Moffat turned his thoughts to James Rees. It’s not unimaginable that a fervent anti-war activist might take a series of actions directed at the draft board - the most significant local symbol of the U.S. government’s war-making apparatus - that could lead to the death of the draft board’s secretary. Rees has a motive for killing Gillis as well. But this path is blocked by the same flaw that prevents us from constructing a scenario for Pane - Franke’s role in making the murder appear to be the result of a robbery. Rees seems even less likely to be involved with Franke. It’s interesting to note that Sandra’s death marked the end of Segovia County’s anti-war movement and the end of Franke’s pro-war public statements. Both sides seemed to have walked away from the political fight after Sandra was killed.
For no apparent reason, an odd thought popped into Moffat’s head. What if the gun that killed Sandra never belonged to Ronnie? Moffat visualized Rees, having used it to kill Sandra in 1970 years later modifying its grip to match the gun she was known to carry in her purse. Rees takes Gillis’ gun from her purse before or after shooting her, and then throws the murder weapon into the cypress. Next he imagined the same scenario with Pane in the role instead of Rees. It sounds farfetched but it’s one way to place the murder weapon in the uninterrupted possession of the killer of both Sandra and Ronnie. That was about all this tangent accomplishes, Moffat thought.
Continuing consideration of either Pane or Rees for the Sandra Smith murder, Moffat told himself there is not enough to make either story seem likely. Clearly, we will need a lot more information to work with. We can interview Rees about Franke and Pane; find out what contact he had with them in 1970. He may have had nothing to do with the crime but might know something about the two of them that could help Moffat understand. Moffat would observe Rees’ behavior; look for any signs of deception. Of course, it was no where near a likely outcome in this situation, but on many occasions Moffat had shaken a suspect’s story in the interview room in a way that led to a confession or at least a new direction for the investigation. Moffat could see himself interviewing Rees about Sandra but he didn’t think it would be worth the effort to bring in Pane. The clergyman, Moffat was sure, would not cooperate. Unlike Rees, he had no incentive to appear cooperative with the police. That went away with their last meeting. Others might be able to enlighten Moffat. Next week, he and De la Peña would collect names of officers who might have knowledge of the events of early 1970. This would no doubt reveal others with something to contribute. It looks like we will have to beat the bushes for a lead.
So, at least for tonight, I am at a dead end on Rees and Pane, Moffat thought. He was beginning to think he would be leaving earlier than he had planned when he called Jean and said good night to Mrs. Grubb. He was trying to focus on the Sandra Smith murder but he was running out of clues and suspects to pursue, at least for now.
Moffat was leafing through the pages of the Smith file when he heard a knock on the door to the hall. Mindful of late night security, Mrs. Grubb had locked it when she left. Moffat stood and walked toward the sound. He heard Raymond Sato’s voice calling his name.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 67
“I phoned the house. Your daughter said you were working late,” Raymond Sato said. He sat next to Moffat’s desk. From a brief case on his lap he pulled a sheet of paper and passed it to Moffat. “I phoned the station as soon as I got this. They had me forward it to the Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence in Sacramento. I knew you would be interested.”
It was an e-mail addressed to Moffat. The author identified himself as “Buck.”
“Oh.” Moffat looked up at Raymond. The editor’s mouth tensed to suppress a smile. The message had arrived at the Ledger Dispatch website a half hour earlier. The Internet header revealed that the sender had somehow delayed delivery of the message for five hours. Moffat held his head in both hands as he read the e-mail.
* * *
Dear Captain Moffat
Congratulations on your detective work. For all these years, I have been going about my activities quietly and unobserved. Your predecessors, the press and others have ignored me. You were the only one to figure out what I have been doing. Maybe I got a little reckless with my letter to the editor or by following the same pattern, but I thought you were ignoring me too. Then you surprised me with that nice little trap at the house. Lucky for me those flat-footed cops were where they were and I still just managed to get away. You nearly had me again when I hit the deer. Nice bounce, don’t you think? Of course, you had your share of good luck. If I’d had just a few more seconds before I heard the helicopter and sirens, I would have finished you with the Ruger before I hit the trail.
