

### Nothing Done In Secret

R. S. Edwards

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Scott Edwards

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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# Quote

For nothing is hidden, that will not be revealed; nor anything secret, that will not be known and come to light.

World English Bible

# CHAPTER 1

Wednesday, May 10

He had been thinking about homicide when he met her. The Department of Justice website showed Segovia County's murder rate was less than a quarter of the statewide average. During two decades in Sacramento, photographs of two hundred victims appeared on Captain Moffat's desk and sometimes in his dreams. In four months on his new job, he had yet to see one. The lanky, 46-year old policeman would not have guessed that the day he met this lady with the red hair and emerald eyes marked the end of his peaceful interval.

Moffat and his two companions, working in silence at their desks in the 1870's Brannan Building raised their heads simultaneously. They heard footsteps on the oak floorboards and a powerful female voice approaching the interior door. The footsteps stopped. It was quiet for a moment then the door, it's stainless steel plaque imprinted with black vinyl lettering that read _Investigations - Crimes Against Persons,_ opened quickly. Standing just in the doorway, Veronica Gillis slid a cell phone into her purse and surveyed the modest office taking in the three workspaces, extra tables and file cabinets, and a pair of original 19th century double hung oak-framed windows.

"Hello, everyone," she said with a warm smile. "I'm looking for..." -she identified the object of her search, the older of two men - "Captain Moffat." She nodded to his companions, an older woman and a young man, and walked into the office. "Captain Moffat, I mentioned you last night to George and Dennis. Dennis suggested I drop by. I am Ronnie Gillis."

Mrs. Grubb recognized Gillis, a 52-year old real estate phenomenon from the northeast part of the county. The hat was gaudy. Her hair was backcombed too much and the color garish--Mrs. Grubb would have called it a brassy butterscotch--but she admired Ronnie's tailored jacket and skirt and the slimming affect they provided.

Sergeant Jason De la Peña watched Gillis move across the room. The visitor was a welcome distraction from the paperwork that had occupied the Sergeant since he joined the force two weeks ago after four years with the Los Angeles Police Department. He noticed the padding and curves of her body and was amused that this woman more than 25 years older could increase his heart rate.

Detective Captain Alexander Moffat observed a woman who considers herself very important and wants you to know she socializes with the County Executive and the Chief of Police. He noted the pumpkin color of her suit and hat. Jean has never worn a color like that, he thought

"I'll only take a minute of your time." She shook his hand firmly and handed him her business card.

"Gillis Executive Real Estate Group" it read. Moffat wondered why the chief of police would send a real estate agent his way. He offered her the chair next to his desk. She began speaking before he sat down.

In a low voice, leaning toward Moffat she said "I am interested in a parcel you own on the Miner's Flat town square. I can make you a very attractive cash offer or, if you like, I might be able to trade a lot near your home in the vineyard here in Segovia."

Moffat had no idea he owned real estate in Miner's Flat. Since he and Jean had moved from Sacramento he had never been there and had only occasionally heard of the town fifteen miles northeast and 2000 feet higher than Segovia, a city of 50,000 in California's Gold Country. The news did not surprise him. His wife had been making usually very profitable real estate investments since the third year of their marriage.

Mrs. Grubb watched Gillis evaluate Captain Moffat and thought she saw the instant when Ronnie realized that the Captain was definitely not the decision maker in a matter of this sort.

"Mrs. Gillis, my wife handles all of our investments," Moffat said.

Gillis nodded, smiling, then added, "Please call me Ronnie, Captain. Would you tell Mrs. Moffat that I'll call this evening? I am a very persuasive lady." She stood and touched Moffat on the arm. "I know she'll be interested in what I have to show her."

Moffat stood and offered his hand. Mrs. Grubb saw Ronnie's eyes move from head to toe of the Captain's tall, lean body.

De la Peña watched her walk out. He smelled a flowery perfume that reminded him of his ninth grade English teacher.

The door closed and there was silence again.

* * *

Mrs. Grubb knew from Ronnie's reputation that she was, in fact, the best salesperson in the county. Ronnie had never met Jean, though, and Mrs. Grubb thought it would be a fascinating encounter to witness. About the same time, Moffat also thought it would be a memorable meeting. He decided he would make sure to miss it.

De la Peña looked at his boss. Moffat had returned to his review of cold case files.

* * *

The Miner's Flat Café is housed in the ground floor of a 120-year old wooden building, on the road into town one block from the town square. Its wooden sidewalk and posts and overhung roof were constructed about ten years earlier along with those of all the buildings in the historic district, successfully giving the restaurant and the town the old west look the renewal designers had in mind. The shop's proprietor Donna Ferguson had inherited the building and the business from her father. Returning from service in World War II, Samuel Ferguson sold what was left of a family mining operation that dated back to 1850 and started his own restaurant. The earnings were just enough to support him and his family for three decades with little left over for luxuries or retirement.

Donna had had more luck with the business. There was a steady growth in tourism in the 80's and 90's. There was also an influx of new citizens from the "Silicone Valley East" commercial development that came with the rapid expansion of San Jose's computer and Internet industries into lower cost areas of Northern California. Either of these factors would have been enough. Together, they turned the Miner's Flat Café into a source of considerable income, only part of which was reported to the IRS every year.

Donna took back her maiden name after divorcing the father of her two children when the younger one was ten. The divorce had been good emotionally with the unexpected benefit that now, just turned 52, she kept all the restaurant income for herself. The kids had moved away, one to San Francisco and one to Stockton but visited often. The Café was frequented by locals and tourists and was the informal information center of the town.

There was no missing the Land Rover with the custom vibrant orange pearl paint. When she saw Veronica Gillis pull up, Donna removed a folded card marked "Reserved" from a booth by the window. She set a place mat, napkin and a single knife, fork and spoon at the table. Ronnie walked in and sat down while engaged in a lively cell phone conversation about square footage, Spanish tile and wrought iron. She smiled warmly at her high school classmate when Donna arrived with a cup of dark Colombian Supreme, a small pitcher of light cream and the day's menu.

At an inside booth, across the aisle, three tables away but in Ronnie's direct line of sight, a third member of the Class of '72, Cheryl Haugen sat with her 77-year old mother Catherine Martius. Cheryl glanced at Ronnie then spoke to her mother in a low voice. The two looked and whispered again two times more.

Ronnie was midway through her avocado omelet and on her fourth phone call when Cheryl and Catherine passed her table. Cheryl turned and walked back, her face beginning to redden. Ronnie held up her hand. The phone conversation wound down and finally Ronnie gave Cheryl a greeting and smile identical to that which she had given Donna.

"I want to talk to you." Cheryl controlled her voice in an effort to hide her anger and ignored Gillis' protest that she was very busy. "I know you didn't treat my kids fairly. You were their agent. You were supposed to get them the best price. You talked them into $50,000 less than the house is worth and now I've found out that you're in partnership with the buyer."

Ronnie smiled again. "Now Cheryl, I see you're upset. But that price was the best I could get. You know I cut my commission." Comparable sales Cheryl may have seen were for larger lots, Ronnie explained, choosing not to address the conflict of interest in representing a seller when she was one of the buyers. Her phone rang. Ronnie apologized saying she absolutely had to take the call.

"I want to see you. This isn't over." By now Cheryl's neck flushed bright red. Choking back tears, she took her mother's arm and left the restaurant.

Beyond her anger over what she considered Ronnie's crooked dealing, Cheryl would admit that she was just unhappy now. Her daughter and son-in-law were moving to Colorado. She would miss the time spent with her daughter--the shared meals, shopping and other day-to-day activities. Soon to be left only with her mother, Cheryl feared that within another few years she would be completely alone.

There was a lifetime of other reasons to be angry with Ronnie. As a bank mortgage officer, Cheryl had business with Ronnie and she always seemed to come out with the worse side of the deal. There had been other problems too. On foot, Cheryl and Catherine rounded the corner on their way home before Ronnie left the restaurant in the opposite direction.

* * *

The Gillis home stood at the top of a steep slope on a grass-covered hill surrounded by pines. A paved driveway curved up to a large, Tudor-style wooden house with leaded glass front windows, two gables, a steep wooden shake roof and a prominent chimney. About three o'clock, a slim fifteen-year old boy with dark hair and pale skin shut off the mower. Aaron read the next item on his aunt's list of chores then tucked it back into his front pocket. He tapped his iPod, chose Jimmy Eat World's _The Middle_ , inserted the ear buds and picked up pruning shears to start the job of trimming the twelve mock orange shrubs that line the driveway. It was a sunny spring afternoon. Aaron wiped sweat from his face with the front of his gray tee shirt. He waved at his grandmother's poodle watching him from the top of the lawn in the shade of a thirty-foot Douglas fir. Cocoa stared at Aaron, panting, a tennis ball between its paws.

Aaron's aunt insisted the shrubs be trimmed in a perfect ball above their four-foot trunks and refused to accept that nature did not exactly intend this shape. She was never satisfied with Aaron's attempts at sculpting the shrubs. This thought was in his mind along with the music, worry about finishing the chores and his homework in the hours left in the day and nagging feelings of embarrassment about an experience at school this morning. That last thing was becoming a daily occurrence.

Aaron saw the orange Land Rover turn into the drive. From the opposite direction a dark Jaguar XKZ turned in and followed the Land Rover, passing within inches of Aaron as it ascended the slope. Ronnie opened the door, swung her knees around and stepped gracefully out of the vehicle. From the Jaguar, Aaron's schoolmate Scott Conti emerged. He walked toward Ronnie, ignoring Aaron. Aaron had never seen his aunt and Scott together and so, on this occasion, he felt twice the usual stress. Scott, two years older, was one of the guys who made school an ordeal for Aaron.

Shaking her head, Ronnie studied the shrubs. "Use the blower to get the grass clippings out of the flower beds," she said. "Speed it up. I'm only going to pay you for two hours and I want everything on the list done today." She turned and walked toward a glass- enclosed patio at the side of the house. Scott followed her, glaring at Aaron, then with a flick downward of his wrist, he made an obscene gesture. He finished his message silently mouthing "homo" to Aaron, and then ran up the steps to join Ronnie.

A senior at Miner's Flat High School, Scott was athletic - he played tennis, soccer and field hockey--with dark hair, blue eyes and a smooth complexion with a hint of pink in the cheeks. He had reached a height of six feet in the last two months. His parents, Nicholas and Diane started a small software company in 1988 that became a stunning success. Two years ago, they moved their business and most of its eighty employees to northern Segovia County to enjoy the beauty, clean air and lower real estate costs of the Gold Country. They gave their only child every advantage and every luxury. He had his own VISA card for clothes, food, and entertainment and to pay for gas for any of the four family cars he chose to drive. Still, Scott believed, it's nice to have some cash of your own without your parents knowing what you spend it on. So, he had found a part time job: retail distribution of marijuana and methamphetamine. It was this job that brought him to Ronnie that afternoon. Most of his customers were schoolmates or people in their early 20's. Ronnie had been directed to Scott last September by a twenty eight year old stockbroker (with whom she had had a brief, delightful affair) who knew the older sister of a classmate of Scott's. Ronnie would pay cash but on this day, Scott also wanted help with a party he and his friends were planning.

"I have your delivery, Miss." Scott beamed as he pulled a plastic bag with bright orange pills from a pocket of his backpack. Ronnie opened her purse, pushed her hand between a lady-like revolver and her red leather wallet to the bottom. She found a half-inch of twenties folded in a sterling silver clip. She counted out one hundred dollars and then pointed to the table below the kitchen window. "There's the tip for your delivery service."

Scott saw a case of Sierra Nevada pale ale and a quart of Stoli in a box. He laid the vodka on its side on top of the beer then lifted them with his left arm.

"When is the party?" With a giggle she suggested Scott might want to invite Aaron. They laughed together. Ronnie patted him on the small of the back. "Have a great time." She opened the glass door and watched him walk to the Jaguar, passing and ignoring Aaron.

Ronnie's mother Laraine had walked quietly to Ronnie's side as Scott descended the steps. She watched with Ronnie. Lifting a glass of Scotch and water to her lips she said "Handsome boy. He looks a lot like your real father if I remember correctly."

Ronnie shook her head. "Forget it, Mother." She suspected her mother's involvement with a number of men beyond her three husbands but Ronnie happened to look so much like Jim Hughes with whom Laraine had been married in 1954, that she had no doubt about her paternity.

* * *

Moffat was on the phone with Records when Jean called. Mrs. Grubb took the message. De la Peña watched as she brought it to Moffat's desk with an exaggerated display of sympathy.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," she said, handing him the note.

"Well, I knew it wouldn't last." Moffat smiled and tucked the note in his front pocket. The Sergeant asked what the bad new was. Moffat nodded to Mrs. Grubb to explain.

"Mrs. Moffat is an excellent cook...a gourmet cook, really. But she's also a bit of a health nut. Captain Moffat doesn't know what to expect unless she calls with a list of items to pick up on his way home. Apparently, tonight's menu involves textured vegetable protein, mushrooms, Brussels sprouts and fresh beets."

Hearing the menu drew a shudder from the younger man. Moffat smiled then returned to his review of the unsolved cases for the half hour remaining of the workday.

Alexander and Jean Moffat enjoyed a very happy marriage. They met in college, Alexander a criminal justice major in his last year and Jean a sophomore studying English literature. He had never had a steady girlfriend but after mutual friends introduced them, Moffat decided he wanted her. Jean had a boyfriend in high school but no serious relationships since. She was less certain about a future with this tall, skinny, serious young man but he kept asking her out and she kept accepting. His parents approved, hers were less enthusiastic due to his career plans. Six months after Alexander graduated and joined the Sacramento City Police they were married. He was 22, she was 21. A year and a half later Allison, their only child was born.

A few months after Allison's arrival, Alexander inherited $30,000 from the estate of his father's older sister. She and her late husband had never had children. She left a house and some investments to be divided among her many nieces and nephews. Jean, even then managing the young couple's finances, invested the funds in residential rental property. Over the years she expanded her holdings. Using the growing equity, rental receipts and Alexander's salary to secure new loans, she borrowed to buy more and more property. In the early years, Jean took an active role in managing the properties, handling tenants, repairs and an occasional eviction. She never worked outside the home after Allison was born. By the time Alexander was forty, Jean had amassed enough wealth to remove money as a factor in his career plans. A few years later he would have other reasons for leaving the Sacramento police force.

Five years ago, Jean bought ten acres of the Gold Country in rolling foothills just outside of Segovia. Two years after that the neighboring lot was sold to a group of young winemakers from Palo Alto. They wanted Jean's property with its gentle slope of the hill and western exposure for Grenache blanc grapes. Jean declined to sell but agreed to a long-term lease of most of the land. Then she took pen and paper and designed her dream house. A contractor was hired. Jean provided constant unsolicited advice throughout construction. With over twenty years service, Alexander was eligible for retirement. Eligible but not ready. He was, however, ready for a change. He began a job search that resulted in his current job as Captain, head of Detectives, of the City/County Police Force that was formed in 1985 when the Segovia City Police Department was merged with the Segovia County Sheriff's Department.

* * *

In the old section of Miner's Flat - with homes built between 1880 and 1910 - Catherine Martius walked the two blocks to Major Franke's house on Mariposa Street. Her white tennis shoes contrasted with the sidewalk stained black from fifty years under 75 foot interior live oaks with their constant dropping of leaves, acorns and blossoms. Preoccupied as she was with the ugly scene at Donna's café, Catherine realized she had been looking at her feet as she walked. She reminded herself firmly to keep her head up and eyes forward. Too many older people fall because they watch their feet. Enjoy the walk, she told herself. Lilacs bloomed in nearly every yard. They were her favorite flower and the scent was wonderful. She took twenty paces before her thoughts drifted to her friend Martha Pane, their neighbor and fellow church member Lewis Franke who was dying and the stressful times the three would surely face in the next few days.

* * *

Catherine had known Lewis Franke since 1958 when he moved to Miner's Flat to fill the need for a local insurance agent. She remembered he was about 39 then but seemed younger. His sweet-tempered wife was only a few years older than Catherine. Lewis and Betty Jane had been active members of the church since their arrival. Catherine and Betty Jane were quite close until Betty Jane's death from heart disease in 1990. Lung cancer would take Lewis any day now. Martha, the minister's wife, and Catherine were taking care of his basic needs and preparing to keep him company as he left this life for the next.

* * *

Catherine climbed the six steps to the porch without hesitation. For a 77-year old, she appeared to be in excellent condition, but she did have to take five different pills each day, prescriptions intended to keep her heart functioning as it should. Catherine heard the water running and walked directly from the threshold down the hall to the kitchen at the back right of the first floor.

At the sink, wearing yellow rubber gloves, a freshly rinsed plate in her right hand, Martha turned her head, smiled sadly and shrugged. "I'll just finish this and then give him his morphine tablet. Oh, Catherine, I can't imagine it will be much longer. A matter of days."

"Will he eat anything?" Catherine sat at the kitchen table to rest from the exertion of her walk.

"We should try. Maybe half a sandwich and a glass of milk, do you think?"

"Um," Catherine agreed. "I'll wait about twenty minutes after his pill takes effect. It usually gives him a bit more energy."

Just then the phone rang. Martha dried her hands and picked up the hand piece from the yellow wall phone.

"Yes...yes...ok," she said to the caller. She hung up, a look of pained distress transforming her face.

"It's that horrible woman. She's coming here now," Martha said, choking with emotion.

Catherine felt a sinking feeling, the muscles of her abdomen clenching. "Oh, no. What does she want?" She could scarcely believe she would be subjected to a second unpleasant encounter with Veronica Gillis in the course of just six hours.

"She wants the keys to the Fellowship Hall, the Chapel and the office."

"I thought we had more time."

"I don't think so. I don't know for sure. Arthur won't talk about it. Oh, dear Lord, I guess I have to give them to her." She looked at her friend. Catherine's sympathetic expression eased Martha's distress. "She called from Harte Pines. She'll be here in twenty minutes."

"I can give her the keys, dear. You can go home. You wouldn't have to see her."

Martha declined. Filling a small glass with water, she took it and a prescription bottle up the stairs.

* * *

Seated quietly at the dining room table, Catherine watched the orange Land Rover pull up to the front of the driveway. Martha must have seen it from Major Franke's room. She descended the stairs and was at the door when Ronnie crossed the porch. Entering the hall, the younger woman said "hello" in a loud, cheery voice while carefully examining the floor, walls, and ceiling of - from left to right - the living room, staircase, the hall leading to the rear of the house and the dining room. She turned to Martha and took the keys from her left hand. Martha's mouth opened to speak but Ronnie began talking.

"You'll have to come by and see the architect's sketches when we finish the design, Mrs. Pane. Those old stone buildings will be beautiful at the front of the development. Your little house will have to be torn down, of course \- that's where the lake is going - but we should be able to reuse the stone and the doors when we remodel that long building and the church into a recreational facility."

Catherine watched the younger woman with a mixture of shock and fascination. During her description of the planned development, Veronica Gillis opened her purse and withdrew a small digital camera. She kept up the flow of words and at the same time took photos of the living room, dining room and staircase.

Martha did speak now. "I don't know why you have to do this. The church is a hundred and fifty years old. We live there."

"Now, Mrs. Pane," Ronnie scolded. "You folks got yourselves into trouble. You should have known what Clement Jones was up to with those kids. Really, you should do a background check on a youth activities director. Some people wonder if the problem might be a bit bigger than we've heard so far. Anyway, I did find your church a new location," she said referring to the storefront in a strip mall outside of town.

"We'll be opening the sales office next year. Wait until you see the models. I can put you and Reverend Pane first in line for Phase 1."

Ronnie didn't notice when Martha began to cry. "I'll make a set for myself and return these tomorrow." She shook the keys and chirped "Good bye, all."

* * *

Forty minutes later, Ronnie was at the west entrance to the Fellowship Hall, what she called the long building. She set her purse on the railing of the veranda that ran the length of the building facing Second Street. She removed her cell phone and a tape measure, and punched the speed dial number for her Sacramento architect. Walking down four stone steps, she crossed the lawn and flowerbed to the side of the building. There she began to measure the height of the foundation near a small door to the crawl space. This call was her fourth of the day to the architect but, considering the fact that money flowed whenever Ronnie Gillis was involved, he was patient and attentive. Ronnie was on her knees peering at the wood framing the crawlspace when another person climbed the stone steps, came back down, retraced Ronnie's path to the side of the building and fired a single shot that struck Ronnie two inches to the right of her left shoulder blade. Ronnie collapsed, her arms outstretched, her chin hanging over the edge of the concrete lined entrance to the crawl space.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 2

Contralto 15-year old Michelle, 5'2" tall, blonde, a little pudgy and as good-natured a person as you could meet, sang "We'll Work Till Jesus Comes" with the others in the loft of the church when she heard the shot. Gunshots were a frequent sound in the mountains around Miner's Flat but this seemed closer than usual. Michelle took two steps toward the gate of the choir loft but stopped when the choir director glared and waved her back. They moved on to "Almost Persuaded" and "The Crowning Day" before the director ended practice. Gathering her papers and backpack, she moved toward the front door with her fellow choralists.

After the stuffy atmosphere of the choir loft, the evening spring air was cool and fragrant. Michelle stood in front of the church with the others exchanging compliments and generally agreeing that they sounded wonderful. She said a shy goodbye to the sixteen-year-old boy who was her main reason for joining the choir. Thirty yards away, a bicyclist moving north on Second Street caught her attention. She recognized him as her schoolmate Aaron, a boy she thought was cute but a little odd. He wore only a gray tee shirt and jeans and Michelle wondered if he wasn't feeling the cold as he sped toward home. She started to follow her choir mates to the Old Church Canteen for fresh-baked cookies then thought of the shot she had heard, seemingly so near. She thought she would pass up the cookies for once and investigate the disturbance on her way home. She walked downhill on a stone path leading toward the street, passing the end of the Fellowship Hall on her left. Taking a short cut across the grass in the dim light, Michelle saw a dark mound seventy-five feet beyond the middle door. She moved closer and saw the body.

A few steps more and the hole in Ronnie's amber jacket was evident surrounded by a small amount of blood. Michelle's eyes grew wide. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and was about to call her best friend Jo Ann but then wisely called her father instead. He answered on the first ring and sounded as though the call had frightened him. Michelle could tell he was relieved to hear the call was from her and not about her. She calmly reported what she had discovered. He seemed not to grasp what she said. There was silence for several seconds, then, in a stern voice, he told her to run back in the church or where ever there were people. He would have his wife call Edward Gordon, the Segovia County Police Reserve Officer then he would drive over there to get her.

* * *

When the architect's conversation was interrupted by the ear-splitting crack of gunfire, he called Ronnie's name several times. He heard nothing more. He waited about five minutes for a return call. Unable to imagine any explanation other than an emergency, the architect phoned 911. The Sacramento operator transferred him to the Segovia County emergency operator. That person took the information then phoned the police dispatcher on the first floor of the same building. The watch commander placed a call to the reserve officer's cell phone, left a message and sent a patrolman from Highway 49, about ten miles from Miner's Flat.

Michelle's father collected her at the north side of the church. She waited alone, for some reason having chosen not to join the few remaining choir members in the canteen, but she was unfrightened. He dropped his daughter off at home then drove back to Mariposa Street, where he saw the body for himself. He phoned the reserve officer again. By this time, Gordon had returned home from choir practice, answered the call to his home phone and finally learned about the body on the church grounds. Gordon drove quickly to the site where he met Michelle's father and almost two dozen spectators, half of them teenagers including Michelle who had made a few calls then run back to the crime scene.

Minutes later, the patrol officer arrived. His first action was to call Sergeant De la Peña, who reminded him of crime scene protocol and said he would send additional officers and notify the Medical Examiner. De la Peña phoned Captain Moffat.

* * *

In the hour since arriving home from the detectives' office by way of Safeway supermarket, Moffat left Jean in the kitchen to work her magic with the soy protein and mushrooms. He opened a bottle of 2003 El Dorado Pinot Noir. On the backyard deck, seated comfortably on a rattan chair with four-inch inner spring cushions, Moffat enjoyed the wine and two small blocks of Stilton while he watched the lengthening shadows the evening sun cast on the vineyard and the rising of the moon. Jean's roast seitan with porcini mushroom sauce was just five minutes from the table when Moffat spoke to De la Peña. Not for the first or the last time in their long marriage, Jean would dine alone.

* * *

The sky was still light but Miner's Flat was getting dark when Moffat arrived in his light metallic green Toyota Highlander at the crime scene. Lights flashed from two patrol cars blocking the street on both sides of the church grounds. Sergeant De la Peña's Camaro and a small Ford were parked between them, each with a portable flasher on its dashboard. The nearest patrol car moved back five feet to allow Moffat's Highlander to pass.

De la Peña jogged across the grass and sidewalk to meet Moffat as he opened the car door.

"Dead from a gunshot wound. Medical Examiner's on the way. I've identified the body."

The two men walked quickly toward the Fellowship Hall stopping on the sidewalk in front of the body.

"Oh!" Moffat whispered, dragging out the word. He took out his wallet and removed a business card. "Veronica Gills."

"A witness heard the shot then found the body about twenty minutes later. We're searching the site for any physical evidence. A twelve-member choir was practicing in the church but the rest of them went home before we got here. I'm just about to look for the minister. That's his house behind the church."

"Hang on, Sergeant. Here's the M.E." Moffat and De la Peña walked back to the street to meet Dr. Lisa McDonald.

"Hi, Alex. Is this your new Sergeant?"

Dr. McDonald was the only one in the department who called him by his first name, let alone the shortened version. She had been hired soon after Moffat and they had quickly formed a friendship that included lunch two or three times a month. Lisa was a refugee from the Oakland Coroner's Office who, like Moffat, had been subjected to the ugliest side of humanity for too many years.

Moffat introduced the Sergeant to McDonald. De la Peña shook her hand then, as she pulled the paper "bunny suit" over her clothes, reported what little they knew so far. He was quite professional and focused but the 27-year old Sergeant did not fail to observe that the 45 year-old doctor was of medium height with short light brown hair and soft skin and appeared to be quite fit.

Moffat sent De la Peña ahead to find the occupants of the minister's cottage. He spent several minutes with the doctor discussing possible clues to the weapon, angle of entry and timing of an autopsy. Then Moffat spoke to Reserve Officer Gordon and three uniformed officers who had roped off the orange Land Rover and were expanding the search for physical evidence to include the entire block. Moffat released the witness Michelle and her father and asked the officers to disburse the spectators or, at least, restrict them to a point too far from the crime scene for a good view.

* * *

De la Peña walked a stone path between the church and the Fellowship Hall up the hill toward the minister's cottage. The grounds were crowded with large trees and shrubs and it was fairly dark by now. A yellow lamp above the door glowed dimly. Seeing no lights on in the cottage, De la Peña considered the possibility that something may have happened to the minister and his wife. He knocked loudly at the door and was about to shout to get the attention of the home's occupants when a tall, dark figure rounded the corner and came into the light.

"Ah..." De la Peña cried out involuntarily as he saw a towering man with narrow shoulders, a long neck with bulging Adam's apple and large intense eyes above dark circles and sunken cheeks. He wore work gloves and carried a shovel. De la Peña stepped back.

"Los Angeles Police Department," he shouted.

Reverend Pane was as startled as De la Peña. If he wondered that a plainclothes policeman from Los Angeles would suddenly appear on his doorstep, it didn't show. De la Peña quickly recovered and identified himself properly.

Pane spoke in a deep, monotone. "I'm Reverend Pane. What is it you want?"

"Do you know Veronica Gillis?"

"Yes." Pane removed his gloves, dropped them to the corner of the step by the door and leaned the shovel against the house.

"She has been found dead back there by the street."

There was not the slightest change in Pane's expression. His dark eyes stared at (or through) De la Peña.

Walking between the buildings, Moffat saw the two men at the door of the cottage and called out to them. De la Peña introduced Moffat and continued his interview.

"Do you know why Mrs. Gillis was here tonight, Reverend?"

"No."

"How did you know her?"

As the Sergeant asked this, a door closed in the Church Canteen, a large square building up the slope from the Fellowship Hall. Seconds later, a middle-aged woman appeared behind the tall man.

"Arthur, what is it?"

Moffat and De la Peña identified themselves and told the minister's wife about the homicide. She gasped, placing her right palm on the center of her chest.

We need to ask a few questions of both you and your husband, Mrs. Pane," Moffat explained. "Maybe we should go in and sit down."

"Yes. Yes. Come in officers." Brushing past her husband, she opened the unlocked door and turned on a light. There was a small entryway with a long living room to the left. Moffat and De la Peña followed the Panes to the right through a large arched opening into the dining room. The four sat at a dark table covered by a white lace tablecloth.

"How did you know Mrs. Gillis?" De la Peña asked Reverend Pane. When he hesitated, Mrs. Pane spoke.

"She was doing some work with the church board. She wasn't a church member." De la Peña took notes. Moffat said nothing. Realizing they expected more information, Mrs. Pane continued. "She arranged the sale of some property and helped us find a temporary location for Sunday services." She paused then added "Not too far from here."

The Sergeant turned to her husband. "Mr. Pane, when did you last see Mrs. Gillis?"

"Don't know. I haven't done business with her. Maybe a month ago at the board meeting."

Moffat asked, "What property was the church selling?"

Pane slowly turned his gaze to Moffat.

"This place, the church, the meeting hall."

"Where are you and your wife planning to move?" Moffat asked.

"Don't know yet."

De la Peña then said, "We'll need to know where everyone was this evening."

Mrs. Pane stood up. "I should make some coffee. Would you like some, Mr. Moffat? Detective De...?" She had forgotten the Sergeant's name.

Sergeant De la Peña began to decline when Moffat interrupted.

"That would be very nice, Mrs. Pane. Let me help you. The Sergeant can finish his questions for your husband."

They passed through a swinging door into the kitchen. Mrs. Pane set a glass carafe in the sink and turned on the water. From the cupboard, she removed a can of coffee and a box of filters.

"Where were you this evening, Mrs. Pane?" Moffat asked softly.

"Well, I was across the street at Major Franke's house. Then I came back to the canteen to bake cookies for the choir. We serve refreshments after practice."

"Is that where you were around six?"

"No." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Let's not mention this to the Reverend."

"OK."

"After I put the cookies in, I ran a quick errand."

"An errand?"

"Yes. I walked down to the Minimart for a lottery ticket. My husband doesn't approve but I think, well, if you're meant to have some good luck you have to do your part...be ready for it. It makes sense."

"Did you see anyone while you were there?"

"Some young people. Nobody I know."

"Then what did you do?"

"I came through the back path to the church canteen. The cookies were ready. The choir members came over about that time and we had fruit punch and cookies."

While she was speaking, with the coffee dripping into the carafe, Mrs. Pane had removed four large slices of wheat bread from a plastic bag, taken lettuce, mayonnaise and a plastic-wrapped plate of roast beef slices from the refrigerator. She assembled, quite expertly, two large sandwiches, sliced them in half and put the four pieces on a plate. Mrs. Pane asked Moffat to take four mugs from the cupboard. She filled a pitcher with half and half and placed it and the cups on a silver-plated tray with the sandwiches.

"How long were you gone?"

"About half an hour."

"Isn't that a long time to bake cookies?"

She nodded and tapped her temple. "That's true, Captain. Moffat," she said as she stacked a small plate with what appeared to be fresh chocolate chip cookies, "But if you lower the heat to 250 degrees, you have just enough time to buy your ticket and when you get back, they're golden brown. See?"

She pointed to the cookies. Moffat smiled and nodded. He held the door for her as they walked into the dining room.

The food and coffee were greatly appreciated by Moffat and De la Peña who had both missed dinner. Reverend Pane ate the half sandwich his wife served him but said very little. Mrs. Pane grew more talkative. The house, with its hardwood floors, arches and walls covered with swirls of pink plaster appeared cozy to Moffat. Mrs. Pane agreed and briefly choked back emotion describing her pride in the 1920's California craftsman cottage and her sadness at leaving it. Then she said "Oh, Captain. I was one of the last people to see Mrs. Gillis, I think. She borrowed the keys this evening. She came to Major Franke's. Catherine was with me."

De la Peña took notes as Mrs. Pane revealed information that would help the detectives recreate the victim's last hours. She pointed out Franke's house. Moffat had already taken an interest in the same when he noted that its second floor window was the only location in the vicinity with an unobstructed view of the crime scene.

The policemen thanked the Panes for their cooperation and hospitality. Each accepted another cookie "for the road." Back at the street, Moffat signaled Reserve Officer Gordon to join him. He asked that no one notify next of kin. Moffat wanted to do it himself after a quick visit to the Franke home.

De la Peña place an arm on the shoulder of a young policeman, spoke a few words and pointed to a wooded area on the slope above the cottage. Then he joined Moffat.

"What did you think of Reverend Pane, Sergeant?"

"Sorry, Sir, but that is the weirdest guy I ever saw. He claims to have barely known Gillis. Did you see the way he and his wife never looked at each other? The whole time I questioned him he seemed to be somewhere else...thinking of something else?"

"He did seem a bit detached."

"Yeah...thinking of detaching our heads from our bodies, maybe. That is one creepy dude."

Moffat chuckled.

"Wait 'til you hear his alibi. He said he was meditating in the woods up the hill."

"That's not so strange, Sergeant. He is a religious person."

"In a graveyard? He was meditating in a graveyard. So what was he doing with the shovel and work gloves? He said he was digging a new grave. I asked who it was for. 'No one in particular.' he said."

Moffat nodded. "So you sent the officer to check on Reverend Pane's gravesite alibi?"

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Captain Moffat sprinted across the street to the Franke house. In the four weeks he had known the Captain, De la Peña had never seen his boss move quickly other than on the treadmill at the gym below their office. Moffat had a runner's build with long, lean muscles, lacking the extensive upper body development - biceps and chest - that De la Peña gained through five years of weight lifting. The physical quickness Moffat displayed surprised the Sergeant who realized this was the first time he had seen him in the midst of an active homicide investigation. De la Peña took the steps two at a time to catch Moffat at the door as he rang the bell.

The sound of a television increased suddenly then ceased. As Moffat expected, an elderly woman opened the door. She had curly silver hair, cut short, surrounding a round face with pink cheeks, which, with her amused smile, gave the impression of a kind grandmother. She held a television remote control in her right hand.

"Good evening. We're policemen. I'm Captain Moffat this is Sergeant De la Peña. We're investigating a possible crime in the neighborhood."

"Oh, my," the lady said.

Moffat asked for her name. De la Peña verified the spelling and recorded it in his notebook.

"Have you heard or seen anything out of the ordinary?"

"Well, I don't think so," Catherine Martius responded tentatively. Stepping back to allow the police men to enter the house, she led them to the kitchen where they sat at the table.

"What about around six or six-thirty, anything you may have noticed?" Moffat thought she should have heard the gunshot.

"No, nothing."

"Do you know Veronica Gillis?" Moffat asked matter-of-factly.

"Yes. Why do you ask? Has something happened?

"Did you see her today?"

"Yes." Catherine appeared to grow concerned.

"When was that, Mrs. Martius?"

Catherine hesitated. "I don't know exactly. It would have been around five o'clock, I think. She was here."

"Mrs. Gillis was the victim of a shooting across the street on the church grounds

"Oh, Dear Lord," Catherine said with a gasp.

"Was anyone else in the house during the time Mrs. Gillis was here?" Moffat asked.

"Yes. Martha Pane, the minister's wife, was here and, of course, Lewis Franke. He was upstairs." Mrs. Martius explained Franke's condition and the role she and Mrs. Pane shared as caregivers. She confirmed that Gillis had come to pick up keys from Mrs. Pane and that Pane had left on foot in the direction of the church at 5:30, fifteen minutes after Gillis had driven away.

"Oh, Captain, was anyone else hurt? Martha...Is Martha Pane all right?"

"Yes. Mrs. Pane is unharmed. Mrs. Gillis was the only victim."

"Thank Heavens."

"Mrs. Martius, please describe everything you can remember about your meeting with Mrs. Gillis this afternoon."

Catherine hesitated, and looked from Moffat to De la Peña.

"Well, she didn't come to see me. I only happened to arrive a short time before Veronica. She wanted to pick something up - keys - from Martha."

Moffat nodded, waiting for more.

"She wanted the keys to the church buildings. There is going to be some development on the site. I really don't know much about it."

"So she picked up the keys and left immediately?"

"Not exactly. She spoke to Martha."

"What did they discuss?"

"She suggested Martha and the Reverend Pane should look at new home plans with her. That was it, mostly."

"How would you describe Mrs. Gillis' state of mind?"

