Moffat had just transferred the steaks to a warm platter when Jean brought the kitchen phone to the deck. She gave him a threatening glare as they exchanged the phone for the platter.
“Captain, this is Sergeant De la Peña. There’s been an attempted assault on a woman here in Segovia, a couple of blocks from my apartment. Officers Wilson and Duncan took the call. I’m just about to go there. Everything is under control but I thought you’d want to know.”
“Right, Sergeant. Give me the address. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
De la Peña didn’t think it necessary for the boss to interrupt his evening but assumed Moffat had his reasons.
* * *
Outside of Nicole Davis’ home, Officer Ryan Wilson showed De la Peña where the assailant had apparently parked. An overgrown, hard-packed dirt road - two wheel ruts, really - led to a fire control road that would eventually join Highway 49 to the north and State Route 86 to the southeast. They could tell from the damaged grass that a vehicle had recently traversed the path but they found no identifiable tire tracks.
De la Peña returned to the front of the house soon after Moffat arrived. Officer Jane Duncan came to the front doorway to brief them on the victim’s condition. Twenty-four years old with two years on the force, Duncan patrolled Segovia and the southern third of the county usually from three to eleven p.m. with her partner Wilson, a twenty-year veteran. They handled the typical issues of policing a medium sized, prosperous city with a relatively high weekend tourist population. Jane was five feet, six inches, slim in appearance but muscular, with sandy, reddish hair.
“She’s unharmed. A neighbor said she was pretty shaky just after it happened. There were some tears. When we got here, she’d already drunk some tequila. Now she’s relaxed and talkative.”
They walked into the house. Officer Duncan introduced the detectives. Ms. Davies described the attack. She did this in great detail and with growing exhilaration.
“I can’t believe what I did. I fought back hard. That asshole won’t try that again, I bet.” She stopped, giggled and said “Oops. Sorry guys. I don’t usually talk like that.”
“Ms. Davies, can you tell us anything that might help us identify your attacker?” Moffat asked. “How tall would you say he was?” When she hesitated, Moffat asked De la Peña to stand. “Was he shorter or taller than Sergeant De la Peña?”
Nicole thought a moment then put her shoes on and stood next to De la Peña. “I think he was about four inches shorter.”
De la Peña wrote 5’ 10” in his notebook.
“What can you tell us about his build? Thin? Muscular?”
Still gazing at De la Peña, Nicole placed her hand on his arm, just above the inside of his elbow. “He had big arms but he wasn’t built nearly as nicely as Sergeant De la Peña.” She giggled again.
Moffat wondered how the Sergeant would record that comment in his notebook.
“He was wider around the middle and a little soft.” She looked behind De la Peña and said “He didn’t have a cute butt. I would have noticed that.”
Moffat broke into a smile. “OK, we’re making progress here. Could you make any kind of guess about your attacker’s age?”
“No. Well, I did see him run and he seemed a little stiff. Maybe like an older person whose joints might hurt a little. He moved pretty fast though.”
Ms. Davies couldn’t tell anything about hair color but she believed the man was Caucasian, as far as she could tell from a glimpse of his bare wrist. She also believed the man was a stranger to her as his height and build didn’t match any of the men she had met since moving to Segovia. “Do you have some place to stay tonight, Ms. Davies?”
“I’m going to check into the Segovia Black Oak Inn and ask for a room on the third floor, preferably in the middle. Then tomorrow I’m going to rent a place in the biggest, noisiest apartment house in Segovia. And it’s not going to be on the first floor, I’ll tell you that.” She looked at De la Peña. “Where do you live?”
Moffat smiled. De la Peña wrote the address of his apartment complex. It catered to singles and couples without children. He added the manager’s name and passed the slip to Nicole.
De la Peña walked with Moffat to his car, discussing the prospects for apprehending the assailant. The identification was inadequate to be of much help. Moffat was interested in learning the contents of the syringe. The two agreed that the best action for now would be to alert the public to the danger. Moffat would phone the Chief tonight and ask him to hold a televised press conference as soon as possible. At least for the near future, Moffat wanted Segovia’s doors and windows to be secured and women to be walked to and from their cars.