Now they’re calling me a master of escape on the news. I like that. You will put all the pieces together eventually, I suppose. In case you are wondering, I didn’t walk all the way to Oakdale. I had a car hidden, along with a change of clothes, some cash and supplies.
You must want to ask why I did it all. Short answer: I don’t know. It was irresistible. Completely absorbing. So much excitement, like a drug, maybe. You could say I organized my whole life around these activities. I am not sorry. I don’t think I am capable of that. Don’t blame my parents.
I’ve got money and everything else I would need to lead you on a wild chase, maybe for years. I’ve had enough though. Try to trace this e-mail if you like. I don’t think you will be successful. Even if you are, I’ll be long gone. In a few hours, before you read this, I’ll be reunited with all those girls I killed. Search all you want for a body but you’ll never find it. I’ve had plenty of time to plan this out.
I’m afraid this is all you’ll get. Goodbye and good luck, you lucky son of a bitch.
Buck
* * *
“Quite a farewell note, don’t you think, Alex? Will he go through with it?”
“Well, I think he was honest about his intention when he wrote it,” Moffat said in a low voice. “Maybe he’ll change his mind. It must be hard for a healthy person to pull the trigger. He doesn’t sound all that tormented, just tired. But think about it, Raymond. Everything about his life has changed suddenly. He spent thirty years as a criminal with no one knowing his name or face. Now he has to hide. He can never go home. Is that a strong enough reason to kill himself? I guess I don’t know.”
Raymond leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “This little county turned out to be more exciting than either of us planned, didn’t it? Such pretty scenery and such friendly people. Who would have guessed what we were in for?”
Moffat nodded.
Raymond leaned to his left to see the top of Moffat’s desk. “What are you working on so late tonight?”
Moffat stared at Sato, expressionless.
“Ok. Off the record, then.”
“The Gillis case.”
“Any progress?”
“Maybe. I can’t be sure at this point. Usually progress on a homicide means narrowing the possibilities - suspects or motives. With this case, I’m not at that point or even close. Instead, the scope of the investigation is expanding. I’ve identified more subjects to look into than I ever expected just a week ago. Maybe out of all this, we’ll get a real lead. Oh, and Raymond, thanks for the help you gave Mrs. Grubb and Jean today. It may lead to something. We’ll see next week.”
“You are very welcome, Alex. I’m looking forward to learning what happened in 1969 and 1970 that has anything to do with Veronica Gillis.”
“You’re not the only one. I may end up embarrassing myself on that path, but I have to explore it.”
“So there’s no hope for a quick resolution?”
“Short of the killer walking in and confessing, I don’t think so.”
Sato chuckled. “Well, then, I’d better be off. I need a good night’s sleep for the big game.”
“What game is that?”
Sato looked at Moffat with wonder. “The charity match up between Segovia P.D. and Bret Harte College Faculty and Staff. I teach a j
ournalism class Tuesday evenings so they drafted me this year. They expected more publicity by letting the newspaper editor play. It’s shameless, I know.”
“Good plan. Did it work?”
“Oh, yes!” Sato laughed. “Well, it is for a good cause.”
“True. Are you a real softball player?”
“I used to be. If I can still hit, watch out. I’m pretty fast.”
“Then you should beware of De la Peña. He has quite an arm.”
“So I shouldn’t try to stretch a single into a double?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Right.” Holding up the e-mail, Moffat added, “Thanks for this, Raymond.”
* * *
Odd as it seemed, Raymond’s visit, with the bizarre, fascinating letter from Buck, had been an enjoyable distraction from Moffat’s work on the Miner’s Flat murder. That investigation, at least for the time being, had evolved into the “joint scenario” including Sandra Smith as an additional victim. The Wyman Buck case was nearly closed, many loose ends tying themselves up today and probably the remainder early next week. Not so with Gillis/Smith. But Moffat could see more work to be done and now, alone again in the silent office, he made these notes for next week:
* Examine Draft records from 1969-70. Look for improprieties and connection with Franke, Sandra Smith, Rees or Pane. Expand search as necessary.