"She was the same as ever. She upset Martha, nearly made her cry. She was quite cruel about some problems the church had in the past."

"Oh, so would you say that Mrs. Pane's and Mrs. Gillis' encounter was an angry one?"

Catherine's jaw dropped slightly. A flash of concern crossed her face. "No, I wouldn't say that. It was just a bit unpleasant, that's all."

"Thanks, Mrs. Martius. Now, would you tell me where in the house you were from six to six-thirty?"

"I don't really know. Either upstairs with Major Franke or in the kitchen down here."

"The shot would have been very loud. I'm surprised you didn't hear it."

Catherine nodded gently and said, "I don't hear all that well. The television may have been on. Maybe I heard it but it didn't sink in. If I'm busy I don't always notice what's going on around me."

"Did Mr. Franke say anything about hearing a shot nearby?"

"No, he hasn't been very communicative lately."

Moffat said "Ok, Mrs. Martius. Thank you. Do you think it would be all right to speak to Mr. Franke now?"

When Catherine didn't respond immediately, Moffat started up the stairs. She began to follow. De la Peña stopped her saying they would need to speak to Franke alone. Catherine told them that his bedroom was at the front of the house.

Moffat knocked and entered calling out Franke's name. It was a long room with a hospital bed extending from the right side parallel to the back wall. A large side table was to the right of the bed and near it, centered on the wall was a huge maple chest of drawers below an oblong oak-framed mirror. By the window, facing out, were two over-stuffed green upholstered chairs on each side of a small square oak coffee table. In the bed lay a tall, pale, painfully thin old man, wisps of white hair combed across the top of his bald head. He had a small, neatly trimmed white moustache.

Moffat approached Franke's bed. Franke's eyes were half open, his breathing heavy and his skin had a grayish tint to it. Moffat touched his arm lightly. Franke opened his eyes. He seemed to recognize the man beside him.

"Adams."

"No, Mr. Franke. I'm Captain Moffat with the Police Department. I need to ask you some questions."

Franke reacted with a sound, an "Uh" that to Moffat could have expressed confusion, surprise or fear.

"Mr. Franke, a crime was committed outside. Did you hear a gunshot?"

"No."

"Have you been awake this evening?"

"Sleeping." It was an effort for Franke to respond.

Moffat realized he wouldn't get any information from the dying old man. He thanked him then asked, "Would it be all right if we look around?"

Moffat walked around the bed. Franke's eyes followed him then closed. Moffat opened the door to a small closet. De la Peña pushed the dresser out from the wall, peered behind then returned it to its original position. The detectives walked to the window and looked at the crime scene. Portable lamps now lit the area. Thirty yards away, Dr. McDonald spoke to a photographer. De la Peña pushed the window open. It slid fairly easily. He pushed it back down. They examined the carpet around the chairs, moving each one then replacing them.

De la Peña returned to the ground floor to check there and outside. Moffat walked back to the hall and opened the door into a room with the second window that faced the street. Smaller than Franke's bedroom, it was set up as an office and furnished with a large walnut desk, matching credenza and four-drawer file cabinet. Moffat's attention was drawn to the wall behind the desk. There were two framed 8 by 10 photographs. One was of Franke with Richard Nixon that Moffat guessed was from the late fifties. The second, probably taken in the late sixties, showed Franke with Ronald Reagan. A gold plaque from Veterans of Foreign Wars hung just to the right of the photos above a certificate of appreciation from Lewis B. Hershey, Director of the Selective Service. Two National Geographic maps, one of Europe 1954 and the other of Korea 1959 covered the remainder of the wall.

The desk was covered with a green felt pad. An adding machine, a pencil holder, a vintage black rotary telephone and a lamp gave the appearance of an office from the 60's. The only personal item was a framed color photograph of Franke in uniform at Fort Ord, California. Behind, on the credenza, mounted on a dark walnut base was a bayonet. The surfaces of all the furniture were bare of papers and had been recently polished.

Moffat slid open the door to a long, shallow closet in the middle of the back wall. A bar for hanging clothes had been removed, replaced with shelves. These were filled with stationary and office supplies. On the highest shelf, Moffat lifted the plastic cover from a red typewriter. Next to it was an ancient-looking cassette recorder.

Moffat examined the window in this room as well. The view of the church hall was obstructed by branches of a large oak at the corner of Franke's front yard and large evergreen shrubs near the sidewalk in front of the church property.

* * *

While Moffat was upstairs, De la Peña walked through the ground floor rooms, peering under and around two large sofas in the living room and a hutch in the dining room. De la Peña exited through the kitchen door and surveyed the back and side yards. There was an empty clothesline on the side. Near the house were a redwood table and two benches. Franke's yard and those of his neighbors ended in thick woods covering the edge of a steep hill. De la Peña walked nearly to the end and approached a large, rusty oil drum. He looked in and saw it was about 1/3 full of cold ashes. While his attention was focused on the bottom of the barrel, in the woods just 5 yards away a crash startled De la Peña. He spun around and found himself facing a large, antlered deer. The animal stopped momentarily then turned toward its right, disappearing quickly back into the woods.

"Carajo!" De la Peña swore in Spanish. Coming after the shock of seeing Ronnie Gillis dead and the Reverend Pane alive, the Sergeant had had enough adrenaline surges for one evening. He walked around the side of the house, looked in two garbage cans and continued to the front to meet Moffat.

* * *

Sergeant De la Peña guided the Camaro gently up the shrub-lined driveway and stopped in front of the garage. He turned the steering wheel to the left, set the parking brake and shut off the motor. Seeing no lights anywhere within the house, both men left the car doors open. De la Peña knocked at the front door. They listened for some movement, but heard nothing. From somewhere behind the house they could hear country music. They walked around the house. Next to a swimming pool, they saw a brightly lit pool house. The front wall of the building was entirely glass with a sliding door in the center, open despite the brisk evening air. Through the glass, dressed only in nylon shorts and running shoes, a muscular man in his early forties straddling a bench lifted the bar of a weight machine in a standard bench press exercise. De la Peña held up his badge, moved several steps to the left and caught the man's attention. Moffat walked in displaying his badge as well and asked "Wade Gillis?"

Gillis sat up with a perplexed expression. "Yes...what?"

"We have some bad news about your wife, Mr. Gillis."

As De la Peña broke the news, Moffat observed Gillis' reaction. He seemed not to grasp the meaning, shaking his head slightly several times, moving his lips without words. Then he stood up, turned off the stereo said, "I'm sorry. Who are you again?"

Moffat repeated their names. "Mr. Gillis, I know this is difficult for you. We are going to have to ask you some questions about your wife. It's very important we do this tonight. Is that all right?"

Still puzzled, Gillis agreed and apparently just then feeling the cold, rubbed his palms over his biceps and chest. He reached for a sweatshirt hanging from a wooden peg on the wall, pulled it over his head and down over his tanned, hairless chest and abdomen.

"Can you tell me how old your wife was, Mr. Gillis?"

"Uh...fifty-two."

"How long have you been married?"

"Seventeen years."

"Did she live here with you?"

"Yes."

"Any children?"

"No."

"Did she have any children prior to your marriage?"

"No. There was some condition. Ronnie couldn't have children."

"Does anyone else live here?"

Gillis nodded. "Her mother Laraine lives with us. She's in her bedroom. Must be asleep now."

"Does Mrs. Gillis have other family members?"

"Ronnie had two half brothers. The older one died years ago in a car crash. Her younger brother dropped off his wife and kid here ten years ago and we never heard from him again. The wife tried to get child support but gave up. He's always on the move.

Moffat opened his wallet and showed Gillis the business card Veronica Gillis had handed him 12 hours ago. "Is this your wife's business address?" Gillis confirmed that and responding to further questions told Moffat that his wife was the owner and that she employed about twelve sales and two clerical personnel. As far as Gillis knew, everything was going well at work; there were no financial problems, no employee problems. Everything as usual.

Moffat then said "Mr. Gillis, in a situation like this, I have to ask some personal questions and for your whereabouts this evening."

"OK."

"Have you and your wife been experiencing any problems in your relationship?"

"No."

"Can you think of anyone who might have a reason to harm your wife?

Gillis shook his head. When Moffat said nothing, Gillis looked at him and said, "No, I don't know anyone. I don't know why this would happen."

De la Peña asked "Where were you from five o'clock until now, Mr. Gillis?"

Gillis exhaled. "Finished work at three thirty. I coached practice until about four forty five then came home. I made a salad, ate it in the den, watched some TV, then came out here to lift weights."

" Was your mother-in-law with you at any time this evening?" De la Peña continued.

"Well...I heard the set in her bedroom when I was in the kitchen. Her light was off when I came out here about nine. I didn't see her tonight."

Seeing De la Peña's head tilt and eyebrow rise, Gillis added, "That happens a lot. She'll come out if Ronnie's home, otherwise she stays mostly in her room at night."

Before they left, Gillis gave Moffat permission to search the house, home office and her business offices for anything that might assist the investigation. De la Peña disconnected and carried out the sole computer in the house. Moffat told Gillis they would be back at nine tomorrow. At Moffat's request, Gillis promised to have his mother-in-law, sister-in-law and nephew at the house for interviews.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 3

Thursday, May 11

Ten minutes before six a.m. Mrs. Grubb and De la Peña wheeled a portable whiteboard to the center of the office. Five minutes later, Moffat entered with a cardboard carrier holding three large coffees from the Coffee Bean Drive-Thru Kiosk. Moffat was pleased but not surprised to see Mrs. Grubb had come in an hour early and wondered how she had heard of the homicide. He and the Sergeant had agreed to meet at six this morning to plan the investigation before a 7:30 briefing for the uniformed police who would support them. Moffat sat behind his desk, leaning back with a legal pad in his lap and a pen in his right hand. De la Peña took the blue marker and wrote:

Veronica Gillis, age 52

148 Upper Bristol Road, Miner's Flat

Occupation: Real Estate Broker, Developer

Married to Wade Gillis 45, union plumber

No children

Apparent gun shot victim

"No eyewitnesses so far," De la Peña said. "The choir girl and the architect heard the shot. The architect figures it happened at about 6:15. He thought Gillis phoned him about 6:05. When he heard the shot, he waited about five minutes and then phoned 911. Sacramento clocked his call at exactly 6:24, so he probably isn't far off." De la Peña stopped. Shaking his head, he turned to Moffat. "Sir, have you ever had a victim show up at your office eight hours before she was murdered? I can't believe it."

Moffat nodded. Actually, while still in uniform, Moffat had seen two victims hours before their deaths. One was a teenager beaten and chased by two gang members. The kid had refused to provide any information. Four hours later, an ambulance transported him to the emergency room with a knife wound. He died ten minutes later. The second was a domestic violence victim. She refused to press charges. The next morning her boyfriend sobbed as he described their last fight. Neither of these matched the bizarre experience of meeting the energetic broker in his office in the morning and then seeing the same person's body that evening.

De la Peña continued. "The girl Michelle wasn't at all certain about the times. She remembers seeing a school kid bicycle by before she found the body. She phoned her father at 6:36."

"OK. Let's have the officers visit or re-visit every house on the block. Find out if anyone was seen in the area from the time Gillis left Franke's house until the reserve officer arrived at the scene. Ask what time everybody got home, what they were doing, anything they may have seen from the window, driveway or yard. Sergeant, you and I will go back to Gillis's house and speak to the rest of the family." Moffat picked up a small black book from his desk. "We also have to check her Day Planner and her computer. But first Mrs. Grubb, what can you tell us about Veronica Gillis?"

Mrs. Evelyn Grubb had resided in Segovia County for twenty years. She had been a child in Scotland during World War II and immigrated to California in the 1950's with her new husband William Grubb. Living in San Jose in 1964, she took a job with one of the first K-Mart stores in California. She and her husband made a point of visiting California's Gold Country every spring when the poppies bloomed and the grass and oaks were bright green. Not long after being widowed, she bought the Segovia home in which she now lived. Moffat knew Mrs. Grubb read the Segovia Ledger Dispatch from front to back every day, made a weekly visit to the hairdresser, and participated in most of the county's volunteer groups. She would have an insider's knowledge of a well-known citizen like Veronica Gillis.

"Well, I think I told you yesterday, she is one of the top brokers. She's in the Gold Circle Club every year for sales volume. Her picture is in all her newspaper ads, lawn signs and even the slides they show in the theater before the movie starts. Her business was mostly up in the northeast county around Miner's Flat. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I heard she had a tendency to dominate the Miner's Flat Boy's & Girl's Club annual auction up there as well as the their local Optimist and Rotary club meetings. She comes to Segovia for the monthly Planning Commission meetings. The Commission arranges the agenda to suit her. Well, they did before yesterday, anyway."

Mrs. Grubb seemed to hesitate. "Anything else?" Moffat asked.

"Well, more than a few times, some of the ladies from Miner's Flat had reason to believe Mrs. Gillis involved herself with men other than her husband." Mrs. Grubb gave the two men a knowing nod and watched to see they were suitably impressed.

"OK, Mrs. G," De la Peña insisted. "Who was she fooling around with?"

Mrs. Grubb gave the Sergeant a reproachful look and folded her arms.

Moffat intervened. "He's right, Mrs. Grubb, we need to know."

"Well, ask me with whom she wasn't fooling around. You didn't hear this from me but both the Chief and County Exec Doyle have been mentioned.... also, one of those corporate big wigs from San Jose and that lawyer who is president of the Rotary Club. Of course, this was over quite a few years. Otherwise, goodness, how could she get any work done?" Mrs. Grubb was winding down then "Oh, I think a landscaper was talked of one time as well."

During Mrs. Grubb's description of the Gillis' professional and other activities, De la Peña had started up the victim's computer. He clicked the financial software icon. "Wow. I'm looking at her personal checking account. Gillis was hauling in a lot of cash. She's got 60K in the account. Somebody will have to spend some time on this. Let me get into her email."

De la Peña opened her mailbox. "This could be promising. There are hundreds of messages in both the inbox and sent folders. Maybe we should have an officer spend a few hours on these."

Moffat thought not. "Just check the last few days and then Mrs. Grubb will read through the rest. If there is any information there that might embarrass the innocent, we'll keep it just among ourselves."

Moffat opened Gillis's day planner. Her morning visit to the detectives' office was inscribed. There were three other notations: "call architect", "SC - 3:00" and "visit church." No other appointments were recorded for yesterday. Checking the back pocket Moffat found a receipt with yesterday's date from the Miner's Flat Café for $11. Written across the back in red ink, in a feminine hand, were the words "business exp. prospective client."

"Let's add a visit to this café to today's schedule, Sergeant," Moffat told De la Peña.

* * *

De la Peña thought the morning briefing went quite well. First, Moffat explained that this would be a challenging investigation. Looking at the three officers before him he acknowledged that they had limited resources. The police had yet to determine a motive. There were no witnesses. "The victim was a high profile individual. There may be a lot of curiosity from the media. "Please do not give out any information. If we ever get to court, we don't want to compromise any evidence or witness testimony by excessive public discussion of the facts of the case. The murderer is at large. We don't want him or her to know what we know."

Which isn't much, De la Peña told himself.

The Sergeant conducted the remainder of the briefing. Two uniformed officers, Brandon Fat and Melissa Peake, both 26, Fat with five years experience and Peake with four, would finish questioning the residents of every home on the streets around the church. An officer who was restricted to desk duty in the weeks prior to her maternity leave had already been assigned to assist the detectives on their open case review. Now Tashara Travis \- called, for reasons unknown to Moffat - Officer Tashara by police and civilians alike would study the victim's Quicken accounts and Excel files. De la Peña had downloaded these and Gillis' Outlook mailboxes and Word documents onto separate flash drives. Mrs. Grubb took possession of the second drive.

* * *

The phone rang at 6:30 am in the apartment Aaron shared with his mother just off the road leading into Miner's Flat from the north. Theirs was one of twelve units on the ground floor of a building behind a gas station, drugstore and the Forty-niners Market. Aaron had dressed for school and was preparing his lunch when Wade Gillis called to tell him about his aunt's death and that the police wanted the family at the house for questions. Aaron said he would wake his mother to tell her. He did not. He wrote a note instead believing that his mother, who worked from 11:30 am to 11:00 pm and often got home after 2:00 am, could use the sleep. Dawn Miller never changed her last name during the five years from her marriage to Paul Jamison through the date he abandoned his wife and child for good. She was now 33, worked as a waitress serving food and drinks at the Pick & Shovel Tavern on Highway 49. She was very fond of her son. She thought he was adorable--with his dark eyes and long lashes--but she was looking forward to his 18th birthday when the men she dated would no longer see her as being tied down with a child. As it was, Dawn had begun to spend the occasional night away from home. Aaron did his own laundry and would ask her for money for groceries only about every eight or nine days. There hadn't been any child support the past ten years but these days money wasn't much of a problem. Dawn earned about $750 per week, mostly from tips. After Paul left, Ronnie provided a house, duplex or apartment at low rent. Usually the premises would be undergoing repairs, remodeling or repainting. They had to move often but as they had few pieces of furniture and Wade and some of Ronnie's regular day laborers would move them in half a day using Wade's pickup, it was not inconvenient. Dawn loved to move anyway.

At 7:15, Aaron left for his aunt's house. He bicycled the six miles in thirty minutes. (There was a 2000 feet elevation climb so the trip took ten minutes longer than the return trip.) He came in the house through the back door, into the kitchen. Wade offered him breakfast. He declined. He watched TV for a while then went out to the home gym in the pool house where Wade was lifting weights. He tried a few machines while listening to Wade's music then wandered out. He did not see his grandmother until after the police arrived.

* * *

De la Peña parked an unmarked, Segovia P.D. white Chevy Tahoe SUV at the top of the driveway, avoiding the bicycle lying on its side. Aaron was on his knees on the lawn throwing a ball to the delight of a somewhat uncoordinated poodle. Moffat asked that the Sergeant interview the nephew outside. Moffat would speak with the mother in the house.

De la Peña approached Aaron showing his badge.

"Are you the nephew of Veronica Gillis?"

"Yes." Aaron spoke softly, his eyes cast downward.

"I'm Sergeant De la Peña. I need to ask you some questions about your aunt. Did Mr. Gillis tell you what happened?"

"Yes."

"I need your name, age and the address where you live."

Aaron told him. De la Peña recognized the first name from Michelle's statement. He moved closer to the teenager and watched him intently. "When did you last see your aunt?"

"Yesterday afternoon. She came home while I was mowing the lawn. She left about an hour later." In response to De la Peña's questions, Aaron said they hadn't spoken, he didn't know what she did while she was there, she was driving her Land Rover and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"What did you do the rest of the day after you saw your aunt leave?"

"I finished the yard work, studied for a test"...here the boy stopped. Aaron realized he would miss an algebra exam this morning and feared repercussions with Mr. Rowell. "Then I rode my bike home."

"What time was that?"

"About six, I think."

The Sergeant glanced at Aaron's wrist to see if he wore a watch.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"No."

"How did you go home?"

Aaron described a route that took him past the church.

"OK. Thanks. Wait out here. My boss may have some more questions." De la Peña closed his notebook and walked to the door.

* * *

Gillis tapped on the bedroom door. "Laraine, the police are here." Gillis quickly introduced them then left Captain Moffat with Laraine Jamison, Veronica Gillis' mother.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Jamison."

"Thank you," she said coolly. In her mid to late 70's about 5'5" and thin, Jamison wore a considerable amount of makeup with thin eyebrows and a neatly styled gray wig. She had the fine wrinkles and low voice of a long-time smoker although Moffat noticed no signs of a current habit. There was a scent of powder and perfume about her. Her room was spotless with a rose carpet, flower patterned bed cover and two high-backed chairs with upholstery of the same material. Laraine was seated; Moffat took the chair next to her. A bureau of highly polished cherry wood filled half of one wall. It and the headboard of the bed and side table were of the same set. There was a wicker basket on the bureau lined with cloth of the same pattern as the bedspread. It was filled with seven prescription bottles of varying sizes.

"Are you a widow, Mrs. Jamison?"

"I was divorced from my third husband fifteen years ago. He moved to San Diego and died three years in 2003.

"And your daughter Veronica's father?"

"We were married from 1953 until 1965. He died in 1981."

Moffat took down the details of the three marriages. Laraine provided the information calmly and efficiently, never taking her eyes off of Moffat.

"When do you think we will be able to have a burial, Captain?

"I'm sorry. I don't know."

"Could you tell me about your other children?"

"My son Gregory from my first marriage was killed in 1973...in an automobile accident. He was a college student at the California Institute of the Arts."

For the first time, Moffat detected a hint of emotion.

She continued. "My youngest, Paul, doesn't keep in touch. I've had just a single letter in the last five years. He changes jobs and moves often. He involves himself with a lot of women." Once again, Laraine was completely controlled.

"Would you describe your relationship with your daughter, Mrs. Jamison?"

"She was very thoughtful. She insisted I move in here with them after my stroke. We worked together in the realty until then. That was 1995. She would make sure somebody would drive me to my doctor's appointments, the hairdresser or the veterinarian."

"Can you think of any reason someone would want to harm your daughter?"

"No, none at all."

At Moffat's request, Mrs. Jamison described her only contact with her daughter on the day she died. After the boy in the sports car left Gillis had prepared a sandwich that she shared with her mother. She left soon afterwards.

"Thank you for the information, Mrs. Jamison. One more subject...your daughter-in-law isn't here this morning?"

"No, I haven't heard from her."

"Do you have grandchildren other than Mrs. Gillis' nephew?"

"No, just Aaron." For a second time, Moffat sensed some emotion, this time it was affection, he guessed. It faded. "Gregory was only 23 when he died. Ronnie was too busy for children."

* * *

Moffat left Laraine Jamison in her bedroom. He came into the glassed-in patio to confer with Sergeant De la Peña.

"The mother said she only saw Mrs. Gillis yesterday when her daughter came home sometime mid-afternoon. Gillis arrived in her Land Rover followed by a sports car driven by a tall, dark-haired young man. The mother says Gillis gave him some money. They spoke briefly, laughed about something and then the man left carrying a case of beer. Their meeting took less than ten minutes. The mother doesn't know when Mrs. Gillis left. She said she didn't see Mr. Gillis that night. She offered no reason anyone would harm her daughter.

Learning of the visitor in the sports car, De la Peña grew angry. "The kid lied to me. He said she was alone when she came here." De la Peña watched the teenager on the lawn with the dog.

"What did he say about his ride home last night?"

De la Peña realized that Moffat had guessed the bicyclist Michelle saw was the victim's nephew.

"He confirmed it. We have him at the crime scene at the time of the murder."

Moffat wondered why Aaron had lied about the visitor. "We have his initials from Gillis's day planner." Moffat was thinking aloud. "Sorry, I was talking about her notation for 'S.C.' at 3:00. Mr. Gillis had no idea who it could have been."

De la Peña was still fuming about Aaron. "I've got him on false statements and obstruction. I'd like to bring him in. A few hours in the interview room should get the whole story from him."

Moffat considered this. "See if he'll come voluntarily. Unless there's more to this, I don't want to create trouble for him."

De la Peña walked across the driveway and lawn. Aaron stood as the Sergeant approached. He blushed. In a low, stern voice, De la Peña told Aaron there were discrepancies in his statement. Aaron's eyes widened. The Sergeant suggested Aaron come to the station to clear everything up.

"Are you willing to do that?"

"Yes."

The detectives informed Wade Gillis that Aaron had agreed to go with them and asked if he had any objections. He had none. They asked him to notify Aaron's mother.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 4

At the corner of Miner's Flat town square Moffat stepped out of the S.U.V leaving De la Peña with a seriously scared Aaron in the backseat. On this sunny spring day, Miner's Flat was beautiful. It was surrounded on three sides by dark green pine covered mountains. Nineteenth century wooden buildings, low walls made of granite boulders and mortar and turn of the century two-story Victorian homes covered the flat spreading out to the southwest. The town square covered a rectangle measuring one by two city blocks. Oak trees two or three hundred years old had their spring growth. Their leaves would be a lighter, brighter shade of green for the next several weeks. Traffic, both automobile and pedestrian, was light but steady all around the square.

Moffat walked on leaving the square behind and approached the church and crime scene. Two uniformed officers and the photographer from last night were guiding a fire truck as it backed over the curb and sidewalk and neared the long building. Moffat told one of the policemen that he would like a ride back to the station in about a half hour. Then he set out on a walk among the buildings of the church compound. Five minutes later, following a path up the slope, Moffat arrived at the historical marker outside the original church structure where services had been conducted continuously since 1858. It had been built of stone with a pine roof, beginning its existence as an Episcopalian church.

"Interesting," thought Moffat. It was now a Baptist church. Moffat stepped inside. He smelled old wood and varnish. To the right of the entrance, attached to the back of the nearest pew, he saw a wooden box filled with photocopied black and white brochures explaining the history of the building. In 1910, the popular minister Hugh Wilkinson changed his affiliation from the one to the other, bringing nearly all the townspeople with him. Moffat gazed at the simple dais, imagining Reverend Pane pouring out a fiery sermon to a motley congregation. He left the church and continued his tour walking up the hill through the graveyard where he saw an open grave with perfect sides and a neat pile of dirt nearby. No doubt this was the handiwork of Reverend Pane that so perplexed his Sergeant.

From two hundred yards below in the area of the crime scene Moffat heard excited shouts. Descending the slope rapidly, he saw the photographer on the extended ladder of the fire truck in front of and above the place where Gillis's body had been last night. Moffat joined one of the policemen. The photographer, he said, had noticed something inside an Italian cypress about ten feet from the side of the building. A metallic object had caught the light from the morning sun and reflected into the camera's lens and the photographer's eye. The second officer carried an A-frame ladder and placed it upright next to the bush. Climbing the rungs so that his hand was at a height of just about eight feet, the officer looked down into the shrub and saw a handgun wedged between two branches at the trunk. The officer next to Moffat handed the one on the ladder an evidence bag. Using it as a glove, he carefully placed the gun inside and passed the bag down to the first officer.

Moffat watched and smiled. "Congratulations, gentlemen. I think you may have found our murder weapon." Moffat directed them not to mention the gun to any member of the public.

Moffat sat on a bench at the sidewalk and made bulleted notations in his notebook. The presumed murder weapon was completely out of sight when, five minutes later, he saw Mrs. Pane rounding the side of the building carrying a platter. She smiled and called to him and the other officers. The platter held four large paper cups filled with coffee and a stack of large biscuits sliced in half and filled with scrambled egg, cheese and bacon.

* * *

During the twenty-minute drive back to the station with the officer who had pulled the gun from the cypress, Moffat phoned De la Peña, telling him of the photographer's discovery. Moffat was surprised by his reaction. He hadn't known the Sergeant long but would have predicted a more enthusiastic response to a development as significant as finding the murder weapon from the normally exuberant De la Peña.

"Oh, well, good. That should help." The Sergeant seemed a bit distracted.

"How's the interview going with Aaron?"

"Yeah. Well, we've made some progress here, too. He admitted that his aunt had a visitor but wouldn't give the name. I finally got him to describe the car. It's a dark Jaguar XKZ. The watch commander believes he's seen the car in the north county and that he may be able to determine the owner. He's making some calls now.

"Good, Sergeant." Detecting tension in De la Peña's voice, Moffat asked "Is there a problem?"

"The kid isn't talking much. He's really nervous. He just about freaks out when I'm in the room."

"Moffat grew concerned. "Is he alone now?"

"Yes."

"Have Officer Tashara and Mrs. Grubb sit with him until I get there."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Moffat thought De la Peña was a bit "freaked out" himself when he joined him outside the interview room at the station. The Sergeant put five quarters into a vending machine, collected a can of Dr. Pepper and took a large drink. He was sweating and flushed. Apparently, the interview with the 15 year old had not gone smoothly, in spite of the fact that they may now have a lead on the sports car.

De la Peña never thought of himself as a bully. Though tall and athletic since childhood, he had always made an effort to be kind to anyone smaller or weaker. It was an important part of his self-image. Now, he worried he may have pushed too hard. The trip to the station was meant just to show Aaron that this was a serious situation. The Sergeant had continued to be a bit tough in the interview room.

"This is a murder investigation. You can't lie to me. It's a serious offense," he had told Aaron.

Aaron had stared at the Sergeant then lowered his eyes, shoulders slumping and both arms resting limply in his lap. From that point, Aaron seemed barely to hear him, his body shaking and answers, when they came, in one or two words.

Moffat and De la Peña switched on the monitor connected to the camera that recorded everything in the interview room. Mrs. Grubb and Officer Tashara were seated at the table with Aaron. There was a plate of brownies in the center. Tashara ate one as she chatted quietly with Mrs. Grubb. Aaron had a plastic water bottle, open, in front of him and was slowly turning the pages of a magazine.

"Looks OK now." Moffat told De la Peña.

As they stood watching the monitor the day shift watch commander came up from behind them. He handed a slip of paper to De la Peña. The most likely driver of the Jaguar had been identified. Moffat tapped on the door of the interview room, entered and sat at the head of the table.

"I'm Alexander Moffat, Aaron. I hope this isn't uncomfortable for you. Most people are a little nervous in a police station." The boy shook his head, staring down at the table.

After a short delay, De la Peña entered the room. Aaron raised his eyes and watched him intently. Aaron's breathing quickened and he blushed slightly.

"Aaron." Moffat drew the teenager's attention back to himself. "You are here voluntarily to cooperate with the investigation of your aunt's death. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you know anything about what happened to your aunt?"

"No."

"...And you last saw her?"

"When I was working in the yard. She was only there about an hour."

"You didn't see her when you were bicycling home?"

"No." He seemed to think it was an odd question.

"What grade are you in, Aaron?"

"I'm a sophomore."

"And what are you studying?"

"English, World History, P.E., Algebra 2..."Aaron was reminded of the test he had missed this day. He felt pain in his stomach. Moffat noticed the pain register on his face.

"Do you like school?"

"It's alright." His expression didn't change.

"Aaron, we know your aunt had a visitor when you saw her yesterday. We think it was your schoolmate Scott Conti."

Aaron turned pale. He clenched his teeth.

De la Peña asked: "What is your relationship with Scott?"

Aaron raised his voice for the first time. "We don't have a relationship. He's a senior. We don't even like each other."

De la Peña leaned toward the boy. "What were you and Scott doing with your aunt? We're bringing him in to talk to us. Why did you lie about him being there?"

"Don't..." Aaron moved his left arm, pushing away from the table and De la Peña. His lower forearm bumped the water bottle. It teetered then fell, a small amount splashing on Aaron's stomach and lap.

"Oh, man!" De la Peña regretted the words as soon as he spoke them. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The teenager turned a very bright red. Moffat passed a small stack of paper napkins to Aaron and began talking calmly.

"This room is a little hot. Jason, would you turn the thermostat down just a bit? Officer Tashara, how are these brownies? Aaron, would you like one?"

De la Peña stood, walked to the far wall and turned the thermostat counter clockwise. Aaron watched him. De la Peña removed his jacket, walked to the corner and hung it neatly on a coat rack. Aaron's eyes never left De la Peña. Moffat thanked Aaron and signaled De la Peña to join him outside.

In the hall, De la Peña raised his hands, palms up, silently asking Moffat "what did I do?"

"Don't worry about it, Sergeant. This kid is having a pretty rough life. I don't think he can help us. Would you ask Officer Tashara to drive him home? Ask her to pick up his bike at the Gillis's on the way."

The watch commander approached them. "Captain, I just got a call. Scott Conti and his father are on their way upstairs."

"Thanks. Sergeant, make sure Aaron stays in number one until we get the Contis in Room 2."

* * *

Nicholas Conti was accustomed to having his way. He had always been a mediocre software engineer but was superb at recognizing what the market place would want. This, combined with his wife's considerable technical skills, had made him wealthy. He shook Moffat's hand.

"We want to help in any way we can, Captain. My son hardly knew Mrs. Gillis. She's been to our house a few times. Her husband is my son's field hockey coach."

"Thank you both for coming down. Please, take a seat."

The elder Conti sat to Moffat's right, his son next to him. Moffat looked directly at the teenager. "Scott, I have a few questions for you. Why did you drive to Veronica Gillis' home yesterday?"

"Who said I was there?"

"Scott," his father admonished. "He was there yesterday around three."

" Yeah. I had to pick up some sodas for the team party. She was donating them."

"How long were you there?"

"About ten minutes is all."

"Can you tell me what you talked about?"

"Nothing really. Just some laughs. She was a funny person."

"Did you see anyone else there?"

"Aaron Jamison was there the whole time working in the yard." A smirk appeared on Scott's face. "Oh, yeah. His aunt told him to get to work. He was dogging it. He gave her a really dirty look. He was pretty mad."

"All right. What did you do the rest of the day?"

"I had practice. Went home for dinner. Did some homework and went to bed."

"So," Moffat said, "from 5:30 to 6:30 you were at your parents' house?"

"Yeah."

Nicholas Conti elaborated. "That's right, Captain. We were at the house spending some time together before dinner. Talking, watching the news."

The watch commander knocked on the door, stuck his head in to say there was an urgent call. Moffat excused himself. During his absence, De la Peña asked about the elder Conti's contacts with Gillis. She had handled real estate transactions for their home and business and had attended several of the Contis parties.

Moffat returned. He thanked the teenager and his father saying he would be in touch if he had any further questions.

As they walked through the office, Scott said to De la Peña "Say hello to Aaron for me. Tell him I'll see him tomorrow."

* * *

De la Peña felt bewildered, not that he would ever describe himself that way. He had expected Moffat to press harder with Conti. That one was the kind of kid a policeman would take an immediate dislike to. The smirk and the attitude that he's better than everyone else - that combination is guaranteed to set off a cop. De la Peña could not imagine why his boss let them go so quickly.

"Break for lunch?" Moffat interrupted De la Peña's musings. They walked the hall to the stair well.

"I didn't believe Conti's story about the soft drinks," De la Peña said as he followed Moffat down the steps.

"It didn't have the ring of truth, did it?"

"No. His father dropped the Chief's name in there. I don't like that. Does he think he can scare us off?"

"Maybe. I've met some rich people who think the rules are different for them. We'll keep an open mind. Being obnoxious doesn't make him a killer."

At the entrance to the cafeteria, De la Peña pulled two plastic trays from the stack, handing one to Moffat. De la Peña greeted the two ladies working the grill and steam table. One of them passed a bowl of beef stew to Moffat as she said "Hi, Jason. Cheeseburger today?"

"Yes and fries extra crispy."

"You got it. Extra fries, extra crispy for our newest policeman." She beamed at the Sergeant.

The ladies whispered to each other and laughed. Moffat turned to De la Peña with an amused look. De la Peña, cheered now, shrugged.

At a table by a plate glass window with a view of the mountains, De la Peña salted his potatoes and thought he would bring up Aaron Jamison.

"I'm sorry about botching the interview with Aaron. I misread him. I just wanted to rattle him a little. Man, that kid is touchy."

"Well, don't worry about it. It's not easy to predict how people will react. Adolescents are harder. We can question him later in a more relaxed environment. Do you have him on your list of suspects, Sergeant?"

"I guess we can't rule it out. The spoiled rich kid said he was mad at his aunt. Maybe he just snapped. He seems like he could."

"Who else do you have so far?"

Sergeant De la Peña chewed thoughtfully, took a drink of cola and said "The husband's usually my first choice. Maybe she was having an affair." De la Peña thought a few more seconds then continued, "He didn't seem like the type to get so jealous he would commit murder."

"I know what you mean. Who else?"

"There's that ghoul Pane. But no, he would have used an axe or a chain saw."

They laughed together.

Moffat added a name. "The sweet Mrs. Pane had a confrontation with the victim just before the murder."

"Oh, that reminds me. I told Officer Fat to check the minimart surveillance camera. If we find Mrs. Pane there buying a ticket, we can drop her."

"Good idea." Shall we pay a visit to Veronica Gillis' real estate office?"

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 5

For the second time Thursday, Moffat rode with De la Peña to Miner's Flat. When the white SUV descended the pass, both men looked to the left up the road to Veronica Gillis's house. Three miles northwest of the old town there was a modern commercial area with an industrial park and three four-story office buildings. De la Peña parked in the lot near a sign that read "Gillis Executive Real Estate Group."

The detectives stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor. Five of Gillis' employees were engaged in conversation, standing with coffee cups in front of the reception desk. At the center of the group was a slim, well-groomed man of about sixty with short gray hair, blue slacks, a tailored pale blue shirt and a dark blue and gold tie.

Moffat approached the receptionist. "I'm Captain Moffat. I'd like to see James Rees,"

"I am James Rees," the gray-haired man said from behind them.