* * *
Soon after ten o’clock, Moffat slipped quietly from the garage into the kitchen. In the adjoining family room, Ralph and Norma had hogtied their cat and were attempting to clip its nails. In spite of the white cord around its feet, the cat had managed to free itself sufficiently to scratch Norma. Ralph had his hands on the cat’s neck and was proceeding to choke it while Norma beat him on the back and screamed for help from Jean. Moffat thought it better not to disturb them so he quietly poured himself a glass of milk and climbed the stairs to join Jean in their bedroom. She had fallen asleep with the light on and television playing a home improvement program.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 7
Friday, May 12
“Good morning, Copper.” Ralph greeted Moffat in the kitchen as he ‘revved up’ his morning coffee with an inch of rum. “How’s the crime business?”
“Suddenly picking up. A murder and an assault on consecutive days. I’m sorry I won’t be able to spend much time with you this visit.” Moffat shook his head at Jean who had pointed to the stove where two cast iron skillets were sizzling with bacon and fried eggs. “Just coffee please. I’m meeting De la Peña early for an interview.”
“Dear, when will you have your breakfast? You should eat something.”
“The interview is at the Miner’s Flat Café. We’ll have something there. My victim ate there the day she died.”
“Not poisoned, I hope.” Ralph offered.
“Shot in the back.”
“Good. Good. Maybe I should drive over to your office later to help out.” Ralph said as he topped off his coffee with a bit more rum.
“That won’t be necessary. By the way, about driving. The police are cracking down on driving under the influence. You wouldn’t want to get in any trouble.” Moffat nodded toward Ralph’s cup.
“You don’t have to worry about us, Copper.” Ralph beamed, tilted his head toward his wife. “Tell him, Norma.”
Jean walked to the table, listening, a spatula in her hand.
“He’s right, kids. We bought a breathalyzer for the motor home.” She sipped her Bloody Mary. “If we’re over the limit, we just stay put for a while. Watch TV or even take a nap.”
“Of course, if the motor home is rocking…” Ralph added.
Norma elbowed her husband. “It works great. You should get one.”
* * *
“Eggs over easy, serrano chili sausage patty and sourdough waffle with walnuts for you.” Donna set a large plate in front of Moffat. “And for you our specialty - avocado omelet.” She placed a second plate before De la Peña. “The very same dish Ronnie Gillis had the day she died. How’s the investigation going? Who do you think killed her? The whole town’s been talking about it.”
Donna sat at the red vinyl booth next to De la Peña. The Sergeant began to pull out his notebook but Moffat stopped him.
“Enjoy your breakfast. We’ll just talk for a while. You can get the statement later. All right, Mrs. Ferguson?”
“Sure, but you can call me Donna.”
Moffat asked her how well she knew Mrs. Gillis and what she remembered of Gillis’ last visit to the café.
“You could say I knew her well. We went to school together from kindergarten on up. We were both in Miner’s Flat High School Class of ’72
. We were close in the early years, not so much in high school, though we were still friendly. She was my broker when I sold my parents’ house. She came here for breakfast three or four times a week. Occasionally, we catered lunch at her office - sandwiches and salads - when they would have a company meeting.”
“What happened on the last day? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Well I don’t want to make more of this than I should, but there was a bit of a scene that morning.” Donna described the confrontation between Veronica Gillis and Cheryl Haugen.
Now De la Peña removed his notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. Donna watched his hands as he opened it, pushed the point out on his pen and began writing.
“Cheryl was as mad as I’ve ever seen her. We all three went to school together.”
“And you heard the entire conversation?” Moffat asked.
“Yes, I was just right behind the counter. We all heard every word.”
“Who else was there?”
“A couple of my regulars. Retired guys who are here every day. The busboy…but he wouldn’t have paid attention. Cheryl’s mother was there.”
“What is her name?”
“Catherine Martius. She’s about seventy-five.”
“Yes, we’ve met her. I guess it really is a small town. So you say this argument was about a real estate transaction?”
