had purchased it some time earlier from a person unrelated to Gillis who was involved in the 1970 crime. In that case, the shared murder weapon is only a coincidence and doesn’t serve as a clue in either case. My intuition tells me it’s a clue, but, absent any other information, I am unsure about it. You see where I’m going with this reasoning?”