Moffat displayed his badge and he and De la Peña followed Rees to a glass-walled office at the corner. Mrs. Gillis' business occupied the entire floor. Carpeting, cubicles and furniture looked new and expensive. The policemen sat in comfortable leather chairs across the desk from Rees. Moffat noticed a large, ornate gold ring on the second finger of his left hand. The credenza behind Rees, was decorated with a wooden model of a sailing ship, a trophy with a large golden medal and an 8x10 framed color photograph of Rees, a man about the same age, an Asian woman about twenty-five and two average sized dogs with curly dark gray hair, the dogs' faces trimmed to look like old men with goatees.

Moffat began. "Mr. Rees, you have my sympathy for the loss of your colleague."

Rees smiled sadly, nodding. "Thank you, Captain, that is very considerate. You don't always realize how much a part of your life a coworker can be. Ronnie was such a ..." Rees struggled to find the words. "She was such a larger-than-life person. There will be quite an empty space in our small group."

"Mr. Gillis said you had known her the longest."

"That's true. I started working for Laraine while still in my twenties - about the Sergeant's age I would guess." He smiled at them both. "Ronnie began working summers here while she was still in junior college. That was in the 70's. She studied business, got her bachelor's degree and eventually passed the state exam to be a broker. Like her mother, she had a natural talent for finding buyers and helping them find exactly what they want. When Laraine had her stroke, Ronnie took over and never missed a beat."

"Was there ever any resentment about the boss's daughter being groomed for the top?" De la Peña asked.

"Not at all, Sergeant. We have occasional employee turnover, two or three a year, but that is usually because we let them go for poor performance or people leave on their on. Most of the rest of us have worked here for years. Laraine and then Ronnie both had a golden touch. They've always made a lot of money and they've spread it around."

A slender, auburn-haired woman of about thirty-five entered carrying a tray with three steaming mugs. "Café latte, everybody," she said with a wide smile.

De la Peña had detected the sounds and smell of the espresso machine but the plate of warm oatmeal cookies that she placed on the desk was a surprise.

"Very, nice," he said, lifting a mug from the tray.

Moffat thanked the woman for her thoughtfulness.

"Don't you offer your customers refreshments, Sergeant?" Rees asked, laughing.

"Just bread and water."

Rees leaned back sipping from the cup. "You must spend your time in quite a different world than we do. We've never had policemen in this office except with their wives shopping for a home. I met your wife once, Captain, a few years ago. She was in the market for some investment property."

Moffat nodded. This was no surprise.

Rees continued "I recognized her when the paper did a story on you earlier this year." He turned to De la Peña. "Are you married, Sergeant?"

De la Peña was chewing a cookie. He shook his head.

Rees said "No? Well, even so, you may want to think about buying a home. Stop in when you have some time. We can talk about what you would be looking for."

De la Peña thanked Rees and accepted a business card.

Moffat was ready to return to the subject of the meeting. "Mr. Rees, we're hoping you can help us understand what kind of person Mrs. Gillis was in business and in her personal life. It often helps to go outside of the immediate family to get a more complete picture. We also need to know about her current business activities...plans, projects, clients."

"I should be able to help, Captain. I've know her longer than anyone but her mother."

He leaned back, very relaxed, and began to paint a portrait of Veronica Gillis. Moffat and De la Peña soon realized they were in the presence of a shrewd observer of human personality and behavior.

"She was a huge person - not physically, of course - but in the way her voice, her intensity and her desires dominated every activity in which she was involved. You couldn't keep your eyes off of her. She was in constant motion - gesturing, pointing, slapping shoulders, hugging. It could be exhausting being around her sometimes. Her talent was that she could make you see a building or a house or a garden as it was in her mind. In those pictures she would create, you would always see yourself happy whether it was you in a new home or maybe going to the bank to deposit a large check. In my case, she had me seeing myself drinking champagne, winning trophies and buying new clothes. I had five years in this business before she started but it didn't take long before I was awed by that genius of hers.'

"Ronnie didn't do it just for the money. She loved to pull strings, shape a situation to her will. It was a creative exercise for her. She was as much a developer as a realtor. She would plan years ahead to make all the pieces come together. I don't know how many times she would announce a new project and we would soon learn that she had acquired an option for the property, had zoning changed, romanced all the right people, starting years before. I never knew how she did it.'

"Yes, she was one of a kind. Her mother was aggressive and successful but more like a typical smart businessperson. I sometimes wondered if the mother-daughter relationship might be the source of Ronnie's tremendous drive. Not long after Ronnie joined us, I noticed there was a coldness between them. Laraine adored her oldest child, Ronnie's half brother. She spoke to him several times a day. He was a brilliant cellist, destined for great things in New York or Europe. He studied at an arts college in southern California. I think he spent more time playing than studying because he was no where near graduating after four years. Then he drove his car off the road. He rolled it over. He was badly burned and died two days later. He was intoxicated at the time.

"After that, Laraine seemed to have even less affection for her remaining children. She was never the same in work or outside from what I could see. The day she had her stroke, Ronnie cleared out her office and her home and took over. I saw Laraine over the years. The stroke didn't cause that much damage as far as I could tell. She could have come back to work but I think Ronnie made sure it would not happen."

"Interesting," Moffat said more to himself than to the others.

Rees said, "I have been going on, haven't I. Maybe I should let you ask your questions."

"No, it's been very helpful. We need to understand as much as possible in a case like this. Would you tell me about the project at the Miner's Flat church?"

"That was an unusual one. It is the perfect site for a town home development. The tract starts a block from town square opening up like a fan into Granite Creek Canyon with even more room to build up the slopes. It's an easy ten minute walk into town and less than a twenty minute drive to the industrial park. Ronnie must have recognized the potential years ago, even before they built the industrial park. She had the idea of using Granite Creek as a focal point and preserving most of the old church buildings at the entrance. There was one thing really bizarre about this deal. The Church didn't own the land. It belonged to the Richolt family, one of the original 'Founders Five.' Back in 1858, they only leased the land to the original flock of faithful who built the first church in the county. Every year after, for a century, whoever was treasurer at the time would write a check and mail it to the Richolts. The original lease expired in 1958, and the church stopped making payments. Averill Richolt inherited the land in 1980. He never married, never had any children. Ten years before he died, Ronnie persuaded him to sell her an option to buy the property for a price of $800,000, about what it was worth at the time. Now its value has grown at least ten times that. All along, the church thought they owned it. Three years ago, they got into some real trouble. I don't think I have to tell you about that...a youth counselor with a drug problem who should never have been allowed around teenage girls. There was a civil lawsuit, a big award to the plaintiffs. The church could have sold some of the land up the creek and kept the rest to settle the lawsuit if only they had owned it." He chuckled. "The deacons were up the creek, weren't they, Sergeant?"

De la Peña looked up from his notebook and gave a short whistle. "I guess they were."

"Ronnie talked to the plaintiffs' lawyer directly and by the time she was done, the local church had lost whatever claim they may have been able to make on the buildings or the land in exchange for a cash settlement.

"And here is another twist, gentlemen. Five years before Averill sold her the option, Ronnie began an affair with him. He used to stop by the office two or three times a month in the early afternoon. I knew what was going on. He couldn't keep his hands off her. What do you think of that?"

"It is very interesting." Moffat replied. He could see De la Peña was enjoying the interview. There may be a few stains from cookie crumbs on the Sergeant's notes.

Moffat asked: "What will happen to the business, Mr. Rees?"

"I'm not sure. It is obvious Wade Gillis couldn't run it. I don't think he would want to. It may be possible for the employees to buy it. We would have to borrow from our profit sharing accounts and take on a partner or two. We discussed it this morning and there is a lot of enthusiasm for the idea. We'll see, Captain."

* * *

Out once again in the daylight, they walked to the car. De la Peña commented on what a warm, good-natured person James Rees was. "He reminds me of one of my uncles." A worry crossed De la Peña's mind. "You're not going to pin this on him, are you sir?"

Moffat smiled. "We'll see, Sergeant."

* * *

"Wait 'til you see what I've got." Officer Tashara told De la Peña. After her stint minding Aaron Jamison earlier in the day, she had returned to her investigation of the financial files on Veronica Gillis' hard drive.

The Sergeant jumped from his chair and pulled Tashara to Moffat's desk in the corner. "Officer Tashara has something from the victim's computer. Okay, Tashara, let's have it."

She blushed and said, "I can't find anything out of the ordinary. Cash coming in about $15,000 a month, salary and rental income. Going out, less than ten on the average. She was doing really well. No big debts other than mortgages. Cash withdrawals about $400 every couple of weeks. Meals out, gasoline, phones, Internet all charged as business expenses. Maybe something for the IRS but nothing of interest to us."

A disappointed De la Peña complained "I thought you said you had something."

"No. You jumped to that conclusion."

De la Peña lowered his head. "Right, well, thanks. Captain, would you come over to my computer? Officer Fat brought in a CD-ROM with video of Gold Rush Minimart's surveillance cameras. If Mrs. Pane bought her lottery ticket last night, we should see it."

The video file from the CD-ROM showed the date and had a time counter in the lower right of the screen. It started at 5:00 P.M. Sergeant De la Peña fast-forwarded fifty-five minutes, then played the video at normal speed. Mrs. Grubb and Officer Tashara came up on each side of Moffat as he stood behind De la Peña with his hands on the top of the chair. The counter showed 5:58 when Mrs. Pane walked into the camera shot, waiting her turn at the cash register. She handed the clerk two one-dollar bills then left with her ticket. De la Peña moved the cursor to close the window. Four icons appeared. He moved the cursor to the second icon, double-clicked the mouse. The file took about a half a minute to load.

"This should be video from the outside of the store to the street. Maybe we can see which way she goes."

De la Peña located 6:03 on the file. They watched Mrs. Pane walk between an automobile and a van at the gas pump island, disappearing behind the van.

"No. No," De la Peña shouted at the computer screen. "It didn't get her. The camera didn't pick it up."

Moffat had moved very close to the screen, watching the video intently. "Go back, Sergeant. Back to before Pane comes into the picture." De la Peña moved the video back. "There."

At 5:55 on the counter, Moffat tapped the screen. There were two cars on the far side of the island. From each one, a man emerged. Each pulled the nozzle from the pump opposite his vehicle and appeared to begin filling the tank. The men approached each other behind the van then separated just before Mrs. Pane appeared on screen.

"That's Scott Conti, getting out of an Aston Martin Vantage. Where does he get these sports cars?" De la Peña became exited. "Ho, ho. If you're going to give a false alibi, don't go to a place with surveillance cameras. Now the father's got himself in trouble for lying to us." Then, his mood changed once again. "Wait, doesn't that _give_ the kid an alibi?"

"No," Moffat said. "He could easily have driven to the church in time to shoot Gillis at 6:15. I'm not so sure about Mrs. Pane. Could she have walked back from the gas station in time?"

"She could have." Mrs. Grubb shared her opinion. "It would be a brisk walk but I could do it and she's younger."

"Maybe Conti gave her a ride. They could be in it together." De la Peña offered with a chuckle.

"I'll keep that in mind." Moffat said.

Mrs. Grubb walked with Moffat back to his desk. "I have two things to give you, Captain Moffat." She handed him a phone message, the shopping list continuing on the back. "Looks like good news, right?"

Moffat read the list: Four rib eye steaks, parsley, garlic, lemon, red onion, pound cake, strawberries, and rum. Moffat thought they would be having company and that he would be using his gas barbecue for the steaks. Jean would be making Argentine chimichurri steak sauce with the second through fifth items. But the last three ingredients were for ... what? A trifle, maybe. Except that Jean's recipe used brandy and sherry not rum. More seriously, Moffat wondered that Jean would phone today. It was unusual for her to plan to entertain when she knew he was in the early stages of an investigation. Had she told him about dinner guests last week?

"Here's the second thing." Mrs. Grubb whispered, handing Moffat a flash drive. "I loaded some e-mails you should see. Our victim wasn't all business. Her e-mail folder had messages of a 'personal nature' to and from the Chief, the County Exec, two members of the Planning Commission and _Nicholas Cont_ i."

Moffat whispered. "Mrs. Grubb, did you get any indication that one of these men may have become jealous?"

"No. The messages were all quite casual. I might have thought that these could have been only flirtatious but a few statements were made implying actual rendezvous." Mrs. Grubb nodded slowly and knowingly. She watched Moffat for a reaction.

"I see."

* * *

At twenty minutes after six, Moffat drove the two-lane road toward home. The hills were covered in new growth. Scrub oaks and valley oaks were a blue green and short grass around them was bright, pale green. He turned into the gently winding one lane road that led to winery and home. A bag of groceries was on the car floor, his brief case on the passenger seat. Moffat had left De la Peña working with the officers assembling statements from the neighbors whose homes surrounded the crime scene. Ballistics and autopsy results were expected by tomorrow.

Moffat ascended his long driveway and as he rounded the curve he saw a large motor home parked on the concrete beyond the garage. Moffat didn't have to see the "Honk if You're Horny" bumper sticker and the round U.S. Navy decal to know that this was a surprise visit by Norma and Ralph, Jean's aunt and uncle. They could be a challenge, sometimes, but Moffat would always feel affection for them. They were the first, and for a while, only members of Jean's family to welcome him. A nagging mystery at the back of his mind was resolved. The rum was for Ralph's morning coffee.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 6

Nicole Davies left the office early that day, about four-thirty. She had brought her laundry with her, leaving it in trunk of her car so that she could stop at the laundromat on the way home. Nicole was new to Segovia. Just three weeks ago, she transferred to Pacific Gas & Electric's Segovia office. A promotion to accounting supervisor was a great career opportunity and meant a nice raise, either of which would have been sufficient to entice her to leave her hometown of Stockton. She would have preferred to be closer to her mother, sister and niece and nephew but was glad to see the last of a boyfriend who was more serious about water skiing, fishing and beer than their relationship.

Nicole found two washers open. She loaded her colored clothes in one, whites in the other, then relaxed with People magazine for the next fifty minutes. She interrupted her reading only three times: to move the clothes to two dryers, to hang her permanent press garments on cushioned hangers she had brought with her and to phone Denny's with a "to go" order. When she had just arrived a nice looking young man asked about fabric softener sheets - do they cause stains? As she folded her clothes a women with two small children smiled at her. Otherwise she had no contact with the patrons or staff of Pioneer Laundromat. Finished, she lifted the basket with her left arm and gathered the clothes on hangers with her right elbow. She pushed the glass door open with her shoulder, walked to the car and set the basket on the roof while she unlocked the driver's side door. She placed the basket on the floor in the back and lay the hanging clothes on the seat.

Nicole was inside Denny's for just about ten minutes. The hostess opened a Styrofoam container checking that it contained Nicole's order of a cheeseburger and French fries then placed it inside a plastic grocery bag. Nicole paid cash, thanked the hostess and left. Denny's was filling up rapidly with the dinner crowd so quite a few people would have seen the attractive blonde whose hair was slightly disheveled from a day at work and the subsequent errands.

Nicole pulled into the driveway of the house she rented. It was a tiny box of a place sixty feet from the highway, surrounded by a yard of sparse grass and scattered oaks and pines. Its 700 square feet consisted of a living room and kitchen in front and, separated by a short hall, the single bedroom and bathroom. At the end of the hall was a small window. Sometime before Nicole pulled into the front driveway, a man wearing gloves and a ski mask slipped a screwdriver through the latch of the window in the hall and pushed it up to permit easy entry.

The house was already in the shadow of the ridge opposite the backyard so very little light penetrated the interior. The man heard Nicole insert the key in the front door lock. He moved into the doorway of her bathroom as she entered carrying her clothes on hangers. He waited as she hung the clothes in the bedroom then moved to the bedroom doorway when Nicole returned to the car for the folded laundry and her dinner. He heard the car door close, the sound of the alarm being activated by her key chain remote. Nicole entered the kitchen, turned on the light switch and moved toward the sink, away from the man in the hall. Quietly and smoothly, he removed a hypodermic syringe from his pocket, pulled off the orange plastic cap and took two soundless steps to the light switch. He turned off the light and before Nicole could react, covered her mouth with his left hand. He thrust the syringe toward her right buttock. At that moment, Nicole slipped down four inches. The syringe struck her wide leather belt instead of soft flesh, the needle bending as he shoved it. Concurrent with her slipping motion, Nicole slammed her left elbow into his groin and escaped from his grasp. The syringe fell to the floor. The man made a quick effort to pick it up then thought instead to grab Nicole. His hesitation gave her just enough time to pick up the key chain from the counter and fire a shot of pepper spray from a red plastic dispenser on the chain. She fired directly into his face. The man, stunned, turned and ran for the front door. He opened it and ran out chased by Nicole, still armed with the pepper spray. He dashed to the left, ran around the house down into a ravine that separated Nicole's yard from the ridge behind. Nicole's low-heeled sandals slowed her down. She stopped her pursuit and then pressed the panic button on the car remote. The honking horn and flashing lights soon attracted the attention of Nicole's closest neighbor.

* * *

Jean had designed the redwood deck that was placed one step down from the rear side of the wrap-around porch. The deck was a hexagon with rails on the three sides clockwise-from the porch and a solid stucco wall, four feet high, on the remaining sides back to the house. Standing in the center, surrounded by a five-sided bench, was a 25 foot valley oak. In front of the two-walled side of the deck was an outdoor kitchen complete with gas grill, oven, small sink and under the counter refrigerator. This had been Jean's gift to Alexander who for reasons unknown to her, loved to cook outdoors.

Moffat inspected the undersides of the rib eyes and determined it was time to turn them. This he did expertly with long wooden-handled tongs, part of a three-piece barbecue set, a gift from his daughter. He took a sip from a glass of Mendocino malbec. In the kitchen, Jean prepared twice-baked potatoes with Gruyere while her aunt chopped lettuce, cucumber and tomato for a salad. Ralph, who had been supervising Alexander's work with the steaks returned to the kitchen to prepare a second batch of frozen daiquiris. Moffat thought it was a shame that these excellent steaks with Jean's fresh chimichurri sauce would serve only as accessories to the daiquiris as far as their houseguests were concerned.

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.

"Ay...God...damn...sweet Jesus," the Chief shrieked. He did an odd dance about four feet from his original position, flailing but remaining upright and keeping a grip on the golf club. Doyle fell to his knees laughing, followed soon by Giddings. Halvorsen raised his club above his head looking as though he would bring it down on Giddings now curled on the grass, still laughing uncontrollably. Halvorsen moved the club to his left and brought it down in the vicinity of the cigarette, then threw down the club.

"You idiot," he screamed at the assistant chief.

"Sorry, boss, but you did give me permission to use this on you if I ever caught you smoking."

"He's right, Dennis. I was a witness."

"You set me up, Doyle."

"It was for your own good. Now, would you be quiet long enough for me to take this shot? Honestly, if I'd known you would complain this much, I'd have had him shoot you, instead." Doyle lined himself up then fell back two steps and leaned on Giddings, as they resumed laughing.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 8

Cheryl Haugen sat at her desk in the Placer Bank building, holding her head in her hands. She phoned her mother.

"Mom, the police are coming." Hearing Catherine Martius gasp, Cheryl worried that she had shocked her mother. "Mom?"

"Yes...what do they want?"

"I don't really know. What did they ask you Wednesday night? Did you talk about me?"

"No, of course not. Don't tell them about losing your temper in the Café. They might get the wrong idea."

"Somebody must have told them. Why else would they call me? Everybody in town knew Ronnie as well as I did. What other reason would they have?" Cheryl paused. "Maybe I should get a lawyer."

"A lawyer?" Catherine's voice rose. "Why would you need a lawyer? You were at your sorority dinner when she was killed. You've got an alibi, dear."

"No, Mom. I was so tired I stayed home."

"Oh, no."

Her mother's reaction surprised Cheryl.

"Mom, you sound like you think I might have done it. I stayed home. I watched television and I fell asleep."

"I know, I know. It's just that you were so angry at Veronica. People might talk." Then, barely aloud, she said, "Why did you have to stay home that night? You never miss a dinner." Then Catherine returned her attention to her daughter. "Dear, you can't get a lawyer. Everyone would think you're guilty."

"I guess. Well, I didn't want the police here at the bank so I said I'd meet them at home at 1:30. I better get going. I'll phone you afterwards."

Cheryl hung up the phone and returned her head to her hands. Her mother's reaction unsettled her, adding to the anxiety growing since Sergeant De la Peña had phoned. Her mother had been quite concerned about the prospect of police questioning. Cheryl wondered how Catherine would have reacted if she'd known the rest of the story.

* * *

Moffat and De la Peña reached the front porch of Cheryl Haugen's brown, two story in a densely packed neighborhood of the 1970's expansion of Miner's Flat, east of the old town just as Cheryl pulled into her driveway. She rushed up the walk, apologizing for being late, unlocked the door and preceded them into the living room.

When they were seated, Cheryl at the edge of a recliner and Moffat and De la Peña deep in a low couch, Moffat thanked her for her cooperation in the investigation of the death of Veronica Gillis. He waited for a response, watching.

Haugen, breathing heavily, pulled at the edges of her light green, knitted suit jacket. It seemed, to Moffat to be slightly small for her. Her wide face, framed by straight light brown bangs and sides, reflected momentary confusion.

"Oh, well...you're welcome."

De la Peña opened his notebook and took down the necessary biographical information. Then Moffat asked "Would you describe your relationship with Mrs. Gillis?"

Haugen took a deep breath. "We knew each other all our lives. Our grandfathers owned a lumber mill together. We went to school together, through high school, that is. I went away to college. Ronnie stayed here, working for her mother part-time." Haugen paused. When neither policeman said anything, she continued. "We saw each other often around town and did business together but we weren't really close."

"Would you describe what happened the last time you saw Mrs. Gillis?"

Moffat could see the familiar look of a person rapidly calculating the pros and cons of telling a lie or something less than the whole truth. Haugen was uncomfortable here in her own living room and was clearly nervous.

"My mother and I saw her at the Miner's Flat Café Wednesday morning. We had just finished our breakfast. She was doing business on the cell phone."

"Did you speak to her?" Moffat was willing to give this potential suspect - which is what she was to him until the facts of the case proved otherwise - the opportunity to lie to him.

"Yes, we discussed a business matter." Cheryl watched the detectives then clearly decided it would be better to be forthcoming. "It was a transaction between her and my daughter. I complained that she hadn't got the best price when she sold my daughter's house. I was a little angry."

Moffat asked, "Did you feel Gillis had cheated your daughter?"

"I never said that. It was really quite a short conversation. She had another call. Mother and I left."

"Please tell me how you spent the rest of your day."

Moffat watched the realization of being a suspect sink in.

Haugen exhaled forcefully again. "I walked Mother home then drove back to my office. I came home just after five and spent the evening here."

"We're you alone?"

"Yes."

"Any phone calls or visitors? ...Neighbors who might have seen you?"

"No, no calls. I usually phone my mother and my daughter every night when I'm home. They weren't expecting me to call because I usually go out on the second Wednesday of the month. But I was tired the other night so I stayed home and I didn't feel like talking on the phone either." She watched for a reaction from the officers but saw none. She sighed. "I didn't see any of the neighbors."

"So you never left the house after about five fifteen?"

"No. I was home all night."

Moffat slowly moved his eyes from Haugen's face and looked around the room and the adjoining kitchen and dining room. The rooms were clean but in need of fresh paint and new carpeting. It was decorated in earth tones. These, Moffat believed but was not sure, were popular in the 70's and 80's. There was no clutter except for eight moving boxes stacked two high along the wall of the dining room.

"Thank you, Mrs. Haugen. We'll contact you if we have any more questions."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Moffat sat at his desk with a ballistics test report on the handgun from the scene of the crime. The report confirmed that the revolver was in fact the murder weapon.

"No surprise there," De la Peña said from across the room.

Moffat pulled the weapon from a plastic bag on his desk. "A Smith and Wesson Model 60 Lady Smith. Stainless steel, light-weight, compact. No prints. It was manufactured in 1968 but is in excellent condition."

* * *

"Do you think this means that the killer is a woman? With that opalescent handle it's a very lady-like weapon," Mrs. Grubb offered from behind them.

Moffat shook his head. "We can't assume that. Sergeant, any results tracing the ownership?"

"Nothing reported missing in our records. It's a pretty old gun. We won't hear back from Sacramento for a few days."

De la Peña picked up a typed report. "Officer Tashara spoke to Gillis' doctor. She had a regular prescription for birth control."

"Birth control?" Mrs. Grubb was surprised. "I would have thought she was past that. How old was she?"

Moffat responded. "Fifty-two. Does the report say what it was prescribed for, Sergeant?"

"Yes. For contraception. She'd been taking it the entire time Dr. Mackay treated her, which goes back to 1992." De la Peña read on for a few seconds then added "No prescribed drug that might have shown up as meth on the blood test. Looks like she was taking it for recreation." He walked to Moffat's desk and placed the report in a large folder already stuffed with pages of other reports and witness statements.

Moffat sorted through the crime scene photos and report from the crime scene unit. The analysis revealed that the bullet had been fired from behind Gillis, about ten feet and from a height of about four and a half feet, downward into her back. He now had a murder weapon but no witnesses other than Michelle and the architect who heard the shot. There was no physical evidence of any apparent value. Initial interviews turned up some people in Gillis' life who may have had a motive to kill her.

Mrs. Grubb sat across the desk from De la Peña, pouring tea from a pot into two mugs. She added milk and sugar to each, stirred, then passed one cup to De la Peña and, leaning back in the chair, she sipped from the second cup.

Moffat found a steaming cup of coffee on his own desk. "Thank you, Mrs. Grubb. So, the Sergeant puts his money on the husband."

"You do?" she asked.

"Well, now I'm not so sure about this case...after interviewing Cheryl Haugen, but usually I look at family first," De la Peña said, displaying a sly grin. "I wouldn't know from experience, but apparently there's nothing like marriage to bring out thoughts of murder."

Mrs. Grubb and Moffat laughed.

Moffat said "I've never considered it but I may have pushed Jean a little too far on occasion. If I miss one more dinner with her aunt and uncle, who knows what she might do. So, should I assume Wade Gillis is still on your list?"

"Yes. Remember when we asked him about children? He said something like 'Ronnie couldn't get pregnant.' If that's true, why was she taking birth control pills? Maybe he found out she'd lied to him all these years. Hey, what if he's on steroids?"

"Interesting. What about other members of the family?"

"Who knows? Long lost brother or the sister-in-law hoping to inherit something? Aaron might have snapped. He seems to be a little emotional." De la Peña paused for a few seconds than added, "What did you think of the mother?"

"Possibly too frail to drive herself to the church. As to motive, there's nothing obvious but I'm sure there could be a dozen possible reasons if we dig deeply."

Moffat drew a line across the page, then wrote 'other suspects.' "Who else?"

De la Peña quickly listed the Reverend Pane, Mrs. Pane, Cheryl Haugen, Scott Conti, an unknown lover, and unknown business associate. Moffat wrote the names on the paper.

"Alibis are a problem." Moffat suggested.

"Captain, have you noticed that all the potential suspects in this case don't have an alibi? It's almost annoying."

"True, with the exception of the sister-in-law, Aaron's mother. We've confirmed she was at work at the time of the shooting. But you're right about everyone else. Gillis and his mother-in-law claim to have been in the same house at the time of the murder but neither can confirm that the other was there. Neither of the Panes knew where the other was. Aaron and Scott were both in the area at the time. Haugen was alone. Of course, our shooter may not have been any of these.

"When we get the background checks, we'll pour over them, look for any history of violence or anything to suggest one of them could be our killer. For now, the gun is our only promising path. If we can link it to any one of these people, that should point the way."

Moffat tapped a paper from the file on his desk. "Officer Fat's interviews in the neighborhood turned up a witness who may have been the last to see Gillis before she was murdered." Seeing De la Peña's eyebrows rise, he added "Don't get your hopes up. The witness is a four year old. He saw an "orange lady" pass by while he played in the front yard.

"That's almost the way I would have described her hair color and outfit," Mrs. Grubb offered.

"His mother figures that would have been a few minutes before six."

"Sounds about right," De la Peña said.

Moffat closed the folder on his desk. "Sergeant, would you have the team wrap up the background checks and give us what ever they have by tomorrow morning. Let's plan on talking to Wade Gillis again. I'm going to take off now. I want to watch the chief's press conference at home."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 9

Saturday, May 13

Ten miles outside of the Central Valley town of Elk Grove, Mrs. W. O. Gavin held the kitchen door to her house open. Four people came out - a woman nearly eighty carrying an eight-week old gray, curly haired puppy, her two middle-aged sons and her daughter-in-law. The four were a cheery group and put Mrs. Gavin in a good mood, helped by the $300 they had just paid for the dog. Gavin walked them to a dark blue mini-van. She handed the dog's AKC papers to one of the sons then helped the older woman with her seat belt and patted the puppy on the head. A white pick-up had parked directly behind the van so that the van driver had to pull forward and execute an awkward three-point turn, carefully avoiding the pick-up as he drove over the dirt and gravel driveway to the highway. Mrs. Gavin waved once more. Her smile faded quickly. She nodded to the driver of the pick-up. Mr. Howard was the name he had given three years ago and he claimed to be from Santa Cruz. Though it was only 75 degrees this morning, the sun was bright and he looked hot and irritable in the truck. Mrs. Gavin turned her back to him and went into the house for her husband. He could deal with Mr. Howard, she decided.

A minute later Mr. Gavin came from the house, followed by his wife. "Good morning, Mr. Howard. How was the drive?" the husband asked.

"Fine."

A young male adult schnauzer in the truck with Howard began to yap at the Gavins.

"Shut up," Howard snapped. The dog lay on the seat, its head between its paws. Mrs. Gavin watched Howard fold a newspaper - the Segovia Ledger Dispatch - and place it between the seats.

Howard hopped down from the cab and walked behind the truck where he unlocked the top and bottom gate of a camper shell. He leaned into the bed of the truck and slid out a three by two foot cage containing seven schnauzer puppies, setting it on the lawn next to the truck.

"I'm sorry, $60 apiece is the best I can do," Mr. Gavin said. "There seem to be a lot of us breeders these days. Pet Stores can pretty much tell us the price."

"That's okay. You got the male?"

Gavin pointed toward a fenced area next to the house. Howard gathered the dog from the cab of his pick up and followed the Gavin's to the dog pen. Gavin picked up a nearly identical male, miniature salt and pepper schnauzer, also about two years old. Howard dropped his dog into the pen. The dog stood on his hind legs with his paws on the fence and looked at Howard.

"You take your share," he said to the dog gruffly. He turned back to the Gavins. He took the dog from Gavin with his left hand. Gavin took a roll of currency from his front pocket and counted out three hundred dollar bills and six twenties into Howard's right hand. Mrs. Gavin watched, unsmiling.

"Good luck, Mr. Howard. I guess we'll see you in the fall," Gavin said. "Only, you better call first. We may finally sell this place by then. Gavin felt a bit embarrassed as Howard looked out at the house and barn, both in need of paint, and the empty fields that hadn't even grown alfalfa in over three years. Howard turned and walked back to the truck, set the dog in the passenger seat and backed out with a wave of his left hand through the window.

Mrs. Gavin shook her head with a frown and followed her husband to the back of the house.

* * *

Five minutes later, a white pickup pulled into a shaded parking space in a small Elk Grove corner shopping center. From the front window of the Cyber Café, the attendant watched the driver lower the windows three inches, lock the truck and walk to the door. The man paid for one hour of Internet use.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 10

Sunday, May 14

It was late Sunday morning at the Mountain View Lodge. Jean and Alexander were seated with her aunt and uncle in the outdoor patio at a table with a view of the highest snowcapped peaks of the Sierra in the distance, lower, dark green pine covered mountains in the foreground. The morning was brisk but made comfortable by tall propane heaters spaced evenly among the tables. Retired Navy Chief Ralph scouted the tables as soon as they arrived and informed the maitre de' that this would be the best for Police Captain Moffat's party. The four celebrated with champagne and orange juice. Moffat had suggested to Jean that they show their houseguests the picturesque village of Miner's Flat. She agreed and on the drive to the Lodge had joined her aunt and uncle in insisting that he go past Veronica Gillis' home and the scene of her murder. After brunch, the other three would continue their sightseeing with a visit to Columbia State Park, a well-preserved gold rush town off of highway 49 in the north. Moffat would catch a ride with De la Peña to a 12:30 p.m. memorial service at the Miner's Flat Boys and Girls Club Sports Complex.

Aunt Norma was delighted to offer her theory on the crime. "So, anyway, Jeannie, like I was saying, my money's on the husband. It's usually the husband, isn't it, Alex?"

"You sound like my Sergeant."

Ralph disagreed with his wife's analysis. "They'd been married twenty-something years, for Pete's sake. Speaking from experience, if you were going to murder your wife, you would have already done it. I hardly ever think about shooting you anymore, dear."

* * *

An hour and a half later, Moffat and De la Peña took positions on opposite sides of the room to observed a significant part of the population of Miner's Flat turn out for a service for one of their more illustrious citizens. The event was held in the auditorium of the Sports Complex, reflecting both Veronica Gillis' significant role in the funding and construction of the Complex and her lack of membership or interest in any of Miner's Flat's churches, its synagogue or its temple. Sensing a leadership vacuum from within the honoree's family, the Reverend Joseph Moore of the thriving Unitarian Universalist congregation organized the event and served as master of ceremonies.

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 jojomo@hotmail.com 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 and 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.

"Those are small cottages, two bedroom, one bath on medium sized lots. They were built in the 1950's."

Mrs. Grubb passed a mug of coffee with cream to Moffat, and then poured a small amount of milk into the two remaining cups before filling them with tea from the pot. She put a spoonful of sugar in each, stirred and offered one cup to De la Peña. He placed the file on the table, accepted the cup and helped himself to a half sandwich of cheese and tomato. Moffat observed that the crusts had been removed from four of the six half sandwiches including the one De la Peña held.

"Sergeant, I want you to identify all open case files of missing women or crimes against women. Let's go back to 1968."

"'68? Wow."

"Ms. Davies thought her attacker moved like an older man. If he is as old as sixty, I want to check anything going back to when he would have been about twenty-two. I'm assuming, for now, he has never been caught, so we'll stick to open cases."

During slow periods the previous five years, Mrs. Grubb and two other clerks had typed the handwritten crime logs from 1980 to 1993 into the computerized database the department had placed in use in 1998. Electronic logs from 1994 to 1997 had been converted to the new format when it was launched in 1998. Just two weeks earlier, De la Peña had sorted the database to show open cases of crimes against persons and missing persons for the previous ten years. These had been retrieved from archives and were in two stacks of folders on the table. While he ate, De la Peña opened the database and manipulated it to prepare a listing of the same crimes and missing persons - for female subjects only--dating back to 1980. In the meantime, Mrs. Grubb removed copies of the typewritten department logs from a folder in her desk. She selected logs from 1968 through 1980. Mrs. Grubb then removed the staples from each year's listing, took the sheets into the break room where she photocopied the photocopies before replacing the staples and returning the original copies to her desk drawer. Next she took a pink highlighter and a ruler and began to mark case entries using the same sorting criteria the Sergeant was employing on the electronic database.

Moffat dutifully selected the two half sandwiches with the crusts and took them, his coffee and the Amy Price folder to his desk. As he ate, he studied this file and the one he and De la Peña had begun for the Nicole Davies crime.

Moffat checked the Price file for any tip coming into the police about a black van. There were some anonymous tips, all investigated with no results, but no mention of the van.

"Biscuits?" Moffat looked up to see Mrs. Grubb removing three shortbread cookies from a package and placing them on De la Peña's plate. She offered the package to Moffat. He shook his head.

Moffat smiled. "Am I mistaken, Mrs. Grubb, or are you trying to turn Sergeant De la Peña into a proper Englishman?"

"Afternoon tea is good for the brain, Captain Moffat," Mrs. Grubb stated with certainty then added, "Anyway, if anything I would turn him into a Scotsman."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 14

The Land Rover descended the curving canyon road, following Bear Creek most of the way to Highway 86. Three people who comprised the entirety of Veronica Gillis' family at the memorial service, husband Wade, mother Laraine and nephew Aaron sat silently, each with their separate thoughts. Gillis drove, Aaron sat in front and Laraine in back. Laraine was surprisingly exhilarated. She had tapered off the alcohol consumption - she had not had anything at the reception - and, without consulting her doctor, had cut back on the pills she believed made her lightheaded. She hadn't said a word to anyone about her plans. That is what was remarkable, she thought. For the first time in years she was making plans. As Wade slowed to five miles per hour to take the sharpest curve before the road joined Highway 49, Laraine realized that, at age 77, she was ready for a new beginning.