* Interview James Rees about events of late 1969.
* Interview Catherine Martius and Cheryl Haugen about Sandra.
* Investigate Pane. Determine what relationship he had over the years with Loraine Jamison and Veronica Gillis, Lewis Franke and Sandra Smith’s family.
* * *
It didn’t seem like much for an evening’s work. Moffat decided he would have a snack then make another attempt to find something productive to do before going home for a weekend away from all things law enforcement. He walked to the break room next door, filled a cup with water and placed it in the microwave oven to heat for herbal tea. In the cupboard, Moffat found a large bag of dried apricots. These, he knew, came from last year’s harvest of Mrs. Grubb’s five-tree backyard orchard. A similar bag had been sent home with Moffat for Jean and was apparently repaid the next day with a gift of two bottles of a full-bodied, spicy Pinot Noir from the winery next door. The wine was part of a gift case to thank the Moffats for cooperation during the well-attended vineyard concert last October. As Moffat placed six of the apricots on a plate he thought it remarkable that so many goods and services exchanged hands in this county without the aid of currency. A bag of walnut halves with a similar history offered an appealing accompaniment to the apricots. After three minutes, the microwave stopped. From the other side of the wall, Moffat heard a phone ring once, then the sounds of the fax machine. Moffat placed a tea bag in the hot water and left it to steep while he went to the detective’s office to check the fax machine’s output tray.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 68
With a glance at the pages in the tray, Moffat felt a surge of excitement. Handwritten, graceful letters on the top sheet read “From Ginny to Evelyn.” He examined the remaining pages, five in all. The archivist had managed to locate something of real value. She had sent a copy of a typewritten table with nearly one hundred rows, twenty per page. The table itself bore the title:
SELECTIVE SERVICE INDUCTEE ORDER DRAFT LOTTERY DECEMBER 1, 1969
DRAFT BOARD NO. 33
SEGOVIA, CALIFORNIA
In the lower right corner the date “January 23, 1970 was typed. The lower left bore the letters “LF:ss.”
“Interesting,” Moffat whispered, reading the column headings:
* * *
NAME…ADDRESS…BIRTHDATE/DRAFT ORDER…STATUS…NOTES
* * *
So this is it, Moffat thought, a list showing how Segovia’s draft eligible young men fared in the drawing. Lucky boys at the bottom, unlucky on top. The first name on the list was Wayne Rodriguez, with a birth date of December 30, 1948. Under status “II/S expires 15 Dec 1969” was typed. Mr. Rodriguez was losing his student deferment just in time to have his birth date selected third in the national lottery. An early birthday present from his Uncle Sam. What became of him, Moffat wondered.
Some among these names would have a reason to ask (or pay) for a favor from Lewis Franke. Before the lottery, he would have had the power to give a deferment for any of a number of reasons. After the lottery, each man’s fate came down to his birth date. The date you happened to be born suddenly could mean a two-year stint in the Army or Marines and exposure to the risks and hardship of the Vietnam War.
Moffat tapped the page with his right forefinger. Assuming Franke had helped one of these men escape that fate, he and his coconspirators instantly had the potential need to engage in a cover up. Considering the penalties for those involved, that cover up could include homicide as a possibility, he thought.
While Moffat now found it possible to think he had uncovered a motive for Sandra’s death, this didn’t readily reveal a corresponding motive for that of Veronica Gillis. Franke was not in the picture for that. Maybe an accomplice from 1970 could be involved. Of course, that doesn’t explain why the accomplice would have to kill Gillis. Still, it was a path worth exploring.
