“They’re only playing six innings,” Jean read from the festival flyer. “The north/south pee wee soccer game starts here at twelve-thirty.”
Moffat stopped at the edge of the bleachers on the third base side to watch the next play. The Segovia P.D. was in the field. Harte College had runners on first and third. The pitcher threw a slow, arcing pitch to the plate, underhand which the batter drove deep to center/left field.
De la Peña ran twenty feet to his left, caught the ball in the glove of his outstretched left hand. Though the fly ball was not that deep, the runner on third tried to tag up and score. From two hundred feet away in the outfield, De la Peña fired the ball directly to home plate to the catcher who tagged the runner easily for the third out. The outclassed base runner didn’t even attempt to slide.
Both teams cheered De la Peña as he ran in to the team’s ground-level “dug out” on the third base side. De la Peña saw Moffat behind the chain link fence and detoured to meet him. The Sergeant’s white baseball pants had a reddish brown smudge on the side of his right thigh that matched the clay dirt of the infield. His left side had a large grass stain. De la Peña’s uniform matched his teammates but appeared to have seen more action than the others.
“Nice catch,” Moffat said. “Jean, Allison…this is Sergeant De la Peña. Sergeant, my wife and daughter.”
“I’m very glad to meet you,” De la Peña said, shaking first Jean’s hand then Allison’s, both very gently.
“He has a first name, doesn’t he, Alex?”
“Yes. Sorry. This is Jason.”
The uniform accentuated De la Peña’s broad shoulders and slim hips, an affect that was not unnoticed by Jean and Allison. Mother and daughter exchanged a quick glance and smile.
“I’m up this inning,” De la Peña said to Moffat. Their pitcher’s serving them on a platter. Are you going to stay?” Moffat nodded. De la Peña told Jean and Allison he hoped to see them later, then turned and jogged to the dugout. Jean and Allison watched him as he ran. Moffat located room for three on the bleachers then touched Jean on the arm and pointed the way.
Over her shoulder, Jean whispered to Allison “That is the youngest looking Sergeant I’ve seen since your father was promoted in 1986. Adorable, isn’t he?”
The Moffat family and the rest of the fans were treated to an exciting couple of innings. Jane Duncan led off the fifth with a solid single to right field. De la Peña followed her to the plate. He kept the aluminum Louisville slugger above his shoulder for three quick balls, the first two way outside and the third high above the strike zone. The fourth pitch, slowly arcing, headed right down the middle. De la Peña cocked the bat over his right shoulder then swung it up in a matching arc striking the ball squarely with the thick part of the bat. A loud clink sounded as the metal and leather made contact. The ball flew up and out to left field, sailing over the fence by five feet. De la Peña dropped the bat and began to trot toward first base.
“Foul ball,” the umpire shouted.
Moffat thought the ball had gone over the fence at least two feet to the right of the foul line. He turned his attention back to home plate and saw Nicholas Conti, dressed in black, holding a face mask in his left hand and signaling foul with his right. The Police Department bench hooted at the umpire. Duncan had already rounded second when she heard the call. Shouting a complaint, she turned and trotted back to first. Halvorsen quieted his team and De la Peña, without a word, trotted back to home plate, bent to pick up the bat, then resumed his position in the batter’s box. He swung at and missed the next pitch. Now with a full count, the pitcher threw the ball down the middle again. De la Peña hit it sharply to the outfield where it bounced between the center fielder and the left fielder, the latter chasing it down at the fence and throwing it to the third baseman. Duncan scored easily and De la Peña stopped at second with a double. Allison, Jean and Moffat cheered. The next batter struck out. A single scored De la Peña, then a triple scored the tying run. A sacrifice fly scored another run before an infield fly ended the inning.
The lead changed again during the bottom half of the fifth inning. A rally by the police in the top of the sixth, capped by a two-run home run by De la Peña, gave them the lead for good. The college team was held to one run in the bottom of the sixth, giving Halvorsen the victory he had hoped for.