Wade turned right at the junction so that he could drop off his nephew. He felt relief that the service was over. He looked forward to changing clothes and spending the rest of the day lifting weights and watching basketball on television. He was also looking forward with pleasure to the prospect of returning to work tomorrow at the construction site and coaching the field hockey team after work. A thought never crossed his mind about the business and what would become of it. It wasn't that he assumed Rees or Ronnie's attorney would handle it, he just didn't think at all about it.

Of the three, Aaron was the one trying not to think. He listened to The Fray's _How To Save A Life_ , then played it a second time. He saw nothing of the passing stores, restaurants and trees but subconsciously knew to reach into his jeans' front pocket for his house key when the Land Rover neared the gas station. Aaron's level of awareness of the pain in the center of his stomach was roughly the same as his knowledge of the Land Rover's location. He turned away from any thought of the pain, which itself was unrelated to Scott's punch from earlier in the day but had in fact been with him since the age of twelve.

Wade drove through the asphalt parking lot past the gas station and pulled into a slot near the stairs. Aaron had unbuckled his seat belt. He whispered "see ya" and jumped out of the car without looking at either his uncle or his grandmother. Laraine watched Aaron walk up the few feet to the stairs, then slowly ascend, his shoulders slumped. Laraine felt a pang of sadness and some regret watching him drag himself, carrying an invisible burden.

Aaron slid the key into the lock of the front door of the apartment. His mother's bedroom door was open a few inches. The room was darkened by the pulled blinds and closed curtains. He heard her breathing heavily as she slept. Aaron entered the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. He carefully avoided eye contact with his mirror image as he opened his mother's prescription temazepam pill container. There were five pills left. He emptied the container into his hand, tossed all five into his mouth, then filled a glass with three ounces of water and washed the pills down.

Aaron closed and locked his bedroom door. He kicked off his shoes and took off his outer shirt. He lay on the bed, on top of the blankets and bedspread. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid down the zipper but left them on. He briefly wondered what it would feel like, then decided he didn't care. Stretched out, slightly on the diagonal, Aaron turned up the volume on his iPod.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 15

De la Peña collected the dishes, cups and teapot and placed them in the sink of the break room. He had completed the database sort requested by the Captain and had printed three copies of the seven page table. Mrs. Grubb continued the same task on the non-computerized records. Using very hot water and dishwashing soap, with the obsessiveness of a young man new to domestic chores, he scrubbed the dishes, cups and utensils, rinsed them twice, and placed them to air dry in the plastic drainer. He wrung the dishcloth and wiped down the granite counter top.

In the office, Moffat spoke by phone with the Chief. The detectives would form a task force staffed with six officers to be loaned from other divisions. They would operate out of the Team Center, the largest of three multi-purpose/conference rooms in the Police Department's wing of the County Administration building. The Chief told Moffat the room and the team would be ready by 7:00 AM the next day.

De la Peña reentered the office. He slipped behind Mrs. Grubb, seated at her desk, to collect the reports from the printer. Unaware of his presence, she continued her work with the ruler and highlighter.

Of the file storage boxes of case files already in their possession from the ongoing open case review, De la Peña selected less than a quarter. These he placed on Moffat's desk while the Captain completed his phone conversation with the Chief then made a short call to his wife.

The office was silent now except for the hum of the computers and turning of pages. De la Peña emptied a box for the files he had given Moffat and consolidated the remaining ones in three boxes. He replaced their cardboard lids and stacked them by the office door. He took his keys and jacket from his desk then, holding the office door open with his hip, lifted one of the boxes by the cutouts on each side, and carried it through the hall, and down the outside wooden stairway, where he set it on the sidewalk. De la Peña walked to the end of the parking lot, got in his car and backed it to the bottom of the stairway. He opened the trunk and slid the file box to the back. De la Peña ran back up the stairs and arrived at the office as the other two were collecting their things. He and Moffat carried the remaining boxes to De la Peña's car. The three then drove separately around the block to the Administration building.

Taking just seconds to drop off her sweater and large bag, Mrs. Grubb showed De la Peña to the Records room. He began calling out the dates and case numbers listed on his print out and her mark up. Her head bobbed up and down rapidly as she located the years with the upper part of her bifocals then searched for the case number with the lower lens. The Sergeant placed a check next to each line of the list as she pulled each folder and placed it in an empty file box in order by date.

Just under an hour later, the two had collected 124 case files and brought them to the conference room. Working from oldest forward, Moffat, De la Peña, and Mrs. Grubb took a quick look at each file to determine if it was in fact an open case. As they had expected, many were actually closed. A perpetrator had been identified, apprehended and charged or, in the case of missing persons, the woman or girl had been accounted for. Department summary records had not been updated.

"No wonder Chief Halvorsen's predecessor had such lousy crime stats," De la Peña observed. "His department never closed out the paperwork."

"Things were different in those days, Jason," Mrs. Grubb said. "They didn't use to analyze everything the department did. We didn't get funding other than from the county so there weren't so many reports to provide the state and federal bureaucrats. Of course, our population was much smaller, as well. Chief Andrews tracked everything in his head. He managed from gut feel. He was very popular in the county until...well, his third visit to rehab."

The initial check of the folders eliminated nearly half of the cases. Satisfied that Moffat had what he needed for now, Mrs. Grubb announced she would be going home. She never missed the Sunday night widowed persons dance at the Segovia Ranch House Inn and had just enough time to bathe, dress and collect girlfriends Iris and Isobel and arrive at seven.

Moffat and De la Peña decided to review the remaining files beginning with the most recent and working backwards through the four decades of cases. Each detective would pull a folder, examine the facts of the case and, if he believed it could be eliminated from consideration, would present a summary and confirm with the other that it could be returned to Records without further attention. Periods of silence as they each read a file would give way to brief discussions and quick resolution. De la Peña occasionally asked for help deciphering an officer's handwritten notes. They agreed to eliminate the case of a missing teenage girl with a drug history. Next, Moffat presented the case of a middle-aged homicide victim whose husband was the prime suspect. He had shot himself without a note before arrest. De la Peña concurred that this one would be added to the return stack. The stack of folders for further investigation grew more slowly but steadily. The detectives agreed to eliminate more than a few cases of battery in which the woman refused to cooperate. They assumed a person known to the victim--a boyfriend or husband-- was responsible for the crime. In a 1984 case that struck both Moffat and De la Peña as unusual but unrelated to their current search, two unrelated women ages 47 and 49, living together in a large trailer twelve miles from Segovia and three miles from the nearest residence, were killed by a propane gas tank explosion and fire that was determined not to be accidental. Many cases of teenage runaways and missing adult women were eliminated from consideration when the file revealed they had some later contact with the family, usually a phone call from a large city, following their disappearance.

Two more hours passed in this way. When they finished, Moffat and De la Peña were left with two dozen cases for further investigation. These included:

two bodies, no sign of sexual assault

two bodies with evidence of sexual assault

fifteen missing persons

three rape cases, unidentified attacker

one unidentified stalker

one exhibitionist.

Satisfied, Moffat aligned the folders in a neat stack in the center of the table. He was eager to study these twenty-five crimes---including Nicole Davies--with a mixture of curiosity and cautious optimism that there was a puzzle and it could be solved with the help of this information. Aware of the time, he decided to postpone this particular pleasure. "Shall we take a dinner break?"

\--------------

Whelan's Irish Pub, a twenty-year old establishment just off Main Street, half a block from the County Administration Building, had great crowds at weekday lunchtime and happy hour from government workers. On weekends and evenings it was popular with the more recent transplants to Segovia County. Moffat and De la Peña fit both customer profiles. The pub, like all businesses in California, was smoke-free. The detectives were greeted with the enticing smell of fried potatoes, beer and wood polish as they entered just as the sun had set. From behind the bar, Jack Whelan greeted Moffat by name. Tall slim, silver-haired with a face that looked at least three decades younger than his 70 years, he moved gracefully among the patrons, always with a pint glass to pick up or deliver.

De la Peña followed Moffat to a booth on the wall opposite the entrance. Whelan met them, dropping a cardboard Smithwick's coaster in front of each.

"Welcome. How are you, Captain? Where are Mrs. Moffat and your daughter tonight?"

"Jean is home, entertaining her aunt and uncle. Allison is back at her apartment in Sacramento. Mr. Whelan, this is Sergeant De la Peña. He has just moved here from Los Angeles."

Whelan's eyes widened. "Ah, Los Angeles. It's a wonderful town. I have a granddaughter studying at UCLA. We've just been to see her last month. She's quite happy there. She wants to be a teacher. Did you live near there, Sergeant?"

"Not far. I grew up in the San Fernando Valley."

"Very nice. What can I serve you gentlemen tonight?"

Moffat ordered a pint of Guinness, the dark liquid brewed in Dublin tasting of oatmeal and molasses and served in Irish Pubs around the world. De la Peña glanced down the drink menu and quickly selected Magner's Irish Cider. Both choices met with Whelan's approval. He returned to the bar to begin the five- minute process of drawing the Guinness.

"Before Whelan gets back and asks it, let me. How did you happen to choose to leave your hometown and the LAPD to come up here, Sergeant?"

De la Peña had been interviewed by three high-ranking officers including Deputy Chief Weber but had not met Moffat until several days after starting the job, when the Deputy Chief told him he had decided to assign him to the Crimes against Persons department. It was quite unexpected but some quick research about his new boss, within the force and via the Internet, convinced De la Peña that this was a lucky turn. His first two weeks had been uneventful, but De la Peña had seen the statistics and trends and was grateful for the extra time to settle in to his new home and job. During his interviews, De la Peña had expressed interest in the career opportunities afforded by Segovia's rapidly growing police force. De la Peña had an outstanding record with the LAPD and would be offered a promotion to Sergeant by Weber to entice him to move. De la Peña gave these reasons to Moffat.

"Still, it's a big change to leave your hometown, friends and family. But kind of exciting I would guess. No steady relationship to impact the decision, Sergeant?"

A waitress brought two full pint glasses. De la Peña tasted his drink. He was relieved to discover it was hard cider and that he had not inadvertently ordered a soft drink. He waited a few extra seconds to resume the conversation.

"No. No girlfriend, no attachments. That was one reason why I thought it was a good time to make a move."

Moffat nodded and took a big drink through an inch of foam in his glass.

"What other reasons?"

"Well, I wanted a change. I went to school within ten miles of my parents' house. I'd worked for five years and still hadn't left the part of town I was born in. Plus this was a chance to move up faster than I could have with the LAPD."

Nodding again, Moffat asked to hear about the Sergeant's family. De la Peña described a big family, two older brothers, two younger sisters and a third brother, the youngest. His father worked as a machinist for a rocket engine manufacturer. His mother had only worked outside the home temporarily at various retail and clerical jobs. The parents had insisted that education came before sports, social activities and part-time jobs. As a result, the oldest three had all earned college degrees and the youngest three were enrolled and doing well.

"What do your brothers do for a living?" Moffat asked.

De la Peña attempted to sound casual in his reply. "They are LAPD also. They joined the force three years before I did."

"Interesting. I'm the only policeman in the extended family. How was your relationship with your brothers?"

De la Peña realized that Moffat was zeroing in on his primary reason for leaving Los Angeles. None of the interviewers, his friends or his family had drawn this out of him. De la Peña was impressed that the Captain had so quickly arrived at this point. He wondered if this was a skill acquired through twenty-five years of interviewing witnesses and suspects. He guessed it might be a natural talent, the product of intelligence and personality.

"Actually, we aren't all that close. I decided to become a cop when I was still in high school. My oldest brother was a year out of college, working in a bank, bored, when he decided to apply. My other brother was finishing school the same year and just followed him."

"So you didn't think they were serious enough about law enforcement as a career."

De la Peña thought to himself, Yeah, among other things. He realized that Moffat would have the whole story. Perhaps the cider was taking affect. Whatever the cause, De la Peña felt like talking.

"My brothers have never been serious about anything. School...work... women... our family. It's all a joke to them. They acted like it was funny when I passed the exam for detective. They had three extra years on the force but I outranked them. It was a wonder I got anywhere with the reputation those two had. They would goof off the whole shift, then, to get some overtime, they would pull some guy over in an old car and look for outstanding warrants. Usually they'd go for some black guy or Mexican. Sooner or later they'd find somebody who was wanted for something. Then they'd bring him back to the station and get a couple of hours at time and a half doing the paperwork. They would harass homeless people when they were bored. Hide their stuff...or, once, they stole some poor guy's shoes. They are my brothers but they're still assholes. Anyway, I didn't want to have to put up with them everyday at work, so I looked for a good opportunity away from Los Angeles." De la Peña looked at Moffat, wondering what kind of reaction he would have.

"I can understand that. I only have a sister. She's two years younger. We always got along pretty well. I guess with a bigger family it's more complicated. How did your parents react to your decision?"

"They weren't very happy. My father thought it was a bad career move, leaving so soon after making detective. And, if they had their way, all of us would live with them until we get married. I think they're glad I didn't move any farther away." De la Peña watched Moffat nod thoughtfully. When Moffat said nothing, De la Peña resumed. "I don't think my parents' have any idea how I feel about my brothers. I guess they just assumed it was some normal sibling rivalry. We were all three fairly good athletes in high school. Varsity track and baseball. I was a better student than either of them so that became a big deal with them. I had to lock up my term papers to keep them from disappearing just before they were due."

"And your younger siblings?" Moffat asked with a tilt of his head."

"My sisters and younger brother and I are all close. They knew how my older brothers were. Maybe I absorbed most of it but they got plenty of harassment and ridicule from those two. Since we all became adults, we pretty much steer clear of them."

De la Peña stared into his glass. He felt protective, thinking about Angela, Jackie and Steven. He was especially concerned about his younger brother. Steven had just turned twenty. Thin, uninterested in sports and not tough in the way that De la Peña knew he and his older brothers were, Steven seemed a prime target for their abuse. De la Peña worried that with him gone from the scene, those two might target Steven.

Whelan appeared at their table. True to Moffat's prediction, he questioned De la Peña about his reasons for leaving Los Angeles. He was fascinated as De la Peña gave him a version of the story he had just told Moffat that covered only his brothers' potential to harm the family name within the L.A.P.D, omitting the details of earlier life within the family. For some reason, Whelan was convinced that the Sergeant's parents would visit Segovia soon and wanted De la Peña to promise to bring them to the Pub. Then he took their dinner order, cheese and onion pasty with chips and beans for Moffat, fish and chips for De la Peña.

The first round relaxed both of them. With the arrival of the second, De la Peña was determined to learn about Moffat's most famous case.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 16

"It was a fascinating case. Jeffrey Donald Bird committed his first homicide in 1988. He soon named himself A.C.K. for Arcade Creek Killer. During the next three and a half years, he killed four more times and wrote four letters to news organizations. I was assigned to the task force in 1991, when the ranking officer from the Sacramento police retired and the Sheriff's department's representative was in the hospital. Did you know there was a book written about it?"

De la Peña nodded. He had ordered it from Amazon.

Moffat continued. "A best seller written by the District Attorney. He thought it might carry him all the way to the Attorney General's office, but he lost in the primary."

Moffat had been interviewed by several national media organizations during the promotion campaign for the book. He had memorized a concise version of the story, covering his role in the case. It was this version he provided De la Peña during dinner at the pub.

This serial killer who terrorized the population of Sacramento and its suburbs during those three and a half years tried to use a different method on each of his victims. He stabbed the first, shot the second and bludgeoned the third. He took a gun with him as back up, though, and ended up using it on his last victim. He had strangled his fourth victim, a young woman, after dark in an empty church parking lot. When the victim's boyfriend surprised the killer, he was shot with the same gun as the second victim. The targets were selected at random and stalked for several days before the attacks. Some homicides were committed within the city limits, others nearby in the unincorporated parts of the county. This m.o. prevented police from quickly recognizing that the crimes were connected. That, in turn, prevented the killer from receiving the attention he felt his crimes warranted. Immediately after the third killing, he sent his first letter to the press. By the time investigators linked the second, fourth and fifth killings because of the use of the gun, they and the general public had already accepted that there was a serial killer methodically committing a murder every four to six months.

After sending his first two letters to well-known television reporters, A.C.K. sent his third letter to a new reporter at the Sacramento Bee newspaper. All three letters had the same rambling style, gruesome details and taunting of the police officers on the case. They were quickly determined to be authentic. The news agencies agreed to omit the crime details but could not be dissuaded from publishing the excised letters.

Moffat told De la Peña he had the good fortune to ask himself why the killer had selected the newspaper reporter to receive his latest letter. He investigated her background. She was twenty-three, had graduated from Long Beach State before beginning a one year internship in Washington D.C. At the close of that year, she accepted an offer with great potential and low pay from the Bee, arriving in Sacramento in 1991, after the first three killings.

Moffat found that the Bee had published four articles by this young reporter before she received her letter from the killer. All four stories covered a single local issue - a plan by the County maintenance department to cut down nearly two hundred eucalyptus trees on a major boulevard. The trees were thirty years old and considered a safety hazard. Some residents of this part of the county objected to the plan. An ad hoc organization formed to oppose the proposal at hearings conducted by the Planning Department. The "Save the Trees" group used positive coverage from the young reporter's stories to generate expanding opposition and for a time, delay the removal.

Moffat decided to look for a suspect from among the two hundred or so members of the tree protectors. He found two law enforcement retirees within or familiar with the group. He believed he could rely on them to assist in the investigation and keep it a secret. When the next public hearing was held, Moffat and three other plainclothes policemen were in attendance, along with three department videographers, surreptitiously taping the participants. Unfortunately, someone failed to keep the secret. Whispering began and within minutes, the entire room had gained awareness that a young police detective was within their midst.

One week later, Moffat learned that he was on the right track. The fourth A.C.K. letter arrived, once again directed to the Bee's female reporter, who by this time had published two articles about the crime spree and investigation. This letter identified Moffat by name and included a paragraph that struck like a blade to the chest. The writer accurately described Jean taking a girl to soccer practice. The writer incorrectly assumed that the girl was their daughter. In fact, she was a teammate of Allison's. Moffat realized that the killer had identified him and his wife, knew where he lived and had followed Jean at least for the time it took to drive from their house to the soccer field. Guards were immediately in place protecting Moffat's family and that of Allison's friend.

In the meantime, Moffat and the other investigators identified the post office from which the fourth letter had been mailed. They were greatly encouraged to learn that there were video surveillance tapes. Moffat formed a team that included the videographers who had recorded the public hearing, the two law enforcement retirees who had helped previously and the wife of one of those two. These people studied the post office video surveillance tapes hoping to find a face they knew from the tree protection group.

She hadn't mentioned it even to her husband, but the retiree's wife had a specific person already in mind. She was excited but not surprised when she observed Jeffrey Donald Bird slipping a letter into the box inside the post office. Intuition, she said.

A check of the record showed Bird had a single conviction: killing of a cat belonging to an ex-girlfriend ten years earlier. He was age 37, married to a woman six years older and had two children ages six and eight. He was employed by the County of Sacramento as a health inspector, attended church regularly and wrote frequent letters to the editor under his own name on various local issues.

Officers staked out Bird's home. He failed to go to work the next day, but in the early afternoon drove to the park where Allison and her friend would be playing soccer. Bird watched the whole game, and then followed Jean as she took several children to a pizza parlor. He remained outside in his car then followed her again as she dropped off the children and parked in the garage at home. At Moffat's direction, the officers approached Bird in his car. He agreed to come with them to the station.

Moffat had requested and received search warrants for Bird's home, office and car. While Bird was processed at the station and later questioned by Moffat without disclosing anything of value, officers found no evidence in a search of his home or car. However, in the credenza behind his desk at the county health department, they found newspaper clippings of the murders and items that were later identified as belonging to three of his victims. The roommate of one victim recognized her scarf. The mother of another identified her daughter's charm bracelet. A class ring was thought to belong to the male victim. DNA tests were inconclusive on the first two items but showed that the ring did, in fact, belong to the victim.

Bird denied the murders. He was able to secure the services of an extremely capable criminal defense attorney. Moffat's collection of evidence was circumstantial but his soft-spoken, sincere testimony was very convincing. Bird took the stand in his defense and with his attorney's careful questioning, attempted to create alternate scenarios and possible alibis. During police questioning, he had seemed arrogant and cold. At the trial, he presented himself as friendly and helpful but justifiably worried. Moffat and others who had witnessed him earlier were impressed by Bird's performance. Later, Bird's own family admitted to having been surprised at the image he created for the jury.

It wasn't enough. The DNA evidence on the ring was too powerful to be ignored. The jury quickly agreed on a verdict of guilty. Bird maintained his innocence for a year, then suddenly admitted to the crime and stopped fighting his execution. In 1994, he became California's third person to be put to death following reinstatement of the death penalty in 1977.

* * *

Moffat concluded the story telling De la Peña how the case quickly made him a local celebrity. The Chief of Police got to know him and aided in the rapid advance of his career. The district attorney made Moffat the hero of the first half of his best seller before finding another candidate to star in the book's second half - himself. The D.A. likewise befriended Moffat and joined with the chief to promote his career.

De la Peña decided to probe some himself. "Why did you leave the Sacramento Police Department? It sounds like you could have been Chief if you stayed."

"I never wanted to be promoted to an administrative job. I enjoyed training young officers but homicide investigations are what I've always liked best. Also..." Moffat paused then tilted his head slightly, looking De la Peña directly in the eye. "With all the luck I had in my career and the good favor of the Chief, there were plenty of people who resented it."

De la Peña imagined that Moffat had acquired a fair share of departmental enemies over the years.

"The main reason I left was for Jean. She put up with an awful lot during my twenty-five years. She wanted to move. I wasn't ready to retire completely but this job has less responsibility and promises to have more regular hours."

"Up until two days ago, it seemed kind of quiet compared to Los Angeles. I hope it doesn't go on like this.

Moffat agreed.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 17

Monday, May 15

Monday morning, the fifty-fifth day of spring, was a spectacular day for those Californians who place great value on sunny, blue skies, a gentle grass-scented breeze and moist, clean air. For many of the people whose lives were entwined with that of Veronica Gillis it was a transformational day.

In his dark bedroom, Aaron Jamison woke early. As was his habit, he washed and dressed quietly, to avoid disturbing his mother. He went into the kitchen, drank a glass of water but decided he didn't want breakfast and that he didn't feel like making a lunch today. He went back to his room, spent quite a while searching through his music, then put on The All-American Rejects' _Move Along_ and lay on his bed listening through his ear phones.

* * *

In an elegant, Mediterranean-style home in the 1998 phase of El Dorado Estates, James Rees gazed contentedly at the Spanish fountain in the interior courtyard. Fernando, his partner of thirty years walked silently to his side and placed his left arm around James shoulder. Neither spoke. A heart-to-heart discussion the previous night had changed this small family's plans for the future. James, with some trepidation, had told Fernando that he had changed his mind about retiring this year. It would mean delaying indefinitely their plans to spend a full year in France. To James surprise, Fernando took the news quite well. Fernando had been concerned about how well his spouse would handle the sudden change from the fast paced working world to a life of uninterrupted leisure. What effect might this change have on their relationship, Fernando wondered. During their talk, Fernando realized he would prefer that they postpone this milestone.

Another argument in favor of James remaining employed was financial. Fifteen years earlier, in the biggest decision of their lives and their relationship, James and Fernando had adopted an eleven-year old orphan of Vietnamese refugees in Thailand. Cindy, as she quickly named herself, had recently completed a master's degree in biology at UC Berkley. Six months earlier, she had announced plans to apply to medical school. She had been accepted by three universities and had decided to attend UC San Francisco. She had told her two fathers that she would receive financial aid mostly in the form of low-interest loans. Though it bothered them that their daughter would start her career heavily in debt, their financial plans did not include an additional $100,000 for tuition and support. James listed the ability to help Cindy through medical school as one of the arguments for him continuing to work. James also told Fernando there seemed to be a good chance that he and the other employees could buy the business from Ronnie's estate. The obvious choice as the new general manager, James foresaw a huge increase in his earnings in the near future.

For the first time in eleven years, Laraine Jamison woke to the alarm clock. The dog raised its head and watched with great curiosity as she went to the closet and selected an olive green pants suit, dressed, applied her make up and placed her wig upon her head. The dog had also never seen what happened next. Laraine opened her jewelry box, removed a set of car keys and placed them in her purse. The poodle followed Laraine from the bedroom to the kitchen. When she pulled a rhinestone-studded leash from the drawer and attached it to its collar, the poodle began the kind of tail-wagging that moves the whole back end of the dog.

* * *

For the first time in weeks, Martha Pane slept in. Her husband, the Reverend Arthur Pane had left the bed an hour earlier, when it was still dark. Martha stretched her legs and arms across the bed and briefly enjoyed a feeling of freedom and power as she fell back to sleep. When she awoke, breathing deeply and rhythmically, she felt that the extra hour of rest had counted for more than the previous seven combined.

While his wife was taking such delight in having the bed to herself, the Reverend walked among the mist covered pines behind the graveyard, feeling optimistic for the first time in over a year. The dramatic accusations about the youth counselor, the lawsuits and the discovery that the church didn't own the land upon which it sat had made the last year an uninterrupted ordeal. He felt sure that now, Gillis' death would delay the plans that up until 6 days ago were certain to evict him from the home and church that he loved. With God's will, that delay would be long enough for a stroke of good fortune to provide the funds that would save them. The night before he had gone to bed at his regular time, 8:30, and had not spoken to his wife when she came in at nine. He did not know why his wife hadn't already gotten up when he left the house. Had he known, he would have been even more optimistic.

* * *

Cheryl Haugen did not experience the kind of positive feelings that some of the others had this morning. Ronnie had been such an oppressive presence her whole life, almost like a weight pushing against her. Now this weight was gone but Cheryl felt even more fear for the future. Unconsciously and by habit, she had gotten up and readied herself for the day. As she always did before going to work, she phoned her mother. There was no answer. Cheryl was seized with a fear that something had happened to her mother and that inexplicably it was related to Ronnie's death. The fear increased as she drove to her mother's house, rang the bell then let herself in with her key. Catherine, who had been in the shower and hadn't heard the phone or the bell, was greatly startled when Cheryl burst through the kitchen door. Now, both daughter and mother stood with their hearts pounding and breathing rapidly. Unnerved, they decided to go out to breakfast. Cheryl felt her mood lighten as she drove to the coffee shop.

* * *

Like Martha Pane, Sergeant De la Peña had also slept in an extra hour. He and Moffat had put in another two hours after dinner and were well prepared for the morning briefing with the team. Moffat had suggested they take the extra hour this morning. At his kitchen counter, De la Peña poured a glass of orange juice and drank it, still standing. He walked back through the apartment to his bedroom, lay socks, underwear, black slacks, a white shirt and blue tie on the bed then shaved with an electric razor before taking a four-minute shower. He completed dressing by buckling his shoulder harness and inserting his automatic before pulling on a blue and black sport coat.

Moffat had awakened at his usual time. He and Jean enjoyed having the house to themselves, their houseguests having departed late yesterday afternoon for a visit with an old Navy buddy and wife in Modesto. For Alexander's breakfast, Jean prepared an omelet of Eggbeaters and low fat cheese. She served it with turkey sausage and fresh strawberries and orange slices. Moffat noticed and was grateful that a container of half and half was on the table with his cup of coffee. The sunshine streamed through the kitchen window as they ate. They talked casually about the garden, the house and when next they would see Alison. Moffat's mood moved even higher when Jean's goodbye hug and kiss lasted quite a few seconds longer than usual. He wouldn't think about work until he parked in his reserved space at the County Administration Building.

* * *

Back in Miner's Flat, in the most expensive section of the new town, Nicholas Conti and son Scott finished their morning routines of showering and dressing. They were alone in the house. Wife and mother Diane, as was her custom, had left for the office an hour and a half earlier. Two bedroom doors opened simultaneously. Nicholas and Scott greeted each other cheerily as father followed son down the stairs. Nicholas' mood elevated as he watched his handsome, athletic son stride to the kitchen. Scott was also in a good mood this morning, though the lingering effect of MDMA rather than pride or the weather was the reason. They talked enthusiastically about sports as they filled breakfast plates with the eggs and bacon Diane had prepared for them. The silverware and plates were left at the table and food was left on the counter. The housekeeper would do the cleaning up.

* * *

About the time Moffat walked into the conference room, Aaron, still fully dressed, listening to his iPod while lying on top of the bedspread, opened his eyes and rolled his legs off the mattress. He picked up his backpack from the floor and looking around, collected his textbooks and library books. He had decided to leave his bike at home today and so would leave fifteen minutes early for the walk across town. Before he left, he stopped in front of the desk in the hall. Quietly he slid the bottom drawer open and reached to the back for the handgun his aunt had given his mother for Christmas the year before last. Aaron placed the gun in a cloth lunch bag and put it in the backpack.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 18

Sergeant De la Peña was impressed by what the Chief had accomplished since yesterday afternoon. Walking into the Team Center, he saw three rows of two tables each. Each table had two computers and two phones, two spiral notebooks and two pens. Most of the chairs were filled by officers talking and reading or staring at monitors. De la Peña recognized Jane Duncan who had responded to the call from Nicole Davies last week. Some of the officers held the summary of pertinent facts De la Peña and Moffat had prepared after returning from the Pub the night before. At the side of the room, Officer Tashara and a slim, tall policeman recognized from the Gillis crime scene investigation tacked a large street map of Segovia County onto a bulletin board. Mrs. Grubb had arrived before De la Peña and had brought the box of case files Moffat and De la Peña had selected for review. From this Tashara had typed a list of the victims' home addresses. As she read each address, the tall policeman, Officer Brandon Fat, inserted a colored pushpin onto the corresponding location on the map. She had selected a color code for the pins: black for the two crimes believed to be linked, red for the missing persons, yellow for homicides and white for assaults.

Except for Mrs. Grubb and Moffat, the two oldest persons in the room were overweight men in their late 30's or early 40's. These two, Schoenberg and Lang, had quickly scanned the summary then had begun reading the morning Ledger Dispatch, while breakfasting on donuts and coffee. A story several pages into the front section caught Lang's attention.

"Hey, De La," Lang called out to the Sergeant at the front of the room. "It looks like your scary preacher is going to have a tenant for his empty grave." He pushed his elbow into the arm of his tablemate and pointed at the newspaper. They looked at De la Peña and then laughed loudly.

"Some old war hero died in Miner's Flat last night."

De la Peña walked to the table and looked over Lang's shoulder. At the top of page twelve, he saw a photograph of Major Franke from 1988. De la Peña recalled the name from the first night of the Gillis investigation but would not have recognized the stocky dark-haired man in the photo as the bald, pale man with sunken cheeks and temples that he had encountered in the house across from the church. He glanced at the article then moved to the computer next to Lang. Without sitting, De la Peña clicked onto the Internet, brought up the on-line version of the newspaper and the article on Franke. De la Peña e-mailed the article to himself, Moffat and Mrs. Grubb.

"Good morning, everybody. Thank you for coming." Moffat began in a voice louder and deeper than his coworkers were accustomed to. "By now, you've read the briefing and heard from Sergeant De la Peña. We know that there is a criminal out there who attacked Nicole Davies in her own kitchen. Quick thinking on her part and some luck prevented either a rape, kidnapping or murder. We have a limited physical description and little else to help us. Now, the Chief's appeal to the public seems to have smoked out a response from the perpetrator himself. We have reason to believe that there is a link between last week's attack and the Amy Price disappearance from three years ago. And, if these two crimes were committed by the same man, then there is a chance he is responsible for others as well.'

"Some of you have been participating in the Veronica Gillis investigation. We will pursue it and the Davies/Price investigations simultaneously but, based on the threat we perceive to the public, we will have to give priority to Davies/Price."

"Why is that, Captain?" Duncan asked.

"It's the nature of the two crimes. Mrs. Gillis was most likely killed by someone she knew for a motive related to money, sex or revenge. If so, there doesn't seem to be a reason for that person to commit another crime. With the Davies and Price cases, we face the possibility of a criminal who may not know his victims but selects them based on criteria such as age, hair color or general appearance. He was recently stopped from achieving his objective and may be motivated by anger and humiliation to strike again soon. We have limited time and resources and so we have to give priority to this investigation."

Sergeant De la Peña handed out assignments, expanding on the information in the briefing sheets. The team would examine the twenty-five case files - which ranged in size from 50 to 200 pages - looking for similarities among them and particularly with the Davis and Price cases. They would be looking for any common acquaintances, any witnesses interviewed in more than one investigation and geographic overlap including work, recreation or shopping. De la Peña quoted his old lieutenant at LAPD homicide: "We want to know if any of these people used the same brand of toothpaste." The team would look for opportunities to apply advances in DNA testing and other forensic science to evidence that had been gathered in the older cases and would now be stored on shelves in the administration building's basement.

At the mention of this, Moffat picked up a 10 inch by 13 inch yellow envelope.

"This is the first piece of piece of evidence we will test for DNA. It's the three-year old letter to the Ledger Dispatch about Amy Price's disappearance. One of you will take it to the lab this morning."

De la Peña continued. On the missing persons cases, the officers would phone the victim's next of kin to learn if there had been any new developments not contained in the Segovia Police Department files. Two detectives would call on Nicole Davies this morning to put together a detailed description of how she had spent her time since moving to Segovia. They would ask her to look at her appointment calendar (if she used one), telephone records, charge card receipts or anything else that could jog her memory. Next, they were to visit Davies place of employment and the laundromat and the Denny's restaurant she went to on the day of the assault along with the businesses in the vicinity of each, hoping to find someone who both remembered seeing the shapely blonde and could tell if there was anything going on around her at the time that might give a clue to her attacker.

Moffat finished the session with a request that the team members ask questions and share ideas and suggestions freely among themselves and with the Sergeant and himself. This first meeting of the task force now over, Tashara and Fat jumped up to finish placing the push pins on the map and the others accepted one or two files each from Mrs. Grubb. Within minutes, Duncan was ringing Nicole Davies home phone and would soon hang up and phone her at work.

Moffat stood behind Tashara at the map. He noticed four yellow pins and two black pins were located on or within a block of old Highway 49, called Main Street at the center. Just then Mrs. Grubb called him to her desk in the corner. The police operator had a call for Moffat from James Rees in Miner's Flat.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 19

For the fourth time in six days, and only minutes after telling the task force that the Gillis investigation would be on the back burner, Moffat found himself traveling to Miner's Flat. Moffat left De la Peña to coordinate the team's efforts and set out himself with the expectation of returning within ninety minutes. A record of a telephone call the evening of Gillis' murder had been discovered at the offices of Gillis Executive Real Estate Group.

Someone must have seen Moffat park his Highlander on the street below the 4th floor window. When the elevator doors opened, James Rees stepped forward with his hand outstretched and a trace of excitement showing on his good-natured face.

Rees quickly explained as they walked together down the hall. "Monica, our temp, took a call for Ronnie Wednesday evening at 5:15." They entered a small cubicle where a young woman of about twenty sat with her hands folded at the desk. Rees explained that Monica had not been called in to work since the day of the murder. She lived outside the county and had heard nothing about it. Then, today, the office manager told her as soon as she reported for work. The policemen's visit was described along with the questions they had asked. Monica immediately thought of a late call, remembered a message record she had written and soon asked her supervisor whether it might be of interest to the police. Rees pointed to a pad of pink "While You Were Out" sheets.

"I'm afraid we've all touched the message, Captain...Monica, the office manager and me." Rees said apologetically.

Moffat smiled. "Don't worry, Mr. Rees. I don't expect the murderer would have left any fingerprints through the telephone lines."

"Oh, right." Rees chuckled. "I'm new at this," he added while the young woman giggled.

Moffat read the message. Five words - "wants to see Mrs. Gillis" - were written on the lower half. At the top, the time was recorded. Just below that, the line that would show the caller's name was blank. On the next line, the caller's phone number was recorded.

"What do you remember about the call, Monica?"

"A lady called asking to see Ronnie. No wait...what she said was 'I need to see Ronnie right away.' She sounded pretty worked up...maybe kind of mad. I told her Ronnie was out. She kind of moaned. I asked if I could have her return the call later when she got back from the church. She said no thank you and hung up."

"You're sure you said 'back from the church'?

"Yeah. I remember saying that."

"And she gave you her number?"

"No. I saw the caller I.D. here on the screen. I always write down the number as I'm taking the call."

"Thanks. You have been very helpful."

Moffat placed the note in his inside coat pocket.

