The well-dressed audience had taken their seats to instrumental versions of mostly Beatles songs. The Reverend Moore began to speak, acknowledging that Veronica was not a religious person and probably would not have cared about a memorial service. But she was almost devotional in her enjoyment of life and it was quite appropriate for her friends and family to gather here to celebrate her life. Moffat noted the minister’s name and surmised his e-mail address was likely to be
[email protected] from where many risqué though not openly sexual messages in Gillis’ Inbox had originated. Moffat allowed the minister’s voice and the music to move to the back of his mind as he studied the attendees.
Laraine Jamison, in a tailored black wool Chanel suit, walked to her seat front and center with surprising strength. Wade Gillis looked bewildered and uncomfortable. Moffat guessed that Gillis was not the type for big indoor gatherings of people. True or not, he was clearly constricted by a jacket and slacks not designed for shoulders, biceps and thighs of his dimensions. Aaron - his mother a no-show once again - looked even more miserable than his uncle. James Rees, probably the best dressed man in the room sat behind the family, accompanied by most of the people Moffat had seen the day before in the office. Moffat overheard a comment from an unfamiliar woman that Rees and the employees were responsible for the stunning arrangement of white chrysanthemums at the front of the room.
In the fifth row, the Reverend Pane looked on disapprovingly as Moore described Veronica’s selfless devotion to local charities. Mrs. Pane’s gaze moved around the room as much as Moffat’s and he wondered if he should compare notes with her instead of the Sergeant.
De la Peña was engaged in the same activity as his boss and Mrs. Pane. It occurred to him that most of the adult members of the audience would be distracted from the speeches wondering if someone in the room had fired the shot that killed the lady being honored. De la Peña sat at the back in a row by himself, on the left side. He had an excellent view of the Conti family - husband, wife and son. The parents whispered to each other almost without a pause. Scott seemed quite animated, carrying on a conversation by way of gestures, lip reading and text messages with two teenage girls on the other side of the room. Occasionally he would glare at Aaron, who kept his head down. Catherine Martius and Cheryl Haugen sat within ten feet of De la Peña. Haugen seemed just as nervous as she had when Moffat and he had interviewed her. Catherine held her daughter’s left arm. There were five empty chairs to Cheryl’s right beyond which there was a group of middle-aged women laughing quietly. Donna Ferguson was at the center of this group. De la Peña guessed that these ladies were additional members of Miner’s Flat High School Class of ’72.
On the other side of the main aisle, De la Peña recognized County Executive George Doyle and Chief of Police Dennis Halvorsen seated with their wives, listening attentively.
The speakers wrapped up their one-sided review of the life of Veronica Gillis and the crowd spilled out on to the concrete patio between the auditorium and the natatorium. Afternoon sun reflected from the tinted windows of the latter building. The young trees around the concrete provided no shade. Although the temperature was under 70 men shed their jackets and women their sweaters or wraps. Moffat and De la Peña met as they followed the throng. Caterers provided hors de oeuvres and soft drinks and wine in plastic glasses. Halvorsen, Doyle, Nicholas Conti and Reverend Moore spoke stiffly to Wade Gillis then re-grouped fifteen feet away for a good-natured conversation punctuated by subdued laughter. Most of the young people including Scott Conti gathered near the natatorium. Aaron sat quietly in a strip of shade of the auditorium seemingly ignored by the other celebrants.
A reporter whom Moffat had met, Amy Apcarian, and a photographer from the Segovia Ledger Dispatch mingled with the guests taking notes and photos. Moffat saw the reporter answer a cell phone, speak briefly then approach Chief Halvorsen. She spoke to the Chief who then, standing a head taller than most of the crowd, searched for and found Moffat. He waved for him to join them.