Moffat turned from the list, letting his mind move back to his joint scenario. He had forgotten about the tea. Now he walked slowly to the break room to get the cup and plate and bring them back to his desk. Here’s something to consider, Moffat thought. The assumption of a connection between Smith and Gillis curtailed the number of potential motives and suspects. If the murder of Gillis really was a result - very much delayed - of the murder of Smith, then the only possible motives for the second killing were cover up or revenge. Moffat could think of no others. The motive for the first killing can be as complex as any human situation you could imagine but the second has to be much simpler. The number of suspects shrinks also. Wade Gillis, Aaron, Scott Conti - all out of the picture because of age. The Panes are still in, though, but what does this line of thinking do to their most obvious motive, that of preventing the loss of their church and their house. Maybe the 1970 crime gives one or both of them a rationalization for Gillis. Of course, all the other suspects remain as well. It doesn’t make sense at this point, Moffat thought, but he was hopeful he could figure it all out.
At least, now I have something to work on tonight, Moffat told himself. He held up the list as he took a first drink of the tea. Let’s look here for a lead, he said to himself, only this time, check each name thoroughly. We don’t want a repeat of the Martius/Smith slip up. He would look for a Smith from the Miner’s Flat address of Catherine or the Segovia address of her estranged husband Alfred, in case Sandra had a brother of an age in the six-year span covered by this first lottery. Look also for a Pane or a Rees. They wouldn’t be there themselves but maybe he would find a relative. Look for a brother of Veronica Gillis too. And, what were Loraine’s married names before Jamison? He remembered from Rees’ account that she had been married several times.
Moffat checked his notebook and added Falcone, and Hughes to a slip of paper with the other names to look for. He thought it would be convenient to have this table in an Excel file so he could re-sort it. Maybe he would have Mrs. Grubb enter it into a worksheet on Monday. For now, Moffat thought, he might as well look first at the names on the bottom of the list. You can be sure no one is going to bribe the Draft Board to be placed first in line.
There were dozens of unfamiliar names. Moffat realized he and De la Peña would have to review each of the draft folders corresponding to these names to look for any connection with Lewis Franke, Sandra Smith or Veronica Gillis. He smiled, acknowledging his strong desire to be able to do that right now. Mrs. Grubb’s friend, the archivist Virginia had been thoughtful to send what she had found so far but now she was at the dance with Mrs. Grubb and he would have to wait until Monday.
On the tenth row from the bo
ttom of page 5, Moffat saw the name Gregory Falcone from Miner’s Flat. That one was probably Loraine’s eldest son, the one James Rees described as her favorite. Fortunate guy. His birthday of March 14 was the 354th number chosen. Only four men in the county had fared better. Not really so lucky, though. Rees said he had been killed in an automobile accident. Donna must have had a brother or cousin in the pool. There was a Clifford Ferguson from Miner’s Flat on page three. How many of these men would have been conscripted to meet the war’s manpower needs that year, he wondered. One of Mrs. Grubb’s photocopied news stories reported that, of the pool of 700,000 young men nationwide, the first third were almost certain to be drafted. The last third were off the hook barring a national emergency. The middle third would spend the year not knowing for sure. At the bottom of the first page, Moffat discovered a Pane from Segovia. That boy would certainly be drafted. He was already classified 1 A. Moffat might be able to verify if this Pane was related, maybe through driver’s license records. Maybe Pane was determined his younger brother must not follow him to Vietnam. That could be a motive for bribery, conspiracy and murder. Maybe more than thirty years later, Franke didn’t know the thin old man from Miner’s Flat was the same person who bribed him in 1970. Or maybe he did. Or their connection in 1970 might be indirect. It was all pure speculation but kept Moffat’s mind racing.
Taking a slip of paper with the names he thought he recognized and the last page of the table with twelve more, Moffat moved to his desktop computer and logged into the Department of Motor Vehicles Database for Law Enforcement. He typed the first of the fifteen names from his notepad. The address matched. This was Loraine’s son. The record showed his first license at age 16, two renewals, two minor accidents, two speeding tickets and the accident that took his life in 1973. Moffat selected the on screen print button with his mouse. He repeated the process for Pane and Ferguson. In addition to Falcone and Ferguson, the last page had two other men with Miner’s Flat home addresses. Moffat didn’t notice anything about their personal information that would suggest a connection with either of the two victims. For every name on his list, he pulled up the young man’s record on the DMV database, read it carefully and then printed copies in case he and De la Peña might discover a connection later.