Rees asked Moffat if he would come to his office. He displayed an odd, guilty smile. Moffat walked with him to the glass-walled office in which on Thursday he and De la Peña had drunk coffee and listened to Rees' account of Mrs. Gillis' business career. Rees closed the door.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I couldn't resist. I used reverse number look up and found out who the call came from." He waited for a reaction. Moffat nodded. Rees said, "That phone number belongs to Cheryl Haugen."

"Interesting."

Not quite satisfied, Rees turned his computer monitor toward Moffat and opened a reverse telephone directory website. He pointed to the screen for Moffat to double check that number as he entered it, then double-clicked the "look up" button with the mouse. Moffat confirmed Rees' finding.

"Very good, Mr. Rees. You've been very helpful."

"Have I really?" Rees laughed and added, "Hey, it's more fun than working.

Moffat left Rees' office and walked toward the elevator. He saw that there was an occupant in Veronica Gillis' large windowed office. It was Laraine Jamison. At the memorial service, Moffat had thought that Mrs. Jamison looked different than she had at their first meeting. Today, as he saw her more closely she looked considerably younger, healthier and more alert than she had on Thursday morning. Moffat greeted her from the doorway.

"Hello, Captain. I hope it's ok for me to be in Ronnie's old office. I knew your people had already been here. They took her computer but didn't say anything about not using the room."

"Yes, that's fine, Mrs. Jamison. How are you feeling?"

"Quite well, thank you. With Ronnie gone, I thought it would be a good idea to come and help sort things out. I'm not sure that James is pleased but it did use to be my company and when we settle Ronnie's estate, I'll own half of it once again. I can't imagine my son-in-law coming in to run things."

Moffat said he understood and that he would say good-bye for now. As he turned back into the hall, his cell phone rang. Seeing the caller's name, he answered immediately.

For the second time this morning, Moffat's plans were changed by a phone call.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 20

Two and a half hours earlier, when Aaron completed his three-mile walk to Miner's Flat High School, he was sweating in spite of the 63-degree temperature. He had sweated through his shirt into the fabric of his backpack. Though he had eaten nothing in the last twenty-four hours, he felt no hunger. He came in through the front entrance, then walked the long hall that ran the length of the campus, covered yet open on both sides with concrete walkways branching left and right. The hall was packed with students. Some talked loudly, some ran in every direction and others opened their lockers to store their lunches and grab the textbooks they would need for their first two classes. Aaron was barely aware of the noise and the moving crowd. He stopped at the library door to push three books through the book drop, then walked to his locker. A senior class boy shoved him with his shoulder. Aaron moved to the right but otherwise had no reaction. At the fourth wing of classrooms, Aaron turned right, walked a few feet to room D-100 and leaned against the wall to wait for the first class of the day. Ten yards away, in front of his own locker, Scott Conti noticed Aaron and reminded himself of unfinished business. Scott was busy at the moment, chatting with a senior class girl, Julie Chancellor who had transferred six weeks earlier. With black hair, sunglasses, a beat up suede jacket and a tattoo on her left hand, Scott thought Julie looked a bit tough but was extremely sexy. He put Aaron out of his mind and returned to the task of getting to know this new girl who treated him so coolly.

* * *

Now in the classroom, Aaron was relieved to take his seat at the back of his world history class. He forced himself to listen for his name at roll call so he could shout "here" without drawing any attention then sank back into his own thoughts and emotions. Five minutes later, the room went dark for some seconds and then a screen lit up at the front of the room and Aaron realized that a film was being shown. He was grateful to have forty more minutes free from any interaction with students or teacher.

* * *

Aaron had only three minutes to get from the D wing to his next class at the far end of the B wing near the student parking lot. While the film played in his first class, he had dozed for a few minutes and gradually came out of the dream-like state he had been in all morning. He was aware of the gun in his backpack, but not fearful of getting caught with it. Coming more alert to his surroundings and recognizing probabilities associated with his situation, he took an alternate, circular route to his next class. He was nearing the door to B-400 when Scott spotted him. Scott and another large boy rushed to head him off. Aaron was just a foot beyond them when he stepped through the doorway. His momentum stalled suddenly when the other boy grabbed the loop at the top of Aaron's backpack.

Mrs. McKeon, the health education teacher, looked up and saw the boy pull Aaron by his upper left arm back out of the room.

"Where do you think you're going, Queer Boy?" Conti's partner growled to Aaron.

Aaron caught the door jam with one hand and pulled against the force of the other boy. Scott Conti waited just outside.

After several seconds, Mrs. McKeon snapped her fingers and said "Aaron, come in and take your seat." It was an angry command directed at Aaron, but the other boy released him. Aaron walked to the back of the room, red-faced and panting.

On the first day of the school year last September, Mrs. McKeon had taken an instant dislike to Aaron. She told another teacher some time later that she didn't like his passive, fearful demeanor. Other students noticed that she would invariably tell him to speak up and hold his head up. One time she was heard criticizing the way he walked. Aaron had not been bothered much by any of this but he noticed it and therefore was surprised when she intervened to prevent him from being dragged from the classroom. He had low expectations for most adults and with his teenager's experience in life did not consider that Mrs. McKeon's job required her to rescue him in that situation. Either way, it was a temporary reprieve.

Young Michelle Tremblay, the girl who had found the body of Veronica Gillis watched the same scene from a different perspective. Michelle didn't like Mrs. McKeon, a thirty-eight year old mother of five, because she regularly injected her personal, conservative views about the current president, abortion and same-sex marriage, views that offended Michelle's liberal sensibilities. Michelle had witnessed and also been offended by Mrs. McKeon's treatment of Aaron and a few other students. Even so, she was surprised by the teacher's behavior on this morning. The altercation between Aaron and the bigger boys was quite noisy and lasted many seconds. Scott and his friend were yelling at Aaron as they chased him across the lawn. Michelle and several other girls were surprised as they watched their teacher ignore it. Finally, Michelle and another girl called out "Mrs. McKeon!" insistently and pointed to the doorway. Only then did she intervene.

Aaron's awareness of his surroundings shut down again. He heard nothing in the next fifty minutes and was carefully ignored by Mrs. McKeon. Then Aaron did hear the bell ring and rose with the other students to leave the room at the end of class.

The school had a twenty minute break between second and third periods to allow for students to get to their lockers, get their books and homework assignments for the next two periods and get a drink or snack at the cafeteria. Aaron wasn't hungry and he had no intention of going back to his locker. His next class was the one he most dreaded, P.E., and it would be hard to believe on a day like this he would bother to go. He didn't know where he would go, but out of habit he headed around the front of the school toward the gym and the cafeteria. Aaron descended six concrete steps down into the "Quad" when Scott saw him. He had no real hope of making it to the cafeteria. Scott and two friends would catch him before he was halfway across the Quad and, really, if he had made it, he had no hope of any protection there. But he ran anyway. By now, Aaron's vision was closing in on him, as though he were looking out from deep inside a tunnel. About nine or ten yards before he would have been intercepted by Scott, Aaron ran into the side of a large senior boy - 200 pounds, letters in football, wrestling, and baseball - and stopped. The senior whirled around, saw Aaron and recognized him as one of the regulars for abuse. With both hands to Aaron's shoulders, he shoved Aaron to the ground. He called him "asshole" and "fag" as he towered over him, about to strike with his right fist. Aaron pushed backwards with his legs, grasped his backpack and reached in for the gun. The senior saw the gun and stopped immediately. He moaned and moved backwards as Aaron pointed the gun directly at his chest. When Aaron moved to stand, the senior turned and ran, as did Scott and friends and most of the students in the Quad.

Seeing his tormentors running, Aaron felt a quick flood of relief. It was almost immediately replaced by a tremendous sinking feeling, a combination of embarrassment and depression. Aaron ran another thirty yards to the cafeteria, sliding into a small nook created by the side of the building and a brown concrete block wall. He stood trembling and gasping on bare soil in the planter area, partially hidden by a tall cypress, still holding the gun.

At this spot, Aaron was three feet from an opening in the block wall that led to an uncovered patio filled with approximately thirty students at concrete and steel picnic tables. Surrounded by 15-foot walls with only the one exit, the students were trapped. Some moved under tables, others to the back wall. There were some screams but quite a few students pulled out their cell phones and called parents or friends. None called 911.

Undercover detective Cristina Melanakos, known at MFHS as senior Julie Chancellor, had followed Scott and friends from the main hall to the entrance to the Quad. She saw the gun before anyone other than the senior standing over Aaron and phoned the emergency watch commander at the station. She gave them all the necessary information, and left the job of notifying the school administrators to the other officers. Detective Melanakos' next call was to Captain Moffat.

This was the call that Moffat took in the reception area of Gillis Executive Realty. Melanakos had first phoned him when she heard he and De la Peña were questioning Scott Conti at the station. On that occasion, she had informed him that Conti was at the center of a drug distribution network serving the high school as well as many of the young adults in the north part of the county. She had asked for Moffat to avoid, as much as possible, any police pressure that might cause Conti to curtail his contacts with his associates. She assured Moffat that her investigation would not require many more weeks. In the meantime, she would keep track of the activities of both Scott and Aaron, two of Moffat's suspects in the murder of Veronica Gillis.

Melanakos had moved back out of the Quad up to the main hall but could see Aaron. The entire front of the cafeteria consisted of tinted glass walls extending the height of the building. He was near one of two forward doors. A few students had started to leave through that door but apparently word spread inside the building. The other forward door was also vulnerable should Aaron move back around from the side. Melanakos assumed that, fairly quickly, the staff would evacuate the students now in the cafeteria. The students in the outer yard would still be vulnerable.

Melanakos explained this to Moffat. She also told him that she was concerned that the police department's newly formed version of a SWAT team might be too quick to use lethal force. Aaron had slipped down against the wall so that he was now sitting, with the gun still in his hand. He had made no moves that threatened others since he aimed the gun at the boy who pushed him. She said "Captain, I think we have time if we handle this properly. I don't think Sergeant Clark's squad will do that.

Moffat had the same misgivings and was determined to try to control the situation. He ran from the elevator to his car and, as he started it and turned onto the road, he contacted Captain Hughes whose area of responsibility included Clark's six-person Tactical Response Team. Hughes agreed that Moffat would take charge at the school. Moffat then called De la Peña and told him to join the force heading to Miner's Flat.

Back on the phone with Melanakos as he approached the campus, Moffat followed her directions driving through the athletic fields to approach the cafeteria from the back. He parked by the building as dozens of students and cafeteria workers streamed from the kitchen. Moffat saw a fixed metal ladder offering access to the roof. He started toward the door to look for help when the custodian came out ushering with him the last of the students.

Moffat called to him, displayed his badge and pointed to the ladder. "Can you...."

"Yeah, I've got the key," the custodian interrupted.

Moffat phoned Melanakos. She told him he would be able to see Aaron from the far corner of the roof top.

The custodian had unlocked and removed a chain that blocked access to the ladder. This allowed it to extend down to within three feet of the ground. Moffat closed his phone again and placed it in his pocket, then climbed the twenty-foot ladder to the flat top of the cafeteria building. Before approaching the far corner, above Aaron, he moved to look out to the front of the building. He saw a deserted Quad, with students watching from the front part of the school one hundred yards away. He heard sirens then and saw to the left three police vehicles enter from between the gym and the cafeteria. The vehicles sped over and down three concrete steps, creating quite a bit of noise as their bodies struck the edges of the steps.

The police drove within sixty feet of Aaron's location and parked to create a shield for the team as the officers ran out of the vehicles and took positions.

From the corner of the roof, Moffat looked down directly at Aaron. He was seated, leaning against the wall of the building, trembling.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 21

Moffat phoned De la Peña.

"Jason, tell Sergeant Clark that I want you to talk to Aaron. Tell them not to fire unless I give the order.

De la Peña followed Moffat's instruction. Clark grimaced. He relayed the command to the other five members of the squad.

Kneeling behind the open door of the car, De la Peña took a microphone from its hook and pushed the switch to amplify.

"Aaron, this is Sergeant De la Peña. Jason. You know me. We don't want you to hurt anyone." De la Peña paused then added "And we don't want you to hurt yourself, Aaron."

From their different perspectives, Melanakos, Moffat and the members of the Tactical Response Team saw Aaron raise his head and look toward the police cars.

"Aaron, we can work this out. Put down the gun and come over to me. I promise no one will hurt you. It will be OK."

De la Peña held the cell phone with his left hand and the microphone with his right. He heard Moffat say "Good. That's it. Keep talking."

Just then Aaron rose quickly to his feet, still holding the gun but pointing it downward. One of the TRT officers yelled out "He's moving." Aaron darted through the passageway in the wall and entered the patio. He slid to the right hiding from the police officers' view on the opposite side of the wall.

Moffat watched as Aaron reacted to the sight of thirty students. One student shouted, "Look out, look out." Others screamed. Aaron seemed to cringe with every sound. Moffat, fearful of Aaron's next move, removed his semi-automatic and prepared himself. Then Moffat saw Aaron open the chamber of the revolver and empty all the bullets on to the dirt in the planter. Aaron snapped the barrel back into place and calmly turned and walked back through the opening in the wall facing the police.

"Tell them to hold their fire, Jason" Moffat shouted into the phone.

The police sharpshooters tightened their grip on their rifles. Aaron raised the gun, pointed straight ahead, and walked toward the police.

"I've got a shot, Sarge, one of the marksmen told Clark.

"Hold your fire," De la Peña repeated. Then he heard Moffat on the cell phone.

"It's an empty gun."

"Aaron, put down the gun. We don't want to hurt you." De la Peña had dropped the microphone and was shouting directly to the teenager.

Then to the squad "It's not loaded. Hold your fire."

Aaron stopped, dropped the gun then fell to his knees. Three officers swarmed to him, pushing him face down and put him in hand cuffs.

De la Peña heard Moffat say "good work" then closed the phone and ran to Aaron. He helped him to his feet then walked him to the nearest of the three vehicles.

Moffat phoned Melanakos. "Good work, Cristina." He walked back across the cafeteria rooftop.

Detective Melanakos closed her phone, slid it into her bag and told herself to become Julie Chancellor once again.

De la Peña rode in the back seat with Aaron as the car took them to Segovia. Aaron began to speak, then stopped, choked with emotion. A few seconds passed and he began again.

"I'm really sorry, Jason. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just couldn't stand it anymore." He looked directly into De la Peña's eyes and was more calm than the Sergeant had ever seen him.

"What was it you couldn't stand, Aaron?"

"They hate me. They're always pushing and shoving and calling me..."

De la Peña was about to ask what it was they called him when Aaron started again.

"I almost shot him. I don't even know his name. I could have but I stopped."

"Maybe you shouldn't say anymore, Aaron. Wait for the juvenile officer or a lawyer or a social worker. I have to report anything you say."

Aaron was silent for a few moments then said, "I didn't kill my aunt."

Neither Moffat nor De la Peña got a close look at Aaron's handgun at that time. Both had other priorities. Moffat was on the road out of Miner's Flat when he spoke by radio with the officer who had recovered the weapon. Moffat noted with interest that the handgun was a Lady Smith with distinctive custom handle, like the one used to kill Veronica Gillis only, apparently, much newer.

* * *

Most of the force as well as the civilian employees of the Segovia P.D. gathered to greet Sergeant De la Peña and the Tactical Response Team when they returned from Miner's Flat High School. Aaron was rushed away by two uniformed officers. The TRT members looking a bit lost, accepted hand shakes and hugs from their colleagues. Sergeant Clarke met supervising officer Lieutenant Griffiths. They turned away from the crowd, heads together speaking rapidly with some gestures but no visible emotion. De la Peña accepted a plastic bottle of water and sat at the nearest chair responding to questions coming rapidly from one then another of several police personnel. The TRT members loosened their vests and protective gear as they headed deeper into the building.

Moffat arrived several minutes later. Slipping in, unnoticed by all but Mrs. Grubb, he headed to his temporary office next to the Team Center. Moments later, Chief Halvorsen entered and sat in the chair in front of Moffat's desk.

"How are you doing, Captain?

"Fine, thank you, sir."

"It sounds like that was an unusual situation. Not the kind you usually face as a detective. Alex, there may be some organizational issues, maybe some bruised egos involved with you and De la Peña taking command of the TRT there."

"I thought we might have to address that."

Halvorsen tapped the desk with outstretched fingers. Smiling grimly, he said, "Don't worry about it. I'll congratulate Griffiths and Clark for their team's great interdepartmental cooperation and flexibility under pressure." He cast his eyes upward, thoughtfully. "Yeah. That's good. I'll use those words in the press conference." He stood, motioning Moffat to remain seated. "Leave it to me." Walking out he said "Oh, also Alex, good outcome."

Moffat and De la Peña met moments later. They held each other's gaze for a few seconds then smiled.

"Whew, that was tense." De la Peña offered, shaking his head.

"Yes."

There was paperwork to complete but Moffat suggested they go to the lunchroom first. Before leaving, he contacted the Chief Probation Officer Suzanne Robinson, the head of the county office that would take responsibility for Aaron after booking was complete. Moffat asked the officer, a woman about his age whom he had met twice before, to assure that Aaron would be kept separate from other inmates at the youth detention facility known as "Juvenile Hall." Together they considered options. Moffat was pleased when the Probation Chief suggested they bypass the Hall and transport Aaron directly to the Psychiatric Ward of Mark Twain County Hospital.

* * *

Moffat and De la Peña sat at their preferred table in the sunlight by the window. Moffat had only vegetable soup and a carton of milk. De la Peña spread mayonnaise on the bun of a cheeseburger then placed it a top the sandwich. He let his hands fall into his lap.

"Now I don't feel hungry."

Moffat nodded

"I'm feeling kind of responsible. If I hadn't been so hard on him last Thursday, he might not have done it."

Moffat shook his head. "I think there was a lot more to it than our questioning. This must have been building for a while.

De la Peña tilted his head. "Maybe." He took a small bite of the burger. Moffat continued.

"Sergeant, I think you may have saved his life. He was trying to get himself killed...'suicide by police' reporters call it. He walked toward you all with a gun in his hand. I was concerned how the TRT would react. You showed good control of the situation...command presence."

"Thanks." De la Peña looked down at his sandwich the asked quickly "What happened at the real estate office?"

Moffat described the note, his interview with the temp and James Rees' sleuthing."

"Are we going to confront Mrs. Haugen on her lie?"

"We should but I think I'll put it off until tomorrow...give myself time to plan how to go about it." What Moffat didn't say was he just didn't feel like it this afternoon.

* * *

Jean loaded dinner dishes in the dishwasher while Moffat sprayed, scrubbed and sponged off the stainless steel stove and granite counter tops. Jean liked the thorough way Moffat cleaned kitchen surfaces and she preferred her own method for loading the dishwasher so they had easily arrived at this division of the after-dinner workload. Jean was still in her healthy mode of cooking so tonight's dinner was a Moroccan stew made with textured vegetable chicken substitute, carrots, and green olives served over couscous with a green salad on the side. They had opened a bottle of Zinfandel from Amador County. Jean put out candles and turned down the overhead lights. Moffat slowly began to relax. They took the remainder of the wine into the family room and sat together on an overstuffed loveseat. Jean had heard about the day's events - the first notice from the radio and the basic facts from Mrs. Grubb. It was their custom to share the day's experience. Moffat tailored his telling to Jean's desire to hear about people while avoiding any descriptions of violence. Tonight, he described Aaron, his family situation (what Moffat had learned of it during the investigation of his aunt's murder), the shaky interrogation attempt by De la Peña and the sad and lonely picture they got of him at his aunt's memorial service. There was something about the kid, Moffat told Jean that would have tugged at her heart. She would want to make things better for him.

"Do you know why he brought a gun to school?"

"De la Peña was worried that it may have been his fault. He pressed him a bit hard in questioning last week. From what Aaron told the Sergeant on the ride to the station, I think it was a problem at school...maybe severe bullying. I think I may know one of the culprits but we can't do anything about it just now."

"Hmm. What about his parents?"

"That's the other big issue. From what I can tell, he doesn't have any adult in his life that cares about him. Father long gone. Mother works nights and leaves the kid alone most of the day. His grandmother seems to spend her days in a fog from medication." Moffat thought to himself, at least until I saw her this morning. "His aunt and uncle didn't seem to have much time for him either. Well, the aunt gave him gardening jobs at her home. That was something, I guess."

"How did they get the gun away from him?"

Moffat described his vantage point and the crucial moment when Aaron turned the corner and entered the walled-in patio with the trapped students."

"I saw him shake the bullets out of the chamber. But for a moment I had to prepare to stop him if he threatened the students." Moffat relived those seconds. It almost seemed worse in this reliving than it had during the actual experience.

Jean realized what her husband was telling her. She felt such sympathy for Aaron and Alex that she started to choke with emotion and could not speak. She rose and walked to the back of the seat, massaging her husband's neck and shoulders.

Moffat told her of his admiration for De la Peña's performance and that of the policewoman. He wondered to himself if Melanakos had someone to decompress with or if she was working undercover right now.

Jean slipped away and Moffat sank into his thoughts. The need for quick progress on the Davies/Price Task Force and the lack of progress on the Gillis case crossed his mind. He cataloged what should have been accomplished by the team by tomorrow morning's meeting and considered what they would plan for the next days. With the limitation of manpower and the urgency he wouldn't normally have given himself the evening off. Maybe I'm too old for this, he thought. Then, with a slight chuckle, he thought of how exhausted De la Peña had looked when they said good night. (Actually, at that moment, De la Peña was at Whelan's Pub with Nicole Davies and three other singles from the apartment complex unwinding with beer, laughter and a bit of dancing. Moffat only learned this casually, several weeks later.)

Jean had reentered the room. "Mind racing?"

Moffat nodded. "I'll be done in a minute." He made a mental note to lead the team in a discussion of what the twenty-four cases could have in common. A brainstorming session, they called it in training. Next he decided he would set aside sometime to plan a confrontation with Cheryl Haugen. That was enough. He leaned over and hugged Jean.

"I love you, Dear."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 22

Tuesday, May 16

At seven thirty Tuesday morning De la Peña entered the conference room carrying a large coffee and a breakfast sandwich, picked up at the drive thru on the way in. The rest of the team had assembled and were chatting in subdued voices. Moffat arrived less that a minute after De la Peña. The sergeant noticed, with some envy, that Moffat looked well rested. He thought he could have used a couple of extra hours of sleep, himself, but knew he wouldn't have been able to wind down and, all in all, thought he was better off having gone to Whelan's.

Moffat moved to the front of the left row of tables. De la Peña walked to the first table of the other row and set down his coffee cup.

Moffat began. "All right officers, what have we accomplished since yesterday morning?"

"You mean besides saving the North County student population from a crazed gunman." This came from the back table, either Lang or Schoenberg.

Someone else said "Yeah."

De la Peña frowned. Moffat responded without emotion. "I don't think the boy intended to hurt anyone but himself. Let's focus all our attention on our objective. What have we done on our 25 open cases?"

Medical Examiner Lisa McDonald entered the room. Moffat, surprised, paused to give her an opportunity to interrupt the briefing. She held up her hand. "Please continue Captain Moffat. I'll give my report after you've finished." She sat at a chair at the side of the room near De la Peña.

"O.K. Sergeant, would you give us a summary of yesterday's activities?"

De la Peña placed his half-eaten sandwich, in its wrapper, next to the cup and wiped his hands with a napkin.

"Yes, Captain. Well, first we took the Ledger Dispatch letter and it's envelope to the County Forensic Lab. Jane \- Officer Duncan - drove it over yesterday morning. Next, we divided the cases among the team and have been sifting through them to gather the data you asked for. Tashara and Fat and Mrs. G. put up the map and marked all the victim's home addresses and in those few cases where there was a crime scene, they marked that as well." De la Peña pointed at the map on the wall with its color-coded pushpins.

"Good. What else?"

"We've begun filling in the database - an Excel worksheet, really. It's on the shared drive, so we're all able to update it as we go along."

Moffat nodded again.

"Also, Captain, we gave priority to searching the files for references to physical evidence that was collected during the original investigations. We think we have a complete list. In the afternoon, Officers Duncan and Fat went to the Evidence Room Storage to pick up everything. Schoenberg and Lang went out in the field. They re-interviewed Ms. Davies and followed up some possible leads."

"Good summary. Thanks. Now, Lisa did you have something for us?"

"I was at the front desk with the Office Admin when Officer Duncan brought the sample. She explained what it was for so we placed it ahead of the less urgent work." With wide eyes and a slight smile Dr. McDonald relayed the story of the sample.

"It didn't take the usual 72 hours or even 36. We have a result. We knew very quickly that there was enough saliva on both the envelope and the stamp to get a good test. We found DNA but it was not what our technician is used to. There are a lot of similarities but this isn't human DNA. So, we thought, what else could it be?"

"Our first guess was canine DNA. What other species would find itself in close enough contact to leave its DNA on a stamp and an envelope?" McDonald continued. "Then I remembered someone I had met a couple of months ago. He has a start-up, internet-based business. They rent a small office with laboratory facilities. They test dogs' DNA. Suppose you want to know if you really have a pure bred or what breeds went into your beloved mongrel, Dr. Jake Amladi's DoggieAncestory.com can help you. They'll send you a kit, you swab the dog's tongue, send it back to them and, six to eight weeks later you have your results."

Officer Brandon Fat mumbled "Oh." Without acknowledging the looks directed at him, he turned to his monitor, moved the mouse then typed keystrokes for three or four words.

"So these guys..."

McDonald interrupted De la Peña. "Right. I showed them our test results. They identified it as canine DNA."

Schoenberg shook his head. "This clown back in 2003 had his dog lick the envelope?"

"Yes. And the stamp."

"No way," Lang said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What good does it do us? There must be 5,000 dogs in this county," Schoenberg complained.

"Ten thousand, assuming our ratio of dogs to people matches the California average." Officer Fat held up his notebook with several lines of equations on the page.

Moffat looked at Dr. McDonald. She was clearly enjoying herself. " I think Dr. McDonald may have something more."

"That's right Captain. They tested our samples with their equipment. They worked all night."

"Whoa, that'll put a dent in the budget. What did they charge for all night work?" Tashara asked.

"Nothing. The whole thing was free." McDonald tilted her head. "There was a bit of a string attached. The founder is a bit of a 'junior g-man.' If it helps solve a crime, he wants lunch with a famous detective.

De la Peña spoke first. "Well, I guess I could take him to lunch."

The officers and doctor laughed.

"What does their report tell us?" Moffat asked. McDonald handed him three printed pages on the company letterhead.

"Pure-bred," Moffat read.

"That helps," Fat said, and began again at his computer.

"One hundred percent, pure-bred miniature schnauzer." Moffat continued.

He and the others looked again at Fat and waited for nearly a minute, watching him read from the screen, jot numbers on his pad then operate a hand-held calculator.

Brandon Fat was twenty-six, a native of Segovia County, half Chinese and half a mixture of English and Scottish. Slim and over six feet with brown hair and mostly Asian features, he was striking in appearance.

"Assuming the popularity of schnauzers here matches the national average, there would be about 200 dogs of this breed. And assuming only three in five dogs in the county has a license, Animal Control would have about a hundred and twenty in their records, with owners' names and addresses."

"You're not going to have us checking every one of these damn fleabags. What? Should we get a paw print? Start another database?" Schoenberg looked to Lang for support.

"Yeah, sounds like a waste of time."

De la Peña was annoyed but said nothing.

Moffat spoke. "We'll see. Good detective work, Dr. McDonald. Please stay with us for a while. Sergeant, where do we stand on the other physical evidence?"

"Well, there wasn't much from all these cases. We found nothing but the syringe at the Davies scene. Thanks to Dr. McDonald we know it contained azaperone, a veterinary tranquilizer. The Price file had no mention of physical evidence being collected. Of the other 23...Duncan, Fat, how did it go at the Evidence Storage?"

Duncan answered. "The files showed there were only four evidence bags for the whole lot. It took some hunting but we managed to find them. It was after hours by then so we brought them here." She pointed to several large plastic bags on the back table containing items of clothing and underwear. "There's a small bag there also. It has a blood sample collected at the home of the 1998 missing person. There were a few drops of blood in her kitchen that couldn't be matched to the victim."

McDonald clapped her hands together. "Good. I know what my department will be working on today...and tonight. I'll tell the guys to expect you this morning. Call my cell if you need me at any hour." The doctor walked to the back of the room. She stopped then leaning forward with her arms behind her back, she took several seconds to look over the evidence bags before leaving the room.

"O.K., team," Moffat started again. "I know you're still gathering information from the case files. Let's plan to get together at 10 o'clock to talk about what these cases have in common."

"Right, Captain," De la Peña responded. "Before we break, Schoenberg, Lang what did you learn yesterday from your interviews?"

The two had visited Nicole Davies where she worked at the gas company office. She searched her memory for every man with whom she came in contact since her move to Segovia. She didn't remember the time and date for the phone and cable TV installation but promised to check her records when she got home. She had been to a bar on Highway 49 one time and had spoken to three men but didn't know their names and didn't think they matched her attacker's height and build. The officers introduced themselves to the personnel manager at Davies' office and talked her into giving them an employee list with birth dates and addresses, all on a floppy disk. They intended to examine the male staff of the gas company for anyone with a police record.

Davies told Lang and Schoenberg that she frequently ate or picked up food to go at the Denny's in town. They stopped there and questioned some members of staff. A waitress told them that one of the fry cooks had commented two, maybe three times about Davies appearance including specifically that he thought she was very sexy. She believed he had spent jail time for lewd conduct but couldn't remember where she had heard this. The officers watched him for a few minutes and both decided they didn't like him. He would also be checked for a police record.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 23

Moffat had been assigned a private office outside of the task force conference room but he preferred to share a desk with Mrs. Grubb at the head of the room. The whole arrangement, except for the addition of phones, looked remarkably like a night school computer classroom. After the morning briefing, he spoke briefly with Mrs. Grubb to ask her to schedule Cheryl Haugen for a second interview, this one at the station, for 7:00 tonight. He then sat at his desk and was about to begin planning for the brainstorming session when he was drawn to the sight of Sergeant De la Peña staring intently at a projection screen at the front of the room. Moffat stepped back and toward the center of the room. The screen showed a computer monitor display of the worksheet of the twenty-five cases. Data was being typed into rows of the worksheet as they watched. De la Peña had set up access to a shared workspace that enabled all the detectives to work simultaneously on the file. He had connected his own computer to the projector and was watching as the database grew.

The sounds in the room were of eight people - Mrs. Grubb and De la Peña had joined in the task with the other six \- turning pages, jotting notes and typing on the keyboards. Detectives Schoenberg and Lang soon began making phone calls, but the other officers continued on the database. Later, Moffat heard Tashara shout "Oops!", then wave for De la Peña to come to her work area.

Moffat completed his notes for the morning session, writing "commonalities" across the top of the first of three pages. He then turned his thoughts to this evening's interview. Based on the realty office temp's recollection of their phone conversation, Cheryl Haugen learned that Gillis was at the church in time to have driven there from her home before the murder. Haugen was anxious to confront Gillis about her transaction with Haugen's daughter and son-in-law. Haugen claimed she had not left the house, but she had also told Moffat and De la Peña that she made no phone calls, a claim they now knew was false. Moffat pictured the street in front of the crime scene. There were only four houses on the street on fairly large lots with quite a few trees and large shrubs. Someone might have seen Haugen drive into the area and maybe park and walk, but the only home that would have an unobstructed view of the shooter and the victim was Major Franke's. With Mrs. Pane off for her lottery ticket, the only conscious person in that house was Haugen's own mother, Catherine Martius, who claims not even to have heard the shot. Moffat was dissatisfied with the coincidence. He jotted down several more notes then returned his attention to Davies/Price.

"Excuse me everyone. Let's take a short break and then begin a group discussion in about ten minutes."

* * *

Four of the team members returned to the conference room, each with a large covered paper cup of coffee, Tashara among the four, holding a large pink cardboard box. Instead of taking their seats, they gathered near Moffat at the side of the room. A long cork bulletin board had been covered by white paper. Moffat had tacked photographs of each subject of the investigation, in six rows of four and a single photo, of Nicole Davies, by itself below. Next to the board, of the same dimension, was a dry-erase white board with colored markers on the tray at its bottom edge. Moffat had printed 'commonalities' at the top of the white board. The balance of the team arrived one by one and joined the group at the board. De la Peña walked first to his desk and moved the mouse to disengage the screen saver and display the shared file once again projected on the large screen. Most of the seven, including De la Peña, accepted a donut from the pink box at Tashara's work station. Mrs. Grubb walked over to join them.

"I was hoping we could conduct this exercise yesterday, but...other events took control of the day," Moffat began. "As you might have guessed, I want to spend some time now talking about these cases and starting to think what they may have in common. First, remember, these crimes and missing persons cases are not all linked. We are hoping to identify a subset that are."

Moffat drew a vertical line on the white paper with a black marker and moved the photos of Nicole Davies and Amy Price a foot to the left of the line.

"It requires, maybe, an over-reliance on intuition, but I'm putting these two in that subset to start. Mainly, this is because they were the subjects of communication with the local newspaper, communication that set off an alarm bell. These two also have in common the victims' general appearance and the fact that they were new to the county and lived alone. This is what I mean by 'commonalities.'" Moffat looked at the remaining photographs then at the projection screen. "Where do we go from here?" he asked the group.

Officer Fat spoke first. "If we just grouped the attractive blondes, we'd have more than half. That's kind of a high percentage, isn't it?"

"Pretty blondes get into more trouble," Lang said with authority.

"There are some older women but most are fairly young," Duncan pointed out.

"Slightly more than half lived alone," De la Peña said. Looking at missing information in the "previous address" column, he added, "All the data is not filled in, but several more of the missing persons were new to the area like Price and Davies."

"It's interesting," Mrs. Grubb added, "Only five cases have a suspect's description, of course, since most of the cases involve missing persons. Two of the rape cases may have been done by the same man. At least the victims said he was short. Nicole's attacker and the men described in the indecent exposure, the stalker and the third rape case were said to be over six feet."

"Good," De la Peña said. "The stalker and the exhibitionist were also dark-haired. The tall rapist and Nicole's attacker...the victims' couldn't tell."

"Was there any reference to dog hair in any of these files?" Moffat asked.

"Yes...well, maybe." Tashara looked at Moffat "How did you know?"

"Just a guess."

De la Peña pointed to the screen. "Tashara found it in the '89 missing person case file. Some hairs were discovered on a knitted cap in the woods behind the victim's home. The analysis showed they weren't human hairs, so it was considered a dead end. Maybe these are dog hairs. We phoned the evidence Storage Facility and asked them to find the sample. I thought we would take it directly to the lab."

"Half are blonde, half are married, half are old...where is this getting us?" Duncan asked. "How are we going to know which cases to include and which to exclude? Don't we need something more?"

Moffat nodded "Definitely. For now, we just want to lay out different commonalities and see if this gets us anywhere. We're going to need some more leads to make sense of this. Maybe the DNA will help. For now, let's finish filling in the data and following up Davies leads."

When Lang mumbled to Schoenberg that it was a "fucking waste of time," the four younger officers glared at them. Moffat sat at his computer, placed his head on his right fist and stared at the spreadsheet. The others walked back to their tables.

* * *

Moffat thought that Duncan's observations were all correct. There were too many overlaps in the case attributes to zero in on the subset he was looking for. He smiled slightly as he admitted to himself what he was looking for: a middle-aged psychopath who had kidnapped and murdered women like Nicole for a number of years, hiding the bodies and completely avoiding detection. Of course, Moffat told himself, the likelihood of this investigation turning out the way he imagined was very small. He would settle for apprehending the man who attacked Nicole Davies. Either way, he was hopeful that the investigation would turn up some leads that would allow them to move forward.

Moffat's hopes were raised when Dr McDonald phoned with the news that there appeared to be enough DNA in the rape kit swabs and the blood sample to perform successful testing. She promised to phone again as soon as she had any results.

Schoenberg and Lang reported a steady stream of negative results. Nicole Davies had phoned to tell them the date her cable TV and phone were hooked up. She explained that she was getting phone, cable television and Internet service all from the same company. She read the installer's name from the service receipt and realized immediately why the policemen lost interest. A woman had done the work. Later, they reported no leads from the utility's employee list. Fifteen men's names were checked for prior arrests as well as height and weight from driver's license data. None had a record and only three were over six feet. A quick check revealed alibis for all three, two were working overtime and the third was out of state on vacation. Schoenberg and Lang timed their follow up interview with the fry cook at Denny's to coincide with their lunch break. They made sure to finish their meals before challenging the fry cook on his whereabouts last Thursday night. He said, and the records confirmed, that he had been working that evening. They found the source of the waitress's rumor. There had been a lewd conduct charge but it turned out to be related to an unchaperoned high school pool party, charges were dropped and did not indicate likely status as a sex offender.