Halvorsen wore a look of concern. “Amy had a call from her editor. It seems the paper has received an odd letter concerning the Nicole Davies case. It makes some personal references to you, Captain Moffat. Raymond’s got an old reporter’s sixth sense. I think you ought to get back to Segovia and check it out.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 11
Scott Conti saw the policemen leave the Boys & Girls Club facility. He also saw Aaron begin to wander. He excused himself from a conversation with two mature sixteen-year-old girls and their very youthful mothers. It was hard to pull himself away from the half circle of admiring female eyes but he had something to settle.
Listening to his iPod, Aaron had walked down the concrete path by the natatorium and had turned the corner to the back, where a solid wall faced the mountain at the end of the complex. Taking care not to be noticed, Scott and two friends followed Aaron. When he saw them it was too late. One of the boys stayed behind at the building’s corner, leaning in a cowboy pose with one leg against the wall as he lit a cigarette. He was the lookout. Scott and the other boy rushed to Aaron and pressed him against the wall. Terror showed on Aaron’s face.
Scott looked up and down at Aaron. “Hi, Homo. You’re looking fruity today.”
Aaron looked at his black Levi’s and white shirt then thought there must be something wrong with the black shoes he wore.
“I think he shot his aunt, Marky.” Scott addressed this to the other boy but stared into Aaron’s eyes as he said it. “Or maybe he’ll just confess to it so he can go to jail.”
Aaron closed his eyes. Scott slapped him lightly on the cheek.
“I don’t care what you do, you dumb fuck, but you don’t say anything about me to the cops.”
“I didn’t…”
Scott pressed Aaron’s chest with his right forearm, pushing him hard against the wall and keeping up the pressure. “Shut the fuck up. No one else was there.”
“Scott.” The lookout warned of approaching people.
Scott bit his lip. He raised his left fist to Aaron’s face, pulled it quickly back then surprised Aaron with a punch sharply to the stomach with his right fist. The other boy shoved Aaron slightly from the side, then the two walked back to join the third boy and all three returned to the reception.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 12
Raymond Sato, editor of the Segovia Ledger Dispatch for five years, was considered a newcomer by many in the town. Actually, he was a returnee. Raymond’s parents had met as teenagers at the Manzanar War Relocation Center, two of 110,000 Japanese Americans forcibly relocated as security threats during World War II. Raymond’s father left the camp to serve in the U.S. Army in Europe. When he returned he married the girl he had corresponded with three times a week for two years. They lived with her mother until Raymond’s father secured a job with the Segovia Water District. Raymond was born in 1951 and finished high school in 1969. He was studying journalism at the University of the Pacific when his birthday landed at position number 17 on the first lottery draft. At the insistence of his father who did not want his only son any where near Vietnam, Raymond joined the Coast Guard. For three years he patrolled the Sacramento River between San Pablo Bay and the Port of Sacramento. Then it was back to college for a journalism degree. In 1976, the man who would precede Raymond as editor of the Ledger Dispatch, gave him his first newspaper job covering all the news that came up after five p.m. weekdays and any time on the weekend.
After three years of the best kind of experience, Raymond left the Ledger Dispatch and his hometown for a job at the San Jose Mercury News. He advanced on a steady career path that ultimately led to a position as Managing Editor. In the mean time, he met and married a Hawaiian girl of Japanese ancestry, bought a house and raised two children.
In 2003, Raymond accepted a voluntary layoff at the Mercury News with an attractive financial package, sold his home in Sunnyvale at an astronomical price and bought a smaller one in Segovia, netting over a half a million dollars
to invest for extra income. Raymond gave up his position at the San Jose paper (circulation 230,000) and accepted his current job at the Ledger Dispatch (circulation 38,000) and a large pay cut. Both he and his wife were delighted with their new lives.
Raymond Sato’s intuition brought Moffat and De la Peña back early this day from Miner’s Flat. His intuition would lead to important new paths in their investigation of Nicole Davies attack and, surprisingly, Veronica Gillis’ murder.