“Yes, but that was just the latest. Those two have been competing since junior high. You should have seen the battle over sophomore class cheerleader.”
“Old grudge, maybe?” De la Peña smiled.
“Well, Sergeant, we were all three quite young and pretty then. And slim. Cheryl had been cheerleader the year before and wanted to stay on the squad but Ronnie and her mother decided Ronnie should have it. It was quite a campaign - posters, an assembly for the whole class where the girls competed. Cheryl was very good. Ronnie had a little extra something - more sparkle. Plus her mother had kids over after school for punch and cookies. You wouldn’t have believed what a big deal it was…1969, right in the middle of the Vietnam War and all we cared about was a cheerleading contest. Anyway, Ronnie won. She stayed on the squad right through graduation. Cheryl never tried to win it back.”
“We’re you involved in the cheerleading, Donna? Moffat asked.
“No, I wouldn’t have had a chance against those two. It didn’t matter because I worked everyday after school right here. That’s what happens when your parents own a restaurant.”
Moffat thought for a moment. “Do you think Cheryl Haugen’s complaint about Gillis’ business dealings was enough for her to commit murder?”
Donna shook her head. “She was angry enough to shoot Ronnie but I can’t imagine her doing it. She’s really a very nice person.” Donna smiled, then leaning toward De la Peña whispered, “Of course I should point out Cheryl isn’t much of a tipper - 10 percent - if you’re lucky.”
De la Peña laughed. “You want us to investigate her for that?”
“It might teach a lesson to the other cheapskates.” Donna and De la Peña both laughed then she added, “a lot of women don’t tip much. For all her faults, Ronnie was quite generous. Of course, she always expected extra service in return.”
De la Peña asked, “How are policemen. Are they pretty good tippers?”
“Very generous. Especially the good-looking ones.”
“I knew your were pressing your luck, Sergeant,” Moffat said. “Why don’t you get this check?”
* * *
Any time out of the office appealed to De la Peña. A visit to Segovia Oak Hills Golf Club on a spectacular spring day was a bonus. Moffat also was happy to brief the Chief on the golf course.
De la Peña was just a bit nervous. This was to be his introduction to the Chief. When he rounded a tree-lined curve to enter the parking lot, the presence of a large motor home jutting four feet into the lane surprised him. He hit the brakes, shifted into reverse, then pulled around the 35 foot Bounder and drove up to the clubhouse.
Moffat was deep in thought about the Gillis case. De la Peña’s maneuver in the parking lot jostled him, but he said nothing. In spite of his concentration, Moffat noticed the familiar motor home.
Per the Chief’s instructions, the detectives borrowed an electric golf cart. De la Peña sped to the 14th hole, parked and he and Moffat looked for the chief.
Chief of Police Dennis Halvorsen, age 63, an African-American 6’3”, 205 lbs., was easy to spot with green plaid slacks and a florescent pink baseball cap. Moffat saw him at the 13th green. He and De la Peña walked the distance of about twenty yards, watching Chief Halvorsen line up his eight-foot put. The Chief was just about to hit the ball when he was disturbed by a woman’s shriek and loud laughter coming from the nearby 7th hole tee. Moffat recognized Jean’s aunt’s voice followed by three other loud voices, one identifiable as Ralph’s. The Chief backed off, shaking his head. He readied himself once again, took the stroke, sent the ball six inches to the right and three feet beyond the hole. He picked the ball up and, along with County Executive George Doyle, joined Moffat and De la Peña walking back to the golf carts.
“Chief, this is our newest officer, Sergeant Jason De la Peña. Moffat said. “Sergeant, this is Chief Dennis Halvorsen.”
The Chief welcomed De la Peña to the force with a giant smile and combination one-armed hug and crushing handshake. He introduced De la Peña to Doyle. In a loud whisper to Doyle, Halvorsen said “Whoa, let’s keep him away from our daughters, ‘ay, George?” To the Sergeant he said “I hear we enticed you away from the L.A.P.D. Some reason you had to get out of town in a hurry?”
Taken by surprise, De la Peña opened his mouth but found he had nothing to say.