When the call came early in the afternoon that the Evidence Storage Facility had located the animal hair sample from the 1989 missing person case, Officer Fat drove over to pick it up and take it to the DoggieAncestory.com lab. Fat remained at the site to guarantee safeguarding of the evidence and so that the police would be able to demonstrate in court, if it came to that, that there was no chance of contamination.

While Fat was out, Moffat took one of the case folders from the table he shared with Duncan. This was the sole stalking case and involved a victim who at 21 years, was the second youngest of the group. One day in December 1982, Ingrid Boyd had seen a man watching her from a car as she left work. Two days later, at the same time of day she thought she saw the same man standing in a shop doorway, near where he had been the first time. When, later in the week she saw the same car parked in front of her house as she returned from work, she went to a nearby market and phoned police. Investigators discovered signs that the bedroom window of her ground floor apartment had been pried open and the victim reported that her bureau drawers had been rummaged through.

Moffat considered whether this could be the same perpetrator in the Nicole Davies case. The height was right. Assuming the man who attacked Davies was between 50 and 60, he would have been between 25 and 35 when the stalking occurred. The victim's guess was that the tall, dark-haired man was around thirty.

The suspect's height and age and the probable use of a back window to break in fit with the Davies case. It looked promising, but the links were tentative. Moffat knew they would need a lot more that that if they were ever to determine the identity of this man.

Later, Moffat picked up two folders from the table Lang and Schoenberg shared: two missing persons, one from 1985 and one from 1986. The first involved a married woman, age 42 with dark hair and a stocky build. The second missing person was 26 with light brown hair, medium height and a slim build. There were no suspects, no leads and no trace of either woman after she had disappeared. The first woman's family had hired a private investigator in 1991. The investigator also came up empty handed. Neither Lang nor Schoenberg had completed the database entries for these files. They had not yet contacted the next of kin for new information and had not yet checked current voting or social security records, but as far as the case files showed, both women had vanished.

At 4:30, Moffat and De la Peña met to discuss the direction of the investigation. There was still frustratingly little evidence to reveal a culprit or even create a consistent modus operandi for most of the cases. They were still hopeful that testing of the old evidence and their new inquiries would provide a lead but they were seriously considering the admittedly long shot path of investigating schnauzer owners. Officer Fat already had a list from the Department of Animal Control and had plotted the best routes for visiting those addresses. Schoenberg claimed to be allergic to dogs and, based on his and Lang's lack of enthusiasm for the task and Tashara's condition, the schnauzer investigation would be conducted by Officers Fat, Duncan and Peake.

Moffat and De la Peña were on a dinner break when Dr. McDonald called with DNA results for the evidence. Her voice message stated that there were two intriguing matches with the tests. Both men were encouraged that, while this information didn't provide the lead that would resolve the Davies/Price cases, they were at least moving forward.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 24

At seven ten, Moffat phoned the night shift watch commander and was told that Mrs. Haugen and her mother had arrived a half hour earlier. She was directed to an interview room. The mother had asked to accompany her but Haugen had told her that it would not be necessary, that the Captain would probably want to talk to her alone.

De la Peña arrived first and passed Mrs. Martius without speaking as he entered the interview room. He checked the recording equipment and he and Mrs. Haugen waited in silence. Moffat was about five minutes behind the Sergeant. In the hall outside, he greeted Mrs. Martius politely and with some warmth.

"I understand Major Franke died last weekend. I'm sorry. It must be a difficult time for you." Moffat imagined this interaction from the elderly woman's point of view. It must be strange to find herself with her middle-aged daughter in a police station as part of a homicide investigation. That, with the recent death of someone to whom she must have grown close, seemed to have the makings for a stressful situation. Moffat observed that Mrs. Martius, however, was calm and alert. She seemed to be searching Moffat's eyes and face for clues just as he was hers.

"It was a long, painful illness. He had lived a long life. It was a blessing his suffering ended." She said these words gently, as though she were consoling Moffat. Moffat was slightly unsettled and thought he had better excuse himself before...he didn't know before what...but thought he would hurry on to the interview room.

* * *

"Mrs. Haugen, we need to gather some more information about the afternoon and evening of Veronica Gillis' murder. Moffat noticed that Haugen was quite flushed and seemed overheated. He thought to turn down the thermostat but the interview room was already cool. Instead he offered her a bottle of chilled water that she declined. Haugen was dressed in a turquoise knitted two-piece suit.

"Did you just come from work?"

"No, my mother insisted on coming along. We met at my house and had dinner."

"Mrs. Haugen, I guess you work long hours at your job as a loan officer."

"Yes, I do."

"At the end of the day, when you come home from work, do you usually change clothes? I mean, do you change into jeans or a sweatsuit like my wife does?"

Haugen was perplexed, (as was Sergeant De la Peña.) She shook her head. "Well, no. I usually do some shopping, make dinner, tidy up a bit. I used to try to take a forty-minute walk everyday after work but I haven't managed to do that in quite a while. "

"Mrs. Haugen, can you tell me what clothing you wore last Wednesday?"

As Moffat asked the question, De la Peña observed a flash of fear on her face.

"I...don't remember. Not offhand. Why would you need to know that?"

"Think about it, please. You met your mother for breakfast at the Miner's Flat Café. You must have met some clients that day. Does that help jog your memory?"

Haugen answered firmly without hesitation. "No."

"You do work at a bank, Mrs. Haugen. There are security cameras that record you as you move about." He let it sink in. "Think again, please."

"Ok. Yes, I can be fairly sure. I wore a tan suit similar in style to this one I am wearing. And a white blouse."

"Where is that suit now?"

"In the closet."

"Would you mind if we picked it up for analysis?"

"Well, no, but I don't see why you want that. I didn't see Ronnie after breakfast."

As they had at the time of their original interview, both detectives observed signs of an increasing level of stress including trembling hands, short breaths and a rising pitch of the voice. Moffat believed that Haugen was now trying to figure out why he would be interested in her clothing and whether she had made an error in agreeing to his request. With his next question, he guessed her heart would be pounding.

"Would you like to arrange for a lawyer to be present during questioning, Mrs. Haugen?"

"No, of course not. Why would I? I haven't done anything."

"There is a problem with your answers at our first interview. You told us you hadn't spoken to anyone after you left work. Since then, I've learned that you phoned Mrs. Gillis' office to see her that night."

Haugen exhaled sharply with a barely audible moan. Her face and neck turned a plum color. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I never got to talk to her and so when you came asking questions I didn't want to get myself involved. I never saw her. I thought about going to the church but I didn't. I'm sorry."

Haugen had begun to regain her composure.

Moffat thought to himself she is still hiding something. If she did go to the church, she can't be sure we haven't turned up a witness, but she may think if we had a witness we would have already arrested her. He had her for making a false statement but nothing else for now. He decided to hold his position for a time, having gained a tool for future use and the opportunity to view her closet.

"Mrs. Haugen, please remain here. An officer will accompany you to your home to collect the dress. I have a quick question for your mother."

Cheryl Haugen's mouth fell open in surprise. Moffat left the room before she could speak again.

His question to Mrs. Martius was if she remembered her daughter's clothing from last Wednesday's breakfast. She did. Without prompting, she recalled the tan two-piece suit Haugen had described. Moffat was only slightly disappointed with her answer.

Moffat summoned Officers Duncan and Fat who were still in the conference room, working on the pet owners list, scheduling appointments for the next day. He asked them to drive Mrs. Haugen back to her house, to collect the tan suit and to look within the closet for an orange dress or suit as well. If any of these items were found, they were to get Haugen's permission and then photograph clothing in the closets, bathroom, bedroom and elsewhere. Duncan and Fat were to collect the garments and return with them and Haugen to the station where Haugen would be released and could drive her mother home. They were instructed to drop off the tan suit and an orange garment if they found one, at the forensics lab for gunshot residue testing.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 25

Wednesday, May 17

Every member of the team came early to work Wednesday morning. Mrs. Grubb, of all people, was last to arrive at 6:45. Word that the DNA test results had come in and that they showed something had spread through the police grapevine. Computers were turned on, sweaters and jackets dropped over chair backs, then the team gathered at the side of the room, where Moffat and De la Peña sat studying the photographs and the database.

"Here it is, everyone." Moffat began. "The DNA shows that the 1977 and 1981 rape cases were committed by the same man. The other two samples also involve a single man: the 1975 rape and the blood found at the home of the 1998 missing person. Both of these genetic fingerprints have been submitted to the California Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. For now though, we want to consider whether either of these pairs can be moved over here to our subset of cases with Nicole Davies and Amy Price?"

"There's one more piece of information, Captain," Officer Fat said with a sly smile.

"The animal hair?"

"That's right. Schnauzer. And, of even more interest, an ancestor of the dog that licked the envelope."

"Wow." De la Peña looked at Moffat's computer monitor. "1989. Missing person. Let's move that one to our subset." De la Peña reached for the photo of Christine Shaw, then stopped, his index finger pressing just below the picture. "Oh...Do you guys see what I see?"

There were murmurs of assent.

"The same general appearance as Nicole and Amy. That's probably significant."

"The rape victim...see, 1975 here," Tashara pointed to another photo. "Different hairstyle, younger too, but she does seem to fit the general description." Then she feigned anger. "Hey, wait! Apparently, this guy is a racist in addition to being a rapist and murderer."

Fat shook his head dramatically. "You would think we would be beyond that by now."

De la Peña and Mrs. Grubb resisted laughing but smiled. Moffat saw Lang about to join in and decided to end this tangent of the group discussion before Lang said something that violated department training for a harassment-free workplace.

"OK, let's say we move these three cases into our subset. Maybe we have enough to find some patterns. We'll look at it again in a while. First though, I want to learn more about these locations on the map. I've been wondering if there might be a higher incidence of apartment residents versus those who live in single-family homes. I see all the pins on the map. Can you tell me what kind of places these are? Single story, two story, bungalows? Anyone know?"

"I can pull up Google Earth satellite images. That might help," Fat offered.

"That won't be necessary, kid," Schoenberg said. "I've policed this county almost twenty years. I can describe any street you want. See this place?" He pointed to the black pin designating Nicole Davies address at the time of her assault. "Those are a bunch of very small homes. There were twelve of them originally, built in the 1950's by a contractor and the guy that owned the land. Cheap housing for young families. There are only five left. The others were torn down for a drive in and a small grocery store.

"Look." Fat pointed to the screen where he had pulled up a satellite view of the street. Lang was impressed.

"OK. That'll help."

Schoenberg walked to the map to join Lang. Together they began to describe the victims' residences while Fat pulled the street up on De la Peña's computer screen, now projected at the front of the room.

* * *

Mrs. Grubb had been speaking for several minutes on the phone at Moffat's desk in the corner. She hung up and signaled to Moffat who left the group still reviewing locations and walked to meet her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. The watch commander has a lady who wants to talk to you about a possible crime in Miner's Flat. He thinks you should see her. She's the niece of Lewis Franke. She's refusing to talk to anyone else. I told him you were not free and that someone else would speak to her. She wants to see you. She says she would like to schedule an appointment."

"Tell the Desk Sergeant to take her to my office. I'll be right there."

De la Peña overheard and was as surprised as Mrs. Grubb that Moffat would interrupt the work at this point, leaving the team to finish the review on its own.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 26

"Good morning, Mrs. Russell. I understand that you are Lewis Franke's niece. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Captain Moffat, that's very nice of you. I'm sorry to bother you but there's some information I want to share with you and a favor to ask."

Moffat tilted his head slightly and nodded. "Well, it happens that I have some questions for you, so it's convenient that you came in this morning." True to his habit, Moffat watched the woman for a reaction. It would surprise most people and probably disconcert them to hear a policeman say he has some questions for them. Mild surprise, Moffat noted, otherwise her reaction was one of interest. Franke's niece was about sixty with reddish blonde hair and make up expertly applied to give a youthful and natural appearance. She was around 5'8" and very well dressed in a brown skirt, a light blouse and a tan sweater hanging over her shoulders. Gold-framed reading glasses hung from a gold chain around her neck. She accepted Moffat's offer of a chair, seating herself gracefully next to the desk in his temporary office. Moffat took out a pen and opened his spiral notebook.

"How can I help you, Mrs. Russell?"

"Please, call me Janice. I'm Mrs. Russell all day long and it's nice to be 'Janice' when I leave school."

"You're a teacher then."

"A high school English teacher in Point Pleasant, Ohio. I'm in my thirty sixth year. I still love it but the way young people have changed over the years, I sometimes wonder if I'm in your profession rather than my own."

Moffat smiled. He sometimes thought that criminals were better behaved when he started policing nearly a quarter of a century ago.

"Well, Captain, I came into town last Friday and was with my uncle when he died. He wasn't completely lucid. He called me by my late mother's name, usually, but he held my hand and I think it made him feel a bit better during his last day...that is, to know that 'family' was with him.'

"I met Catherine and Martha at the house on Saturday morning. They were both very nice and I am truly grateful for the care they gave my uncle." Janice paused and seemed to be weighing an issue in her mind. Then she seemed to be cheered by a sudden thought.

"Actually, it was Mrs. Pane who, indirectly led me to you. She told me about the murder and the nice Captain who came to the house to interview them. When I learned you had visited my uncle two days before I saw him and that you knew the Panes, I thought you might be in a position to help me with my problem."

"So you don't really have any information about the crime I'm investigating?"

"No. I may have let the Desk Sergeant assume I did to get through to your office. Mostly, I used this to convince him to let me see you. It's my son's."

She removed a business card from a pocket in her purse and handed it to Moffat. It read:

* * *

Jeremy Russell

Chief of Police

Middleport, Ohio

* * *

"You know police moms do get special treatment sometimes," she said, smiling.

"I thought you seemed rather comfortable around a police station."

"It's just a small town but it's still a difficult job. My daughter-in-law and I enjoy helping out. We try to show my son's officers that someone appreciates all they do for us."

Moffat smiled again. He had thought it unusual that the Desk Sergeant would not have sent her to a lower ranking officer. He could imagine that Janice's presentation of the business card changed everything.

"You were about to tell about a problem."

"Yes. I spoke to my uncle's lawyer and to the insurance agent who took over his office when he retired. Everything was as I expected with the attorney but the agent told me my uncle had changed a beneficiary of his life insurance on Tuesday of last week. The death benefit is three quarters of a million. Now $400,000 of that is to go to Reverend Arthur Pane."

"Hmm." Moffat leaned back in his chair. "That must have come as a surprise."

Janice laughed. "That's an understatement. I think Martha may have heard me call the insurance agent, because ten minutes after I hung up the phone, her husband showed up at the house. He was very mild mannered and sweet tempered, holding his hat in his hand as he told me what a wonderful man my uncle was and that he had been very fond of me. He brought up the subject of the bequest himself saying my uncle was very grateful for the care and affection they had shown him and, even though he wasn't as religious as Betty Jane, my uncle wished to see the Panes continue the good work of their church. Well, I never tipped my hand. I just thanked him for his kind words. But I would have had a few words for him that a sweet old schoolteacher shouldn't be using. You see, I think it is wrong for someone to abuse his special position as a minister for personal gain. I don't like it when these preachers decide it's God's Will for them to help themselves to someone else's property. You see it all the time." Showing some emotion for the first time in their interview, see seemed suddenly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I don't mean to offend you. Are you a religious person yourself?"

"No."

"Well, I know it's not right to paint all priests and ministers with the same brush."

"When I saw your uncle on Wednesday, he was only semi-conscious. I can't imagine that he was in any condition to handle matters of his estate at that time."

"I thought the same, based on seeing him Friday and Saturday. Apparently, the previous weekend he was much more lucid. The insurance agent assured me that my uncle gave him direction for the change in beneficiaries and knew what he was doing when he signed the form." She shook her head and sighed. "Captain, isn't there a law in this state that prevents caregivers from coercing sick people into changing their wills?"

"I'm not sure. It might apply only to those who are paid for their service, not volunteers. Don't you think you should consult an attorney on this?"

"I will if I have to but I hate to be forced to spend a significant part of my uncle's estate defending it from people like Reverend Pane. I am angry with him but disappointed with her. She seemed so nice when I met her. She fed me as soon as I arrived and did her best to cheer me up. I think her husband is the one doing the hanky panky here, Captain." She paused then added "Oh, and here's another piece of evidence for you. If my uncle was so grateful for the care he received, whey didn't he leave anything to Catherine? Martha told me herself that Catherine had given just as much of her time to his care as she had. I think he and Catherine had grown close as well."

"I understand how you feel, Janice, but what is it you think I can do about it? This sounds like a matter for a civil court."

"He was so shifty, I know he's hiding something. I thought, maybe, if you could apply some pressure, he might think better of it and give up his claim."

"I can't do that. Not even for a fellow policeman's mother." She looked disappointed. Moffat considered carefully then said, "Janice, I can't pressure Reverend Pane but the situation you describe does raise some questions. I will ask both the Panes about the events that led up to your uncle's action but please don't expect any specific results. Once people have their fingers on a lot of money, they rarely let go without a fight."

Janice seemed satisfied. It appeared she had realistic expectations for her visit with Moffat He thought she might have just been placing a long shot bet in calling on him. He guessed that she would soon consult an attorney with the appropriate background.

"You know, Captain, I feel a little guilty myself, inheriting everything from my uncle. We were never all that close. I saw him only about seven times after he moved out west. We drove out one time when my son was small. Uncle Lewis took an immediate liking to Jeremy. Other than that, it was mostly just Christmas cards once a year. When Betty Jane became sick, I phoned often but I couldn't make it out for the funeral. I wish we had seen more of them. He would have liked to know Jeremy as an adult, I think."

"Janice, are there no other siblings, nieces or nephews?"

"No. My mother was ten years older than Uncle Lewis. I was an only child and so was Betty Jane. You know, a small family can be kind of lonely once people start to die. We only had the one child too." Then her face lit up with pleasure. "Thank heavens my son and daughter-in-law broke the pattern. They have four, two adopted."

"That's very admirable. There are a lot of kids who need a good home."

"Do you have children, Captain?"

"My wife and I have a great daughter. She was kind of a handful and...I worked such long hours, we put off having another one for a few years and then it seemed too late, that there would be too big of an age difference. We even talked about adopting but the years went by and we never made the decision."

"You still could."

Moffat laughed. "No. I think I'm too old to start again."

She smiled. "I know what your mean. It's much easier being a grandparent. You give them back to their mother and father when you get tired. I hope you'll enjoy that experience before too long." She laughed then added, "What was it you wanted to ask me?"

Here I am letting the subject lead the interview, Moffat thought to himself. "The obituary said that your uncle was born May 8, 1930. Did you provide that information to the Ledger Dispatch?"

"Yes. I called my husband to check my grandmother's family Bible. He gave me Lewis' birth date and place of birth."

"Did you know much about your uncle's military experience?"

"No. My grandmother and mother never mentioned it. I don't remember Uncle Lewis ever talking about it. The reporter had a lot of biographical information from an old article about my uncle... from 1974, I think, when he ran for the state legislature. He was endorsed by Ronald Reagan. That's where the photo in his study came from - the one of Reagan and him. Reagan was governor at the time, I think. Uncle Lewis lost though. Do you think any of this is related to your investigation?"

"Probably not. How long will you be staying here, Janice?"

"I have to stay another week to put the house on the market." A mischievous smile crossed her face. "Do you know any good real estate agents, Captain Moffat?"

Moffat laughed. "I know she wasn't popular with some people."

"Whew, that's another understatement. You should have heard the very Christian Reverend and Mrs. Pane talking about you murder victim. They seemed to have forgotten some of the lessons of the New Testament when it came to her. They hit her with most of the Ten Commandments and all but one of the seven deadly sins, as far as I could keep up."

"Well, I can tell you that there were some nice things said at her memorial service."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 27

The meeting with Janice Russell had been a pleasant one, though Moffat wasn't sure if it had any value for his investigation. He had thought there was something that didn't quite fit in Lewis Franke's obituary. When Franke's niece confirmed that, it didn't really clarify anything. He was pleased to get back to the team where it felt like they were on the verge of a step forward.

There hadn't been many changes in position since Moffat left. Fat was still at the computer, moving the cursor to reveal new satellite views of the city and county in response to new addresses being read out by De la Peña and the rest of the team. The other members seemed to be rotating between the photographs on the bulletin board and the detailed street map posted nearby, with occasional brief rests seated or leaning at the edges of one of the two tables nearest the side of the room.

"We've almost finished viewing each of the victims' homes," De la Peña told Moffat "We started to think it might be living in older places that would tie together the cases. Then we thought it might also be living on the first floor. Davies, Price and Robin Knight--the 1998 missing person in whose home the bloodstain was discovered--had those two things in common. Some of the others also lived in those types of places. Mrs. Grubb has been typing in descriptions of the homes as Schoenberg and Lang provide them."

"So far, they've got them all," Tashara added. "Let's see if they can get a perfect score. Here's the next one. Missing person. 1980. Resided at 148 Sierra Wood Circle."

Lang and Schoenberg looked at each other. Lang waved an open hand for his partner to take this one. "That's one unit of a duplex one block from the main highway. Single story, it would have been fairly new then."

"Here it is," Fat called from behind them.

Schoenberg pointed to the projection screen. "See, it's a circle street. That address is at the top left as the road starts to curve back to the highway. There are homes behind it now, but there weren't in 1980."

"Here's our last missing person case: 1979. Resided at unit T12, 25716 Old Highway 49, Segovia. Oh, wait, you already got that location. This is a second one at that address, different building."

"That's the big singles complex, Captain," Lang said. "This one's in the corner. Doesn't face the artificial lake. First story. The place was new then."

"That's near where Sergeant De la Peña lives." Tashara stroked her chin and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Where were you in 1979, sir?"

"Oh, no," De la Peña laughed. "It's all a blank."

"No alibi," Fat called out from behind them.

Tashara returned to the database. "The next one is the oldest of the three rapes cases, 1975. The one with the DNA match to the blood drops found at the home of the 1998 missing person. The rape victim was attacked in the library parking lot but she lived at 13115 Tioga Way."

"That's a single family home about six miles out of town." Lang provided this information then looked to the screen to wait for Fat. He continued, "It's a fairly large home."

"She lived with her parents. This one doesn't fit the single story, woman alone pattern but the DNA links it to the 1998 missing person which does," Duncan observed.

"OK, next to the last one, Tashara," De la Peña said.

"Yes, 1973, indecent exposure. Victim was accosted in the parking lot of the college. She lived in the dorm, second floor, with three other girls." Tashara paused then added, "Maybe that one's not related. It doesn't seem to fit.'

Duncan countered. "He might have been just getting started. Maybe he was working his way up. Don't forget, the victim's description of him was a tall, dark-haired guy."

"Good, let's get back to this discussion when we finish," Moffat said then turning to Tashara, "What's the last one?"

"Murder victim, 1970. Killed in the old Administration Building Annex. Lived at 1718 Old Highway 49, apartment 237."

"That's interesting, Captain," Lang said with a smug air. "Do you know where those locations are?"

"No."

"Well, she lived just outside of town. She was killed in a building that was torn down in the 1980's to make room for the parking lot right out front."

For a moment there was silence. Moffat said nothing but his subordinates thought he wore a troubled expression. Tashara broke the silence.

"It doesn't fit the pattern, does it? I mean, it's not a missing person or a sex crime. She was killed in an office building and she wasn't blonde. Doesn't fit.

"No, I guess not," Moffat said.

Jane Duncan spoke next. "Captain, can we talk about all the cases now? Maybe talk about what we think we might have?"

"Yes. Let's get on with looking for commonalities. Did you have an idea?"

"Well, sort of. The exhibitionist and the rapist...they could be the same man based on physical description. Couldn't it be a case of where he started with different crimes then worked his way up to murder?"

Fat had joined the group. "We think these missing women are murder victims, don't we?"

"I think most of them are, yes," Moffat explained. "Otherwise, we would have had some trace of them in all these years. He entered Nicole Davies' home with a syringe full of azaperone that would have made her unconscious. If it was the same man who was responsible for Amy Price's disappearance, it seems likely he intended to remove Davies from her home."

Duncan returned to her question. "Do serial killers start out with lesser crimes?"

"Yes, that is fairly common. Of course, they don't become serial killers unless they are skilled in avoiding detection."

"So," Duncan continued, "The tall dark haired man could have developed his pattern of going after women alone in old, first story apartments or houses after he attacked the first two."

"He must have," Fat responded, "Because the rape and the missing person are connected and the Price and another missing person - the one with the dog hair in the stocking cap - are connected and Price and Davies are connected. Davies, the exhibitionist and the rapist are connected at least in the description of the assailant as tall and Caucasian."

"Those are legitimate assumptions," Moffat said.

"What about the ages?" Fat asked. "Davies is only thirty four. Can we eliminate all the missing persons and victims who are much older than her?"

"Yeah, look at the ages," De la Peña said with enthusiasm. "These first two were quite a bit younger. Remember we noticed that Nicole was attacked three years after Amy Price and she was three years older at the time."

Schoenberg spoke. "That could be a coincidence. When you're over forty, a thirty four year old woman looks pretty young. I'm really bad at guessing women's ages. My ex-wife turned out to be five years older than she told me when we met."

"Some policeman," Tashara teased.

"What if I plot a curve connecting the ages of the indecent exposure and rape victims with Davies, Price and the other two missing persons?" Fat suggested. "That would give us an age-adjusted curve to compare with the other victims."

"Huh?" Schoenberg and Lang said together.

Fat explained that the curve would account for the perpetrator's changing preference and would enable the team to exclude victim's who were too young or too old at the time of their disappearance.

Lang rolled his eyes. Schoenberg shook his head. Moffat said "Why don't you go ahead and plot the ages by year and we'll consider excluding cases that fall out of a certain band."

"Sounds like a waste of time," Schoenberg said.

"Possibly. Getting back to living conditions... What do these old, first story homes have in common?"

"Easy to break in to," De la Peña answered first.

"Creaky floorboards," Tashara offered.

"That would be a deterrent," Fat shouted, returned now to his seat in front of his computer. "I'd hear him coming in the back and I'd run out the front screaming."

"Bad plumbing," Peake said. "I'm always having to call my landlord about leaking faucets or water heater problems."

"What about laundry facilities?" Moffat asked the team.

From De la Peña came "Yeah. Nicole went to the laundromat just before she was attacked."

Lang countered. "Yes, but he was probably already at her house by then preparing to break in."

"It could have been a coincidence...that day." Moffat said. "Here's my question. How many of these places would have had their own facilities for laundry on site?"

"Oh. The laundromat could be the connection. You can tell a lot about people by seeing their laundry," Tashara observed.

The group fell silent for several seconds. Tashara stood and walked to the map. She gazed at the array of multi-colored pins and said, "Captain, if you live alone, it shows. Smaller loads. Bras and panties but no gym socks and jock straps. Someone could see you don't have men's or children's clothes when you're waiting for a machine or folding clothes. Then he could follow you home just to be sure. He could see if you had visitors or maybe were alone most of the time. He could follow you to work. Office workers have regular hours so he could pick up her routine easily, I think."

"Wouldn't he be noticed, following someone around like that?" Duncan asked.

De la Peña answered. "If the stalker case is one of this group, he did get noticed once. Maybe he got better at it. It sounds like Tashara is on to something, Captain."

"Why don't you all sort through these cases again for victims who would have taken their laundry to the Pioneer Laundromat. Then we can decide if we want to narrow down our subset to these we have now plus women who might have used the laundromat who also live on the first floor, and who..." he nodded to Fat "are of the right age. And, yes, let's consider restricting the subset to blondes or at least light haired women."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 28

The mid-day sun was bright but the air still cool when Moffat and Mrs. Grubb walked the three blocks to the County Hospital. Joyce Bithell, Director of Nursing and longtime friend of Mrs. Grubb, had rescheduled two other meetings and was waiting for them when they arrived. Her office was spacious, slightly larger even than Chief Halvorsen's, and included a lounge to the left of her desk with a new, dark brown leather couch and a slate blue fabric covered chair in an el configuration around a coffee table. A ceramic pot and three cups were on a tray on the table.

Moffat sat at the end of the couch. He declined the offer of tea. "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Mrs. Bithell. I'm hoping you can permit us a short visit with Aaron Jamison. He may be able to help in a murder investigation."

Mrs. Bithell set her cup on the table. "I was afraid you were going to ask me that, Captain. Ordinarily, I would be able to let you in. Evelyn can tell you, I always cooperate with the police. This time I can't help. The boy's grandmother brought in a lawyer from Sacramento. He made it very clear that no one outside of the family or hospital staff would be allowed to speak to Aaron without the attorney being present."

"I understand. I would do the same in his position."

"That's not all. Our staff psychiatrist has given strict orders that Aaron not have any visitors. Evelyn, you've never met him, I don't think. He's about forty, has a ponytail and dresses in blue jeans. What you and I would call a "hippy." He's usually very casual about his work, even lackadaisical, in my opinion. For this patient, though, he seems to have cleared his schedule to permit hours of counseling therapy. Usually, even a juvenile would be scheduled for not much more than forty minutes a week. This is just the second full day and already he has spent four hours with the boy. He gave him one 20mg dose of fluoxetine - that's Prozac - when he first came in, then suddenly told us to stop any medication. "I've never seen Dr. Zielinski move so aggressively with a single patient. I suspect he may have been contacted by someone higher up."

"Thanks, Joyce," Mrs. Grubb said. "How does the boy seem to be responding?"

"He slept most of the first 24 hours...probably from stress and the medication. None of the nurses got more than one or two words out of him yesterday. All I've heard today is that he ate well at breakfast."

Mrs. Grubb smiled. "We like to hear that, don't we Joyce?"

"We do indeed. Any mother will tell you a healthy appetite is a good sign."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bithell. If you don't mind, Mrs. Grubb will check with you regularly for updates."

"It's no problem at all, Captain. I'm happy to help."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 29

At one, De la Peña summoned the team to the bulletin board once again. On two three by five index cards he had printed a single word. The first read "IN" the second "OUT." He pinned the first card to the top left and the second to the top right of the twenty-five photographs.

Moffat and Mrs. Grubb joined them and De la Peña began.

"OK, everyone. Let's go through this again. We have agreed on criteria and we've checked each case against them.

First, we move Nicole into the "IN" group followed by Amy Price based on the letters, age and appearance, and the fact they lived in single story buildings without laundry facilities in proximity to the Pioneer Laundromat."

He knew Moffat had already thought this through so De la Peña sped to his summary. "We add the 1989 missing person Christine Shaw because of the dog hair and general agreement with the other criteria. The 1998 m.p. with the drops of blood moves into the "IN" group. Now, here, we had to rely only on the criteria but it was a good match with Price, Davies and Shaw. That brings with it the 1975 rape case, based on the DNA match. Now we know our man is around through the eighties and nineties. We bring six more missing persons into the group plus the stalking case because they really fit well. Based on the victim's appearance and assailant's description we added the indecent exposure case. The notes in the case file on the rape show the police thought at the time it was the same man."

"That leaves us with fourteen cases still to go. It's easy to move the two rape cases into the "OUT" group based on DNA and rapist's description. We also dropped the 1970 murder case. There was no sexual assault involved and the victim was brunette."

Moffat felt some discontent watching De la Peña move the three photographs to the right. He promised himself he would re-open their cases as soon as the immediate threat was resolved. However many years had passed, these people deserved his best effort to resolve the questions related to their disappearance, murder or assault, punish the guilty and give closure to their loved ones.

"The rest were harder to evaluate," De la Peña went on. "Three didn't match on any criteria, either hair color, age or living situation. An example was Leslie Barnes from 1979. She was thirty-four then, the same age as Nicole is now, but we think that would have been too old for him then. By itself, that's kind of shaky but we also have the fact that she lived with a boyfriend at the time in a second floor apartment. The remaining eight match on one or two criteria, but lacking any physical evidence or other clue we couldn't rule them in or out."

"So, here we have it: thirteen women, including nine missing persons who we think may have been attacked by the same man. Separate the first two non-lethal attacks, and we have eleven women of similar appearance who lived alone and would probably have taken their laundry to Pioneer Laundromat.

"Captain," Officer Duncan said in a soft voice, "It really makes sense - now that we've looked at all these case files. But I'm worried that it doesn't bring us any closer to identifying a suspect. I'm afraid all we've accomplished so far is just a very good way to determine if the next missing woman reported is another one of his victims."

"You are right. We've made progress but we still have no idea who he is and when or where he will strike again. Let's have some ideas, everybody."

No one spoke. Moffat continued, "We still have the schnauzer lead."

De la Peña agreed but acknowledged it was almost up to the "needle in a hay stack" standard. "I think it's worth pursuing though."

Moffat looked at the team. "We have the laundromat..." he began.

Lang said, "Yes. We could talk to more customers, going back for years. Look for somebody who saw something suspicious."

Fat said "We could keep quiet about the whole thing, set up a stakeout and hope he still goes there."

Tashara said "We could put a decoy in there, see if he takes the bait."

"I like that idea," De la Peña said. "We could send a policewoman in there who fits his profile and see if someone follows her."

"I'd volunteer, but I think a short, pregnant black girl is not what he goes for."

Moffat said. "Thanks but even if one of our team fit the profile, I wouldn't want to risk her being ID'd as a cop. If we decide to do this, I'll talk to the Chief about a temporary loan from another police force. I've been worrying that he might be motivated to strike again soon, but on the other hand, it seems like a long shot that could burn up a lot of police resources without a high likelihood of success."

De la Peña countered. "I see it that way too but what other options do we have. If the DNA is a match in the Federal or state databanks, maybe we'll have a lead. But otherwise, we've got the dog search and not much else."

Moffat nodded thoughtfully.

With that, the team broke up to pursue individual assignments. Officers Fat and Duncan left to start interviews of the dog owners. Lang and Schoenberg completed contacting the missing persons next of kin. Officer Peake followed up on the credit and social security earnings inquiries sent out Monday afternoon. With little further discussion, De la Peña and Moffat decided to pursue the decoy idea. They began the planning and other arrangements. Later, De la Peña printed an updated version of the 25 case data base, sending it to a printer on the first floor which would print the document on 11x17 inch paper. He ran down and back and was soon pouring over the entire three-page table made up of twenty-five rows, one for each woman, and fifteen columns of characteristics of the victims and the crimes.

At three thirty, a tone signaled the arrival of an e-mail message. Peake interrupted her fellow team members, calling out that she had found something. She had received e-mail responses on credit checks run on each of the women's social security numbers. She opened the messages one by one and when she finished she had turned up three hits, including one from the "IN" group. She passed two names to Lang and Schoenberg and kept one for herself. These three leads kept them occupied much of the afternoon with follow up calls around the country.

About four o'clock, De la Peña approached Moffat's corner with his large version database in one hand and carrying a plastic chair with the other. He sat next to Moffat and pointed to the line for the earliest of the case files, now sorted by the "IN, OUT and Unassigned" categories.

"Sandra Smith, killed January 27, 1970."

"Yes, Sergeant, one of the cases you ruled out of our investigation. Have you changed your mind?"

"No. It's still out but we did manage to turn up an interesting coincidence when we filled in the information." De la Peña seemed slightly elated. "Look at one of the witnesses interviewed by the investigators." He pointed to a column in the middle of the right half of the page.

"Lewis Franke." Moffat read the name with surprise. "What does it say about him?"

"The victim worked for him in the Segovia office of the Selective Service. For some reason, she worked late or came back to the office that night. Apparently, a thief entered while she was there alone. He may have been surprised. He shot her in the back as she ran for the door. Franke found the body the following morning. He reported some missing cash and office machines. It's really strange, isn't it?"

"Yes. Bizarre...the way his name keeps coming up."

"By the way, what did his niece come in for?"

"A question about beneficiaries on life insurance. I'll go over it with you tomorrow after we launch the decoy operation." Moffat wanted De la Peña focused on the task force issues for now.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 30

Thursday, May 18

A series of phone calls stretched into the night. Chief Halvorsen arranged for the temporary loan of a blonde, athletic policewoman in her mid-thirties from the Tuolumne County Sheriff's Department. Other members of his staff evaluated possible residences for the decoy and quickly settled a 1960's era bungalow two blocks from business route 49 and a mile from the Pioneer Laundromat. The bungalow was at the center of a u-shaped street with nine identical homes typically rented on a week-to-week basis. She was to be the new bookkeeper for a small winery south of town. (Use of the winery next to Moffat was considered and quickly discarded as the perpetrator was believed to be familiar with Moffat and his family and may have learned where they lived.) In a final piece of attention to detail, Mrs. Grubb phoned the task force members at home during the evening with instructions on what to wear the next day.