The cheering and backslapping lasted several minutes. When it subsided and the opposing teams had shaken each other’s hands, Halvorsen introduced Jean and Allison to his players. At the edge of the dugout, Moffat and De la Peña had a short but intense conversation before De la Peña gathered his equipment and followed his teammates on the run to the locker room.
* * *
“Shall we explore the booths?” Moffat suggested.
Allison looked at the long row of carnival games in the Charity Arcade. Various games of skill offered contestants a chance to win stuffed animals, kewpie dolls and even live gold fish. “Oh, I want to try the archery game. Let’s see if I can win a teddy bear.”
Moffat peered beyond the roped off area for archery at a nearby ring toss game under the banner “Conti Associates.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s wait a half hour.” Allison shrugged and followed her parents to the lane populated by organizational exhibits.
* * *
Scott Conti returned his cell phone to his pocket. A lustful smirk answered Marky’s question. Scott finally had a date with the sexy girl with the leather jacket. Two twelve year olds interrupted them to play the ring toss game. The boys left with a goldfish in a plastic bag. Scott sold several bags of weed to a couple of punk freshmen and was careful not to intermingle the receipts. Still flushed from a tablet of strawberry quick and the call to Julie, he was about to describe his plans for the date to his companions when he saw two men approaching from the back of the booth. “Oh, fuck,” Conti said to himself.
* * *
The Moffat family passed Optimists, Rotarians, the Sierra Singles Ski Club, the Widowed Persons Organization - the group that put on Mrs. Grubb’s weekly dances - and Democrats and Republicans, both busily registering new voters. At a crowded intersection with foot traffic moving in four directions, Moffat heard his name. At one corner, Aaron Jamison stood among a group of people behind a table. Two banners hung above their heads, one white with black letters reading “Miner’s Flat High School Gay Straight Alliance” the other purple with white letters reading “Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.”
“Good morning, Aaron,” Moffat said, shaking his hand. “I’d like you to meet my wife Jean and daughter Allison.”
Aaron blushed slightly but greeted both with genuine warmth.”
“How are you doing, Aaron?” Moffat asked.
“Oh, great. Really.” Searching for something to keep the conversation going, Aaron said “I made it through the week.” He shook his head in mock amazement.
Moffat nodded, smiling.
“Aaron,” Michelle called. “Where are the tattoos?”
“Coming.” Aaron pulled up his sleeve and showed them a tattoo of a large, purple spider on his slim bicep. “It’s temporary. We’re giving them away.”
“That’s scary,” Jean said. “I’m glad they’re temporary.”
“I know. Well, I’m trying not to make any quick decisions for a while.” He stood smiling at Jean. “I’ve got to go. Have fun. Bye.” He moved back into the group of people in the booth, bent down and re-emerged with a small box of rub on tattoos.
“Cute boy,” Jean said. Moffat nodded but she detected a trace of sadness in her husband’s eyes.
From somewhere in the crowd, Mrs. Grubb had appeared. She slipped her arm into Allison’s. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“And you too, Evelyn. How is your family?” As they walked down the lane, Mrs. Grubb gave Allison an update on her three children, all doing well in different cities of the southern part of the Bay Area.
De la Peña joined the Moffats and Mrs. Grubb in front of the Widowed Person’s C
lub booth. He had changed clothes and looked more like a policeman with slacks and a light jacket covering his shoulder holster.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 72
“There was some police activity over at the arcade,” De la Peña said, seeming quite pleased. “They arrested Scott Conti and two others. Dealing drugs. Did you know?”
Moffat nodded.
“Who is he?” Allison asked.
“An obnoxious, spoiled rich kid,” De la Peña replied.
“A spoiled, rich young adult,” Moffat corrected. “He turned eighteen last week. He didn’t make a very good impression on you, did he Sergeant?”
“Not hardly. I enjoyed watching our people walking him out in handcuffs.”
Moffat laughed.
“I didn’t like his father either.”
“He shouldn’t have called your home run a foul ball.”
“No,” Now De la Peña laughed. “I bet next year’s umpire will see things differently. So I heard we had someone undercover at the school. You knew that too, didn’t you?”