“I’m kidding Sergeant. We’re really glad to have you. They give some great training there. I saw your record, too. Quite impressive.”
“So, Dennis, you went to Sacramento for Moffat and L.A. for this one. Are you expecting a big crime wave?” Doyle asked.
“No. No. I just wanted to bring a bit more professionalism to our force.” Then to Moffat “Don’t look for any serial killers here, Captain. Not like those three you put away in Sacramento.”
Moffat shrugged. “We have so many old, open cases we wouldn’t know if we had one or not.”
“Yeah, well, I want to see you and the Sergeant whittle down that pile. But right now, let’s make some progress on the Gillis case. What have you got so far?”
Moffat described the murder scene, identification of the cause of death and surprising discovery - phoned to him on the way to the country club--of an illegal drug in the victim’s blood sample. “We’re looking for yaa baa pills - methamphetamine and caffeine. Dr. McDonald thinks that’s the way the drug was administered.”
“Those would be Ronnie’s orange diet pills. We’ve seen her take those haven’t we, George?” Halvorsen paused thinking, and then smiled. “That would explain some of her more eccentric behavior.”
Moffat and De la Peña were both aware of the correlation between meth use and compulsive sexual behavior. Moffat chose not to comment.
“I don’t think either us can help you on this case, Captain. We saw her regularly on county business, charity events, parties… I can’t think of anyone who would want to kill her.”
“Captain, Sergeant,” Doyle looked each man directly in the eye. “We don’t want details of this poor woman’s personal life spread all over the newspaper and television. You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” Moffat replied. “In my experience, it’s best to keep information tightly controlled. Sergeant De la Peña and I have restricted access to the case files.”
“Good,” Doyle said. “You know, don’t you, that half of the county will be going to Miner’s Flat for the Pioneer Days Spring Festival in two weeks. Let’s hope you can put this to bed by then.”
“They’ll do their best, George. Let’s keep moving.” He and Doyle loaded their bags into the cart. “On to the next hole, Gentlemen!”
They drove down a slight grade toward the fourteenth tee, followed closely by De la Peña and Moffat. The asphalt path intersected another path at the bottom. Halvorsen was about to cross when Jean’s aunt and uncle, in one cart and another couple of roughly the same age and level of inebriation in a second cart approached the intersection like drag racers, yelling and waiving for Halvorsen and Doyle to stop. Doyle jammed the brake pedal, throwing himself, Halvorsen and their clubs forward as they stopped within inches of the speeding carts. Ralph shouted “thanks” as they crossed and headed up a hill to the clubhouse. The Chief, Doyle and the detectives finished their journey, and parked by the tee. Halvorsen swore as he dismounted the cart. “Hey, Moffat, how about pinning the murder on those clowns?”
“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
Halvorsen lit a cigarette and took several deep drags before removing a gleaming Calaway Diablo driver from his bag.
“One more thing, Chief,” Moffat said. “About the assault on Nicole Davies in Segovia last night.”
“Yeah, that worries me. What are you planning?”
“All we have are a few details about his appearance. I don’t have much hope of apprehending him without some kind of break. I think in this case we should ask for public involvement, if only to warn women about going out alone or being followed. We need the people to be vigilant. Maybe this guy has done or said something that makes a neighbor or coworker suspicious.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. Give the details to the community affairs officer. She can schedule a press conference. I’ll put on my uniform. I’ll get on the six o’clock news and in the morning paper. At the least, we may discourage this pervert from trying it again.”
Halvorsen set his cigarette on the grass, took the driver in his hands, concentrating on the ball beneath him. His swing looked fine to Moffat but the ball arched far to the left, provoking another expletive from the Chief. He bent over for his cigarette, and then backed away to watch Doyle’s drive. Doyle stalled, pretending to loosen his shoulders. At that moment, Moffat and De la Peña saw, behind Halvorsen, Assistant Chief Bruce Giddings creeping silently toward the smoking Halvorsen. Giddings put his finger to his lips, pulled a Raptor stun gun from behind his back and pushed it directly into Halvorsen’s rear end.