Sato’s second floor, corner office with windows overlooking the historic county courthouse and pedestrian mall had belonged previously to the owner of the Ledger Dispatch, whose family had operated the paper since 1926. He had turned it over to Sato in partial compensation for the pay cut. Raymond sat in this office Sunday afternoon when Moffat and De la Peña following the directions of two members of the weekend staff, arrived at his open doorway.
Moffat had spoken at length on the phone with Sato eight months earlier when the latter scheduled an interview of the community’s new police captain. They had met in person several times at community functions and at the Chief’s holiday party and had become friendly. Sato introduced himself to De la Peña then inquired about Jean and Allison before explaining the purpose of his call to Chief Halvorsen.
“This letter came to our website yesterday morning after the chief’s press conference.” Sato held a one-page print out of an e-mail. He passed it to Moffat saying, “Alex, I’ve studied written communication since I was in junior high. There’s more to this than someone might think.”
Moffat held the page between himself and De la Peña and read silently.
* * *
To the Editor, Ledger Dispatch
I read with great concern your report of Chief Halvorsen’s press conference on the attempted abduction of a thirty six year old woman. Both the police and the newspaper are downplaying this crime, to the great risk of the entire community. How many does he have to take before he gets some attention?
Now we are just supposed to keep a look out and report anything suspicious. Every time you turn around there is another unsolved crime or missing person and the celebrated County police force doesn’t do anything about it. Since February we’ve been blessed with a famous detective from Sacramento. Somehow you decided he was worthy of ? of a page on the front of the Living section when he first moved here. How many people who were born in this county have ever received that kind of treatment. His daughter is very beautiful, with blond hair like her mother’s. She is no more important to me than these other women that the whole county just ignores.
I am afraid the criminal is smarter than the policeman. Maybe we should take things into our own hands. But no, the citizens of Segovia County would rather lock their doors, hold their guns and watch TV.
Name withheld by request
* * *
De la Peña saw that Moffat wore a frown from start to finish. He said “It’s a strange letter but isn’t it just the kind of thing you get when there is publicity around a crime?”
Moffat did not respond. Sato searched his face, looking for confirmation of his own reaction.
“The reference to your family…it took me back to the Jeffrey Donald Bird letters to the Sacramento Bee, how he talked about your daughter and slammed the police. Remember Bird wrote ‘Hair of gold like her mother’s’? He took that from a TV theme song, which made it even creepier. Bird was trying to get publicity. He named himself the ‘Arcade Creek Killer’ because he wanted credit for his crimes. Maybe Nicole Davies’ attacker wants some attention.”
Moffat said “It seems possible. This reminded me of the Bird letters too. The writer isn’t admitting a crime but maybe that comes later.” He pointed to the first line. “What about this?”
De la Peña reread the first paragraph.
“Mmm….Yeah, what about that? Attempted abduction? Did Nicole’s assailant mean to kidnap her? It didn’t come up in the press conference, did it?”
Sato had watched video file of the press conference before the detectives arrived. “I didn’t think so, but I checked. The Chief didn’t use the word rape but he implied it was a sexually motivated attack. He never said anything about kidnapping. The use of the syringe might suggest it but the Chief never mentioned the hypodermic syringe.”
“How did you learn about that?” Moffat asked then shook his head. “Never mind.”
Sato pulled a manila folder from his desk and handed it to Moffat
“The style and phrasing made me remember a letter from three years ago. It was about a missing person. I did a search of our archives and was able to find what I was looking for. We received this letter soon after a front-page story about a missing young woman. I’m sorry to say the police never found her and we never ran a follow up. Her family lived out of state and no one ever stirred up a fuss. That’s the only reason I can give for why this story didn’t get more attention. We published this letter. It was signed. Our people didn’t check until afterwards. False name. False phone number.”
The letter, obviously typed on a computer and printed on plain paper was mailed in a plain, business size envelope.