Moffat nodded.
“That explains a lot.”
“Shall we try out the arcade now that the excitement is over?” Moffat suggested. They left Mrs. Grubb with her friends and Jean led the way through the crowd, De la Peña, Allison and Moffat following.
A short walk later, at the archery game, Allison paid $5 and stepped behind the table. She selected a bow and was given three arrows. Her first shot was four inches to the right of center. The next two were bulls’ eyes. Moffat, Jean and De la Peña applauded as the teenager operating the booth gave Allison a blue teddy bear wearing a tiny Miner’s Flat tee shirt.
They strolled past the now closed ring toss game. Scores of goldfish swam in small glass bowls and plastic bags, abandoned by their three teenage keepers. Down the lane a bit farther, three high school sophomores, two boys and a girl, stopped De la Peña. They recognized him from the softball game and thought he could help them at the dunk tank. The popular senior class counselor of Miner’s Flat High School, dressed in a suit and tie, sat perched above a five-foot tank of water. The teenagers told De la Peña that dozens of people had paid five dollars for three baseballs to throw at a small paddle connected to a lever that would drop the counselor’s chair in the water. As the players threw and missed, he hurled insults back at them. The three hoped De la Peña would be the one to silence him. De la Peña wondered whether he might be the mark in a con game but nevertheless paid $5 for three balls. He noticed the line was drawn farther from the target than usual for a dunk tank. A small crowd gathered, mostly young people. They watched De la Peña wind up and throw the first ball. It struck the paddle but failed to move it.
“You need more muscle than that, young man,” the counselor shouted. “Hey, didn’t I flunk you in Physic’s last year?”
De le Peña prepared to take his second shot, knowing he would have to strike the paddle much harder to move it. He wound up like a major league pitcher and threw the ball with a force that, if unobstructed, would have sent the ball far beyond the festival boundary. This throw was as accurate as the first. The paddle moved back. For a brief moment, nothing happened, then the latch released and the counselor plunged into the pale green water. He remained under for a few seconds then emerged from the water spitting and coughing. A louder, second wave of applause erupted when the hair above the counselor’s left ear that, before the dunking, had been combed over his bald head, now drooped limply down the side of his neck.
“Wait man,” one of the boys said to De la Peña. “The cafeteria lady is next.”
“Sorry. I can’t afford it. You’re on your own now.” De la Peña slapped him on the back and handed him the remaining ball.
The four left with the crowd now chanting for the unfortunate cafeteria lady “Mrs. Grosskinsky” to take her place in the seat of honor.
Moffat congratulated De la Peña then, whispering, said it was time to move on. They led Jean and Allison toward the big tent at the end of the rows of booths. Two identical sandwich board signs at opposite corners of the tent proclaimed this the Gillis Executive Realty Refreshments Pavilion. The front was open, tables and chairs spread before a long portable counter with sandwiches, desserts, soft drinks, tea and coffee. The four took a table in the back, right corner. Moffat and De la Peña went to the counter and returned with a tray bearing plates of small sandwiches, cookies and miniature fruit tarts, four cups of tea, a small carton of milk and several sugar packets.
While they ate De la Peña learned about Allison’s many jobs and her art appreciation tours of Florence and Rome and other European cities. Jean enjoyed people watching but realized Moffat was preoccupied.
“You’re planning something, aren’t you? Is this the work you were talking about?”
“Yes. In a few minutes, Jason and I will have to excuse ourselves.” He then made three very short and, to Jean, cryptic, phone calls.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 73
From behind the counter, at the other side of the tent, Loraine Jamison saw Captain Moffat and his party conversing at their table after having finished their tea and sandwiches. Loraine had been working slowly but steadily, filling small, fluted, cupped paper doilies with shortbread cookies and placing these onto paper plates at the counter. James Rees operated the cash register. Other employees unwrapped plates of sandwiches and opened boxes of lemon tarts and re-stocked items for sale to the steady flow of festival goers. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly two. She looked up to see a stout, middle-aged uniformed policeman walking toward her. Captain Moffat would speak to her now, he said. James Rees saw this transpire. He called another volunteer to take over the register and joined Loraine, uninvited, at a large round table surrounded by eight folding metal chairs at the back left corner of the tent.