* * *

De la Peña received the most attention. Thursday morning, he walked into the station through the back entrance dressed in dark blue sweatpants, a sea green tee shirt with the sites and dates of Cold Play's 2003 concert tour and black running shoes. He carried a yellow plastic laundry basket with five pairs of jeans. He moved quickly through the hall, entered the task force room and placed his laundry basket on a side table before greeting his coworkers. Mrs. Grubb and Moffat shared the same thought. In casual clothes De la Peña looked very young. He could easily have passed as a college student.

Officer Peake's attire was a rose long sleeve tee shirt with white overalls and white Reebok walking shoes. Lang and Schoenberg wore jeans and tee shirts. Mrs. Grubb had taken their disguises a step further by asking them not to shave. Duncan and Fat, looking like two young professionals on casual day at the office were dressed in slacks, knit shirts and loafers.

Moffat explained the plan for the decoy operation. Lang and Schoenberg would drive to Sonora in an unmarked department cargo van. They would meet Deputy Sheriff Kim McLean of the Tuolumne County Sheriff's Department at her home where they would load a suitcase and several boxes of clothing along with a small bookcase, box of books and magazines, a television, and some toiletries. Then they would escort McLean, driving her own car, to Segovia, where she would split off to go to the winery. They would continue to the bungalow where they would unload her belongings and set up the place to look lived in. They would install several nearly invisible silent alarms and hidden surveillance cameras and microphones in the front and back of the house.

De la Peña would visit the laundromat, evaluate vantage points for observation and, as appropriate, arrange with a business across the street to use a room on the second floor with a view of the laundromat. He would also decide locations for the police vehicles.

Duncan and Fat would perform their schnauzer checks until four thirty, when they would proceed to positions to be determined to participate in the decoy operation.

Lang waived toward Moffat "What if our man is not at the laundromat or he doesn't take the bait?"

"The plan is now for McLean to proceed to Denny's where she will eat alone, then return to the bungalow. The next morning she will leave for the winery at seven thirty, parking her car in the employee lot. If necessary - and I expect it will be \- we have plans for her to visit the laundry again on Friday and Saturday.

"Why would anyone do that much wash?" This came from Schoenberg.

Mrs. Grubb responded. "I thought of that. This evening she'll have a load of whites, Friday dark clothes and on Saturday it will be the drapes and kitchen and bedroom curtains of her new home."

Moffat continued. "We're hoping he will have noticed McLean by then and we will have identified him. Beyond that, we keep up the trips back and forth to work and to Denny's for dinner for one or takeout. If it goes that far, one more visit to the laundromat on Wednesday. If he doesn't take the bait by Friday next week, we shut down the operation."

"Damn, this is a tough one," Lang observed, shaking his head.

"I know. It may be a long shot. He could easily decide to keep cool for months. But if he doesn't, if the failure with Nicole increases the urge he has to kill again, I don't want to be doing nothing. I hate thinking the only place we will find a good lead is at the next crime scene."

Seeing Moffat was done for now, De la Peña took over. "We've got plenty to do in addition to getting ready for the decoy operation. Let's get up to date on yesterday's progress. Who did the social security follow up?"

"Lang, Schoenberg and I handled those," Peake answered.

"We found two of the missing women through activity on credit reports tied to their social security numbers. We found Virginia Long, missing person 1974..."

Lang said "I spoke with her in Florida. She left town with a man she had been seeing. They both drank a lot. She said she spent 15 years without a sober day but is now a recovering alcoholic. She went back to work, but no one here followed up until now."

"Good work. That was one, not a blonde, that you chose to leave out of your IN group, Sergeant. Too old, among other things. And the other one?" Moffat asked.

"Rosalie Hunt, 1993," Schoenberg responded. "She was a blonde and the right age but she is very much alive...in Mississippi. She never knew she had been reported missing. She wouldn't say why she left town. It was personal. But she gave me enough background information to establish she is the person we had as missing."

"Mine didn't turn out as well," Peake began again. "I traced the social security number to a woman working in a meat packing plant in Iowa. The personnel manager provided me with a description that in no way matches our missing person. It seems the number was appropriated by someone supplying, false documents to illegal aliens. I forwarded the information to Homeland Security."

"So she stays in our IN group. Still, we took two more out of the whole pool. It's now down to twenty-three. That's progress since Monday," De la Peña observed.

"Make that twenty-one," Tashara said. "Results are back from the state DNA data bank. The two rape cases with the DNA match...the state database shows the perpetrator is a man serving life without parole in Folsom. We're lucky about the life sentence. The statute of limitations would have prevented prosecution. But we'll be able to tell his victims that we know who did it and he can't hurt anyone else. That should help a lot."

Mrs. Grubb walked to the bulletin board. Glancing occasionally at her note pad, she moved photographs of Hunt and Long to the left under the "OUT" card, joining the linked rape cases and the 1970 murder.

"Fat and Duncan." De la Peña called out. "How did the dog hunt go yesterday?"

"We got twelve done," Fat responded. Seeing De la Peña's expression, he added, "It did go slower than we expected. Those schnauzer owners are very talkative. Friendly, but not very helpful."

"Yeah, and their dogs yap non-stop," Duncan added. "When they're not yapping they are jumping on you, wanting you to throw their damn squeaky toy. I think I'm catching Lang's allergy."

"Sounds like a tough assignment," De la Peña said shaking his head in mock sympathy. Seeing Fat hold up what looked like a batch of paper evidence bags, but not of the usual size and color, he asked, "What are those, Fat?"

"Schnauzer cheek swabs."

"I didn't know we decided to do DNA tests."

"Well, no, Sergeant, but it won't cost anything. The dog DNA lab agreed to test them for free. They won't be working nights anymore but they promised to run them within a few days. They'll be able to tell us if we find the dog that licked the envelope, the dog whose hair was found at the crime scene or a relative of one of those two."

"OK. Let's see if you can pick up the pace. If there is anything to be learned out there we want to find out as soon as possible."

Moffat left the group without further comment. De la Peña finished his overview of plans for the day. The entire team would be out of the Team Center most of the day with the exception of Officer Tashara who would close the four case files that had been resolved. Moments later, De la Peña joined Moffat at the corner of the room.

De la Peña's appearance brought another smile from Moffat. The Sergeant sat in a chair with his back against the wall, his left elbow resting on the desk. "You like Mrs. Grubb's makeover?"

"Don't get used to it,"

"So, Captain, you were going to tell me what Pane's niece had to say."

Moffat related Janice Russell's story about the last minute change to Franke's life insurance beneficiaries.

"Wow. I don't think I'd want to have Pane set to inherit anything if I died. The guy creeps me out. Anyone who digs graves for fun..."

"I know what you mean."

"What about the 1970 murder case with Franke as a witness?" De la Pena asked.

"Quite a coincidence. I read the whole file. A twenty-two year old clerk typist working for the Selective Service. She was shot late at night, a 38-caliber bullet to the back. Franke discovered the body the next morning when he opened the office. Police thought she might have surprised a burglar. Initially there was concern the murder might be related to activities of anti-war groups around at the time. In the month prior, the office had been vandalized and once was the site of a demonstration that turned violent. Police determined the murder was a simple burglary gone bad. They never identified a suspect."

"Interesting," De la Peña commented. "I bet we won't be closing that case."

"Not likely after 37 years, is it? Come on, I'll buy you some coffee before you do your laundry on County time."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 31

Mrs. Grubb found them in the first floor break room. "It's unbelievable, Captain."

"What is?"

"Suzanne Robinson from Juvenile Hall phoned. Aaron Jamison was released from the hospital. His grandmother picked him up this morning. No charges were filed."

De la Peña stared at Mrs. Grubb then at Moffat "He brings a gun to high school, threatens students and police, spends three days in the psychiatric ward and that's it?" De la Peña shook his head.

Moffat looked perplexed. "It is hard to believe they could decide so quickly that he's safe to leave. I didn't want him sent to the Youth Authority but, no, I don't know how they could do this. I'll catch up with you later, Sergeant. Mrs. Grubb, let's find out what's going on."

* * *

Their first call was to the County Probation Officer. She seemed in a state of shock. According to the law and administrative procedure, the decision was supposed to be hers but, she said, the district attorney and the county's senior judge contacted her late last night and told her Aaron would be released without charges. The psychiatrist, they told her, had clearly established that Aaron was no longer a threat to himself or others. They had determined there were extenuating circumstances that made it in the public interest to stop any legal proceedings against Aaron. The probation officer admitted that she had voluntarily agreed to drop the charges but confided to Moffat that she had never experienced such high level pressure in the case of a juvenile offender.

While Moffat was on the phone, Mrs. Grubb made a second call. She asked Joyce Bithell for any information she might have. Although Aaron did seem quite normal and in excellent spirits by Wednesday, the staff of the Psychiatric Ward was equally surprised by his sudden release. Nurse Bithell believed that the psychiatrist was responsible. When Mrs. Grubb relayed the nurse's account to Moffat, he asked her to phone her friend once again, to set up an urgent meeting with the psychiatrist.

Less than a half hour later four county employees--Police Captain Alexander Moffat, Director of Nursing Joyce Bithell, Senior Administrative Assistant Evelyn Grubb and Staff Psychiatrist Dr. Neil Zielinski--sat in the lounge area of Bithell's office. Zielinski was just as Bithell described him: informal, energetic and very earnest. He opened a bag of vending machine peanuts and began eating. He was not at all defensive.

"I know, Captain, I've never seen things move this quickly here. When the D.A. chose to drop the charges, I had no grounds to hold the patient. His family was very eager to have him released."

Zielinski paused, expecting a challenge, a question or some kind of response. Moffat gazed at the doctor with a look of intense interest. Mildly surprised, Zielinski continued his account of Aaron's condition.

"Monday afternoon, when I read the admitting officer's report, I thought we were faced with a very difficult case. I prescribed something to relax, help him sleep. I couldn't see him until the next morning. By then, I had already been contacted by his grandmother. She gave me a complete picture of his home life, the abandonment by his father in early childhood and the mother's complete lack of parenting skills. I promised her I would see Aaron right away and do everything possible for him. She is very persuasive.'

"When I met Aaron, I found a shy, bright, independent young person with a resilient personality who had been subjected to unbearable bullying that goes back at least three years. After some initial hesitation, he spoke freely about the problems that led to the incident."

"That 'incident' could have resulted in the deaths of many children and the boy himself," Mrs. Bithell interrupted. "How could we release him into the same conditions? How can that be safe?"

"I know, I know. I spent hours with Aaron. He poured his heart out to me. Through this therapy he was able to recognize the child's perception of his situation and gain a realistic understanding of the problems he has been facing and what his role is and is not in the causation. As I said, he is a very intelligent young man and we were able to address a personal issue that has conflicted him for several years. Aaron and the grandmother have committed to ongoing counseling and I have arranged for placement in a support group. Overall, I have to say that this young man does not suffer from any mental disease or serious personality disorder. Under the conditions in which Aaron has existed, I doubt any of us would have enjoyed the same level of mental health."

Mrs. Grubb had followed the doctor's words in rapt silence, her eyes welled with tears as the doctor described Aaron's challenges in life. Joyce Bithell patted her forearm then asked the doctor "How can he return to that school? You won't expect him to go back, will you?"

"Miner's Flat High School has a serious problem and I have provided reports to the Board of Education and the state Superintendent of Public Instruction. The school failed completely to comply with SB719 for protection of students from bullying and harassment. I expect some changes immediately. Getting back to Aaron...he wants to return to school. He has written a letter of apology that will, I understand, be presented at an assembly of the students and faculty tomorrow morning. When he returns to school Monday...yes, Monday...he will have the support and companionship of quite a few students and a teacher counselor. I have arranged for a support group to meet on Saturday under professional supervision. The final factor supporting my decision fell into place last night. The child's mother surrendered custody to his grandmother and so I think he will have for the first time in his life a stable and healthy family environment. Judge Scholz approved the petition. There was no mental health or legal reason to keep Aaron confined to the Ward."

Moffat nodded. "Thank you for explaining your decision, Doctor."

"Captain, you and I have the same objective. To determine that Aaron is not a threat to himself and others and to allow him to get the most out of life."

"One other thing, Doctor. As far as you are concerned, would it be all right for me to talk to Aaron today?"

Zielinski thought for a moment. "Yes, actually that would be a good thing. Aaron thinks very highly of you and your Sergeant. He needs to come to terms with what he did on Monday and the police are a big part of that experience. Talking to you would give him a chance to apologize and have completion on that score. With his grandmother's permission, I think it would be good for Aaron to see you. I'll phone her if you would like."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 32

Brandon Fat snapped shut his cell phone. "Change of plans, Janie. Mr. Morrison wants us to meet him at the park next to the clubhouse."

Duncan turned an unmarked police car onto the road leading to a security gate at the Sierra Rose Active Seniors Retirement Community. She pulled close to a phone on a pedestal to use the keypad to enter an access code provided by Morrison, a schnauzer owner with whom Fat had made an appointment. Before she pressed the first number, the gate began to swing open. Duncan followed a homeowner's car through the gate, drawing suspicious stares from three pedestrians. A huge clubhouse and recreation center was on the right. Duncan turned at the next corner and saw a small crowd of about twenty people and eleven dogs near picnic tables in the center of a park. The crowd stared as Duncan and Fat approached. A tall thin man with a full head of striking silver hair greeted them.

"I'm Adam Morrison. You must be Brandon Fat."

Fat displayed his badge. "This is my partner Officer Duncan."

"Welcome to Sierra Rose. You're probably wondering about this." He waved at the collection of people and dogs. "We compared notes about your request and thought it would be easier if we all met here...save you from explaining about the case eight separate times. Just ignore those three." He pointed at three dogs and their owners. Fat saw a dachshund, a cocker and one "who knows what" at the edge of the group. "We told them it was miniature schnauzers only but they came anyway. So, Detective, what are you working on and how can we help?"

Fat liked the sound of 'detective' and didn't correct Morrison. "I'm sorry. We really can't discuss the investigation." Seeing looks of disappointment all around, he added quickly, "Not until it's over. Then I can come back. We need some information about your dogs and want to take a swab from each dog's mouth."

"Why can't you explain what it's about?" One of the women asked.

Duncan replied. "Orders."

Another woman said, "What if we don't want to get involved? How do we know what we're getting into?"

A short, wide man with a fringe of gray hair surrounding a shiny, bald head joined in. "Come on, Sylvia. Your dog doesn't have anything to hide, does he?"

"Well, I don't know. The other day he got away from me and squeezed under the gate to the field. He was gone all afternoon."

"You think maybe he knocked over a bank?"

"Wait, everyone," Fat interrupted. "It's not that a dog was involved in the commission of any crime. Your cooperation will help focus our investigation and eliminate some possibilities. It is voluntary, however."

"Come on, everybody," Adam Morrison shouted. "Line up to my left and we'll get this done.

Just then, a salt and pepper female schnauzer on a retractable leash charged Duncan from the side. Duncan pivoted and glared at the dog. It stopped instantly and ran behind its owner, nearly tripping her with the leash.

"Don't be afraid. They can sense fear," the lady said.

"Can they sense they're about to be pepper sprayed?" Duncan said without humor.

"Kukla doesn't bite."

"Maybe not," Fat offered "but Officer Duncan does."

Duncan took information from Morrison: owner's name, address, dog's name, age, where acquired. Fat pulled on plastic gloves and with Morrison's help, drew the swab across the inside of his dog's cheek. Another senior, a fit looking woman of about seventy-five, volunteered to assist with the rest of the samples, explaining she had worked twenty years at a veterinary clinic and was skilled at brushing canine teeth and this looked even easier. Fat passed a pair of gloves to the woman and they worked their way down the line. The seniors kept up a steady stream of chatter, some not realizing that they could be overhead by two 23 year olds with normal hearing.

"He's the son of the Chinese dentist."

"Why do you have to say 'Chinese'? You always refer to people by their race."

"Remember the dentist married a white woman. One of the Whitman kids..."

"Isn't her hair cute?"

"I haven't got up that far yet."

"What time is the potluck?"

* * *

Packing the newly collected samples in the trunk, Fat thought that nine dogs in only 35 minutes should make De la Peña happy. Plus leads on another four unlicensed schnauzers. Duncan shook her head slightly, thinking another three or four days of this might send her over the edge.

Ten minutes later, they met the next dog owner on the day's list, a thirty year old man lovingly washing a black Hummer in the driveway of a modest home in a new housing tract. Despite the sixty-two degree temperature, he was shirtless, wearing only shorts and sandals.

Identification was offered and information provided. The dog was unavailable at the time.

"My ex-girlfriend took the dog and won't return it. I bought it just before we moved in together. She knows it doesn't belong to her. Legally, it's mine."

"Did you want to file a theft report?" Fat asked reluctantly. He was relieved when the man shook his head.

"Where is the dog now?"

"She took it to San Luis Obispo. She's already moved in with some guy. Probably had him lined up before we broke up." He directed a light spray of water to the Hummer's soapy rooftop. "The thing is, she didn't even like the dog when we lived together. You know how women..." The man glanced at Duncan and checked himself. "Well, OK. If you ask her she'll tell you what an asshole I am."

The two officers thanked him and headed to their next stop. Both agreed it was unlikely they would be sent on a 300 mile round trip to collect this particular dog's DNA. As they would with all the schnauzer owners, they would check him for any record with law enforcement agencies.

His attitude made an impression on Fat. "I hope we're not that bitter when we're that age, Janie."

"I don't know why I wouldn't be. I am now."

Duncan and Fat made several more stops before taking a short break to pick up hamburgers at a fast food drive through. They ate on the road to their next stop then checked off another three in rapid succession. By 2:00 they arrived at the home of the eighteenth dog on their list. In a neighborhood of large, blue tile roofed two story homes on small lots, they called on a forty five year old man who lived with his wife, three teen aged children, a loud cockatiel, and a six year old black, male miniature schnauzer. The man's answers were routine except for how he acquired the dog.

"We had one when I was growing up. I was pretty young but I remembered driving out into the country to buy a pup at a farm with a kennel. It was in the middle of nowhere but it made an impression on me. Six years ago, when we finally decided to get a dog, just on a whim, my wife and I and one of the kids drove up there. There weren't any signs - puppies for sale - or anything but when we got to the end of the road I recognized the dirt driveway and then the farmhouse. I heard dogs barking so we parked and knocked on the door. I was just about to give up when a man came around the corner of the house. He wasn't too friendly at first but when I explained our situation, he took me over to pick out Chipper, here, only eight weeks old then. He's purebred, but I didn't want any papers with him so the man let me have him for a hundred. He's been a great dog. Finally settled down after about five years of being a puppy."

Sensing a schnauzer owner with more stories, Duncan ended it there. Fat got the sample easily. He returned from the car with his laptop and had the dog owner show him the route to the kennel on Google's terrain map of the county.

The officers estimated they would have time to visit the kennel and return to the station for De la Peña's pre-stake out briefing with at least fifteen minutes to spare.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 33

Like Duncan and Fat, Moffat also wanted to conduct an afternoon interview and get back to the Team Center in time for De la Peña's briefing. At two o'clock he was greeted at the front door of the late Veronica Gillis' home by her mother and her nephew. Aaron was obviously embarrassed but seemed determined to face the first policeman he had encountered since Monday with a show of politeness and maturity. Mrs. Jamison was stronger still than when he had seen her on Monday causing Moffat to marvel at the transformation since their first meeting.

Seated in the living room at the end of a sofa with Aaron in a light blue armchair at his left and the grandmother opposite in a matching chair, Moffat thanked Mrs. Jamison for allowing the visit. Looking directly at Aaron with an expression of concern, Moffat asked him how he was.

"I...um..." Aaron's voice cracked but he quickly regained control. "I'm really sorry for what I did...I should have...It was a mistake."

Mrs. Jamison's poodle jumped into Aaron's lap and panting, stared at the grandmother. Aaron patted its head.

Moffat nodded. "It could have been a tragedy. We were all worried." He paused. "I'm glad to hear this from you. I'll tell the other officers what you said."

Mrs. Jamison rose and walked behind Aaron, placing both hands on his shoulders. "Captain, I'm not going to make excuses for myself or my grandson. For most of his life, I let myself give in to the effects of my stroke, my medication, alcohol...well, just depression in general. The other adults in his life let him down and so did I. I am ashamed at how weak I let myself become. Now things are going to be different. Aaron has moved in here with me and I am going to look after him." She paused, gazing at Moffat for a hint of a reaction. Seeing none, she continued. "I know I'm an old hen but I've got enough years left to see my only grandson become an adult." Mrs. Jamison's voice was steely; her eyes clear, fixed on Moffat. At that moment, he believed she would keep that commitment.

Moffat nodded then said "Now I'd like to ask a few questions about the revolver you took to school, Aaron. Where did you get it?"

Aaron, who had blushed intensely during his grandmother's speech to Moffat, now answered without hesitation or discomfort. "We had it at the apartment. It was in the drawer of a desk in the place where you first come in."

"You mean the entryway?" his grandmother offered. She had never been in any of the apartments, duplexes or rental homes Aaron and his mother had lived in the last ten years.

"Yeah. It's where she puts her mail. There's a mirror above it."

"Did you know when your mother acquired the gun? Did she buy it?"

"No. It was a Christmas gift from my aunt. Ronnie gave it to her the year before last."

"Unusual gift."

"Ronnie said a woman should be able to protect herself. She was talking about how my mother would work late. My mother just put it in the drawer and left it there."

Moffat nodded. "It wasn't new. The gun was manufactured several years before Mrs. Gillis gave it to your mother. Did you ever hear where Mrs. Gillis obtained the gun?"

"Yeah. She said it was one she already had, that she would get a new one or something. She had a lot of guns and rifles...a whole collection."

A worry began to nag at the back of Moffat's mind. He almost regretted having to ask more questions along the path he would now explore.

"Mrs. Jamison, what can you tell me about any firearms your daughter owned?"

"My daughter inherited a love of guns from her father, my second husband. When she was young, we belonged to a gun club. She enjoyed target shooting. Well, so did I. We did it mostly there at the range but sometimes in the back of our property, far enough away from anyone. It was always safe. My husband wasn't much of a hunter. He loved guns though and believed it was important for our family to be able to protect ourselves. Not that there was much crime in those days. I haven't thought about those guns in years. I guess I remember he gave Ronnie his collection when we divorced."

"Do you know where your daughter kept her guns?"

"No."

"She has a special closet in her bedroom." Aaron said. It was clear he was relieved at the shift in focus of the conversation from himself to his aunt. He was eager to be helpful to Moffat.

"Could I see it, Mrs. Jamison?"

"I can show you but it's locked," Aaron answered.

"Do you know where the key is?"

"Yes, I do. Come into Ronnie's office."

Moffat and Mrs. Jamison followed the teenager down the hall and through the doorway. Moffat had seen the room the first night when Wade Gillis showed Moffat and De la Peña to his wife's computer. Aaron slid the mirrored door of a closet to the right and pointed to a wooden cabinet attached to the wall on the left side of the closet.

Aaron pulled on the door of the cabinet. It did not move. "Oh. It's locked," he said. "The key is on Ronnie's key ring. I don't know where it is."

Moffat crossed the room to the desk, opened the top right drawer and removed a ring of keys. He selected a candidate, slid it into the keyhole and opened the cabinet on the first try. Several dozen keys were labeled and hanging on teacup hooks screwed into the wood back of the cabinet.

Aaron reached in and selected a silver key with a black label. The three then walked to the end of the hall and entered a large master bedroom suite. There was a short hall leading beyond the bed to a spacious bathroom. Just there, Aaron stopped and opened a closet door with the key revealing an area about two feet deep and four feet wide. Several rifles and a shotgun were mounted artistically on carved maple supports. To the left there were shelves with at least eight handguns. Another maple chest of drawers was under the shelves. Moffat pulled them open one at a time and saw a variety of ammunition boxes, cleaning tools and supplies. Looking again at the weapons, Moffat noted that they were of varying sizes - one rifle and one shotgun were at least a hundred years old - but were uniformly in excellent condition.

"Moffat closed the door and locked it. "Please don't let anyone disturb the contents of this closet."

"Yes, Captain," Mrs. Jamison replied.

"You'll tell Mr. Gillis for me, please?"

She nodded.

"Also, I'd like to keep this key, if you don't mind."

"I think that is a good idea, Captain Moffat," she said, watching Aaron walk back toward the living room. He was oblivious to the thought running through both their minds that it was unwise to allow him access to firearms, no matter how well he appeared at this moment.

Moffat and Mrs. Jamison sat in their original positions around the coffee table, Moffat at the end of the sofa, the elderly lady opposite. Aaron sat in the center of the sofa to Moffat's right, leaning his left shoulder against the back, facing his body toward Moffat. Moffat now asked a question expecting the answer to sting his own ego, just a bit.

"Mrs. Jamison, do you know if your daughter was in the habit of carrying a gun in her car, purse or maybe a brief case?"

"I don't know," she said softly.

"Yes, she said she did," Aaron began, even before Moffat turned to ask. "Don't you remember, Grandma, at that Christmas dinner? She thought my mother should take her gun to work with her. Wade and my mother told her they didn't think it was a good idea."

Moffat watched a brief flash of happiness on the lady's face at hearing the boy address her as "Grandma." She said only "Oh."

"Did you ever see another gun resembling the one...uh...that was the Christmas gift to your daughter-in-law?" Moffat stopped himself from referring to it a second time as the revolver Aaron had taken to school.

"I don't know what it looked like."

Moffat thought for a moment. He had noticed a laptop on the dining room table when he entered the living room. Now he asked about it. Aaron jumped from the sofa and moved quickly to the table.

Mrs. Jamison smiled. "It's new. I am spoiling my grandson, making up for lost time. Children need computers for school these days."

At Moffat's request, Aaron searched for and found a photograph of a Lady Smith revolver. He frowned when he saw the photo then brightened again when Moffat stood behind him, looked at the screen and thanked him for his help.

"Here is a picture of the gun I was asking about."

Mrs. Jamison walked to the table, noticeably slower than her movements through the house just moments before. "I don't remember seeing a gun like that."

"All right. Well, thank you for your time, Mrs. Jamison, Aaron."

"Captain?" Aaron appeared to be steeling himself for his next words.

"Yes?"

"Would you tell Sergeant De la Peña I'm sorry?" Aaron expressed himself in a deep, serious voice that Moffat would have expected from someone ten years older.

"Yes, Aaron, I will. He'll be glad to hear it. We both hope to see you doing well now. If there is ever anything bothering you, any problem at school or in town, call this number and ask for the Sergeant or me." He handed Aaron his business card. Aaron held the card to his face, reading it with great interest. He pulled a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and slipped it in a plastic sleeve, between his library card and his California Identification card. He returned the wallet to his pocket with a confident smile.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 34

Duncan and Fat followed State Route 78, climbing into the foothills northwest of Segovia. The valley oaks and grass-covered fields gradually gave way to a mix of oaks, pines and bare granite. After about five miles, they took County Road 123, a paved one-lane road almost due north, gaining a total of about two thousand feet of elevation. Fortunately, Fat had accurately estimated the distance to the next turn as the entrance to the dirt road that would take them to the kennel was nearly obscured by a large granite boulder and three forty foot diseased and dying pines. The dirt road followed a slow z up a mountain. At a second 120-degree turn, their path was blocked by a steel security gate with a combination lock. Noting that the last interview subject had not mention a gate, Duncan observed that it might have been installed in the last six years. They pulled the car as far to the right as possible, and prepared to walk the rest of the way.

"That guy was right. This is out in the middle of nowhere. Duncan pulled a leather bag over her shoulder containing, among other things, her Glock 19 compact pistol. Fat wore his gun on a shoulder harness, hidden under a gray windbreaker. He carried a vinyl bag with DNA sample kits. The road continued to rise about a half mile, then turned back and descended 250 feet into a fairly large meadow--completely hidden from the public road--continuing to a farmhouse and other structures matching the citizen's description.

Before much farther, the officers apparently reached earshot of the kennels. A growing chorus of yapping began and did not stop.

The farmhouse seemed to be in good condition. Solar panels and a satellite dish had been added to the slate roof. Fat knocked on the front door as Duncan, thinking of the scene described earlier that day, peered around the corner of the house.

"No sign of life," Duncan said.

"Couldn't you find a better way to phrase that?"

"Yeah." Both officers felt uneasy.

They moved around the house and saw a wire-fenced yard containing several dozen chickens and a wooden coop. The barking drowned out the sound of the chickens until the officers drew nearer. Beyond this yard farther behind the house was a neatly maintained garden with mature plants of peas, lettuce, broccoli and cabbage.

The officers backtracked to the driveway in front of the house. Curtains were drawn at every window. At a ninety-degree angle from the house, a one-car garage stood, its wooden door latched and locked on both sides. In front of the garage, patches of new spring growth of grass among gravel and dirt showed evidence of recent vehicle movement with some blades flattened and smeared against the rocks.

Beyond the garage, the officers discovered the first kennel. About twenty dogs of varying sizes, all schnauzers, ran about and jumped against a cyclone fence, their attention riveted on Duncan and Fat.

"The dogs look healthy," Fat said. Kneeling, he pushed a swab through the wires into the mouth of one barking, full grown dog. Moving it quickly within its mouth, he was satisfied he had collected an adequate specimen. He repeated the task with three more dogs.

At the edge of the field, next to the hill, there was a man-made pond about the size and shape of a baseball infield. An earthen mound held back the water between two natural hillocks.

A large barn was at the end of the gravel driveway. Though old, it was sturdy, its doors locked with padlocks and, Duncan and Fat discovered walking the perimeter, its windows opaque from wax. At the back corner of the barn they found a second kennel and yard, containing about 15 dogs. Fat looked at Duncan, shrugged and dropped to his knees to take another DNA sample. During the next two minutes, as they took cheek swabs from several more dogs, three rifle shots echoed in the distance. They weren't so far off for the officers to disregard, however, and separately both officers considered their vulnerability to a sniper from the woods above the meadow. Fat attempted to swab the cheek of one dog. It backed away. He spoke soothingly to another nearby. It moved to him and tried to chew the swab as he ran it across its gums.

"Ok. Let's go, Jane."

* * *

En route to the station, Fat phoned the office of the County Director of Animal Control. A few minutes checking by personnel there established that there was no record of a kennel licensed at this location.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 35

Back in his car at the bottom of the Gillis' driveway, Moffat made a quick call to James Rees. Did Rees ever know Gillis to have a gun in her possession, he asked. Rees knew of a collection but never saw her with a gun in public or anywhere around the office. One other source, Moffat thought. He drove into Miner's Flat, executed a quick u-turn and parked in front of the diner. Donna Ferguson met him at the door and walked with him to the booth at the far end of the window - the booth that until last week was usually reserved for Veronica Gillis.

Two cups of coffee and a small pitcher of half and half were placed on the table.

"Would you like a slice of pie, Captain?" Ferguson slipped into the seat opposite him. "We have a blackberry we just baked this morning. Still warm."

"No, thank you. But thank you for the coffee."

Ferguson took a sip from her cup holding it in front of her mouth as she beamed at Moffat.

"Mrs. Ferguson, did Veronica Gillis ever carry a handgun? Maybe in her purse or the glove compartment of her car?"

"Oh, yes. She loved guns. Even going back to junior high. I remember she showed some of us a gun at her parents house after school once when they were both at work." Ferguson shook her head with a smile. "I know it sounds bad, but we didn't think much of it at the time. I guess it's just as well not to know every crazy thing your kids do."

"I see," Moffat said.

"Oh, and something else. She got into trouble once about ten years ago. Maybe I should say she got a cop into trouble. She was parked in some neighborhood in Segovia, waiting between appointments to show houses. Somehow, he spotted a gun in the front seat and brought her into the station. She didn't appreciate being treated like a criminal. By the time it was over, the cop apologized to her. It was never in the paper but the story made the rounds among the gossips here in town. Ronnie told me she was very kind to the policeman after he apologized. I think she got him a deal on a new house, maybe. That was the way she was...She would throw her weight around but never make a real enemy because that person might be a customer the next time around."

"Thanks, Mrs. Ferguson...sorry, Donna." Moffat took a long drink from his cup. "Do you remember if Cheryl Haugen was among the girls Mrs. Gillis showed the hand gun to?"

"Oh, yes. She would have been. We all hung out together in those days. I remember her squealing when Ronnie opened the box with the gun."

* * *

At five p.m., De la Peña stood to the side of a window in the second story storage room above the Segovia Hardware store peering through binoculars at the entrance to the laundromat. He could see everyone entering or passing the shop from the street and with the sun in it's current position, could see several yards into the laundromat. McLean had seated herself at a chair just within his view. He watched her slowly flip through the pages of a magazine. He also had a great view of her legs. That thought sprinted through his mind and when it had run its course was replaced by the realization that he was beginning to feel hungry. De la Peña was accustomed to three meals and three (or more) snacks per day. This had been one of those days when work absorbed his entire attention, time moved quickly and his normal thoughts about life's routines were crowded out. He briefly considered the question of food, congratulated himself on his problem-solving ability and decided he would phone Peake later and ask her to pick up sandwiches "to go" from Denny's before she left her position at the restaurant. That would be around seven.

A few hours earlier, the briefing for the kickoff of this operation had gone smoothly. De la Peña explained the timeline for the next twenty-four hours, the roles each team member would play and the objectives the team hoped to accomplish. Together, they studied the operation to determine risks to the officers and public and they discussed the measures to be taken to reduce the risks. Chief Halvorsen attended. De la Peña was pleased at the professional tone of the meeting - no sarcasm, jokes or heckling even from Lang and Schoenberg. Halvorsen wished them luck.

De la Peña was also pleased to have been able to tell Moffat, when he offered to help, that the plan did not require Moffat to take up a post himself in the stakeout.

Everything had occurred according to plan up to this point. The decoy left the winery at five o'clock. Followed by Lang and Schoenberg in separate cars, she drove into town and parked in a diagonal space in front of the laundromat. Officer Travis was already inside, ostensibly to wash a down comforter in the large capacity machine. McLean opened the door to the back seat and slid a basket of women's clothing into the crook of her arm. She grabbed a large plastic container of liquid detergent and entered the shop.

Fat and De la Peña observed her entrance. The laundromat had several customers already and was filling up rapidly. De la Peña guessed that Thursday after work was a busy time in this business, with people getting ready for the weekend. More customers arrived by car. There was also a substantial amount of foot traffic. For a while the officers could not get a good look at all of the customers entering the shop. De la Peña would have Fat come back after closing time to collect surveillance videos for review tomorrow at the station by Tashara. Yesterday he had examined the hidden camera and recording system, which was installed at the laundromat after closing. De la Peña remembered then with some envy the new digital surveillance system at the Miner's Flat Minimart - the one that caught Scott Conti in a lie about his alibi for Veronica Gillis's murder. The Segovia Police Force's recording system was not nearly as advanced. De la Peña expected it would be harder to use and would provide video with less resolution, but he thought it would serve their purpose on this operation.

* * *

A few minutes before six, Officer McLean moved her clothes from the dryer to the basket, which she carried to a Formica counter that extended from the back wall. There she began to carefully fold the garments one by one, stacking them neatly on the surface before returning the folded clothes to the basket. Any observer could see that this woman was doing laundry for herself and not for a husband, boyfriend or children.

McLean realized that this position, with her back to the room, prevented her from being able to detect if anyone were watching her but she guessed it would seem more natural and told herself it was more important that the "bait" be seen by the fish than the other way around.

McLean's first visit to the laundromat concluded at 6:05. Clean laundry on the passenger seat, she backed out of the parking space, executed a slow u-turn during the break in traffic provided by the traffic lights north and south of this block of downtown Segovia and drove just a half a mile to Denny's, on the left.

Officer Peake, in a parked car two blocks north of the laundromat, waited for word from De la Peña that McLean was moving. As McLean moved onto the road, Peake watched hopefully for a vehicle following the decoy. If anyone followed McLean on that short drive, Peake couldn't spot him. The cars and a truck that came up behind McLean's car as she drove south continued on after she turned into Denny's parking lot. Peake was about a minute behind. She walked into the restaurant, saw McLean at a booth by the window and then saw her "real-life" husband Kyle. Kyle, though unaware of his role supporting Peake's cover as the wife of a young couple meeting for dinner after work allowed the team to save a male officer for a future undercover role during the stakeout. He performed his part perfectly, giving Peake a modest kiss when she arrived, moving dutifully to a second booth when Peake thought it gave her a better view and not complaining when his wife pulled his arm and pushed him gently to the other side of the table to allow her the vantage point she desired.