* * *
Dear Editor, Ledger Dispatch
Like all my neighbors, I am greatly concerned about the disappearance of young Amy Price. It isn’t widely known, but the police were told that a black Dodge Van was seen on the street the night Amy disappeared. This van had a dent on the right side and a Harley Davidson sticker on the bumper. Why haven’t the police notified people to look for this car? These aren’t funny little games. Every time you turn around, these people from out of town are speeding, robbing a store or assaulting our citizens. Do we have to keep our daughters locked in the attic too? We need to put pressure on the police or they’ll ignore this lead.
George Fullmer
* * *
“I agree with you, Raymond. I think the same person may have written these notes.” He held a sheet in each hand. “There’s something else about the first letter. Do you recognize the phrase ‘How many does he have to take before he gets some attention’?”
“Yes.”
Moffat turned to De la Peña. “Serial killer IIIIIBTKIIIII wrote to a Kansas City TV station saying something like ‘How many do I have to kill to get my name in the paper?’ ”
“What about the second letter?” De la Peña asked.
“One sentence seemed oddly worded,” Sato began. “I did an Internet search of ‘locked in the attic too’. It’s from Son of Sam’s letter to the NYPD.”
“Raymond, would you search these words?” Moffat asked, pointing to the last three words on the ninth line.
“Sure.” Raymond swiveled his chair to face his computer screen. He typed the words in the search engine and within seconds had a match. “Wow. It’s from Jack the Ripper. ‘You will soon hear of me and my funny little games.’ ”
* * *
Moffat thanked the editor for his diligence. He asked for a new, 10 x 17 envelope and slid the folder holding the 3 year-old letter and envelope into the larger envelope.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 13
Moffat held his keys in his hand as he walked ahead of De la Peña from the stairwell to the door of the detectives’ office. He saw light through the glass window in the door, tried the knob and found it open.
Mrs. Grubb greeted them.
“I thought you might need me. I heard you left Miner’s Flat suddenly and then showed up at the Ledger Dispatch.”
“Amazing. That’s quite a network of spies you have Mrs. G.” De la Peña shook his head, impressed.
“You do need me don’t you, Captain?”
“Yes, I was going to phone you. We’ve got a possible link between the Davies assault and a three year old missing person case.”
De la Peña powered up his desktop computer then did the same for Moffat’s. Mrs. Grubb walked back to the break room the detective’s share with the police department’s Bureau of Inspection and Control. The men heard her running water a
nd moving cups and plates.
De la Peña opened the case log from 2003. In seconds he located a line showing a missing person case for Amy Price, September 2003. The entry revealed no resolution of the case. De la Peña called out the digits of the case number as Moffat wrote them next to Amy Price’s name. He checked it against Mrs. Grubb’s listing of the files they already had in their office from the unsolved cases review they had been working prior to the Gillis murder.
“It’s here. We have it.” Moffat said.
De la Peña wheeled his chair around and pushed it two feet to a table he shared with Moffat. Within seconds, he located a slim folder. De la Peña read aloud from the file:
“Name: Amy Elaine Price, Age 32, Height 5’4”, 115 lbs., blond hair, blue eyes. Address: 1453 Sutter Street. Moved to Segovia from Carson City, Nevada August 2003. Employed by Gold Country Savings & Loan, teller. Reported missing by her supervisor. Next of kin, a brother in Boise, notified, no knowledge of her whereabouts.” He looked up and said, “There is a photograph, copies of her employment records and Nevada and California driver’s licenses. The photo was taken two months before she disappeared.
The detectives examined the photograph together. De la Peña spoke. “There’s definitely a resemblance to Nicole. Both attractive blondes. Both with nice figures, not skinny, nice curves. Amy was younger when she disappeared.”
“Their birth dates are within seven months,” Moffat said
Mrs. Grubb came in with a plastic cafeteria tray holding three cups, a teapot and a plate of sandwiches. She set the tray down at De la Peña’s desk and read the crime report over his shoulder.
“She lived on the other side of Main Street, not too far from Nicole.”
“Do you know if that is an apartment or a house, Mrs. Grubb?” Moffat asked.