Both Rees and Loraine noticed for the first time, that someone had moved the neighboring tables and chairs fifteen or twenty feet from the table at which they now sat. Loraine whispered to Rees that Captain Moffat was to interview her once more. She asked him to stay with her.
While Moffat and his Sergeant made no move to join them, Rees and Loraine were shocked at what did happen next. A young policewoman guided two women through the pavilion entrance and across the grass to their table. Catherine Martius and Cheryl Haugen sat across from them. Loraine acknowledged the new arrivals with a nod. Catherine said good afternoon, quite coolly. Another surprise followed. A third uniformed officer escorted the Reverend and Mrs. Pane by the same route through the tent. He seated them to the right of Cheryl Haugen, leaving an empty seat between Mrs. Pane and James Rees. The three police officers stood behind them, watching with grave expressions. Unnoticed until they were at the table, Moffat and De la Peña arrived. De la Peña sat between Rees and Mrs. Pane. Moffat took the remaining empty seat between Mrs. Jamison, on his right, and Mrs. Martius on his left. His back was to the entrance of the tent.
“Thank you all for meeting me here at the festival. It is more convenient then having you come to the station today. I’m hoping this beautiful day and the feeling of community here at the festival will permit us to learn the truth about some matters that have been hidden, in some cases, for a very long time. With the exception of you, Mr. Rees…oh, and you too, Mr. Pane, the rest of you look a bit apprehensive. I understand. Can I offer anyone tea or coffee? One of the officers will be glad to bring some refreshments. No? All right. Before we get started, let me ask Mrs. Jamison and Mr. Rees, would you tell us how you two first met?”
Moffat looked at Loraine then Rees. Loraine seemed confounded by the question. Finally, Rees answered.
“Loraine gave me a job in 1972.”
“But you had met before that, hadn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you and Mrs. Jamison begin your relationship based upon an issue concerning her son Gregory?”
“I never met Gregory Falcone, Captain.”
Moffat made no reply but gazed at Rees with a look of i
nterest. Rees grew visibly nervous.
“But, yes, we did first meet to discuss her son. I was involved then in the anti-war movement. Loraine wanted advice on how her son could avoid the draft. I gave her several suggestions and referrals to medical professionals who would assist in securing a deferment.”
“Did she and her son pursue any of your suggestions?”
“No. The national lottery was implemented about that time and Gregory’s number was very high. There was no chance then that he would be drafted. He went back to school. Unfortunately, he was killed late in the following year in an accident.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rees.”
Moffat had watched Mrs. Jamison during his conversation with Rees. After her initial surprise at the subject, she regained her composure and displayed a relaxed but serious expression. Moffat now turned to her with an unspoken offer to listen to anything she would add to Rees’ account. She stared back.
“All right then. Let’s move on.”
From across the table, Cheryl shifted her weight in her chair and pulled it closer to the table causing a faint squeak to come from the chair joint. Moffat turned and addressed her at this moment.
“Mrs. Haugen, in the past two weeks, you have provided me with a changing account of your interaction with Veronica Gillis on the day of her death. At this time I would like to give you the opportunity to correct any inaccuracies in your previous responses to my questions.”
“No. I’ve told you everything,” Cheryl said, her jaw muscles tightening and her neck and face blushing.
Still facing Haugen, Moffat cast his eyes toward her mother. Catherine Martius stared at her daughter with a look of concern and doubt.
“Mrs. Haugen, when I first interviewed you, you denied having the altercation in the café only admitting to it when confronted with the fact of my interviews with witnesses. You denied that you had spoken to anyone that evening but admitted later to having called Veronica Gillis’ office demanding a meeting with her. During this call, you learned that Mrs. Gillis would be at the Miner’s Flat Baptist Church compound. Following that call, you went to the church, didn’t you?”