McLean's meal proceeded as per the routine of any one of millions of restaurant dinners served that night. A friendly waitress chatted briefly with an attractive, slightly self-conscious young woman dining alone. McLean opened a newspaper and glanced at the headlines while waiting for her salad. A toddler leaned over from the next booth to say hi, his mother apologizing for the disturbance, the young woman smiling to her, saying that it was no bother and waving to the child.

Peake looked out at a room full of suspects or, more accurately, half full since only the men were of interest to her tonight. She saw that McLean was the recipient of glances and sometimes leers from most of the male occupants. The fry cook who had aroused Lang and Schoenberg's suspicion shared a brief conversation with a teenage busboy, obviously about the shapely blonde. Men of all ages noticed her. Fortunately for Kyle, his back was turned so that he could pay his full attention to his slightly distracted wife. The Peakes' meals were placed before them just as her cell phone rang with the call from De la Peña requesting three "to go" orders. Fifteen minutes later, across the dining room, McLean finished an order of chicken-fried steak then requested a cup of decaf which she sipped until the Peakes walked to the cash register to pay their bill.

In the parking lot, Officer Peake told her husband why she would not follow him directly home and took the Denny's receipt from his hand. Now he understood the purpose of the sandwiches in the Styrofoam containers. He was pleased about being reimbursed by the Police Department for their dinners but thought his wife should have let him in on the secret so he could help examine the other patrons as possible suspects. She smiled and kissed him. Back at the wheel of her car, she watched McLean leave. Peake waited to see if anyone followed, then pulled onto the highway, keeping McLean's car in sight on the ride to the bungalow. No obvious results yet, Peake thought, but Kim McLean was doing an excellent job. She had seemed so "in character" at the restaurant. She looked lonely and eager for human contact. She seemed shy and just a bit awkward eating out alone. The acting part of an undercover assignment suddenly had more importance than Peake had ever realized. Now she knew why the Captain, De la Peña and Mrs. Grubb had stressed the importance that none of the team look like cops when they were in public, in the possible view of their target.

While McLean dined at Denny's, Lang and Schoenberg drove an extended van filled with electronic equipment from behind the laundromat four blocks south, three blocks east and four blocks north to the back parking lot where they picked up De la Peña. (Fat had already left for the day.) The three drove to the Travelodge parking lot. They pulled the van into a long space at the corner farthest from the building, closest to the back of the bungalow then turned on the monitors and settled in to watch the possible entry points of McLean's new home. They saw McLean arrive. De la Peña took her call moments later. She reported the bungalow was empty, all windows and doors secure. Not long after that, Peake phoned. De la Peña determined it would be OK for her to drop off the food at this time. She wished them luck. The three agreed to sleep in shifts. The first night of the stakeout was uneventful.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 36

Barely five minutes before De la Peña took his first bite of a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, Moffat and Jean sat down to a dinner of grilled wild Alaskan sockeye salmon seasoned with lemon and fresh herbs. That morning Jean had been to the fruit and vegetable stand on the other side of Highway 49, returning with corn on the cob, broccoli and Santa Maria strawberries. She steamed the broccoli, microwaved the corn and prepared the berries with a drizzle of Gran Marnier.

Jean filled their glasses with Chardonnay then sank into her chair at the dining room table and exhaled with pleasure. She asked about his day. She eagerly took in every detail of Aaron Jamison's early release from the hospital and his and his grandmother's transformation. Wasn't it odd, Jean suggested, that a murder could lead to such dramatic changes for the better in the lives of two people close to the victim. Moffat agreed but pointed out that it was still quite soon, though he was optimistic for both. Jean was less interested in the matter of the guns, one used to kill Veronica Gillis and a similar one taken to the high school by her distraught nephew. The decoy operation and stakeout were less interesting than the guns but she was curious about the younger officers on his team. Of all involved she had met only Tashara. Mrs. Grubb, of course, she knew well from their frequent phone conversations, department social events and their monthly lunch date.

"How was your day, dear?" Moffat asked.

"Oh. I have a surprise for you. Allison phoned. She's is coming to visit the weekend after next."

"Great." Moffat smiled as he searched his mind for an upcoming birthday, an anniversary, Mother's day, maybe. His smile didn't fool Jean.

"Relax. You haven't forgotten anything. I was telling her about the North County Pioneer Days Spring Festival and she thought it would be fun."

"Is she bringing anyone?"

"No. There's no one to bring at the moment."

Good, he thought. Her last boyfriend only lasted three months but Moffat had quickly and accurately decided he wasn't good enough for her. Jean and Allison had eventually come to the same conclusion.

"Will you be able to take some time off?"

"It doesn't look like it now but who knows."

"Anyway, I'm looking forward to seeing her."

Moffat could tell she had more to say and looked at her expectantly.

"Now that the house and garden are completely finished, I'm starting to feel a bit lost for things to do."

"I guess it's quite a change not to have any contractors and landscapers around. Everything is just they way we want it now. Can't you just relax and enjoy it?"

"Yes, but with you away all day, I'm starting to get a little bored. All those years I had rental properties to manage, that kept me busy."

"You're not thinking of buying anything more, are you?" Over the preceding three years Jean had sold most of their real estate investments one by one. Now they had only the house and three undeveloped lots, one in Miner's Flat, a second in the Lake Tahoe area and the third near Pismo Beach in the central coast area. These had been acquired as possible locations for their retirement home before the decision had been made to build in the hills outside of Segovia.

"No. I'm done with real estate. Nothing that drastic. Maybe I should get out my violin and start practicing." She broke into a playful smile. Five years earlier, after never having played a musical instrument, Jean had decided to take up the violin. After lessons and months of practice her playing had a certain screeching quality that Moffat suspected had led to the demise of a gold fish, caused the cat to run away and prompted Allison to move to her own place six months earlier than planned.

"You always said you'd like to learn French. What about taking classes?" This was not an unreasonable suggestion considering Jean's previous study of the Italian language that proved a delight to the natives when she, Moffat and Allison had vacationed there the summer after Allison's junior year in college. "I think you have a talent for languages."

"Maybe. I was thinking I might like to get a dog. What do you think?"

"Fine." Moffat could think of no reason against the idea.

"A puppy, I think. I wonder what breed we should get."

"Anything but a schnauzer."

Jean nodded, absentmindedly, then rose quickly from her chair, took their plates to the sink and returned with the strawberries.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 37

Friday, May 19

Schoenberg saw the light come on in the bungalow and reached for De la Peña's cell phone on the table next to monitor no. 1 before it rang. McLean reported that she had nothing significant to report and said she would be dressing for work now and would leave in one half hour.

De la Peña had been dozing but was aware of Schoenberg taking the phone. By the end of the conversation, when Schoenberg told McLean there was no activity in the exterior of the bungalow, he was fully awake. Schoenberg passed the phone to De la Peña. De la Peña called Duncan. She and Peake were in position, parked on Main Street, ready to follow McLean after the decoy turned left en route to the winery. Schoenberg roused Lang from a deep sleep. Lang took over at the monitors. Schoenberg and De la Peña determined they would be unobserved and took the opportunity to slip quietly out of the van and walk through the interior courtyard of the motel to their cars parked on the street. Schoenberg went home, Sergeant De la Peña drove to headquarters so that he could be in radio and telephone contact with McLean and her escorts during the drive to the winery.

Duncan started the engine. Seconds later she saw McLean's Ford Taurus approaching Main Street from the side road that led from her bungalow. She watched McLean signal a left turn, wait for traffic to clear left and right, then carefully turn onto Main Street at a moment when there would be adequate space for Duncan to fall in behind her.

"Wait!" Peake shouted. On the corner of the T intersection, on McLean's right as she stopped for her turn, there was a small old grocery store with a fairly large parking lot. Peake saw a brown, older model Nissan Sentra move rapidly to the exit of the lot. Its wheels squealed as it completed its own left turn, heading the same direction as McLean. Before Duncan could pull into the street, a second car passed, leaving two cars between McLean and the vehicle driven by Duncan and Peake. All four cars proceeded at about forty miles per hour, just five m.p.h. over the speed limit, through the southern end of the city of Segovia. Peake phoned De la Peña who was by now at police headquarters in the Communication Center with Officer Tashara. She described the vehicle nearest them - a new, blue Toyota Corolla - and dictated the license number to the Sergeant. Duncan and Peake were more interested in the Sentra but were too far behind to see the plate. McLean had also noticed the Sentra driver's maneuver. It appeared to be driven by a man but it maintained a following distance of four or five car lengths, preventing her from getting an adequate view of the driver. McLean slowed, hoping to be forced to stop by a red light. The perfectly synchronized traffic lights prevented her from accomplishing this as the Segovia County Traffic Engineer's handiwork ushered McLean smoothly out of town.

Eight minutes later, McLean signaled a left turn into the winery's driveway. The Sentra moved to the right and passed McLean. The Corolla signaled left and followed McLean up the drive way as did Duncan and Peake. Peake reported status to De la Peña. A moment later, the Corolla parked in front of the Tasting Room. McLean continued on the driveway to the back of the building. McLean phoned De la Peña that she had been unable to get the Nissan's plate number which was obscured by a coating of dried mud but, in any case, the car had passed before she could get a good look. She could tell that the driver was a tall man and appeared to be over forty. Meanwhile, Duncan and Peake watched two young women exit the Corolla and walk to the Tasting Room entrance where they seemed to be noting the opening time.

Back at the station, Tashara suggested contacting a reserve officer in Manzanita, the small town twelve miles south of Segovia. She opened a folder and slid her thumb down a list of phone numbers.

Sixty-eight year old Gerald Barker was in a red Chevy pick up on his way to his volunteer job at the County Railroad Museum when Tashara reached him. He made a u-turn and drove north on Highway 49 until he approached the winery. He did not see a brown Nissan. He made another u-turn and systematically checked the four side routes branching from Highway 49. Two were dead ends because of the river on one side and foothills on the other. The last of the four was a paved road just a hundred yards to a trailhead. There Barker saw what he assumed was the vehicle he had been sent to find. There was no one in sight. He guided his truck past the back of the 1996 Sentra, reading and memorizing the plate, California 1POK300 before heading back to the highway. Officer Barker parked at the side of the highway, just beyond the road to the trailhead. He phoned the information to Tashara and asked for further instructions. De la Peña considered asking him to wait for the Sentra driver to get back on the road but concluded it might be hours and would consume too much of the volunteer's time. Also, if this were actually the suspect, De la Peña didn't want to risk scaring him off too early in the operation. De la Peña would wait for more information on the Nissan and its driver.

A few minutes later, Duncan phoned to confirm that she had joined Fat and they were back on the trail of schnauzer owners. At 8:15, Peake joined De la Peña and Tashara at the Communication Center. Moffat arrived some time after that.

De la Peña discussed the plan for the rest of the morning and the afternoon with the others. Officer Tashara would take yesterday's laundromat surveillance videos to the winery where she and McLean would study the customers who had come and gone during McLean's visit and the two hours prior. Peake would remain in the Communication Center, in contact with Lang at his surveillance post in the van, as well as the other officers on the team. De la Peña would review plans to staff the operation through the following week. After that, De la Peña would return home for a shower, several hours of quality sleep in his own bed and a change of clothes.

"Here's the information on the Sentra," Tashara announced. "1996, brown, four-door, belongs to Harold and Marjorie Etcell ages 67 and 65 of San Leandro. No warrants, no police activity of any kind. They are the original owners."

"San Leandro?" De la Peña looked at Moffat.

"It's in the Bay Area, about 150 miles away."

De la Peña's face revealed his disappointment. "Probably tourists. I can't see someone driving clear across the state to stalk a random woman."

"It doesn't seem likely," Moffat said. "Still, let's look a little deeper. Tashara, would you phone the San Leandro police? Ask them to determine if the Etcells are visiting the Gold Country this weekend." Moffat stopped, considered a few moments then modified his request. "Ask the police to determine the whereabouts of the Etcells' car. Maybe they loaned it to someone."

Moffat and De la Peña left Tashara and Peake at the Communication Center and walked across the ground floor of the administration building to the task force's now deserted home in the Team Center. They greeted Mrs. Grubb, working at her computer on the departmental reports then sat at De la Peña's desk in the corner.

"We're already burning up our resources on the decoy op," De la Peña said. "As of now, only Fat, Lang and Schoenberg have not been undercover around McLean. Lang and Schoenberg act so much like cops, I'm afraid the target will spot them."

"Mrs. Grubb told them not to shave. Maybe two days of growth might help."

"Maybe. We could dress them like fishermen or hunters."

"That would work for Denny's. I can't see fishermen spending the morning at a laundromat."

De la Peña laughed. "None of the fishermen I know. They'd rather buy new clothes than give up a day fishing. Anyway, I'm planning to use more reserve officers. I'll need a few of them to shadow McLean at the restaurant, laundromat and, on Sunday, the park."

"Have Mrs. Grubb talk to the Chief. He can pick out the right kind of volunteers. No one too excitable."

"And I think we'll send McLean alone to a movie tomorrow night. That should make her look lonely enough."

"Good idea."

"We'll send Fat in behind her. He'll need a date."

Moffat smiled. "If he can't manage that, Mrs. Grubb can help there, too."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 38

Leaving De la Peña to complete his planning, Moffat sat at one of the empty desks and opened his file folder and notes of the Gillis case. He stared at the file contents for a few seconds allowing his mind to adjust to the quick change from one absorbing case to the other. Now, Moffat thought, the origin of the murder weapon was the only path that currently showed any promise. His first question: Was Veronica Gillis killed by her own revolver? It seemed plausible. She had a history of carrying a gun, none was found in her purse or car after her death and she had given a newer version of the same model to her sister-in-law as a Christmas gift. Moffat would have liked to speak to Wade Gillis but he knew he was in Tahoe working on the installation of plumbing on a casino expansion and would not return until Sunday. Gillis had contacted Mrs. Grubb about leaving town and she had relayed Moffat's answer that it would be all right. Instead, Moffat phoned Gillis's home and had Aaron write a note for his uncle to phone him.

Aaron seemed in excellent spirits. Moffat asked how he was doing. The boy replied he was fine and added he would return to school on Monday. "I'll bet they'll all be glad to see _me_ ," he said with a slight chuckle.

Courageous kid, Moffat thought. Moffat wished Aaron well and reminded him to call if he had any problems. What kind of problems was left unsaid.

Moffat turned to Mrs. Grubb. He told her the story of Veronica Gillis' ten-year-old abortive concealed weapons charge - the one mentioned by Donna Ferguson - and asked her to see if she could track down the officer in the story. This would have occurred a few years before her arrival in the county, but Mrs. Grubb thought the suggestion of high level pressure to drop the charges might make it stand out in people's memories. She promised to find the man.

Moffat then turned his attention to the Pane/Franke tangent of the Gillis investigation. He smiled to himself, feeling a little guilty for going deeper into the minor mystery of Franke's last minute change of beneficiaries. The Panes and Franke were all interviewed as part of the Gillis investigation, but there was no indication that the relationship between them had anything to do with Gillis. Still, he might be surprised and he did want to be able to tell Franke's niece he had checked into it.

Moffat always found it remarkable how a look into just about anyone's life could turn up fascinating bits of drama and mystery. Reverend and Mrs. Pane's sudden legacy seemed to be made of equal parts greed, faith and probably undue influence of a caregiver over a drugged, dying man, but there was something more, his intuition told him. Moffat had before him on the desk a background check on all three, the Ledger Dispatch 1974 article on Franke when he campaigned for the state legislature and his recent obituary in that newspaper. Moffat wondered how De la Peña had managed to gather this information, given his activity on the Davies/Price task force. Then he noticed a scrawl of purple ink on the bottom corner of some of the pages in the folder, an indication of Mrs. Grubb's work.

Mrs. Pane was eight years older than her husband, Moffat observed. He looked at least ten years older. He served in Vietnam before Bible college and was a army combat veteran. They had three grown children. They had moved from church to church for some years then arrived at the historic Miner's Flat church in 1992. Neither had a record with law-enforcement agencies.

Franke's birth date, according to the background check, was May 8, 1930, the same that his niece's husband had read to her over the phone, the one she had given to the obituary writer. In the 1974 article Franke was described as a highly decorated World War II veteran and was said to be fifty-two. His military record was incomplete. It had been impossible for the researcher to determine his induction date. He had multiple decorations and commendations during active service and reserve duty but, contrary to the assertion in 1974 article repeated in the obituary, there was no evidence he had ever earned a Purple Heart or a Bronze Star. The 1930 birth date effectively ruled out service in World War II. Tellingly, his social security benefits had been based on the later date.

Gradually, Moffat formed a theory to explain Franke's bequest. He phoned Martha Pane, reaching her at home in her kitchen.

"Are you free this afternoon, Mrs. Pane? About 1:30? I'd like to meet you at the coffee shop."

Mrs. Pane seemed pleased by the prospect of seeing Moffat again. Interesting, Moffat thought. I wonder if she'll be disappointed when the Sergeant doesn't show up with me.

"Oh, Captain," Mrs. Pane said. "I'm not sure if my husband can make it. I won't see him at lunch. I'll have to call. Can I tell you after I get a hold of him?"

"Actually, Mrs. Pane, I would prefer to speak to you alone."

"Well...I'm not sure."

"Is there any reason you would not want to talk to me without your husband present?"

"No, not really."

"Good. Then I'll see you there at 1:30."

"OK. Yes, I'll see you."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 39

"Twelve more schnauzers in two hours. Not bad."

Duncan and Fat's morning interviews brought them in the vicinity of a small business park ten minutes north of Segovia. Fat turned onto the road leading to the back row of a network of small single story buildings, parking in front of the lobby of DoggieAncestry.com.

"Not too impressive," Duncan commented. "You think this is the place that's going to solve our missing persons cases?"

"It would be something if we could identify the dogs whose DNA was on the envelope and the hair at the crime scene."

Duncan tilted her head at her partner with a look that said she thought he was dreaming.

"I know," he said. "But we've gone this far. We might as well finish."

Fat opened the trunk. He pulled out a large cardboard box half full of plastic bags, tagged with identification and containing swab sticks with the saliva samples they had taken yesterday. Duncan dumped the twelve they had collected this morning into the box, then held the glass entry door for Fat as he walked into the empty reception area with the samples. Fat nodded to the inner door. Duncan opened it and followed Fat into a large, modern and clean laboratory.

A fit-looking man in his late thirties greeted them. "Welcome, Officer Fat. It's good to see you again. You've brought me more samples to test. Let's hope we find the perp before I go bankrupt." He laughed, his gaze fixed on Jane Duncan.

Fat introduced Duncan to Jake Amladi, the company founder.

"Do you have time to watch us test one of your samples?" Amladi said, looking at Duncan, who made no indication she would reply.

Fat answered. "Oh, man, I wish we could. We have to get back on the road. Promise me you'll show me around when we finish the search, OK?"

"You got it, Brandon."

Fat stood, staring longingly at the equipment and two white-coated technicians, both Asian, a young man and a young woman. Duncan gripped his upper arm and pulled him gently to the exit.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 40

It was the first event of it's kind in Miner's Flat High School's fourteen-year history. The student body, faculty and administrative staff filled the stands of the gymnasium for a mandatory assembly. On a portable wooden stage extending from just under the scoreboard and basketball hoop to the free throw line the new vice principal, current and past presidents of the PTA, and faculty department chairs were seated.

The Principal, County Executive George Doyle and Police Chief Dennis Halvorsen (in dress uniform) stood, looking out at the students, searching their faces, making eye contact and attempting to establish a connection with the audience they would soon address. The three men wore grave expressions that showed the seriousness of their subject. The pep band filled three rows of five folding chairs just below the stage. Incongruously, the band played the school's fight song, although at a slower pace than that used at sporting events. The band director signaled an end just as the last students took their places.

Julie Chancellor - undercover police officer Cristina Melanakos - sat at mid court to the left of a group of twenty students who made up the highest status members of the junior and senior classes - status conferred on them by looks, athletic ability and/or parental finances. Scott Conti qualified on all three criteria. He greeted Julie with a warm smile then took a seat on the courtside bench. He nodded without smiling at the male members of the clique. Then, looking convincingly like a model student leader, he turned his attention to the speakers.

The principal, a tall, large man with a fringe of black hair around a bald top, would speak first. He felt a mixture of emotions, not visible outwardly. He tried to ignore the band but it was loud and irritating. Eric Whyte, age 41, had served three years at the head of the newest and fastest growing high school in the district but this week he feared his career might be coming to a sudden, humiliating end. He felt like he had been manhandled by events...people in power...the system in general. Whyte was uncomfortable with the strangeness of this assembly and the suddenness with which it had been forced upon him. A few conversations among an eighty-year old judge, the district attorney, the senior member of the school board and a consensus was reached. He was part of it but felt no control over it. Strings had been pulled, subtly, almost imperceptibly and he didn't really know who was responsible. Now he felt like a puppet up on the stage this morning. He was sick in the pit of his stomach, thinking about the liability, his own and the school's. What happened Monday could have sent him on a path to a middle school vice principalship. Maybe it still would. Scapegoats had been chosen, he told himself. They had deserved the blame for letting this get out of control. He was irritated with them for that. He was annoyed that the perpetrator was getting away without punishment. We'll see about that. Fear for his career prompted him to recognize that letting Jamison off the hook, downplaying the significance of the event, was the best strategy. Well, no one was hurt. There was no media attention, just a brief two paragraphs in the local paper. He had quashed the plans for a story in the student newspaper. The faculty advisor didn't argue much. She was quick to understand what was better for herself and the school. After being pushed around for three days, Whyte had enjoyed that small exercise of power.

This was so typical of this place, Principal Whyte thought. Of course, it was all for the greater good, I guess. The music came to an end. Whyte looked out again upon his assembled students. As he walked to the microphone, the negative feeling drained away. He was about to deliver the "party line" but, in the end, he did agree with it. He had reached acceptance and was feeling upbeat and energetic when he began speaking to "his kids."

This school-wide assembly was being held to address the serious problem of bullying and harassment, Whyte announced. Miner's Flat High School was having an intervention. These distinguished visitors are here to help us address our problem. To Officer Melanakos' surprise, he made only passing reference to the "unfortunate incident" of Monday. The young audience seemed to accept that as appropriate and listened intently.

Lowering the pitch of his voice for added effect, the principal said "Students, bullying of any kind and in particular harassment based on race, religion, disability, gender or sexual orientation is _so last millennium_." Whyte's use of an outdated expression provoked groans from the stands followed by a growing wave of laughter. After a momentary flash of confusion and embarrassment, the principal, with the improvisation skills of an experienced educator, smiled, gave a salute then held up his hands, palms out and signaled for quiet.

Mrs. Patterson, the School Board President, had thought the event strange but Whyte's calm approach made her think that this is the way it should be handled. Speaking next, she described the California Student Safety and Violence Prevention Act of 2000 and quoted California Board of Education policies defining bullying. Directing her comments forcefully to the faculty, she underscored the responsibility of teachers in reporting bullying and harassment. She mentioned unfortunate but necessary personnel actions for failure to comply with the regulations. (Word that Mrs. McKeon and a counselor had been fired and the assistant principal demoted had raced through the campus two hours earlier.)

County Executive George Doyle spoke next, focusing on diversity.

"When the parents of my friend Chief Halvorsen were married in the state of Virginia in 1940, their marriage was in fact illegal because a black person and a white person were prohibited from marrying. This confirmed what I have always believed through years of close personal association that the Chief is in fact, uh...well, now that's inappropriate, now that I think of it. Anyway, every young person deserves to be able to get an education in an environment free of harassment and bullying. It is the law and it's the right thing. We want for each other what we want for ourselves - the opportunity to get the most out of life, to thrive, that is. None of us can truly do our best while any of us is being held down by intolerance."

The students, prodded by the teachers began to applaud, at first timidly and then boisterously with shouts of agreement. Doyle had planned to say more but decided to quit on a high note and handed the microphone to Chief Halvorsen.

The policeman explained to the students that while name-calling and other verbal harassment were violations of the state education code, physical contact, threats and any kind of violence were misdemeanors or felonies. Any reports coming to the police would be investigated and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Halvorsen's jurisdiction would have zero tolerance for these kinds of behaviors.

The principal thanked Halvorsen, then introduced the school's head coach. Swept up in the mood of the moment, the coach announced that bullying would not be tolerated on any of the school's athletic teams and in physical education classes.

"We're up against bigger schools in our league, kids. We need to get the best out of each and every one to succeed. Some of our best players may be...um...different in sexual orientation. We couldn't have won the division championship without one of them."

There was a collective gasp in the gymnasium. The coach had inadvertently outed last year's star forward of the basketball team. It was the only championship-winning team in years and there was only one star. He had carried the team to the title and earned a full scholarship to Brigham Young University.

The principal took this moment to slap the coach on the back and take the microphone. He asked for quiet and then said "That's the message we have for you to take today. We're counting on all of you to dedicate yourselves to creating the kind of school we can be proud of, where we celebrate our diversity and support each other without regard to our race, religion, orientation or any other human characteristic."

He thanked the students. They applauded and the band began to play the MFHS alma mater, a rather Latin version of Beethoven's Sonata Pathétique.

Thank god that's over. This was the feeling shared by the presenters at the assembly as the music started. Each one would identify a different, most "cringe-inducing" moment, rating the others' gaffes much higher than their own, but each was surprised that they had been able to carry it off. Somehow the school and the school board were going to get away with it. No lawsuits, firings - other than the scapegoats - or interference from the outside.

Officer Melanakos, looking around at the students gathering their possessions and moving slowly to the exits, would agree with them. In spite of the fact that these older people were completely out of touch, they seemed to have put the issue to bed. Julie Chancellor heard Scott Conti call her name. He pushed his way through the crowd and then, attempting to sound casual, suggested she join his group for lunch.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 41

Tashara arrived at the winery at eleven thirty. Parking in the back, she pulled a large canvas bag over her shoulder and walked in through the loading dock. At this stage of pregnancy, she drew a lot of attention and smiles from the eight workers scattered among the vats, barrels and bottling equipment. She pushed through an inner door, walked past a glass-walled room resembling a small college chemistry lab then another room that was, in fact, a kitchen before entering an open office area. Kim McLean sat at a desk empty except for a computer monitor.

"How's the accountant? Tashara whispered as she reached McLean's workspace.

"Hi, I'm glad to see you. I was getting bored. McLean led Tashara to a private, windowless office at the far wall. She pointed to the nameplate.

"VP's on vacation. We can use his office. She flipped on the light and closed the door behind Tashara. The women sat at a round office table. A combination television/video cassette recorder was on the table, plugged in, the screen a uniform blue with white letters showing the time of day and a counter reading "00:00."

Tashara removed two cassettes from her bag and placed one in the machine. She looked around for the remote then passed it to McLean.

"There are a eight hours to watch before you show up. Let's see who comes and goes."

They watched an empty shop for half a minute. McLean pushed the fast forward button and they watched the view of the shop at eight times normal speed. Several customers appeared on the screen. All were women, some with children. None were of interest to the two officers.

About twelve thirty there were three gentle taps on the door. McLean stood, stopped the tape and opened the door. She was surprised at the interruption. A young woman, in turn surprised by McLean's and Tashara's reaction, stuttered briefly then invited them to join the employees at lunch.

"We're having Weird Wine Friday. We put the bottles in brown bags then try to identify the grape and the vintner." Seeing Tashara's condition she added, "We have cheese, sandwiches and soft drinks too."

"Why not?" McLean said. "We can finish this afterwards. I'm not going anywhere. Maybe I'll have a glass of wine with my lunch."

"You're lucky." Tashara said. "Can we drag this out until I deliver little Petunia here?" She patted her abdomen. "Then we'll both have a few glasses and Jason can drive us home."

* * *

The winery employees were curious about Tashara and McLean but accepted the vague explanation that they were county employees involved in a tourism development project. Sandwiches had been delivered on a wide stainless steel tray, but the cheeses were specially selected and were being cut into cubes by two employees in spotless aprons while the oenologist, by himself in the corner, opened six bottles of wine and slid them into brown bags.

Along with the employees, McLean sampled each of the wines during the next forty-five minutes. Though unknown to her at the time, she started with Sauvignon Blanc followed with Semillon and two Zinfandels, sampling the wines with a cheese, fruit or cracker recommended by the winemaker. To go with McLean's sliced turkey and smoked Gouda on a seven grain sourdough roll, the winemaker suggested a Riesling would taste best and poured her a large glass. Whether it was the power of suggestion or real science, McLean agreed with his choice. She finished her meal with a tiny sample of port and dark chocolate. Tashara ate the cheese and a serving of pasta salad with bottled water and also enjoyed sampling the aroma of each wine her fellow officer tasted.

"That was very nice, thank you," McLean said to the others. She stood and asked Tashara if she was up for a stroll before they returned to their work. They walked out the opposite door of the kitchen, intending to exit the building through the tasting room in front. As they proceeded through the far side of the office area, Tashara grabbed McLean's arm and pointed to the window. A small brown subcompact passed slowly by the side of the building on the way to the back.

"Kim, run out and see if you can get a number," Tashara shouted. "Don't let him see you."

McLean ran down the hall, pushed through the door to the production area and made it to the open loading dock in time to see a Nissan identical to the one that had been behind her on the way to work. The driver had apparently turned in the front row of parked cars, ignoring the painted arrow on the asphalt pointing the opposite direction. When she saw him he was moving quickly through the second, mostly empty, row back to the driveway. She could not see the plate. Seconds later, the car drove by the side window again, where Tashara glimpsed the plate and read the letters "P", "O", and "K". She could not see the driver.

McLean ran back to the office. Tashara looked at her with an odd expression that combined excitement and unease. "I think we can believe he knows where you work now."

"It was the same car, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I caught a partial on the plate. It was the same car. Did you see the driver's face?"

"No. He was away from me when he drove by."

McLean was breathing heavily and her face flushed from the rush from and to the office. Tashara found her own heart was racing from the excitement of seeing the car.

"Whew," she said, fanning her face. "I got myself worked up." McLean took her arm by the elbow and the two women returned to the empty office and videos.

McLean and Tashara made a second discovery of possible importance that day. Soon after they returned to the task of studying the surveillance tapes, after they phoned Peake with the news about the Sentra, Tashara pointed to an image of the television screen of a tall man with broad shoulders and gray hair. The tape counter corresponded with four o'clock, Thursday, nearly an hour before McLean's arrival.

"That man stands out, Kim. Other than those three guys in the morning who look like day laborers, he's the only man we've seen and he's the only older person who's been there."

McLean stared at the image on the screen. She resumed the fast-forwarding of the tape at a slower speed. He had a small load of laundry but didn't immediately place it in a washer. He remained seated with a magazine for a half hour. A few minutes later, they saw McLean's entrance. It was not possible to determine if the man paid any undue attention. Then, at the point when McLean moved her clothes out of the dryer, the tape showed this man walk behind her, follow her to the counter and look over her shoulder. He put a second coin in a dryer with his own clothes then returned to his seat. Later, when McLean loaded her laundry basket into her car in front of the shop, the man appeared to be watching her. He left about five minutes later.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 42

At 1:33, Moffat pushed open the glass door and walked into the Miner's Flat Coffee Shop. Martha Pane was waiting for him, seated on a red vinyl covered bench in the small entryway, her hands folded in her lap. Seeing Moffat, her face lit up with a warm smile and her eyes fixed upon him excitedly.

"Hello, Mrs. Pane. Thank you for meeting me."

Before she could reply, Donna Ferguson greeted Moffat and moving from behind him, wrapped her arm around his. She led Moffat to the empty room of tables on the left. Mrs. Pane followed them to a booth on the far wall; close enough to the front window to be well illuminated in the otherwise darkened room.

"I'll be right back with two coffees and cream."

Mrs. Pane wore a white dress with a pattern of bright bouquets of maroon flowers and green leaves. A string of large, imitation pearls decorated her neck. Moffat could smell perfume and noticed that she wore a small amount of make up.

"How is your investigation coming along, Captain? You have no idea how upsetting this is for the whole town. I can't imagine who could have done it. Such evil. And then..." Her voice trailed off when Donna neared the booth with the coffee. Mrs. Pane smiled sweetly at Moffat and then Donna. "Thanks Mrs. Ferguson, this smells delicious."

Donna acknowledged Mrs. Pane then moved her head in Moffat's direction saying, "This should be a nice quiet spot for you two to talk, Captain. I'll keep this section closed until five. No one will bother you."

With Donna's steps moving away, Pane resumed talking. "And then with the terrible trouble at the high school just four days later...we can barely think straight. How could that boy be released after what he tried to do? It's a miracle children weren't killed. It's no surprise, though. From what I hear, that family hasn't stepped into a church in thirty years. The boy's mother running wild. I don't know the boy but I hear he was quite strange. The people that need church the most are the hardest to reach."

She smiled at Moffat again, brought her cup to her lips with both hands and took a sip.

"I have arrested plenty of people who went to church, Mrs. Pane."

"True. True. Christians aren't perfect. We never forget that and we don't judge others. I just wish we could reach more people. Anyway, Captain Moffat, it's hard to believe the trouble at school wasn't related to the murder, him being her nephew and all."

"Well, I have to keep an open mind."

"Yes. I would think so. And now people say that her husband has left town. I heard he left with a woman. I wouldn't know, myself." She nodded to Moffat, narrowing her eyes. "Don't the police tell the suspects not to leave town?"

"We're aware of Mr. Gillis' whereabouts."

"That's good." She laughed and said, "You don't need this old busybody to help solve your case."

"No, we appreciate the cooperation of the public. It's the most important factor in controlling crime. I do have a few questions for you today, Mrs. Pane."

"Well...Yes, I'll be happy to answer anything I can. I don't know what more I can tell you."

She doesn't have any idea what I'm about to ask, Moffat thought. Good, that's the way I prefer it, he said to himself, then thought he shouldn't be so smug.

"Did Mr. Franke talk much in the weeks before he died?"

Mrs. Pane looked confused. "No. Not really. He was in a lot of pain and he was medicated. He would tell you what he needed. I wouldn't say he talked much, no."

"What did he talk about during those times?"

She was at a loss for words. "Umm...well, as I said, he would ask for food or drink. Sometimes he would ask for the newspaper or the television remote."

"Anything else?"

"Not that I recall."

"Mrs. Pane, I want you to think carefully. This could be important. Did Major Franke talk about his military record at any time?" Moffat looked directly into Mrs. Pane's eyes. She froze, holding his gaze, then her shoulders relaxed.

"Yes. I didn't want to betray a confidence. He did talk about it. He had some regrets."

"Did Franke lie about having served in combat in World War II?"

"Yes. He told me that the war was nearly over before he was old enough to enlist and he never left the United States."

"And so he lied about the Bronze Medal and the Purple Heart?"

"Yes. That bothered him most of all. He said he had begun to exaggerate and it took on a life of its own. His marriage and his business career were tied to this picture of him as a hero and he felt he couldn't put an end to it."

"You felt sympathy for him?"

"Yes. I'd known him many years. He was a member of the church. I know it was very painful for him and he regretted it."

"Did you tell your husband about Franke's admission?"

Her mouth dropped slightly. Moffat sensed the desire to mislead seize his subject. She said nothing for several seconds then said, "Yes. I did mention it."

"Did your husband talk to Mr. Franke after that?"

"He might have. I'm not sure."

"Did Reverend Pane visit Mr. Franke after you told him about the lies about his military record?"

"Yes."

"But you say he and Franke didn't talk about this subject?"

"You would have to ask my husband." Mrs. Pane was flustered now, and clearly unhappy.

"It was after that that Mr. Franke changed his insurance beneficiary form, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

Moffat watched Mrs. Pane. She didn't move, staring at him with a pained expression. "Your husband really was a combat veteran. His military record is one of great courage. He earned his medals. It must have galled him to contemplate Franke's lifetime of lies. Did he demand that Franke do this, to make up for stealing the admiration and respect due to real heroes? Did your husband use this to get Franke to give you the money?"

"I don't know. I don't know," she said with emotion but without tears. "We needed that money to save our home. We prayed and prayed and this was the answer." She seemed to regain some confidence. "Besides, it seemed to do him good. For a few days after my husband spoke to him, he seemed at peace. I think it healed his heart to confess this and then find a way to make amends."

"Why did Franke name your husband as the beneficiary rather than the church?"

"If it had gone to the church, we couldn't have kept it...what with the jury's award on the lawsuit. We'd never have seen any of that money."

Moffat nodded. Then he thought to follow up on something Pane had said.

"You mentioned Mr. Franke seemed at peace for just 'a few days' after you and your husband spoke with him. What happened after that?"

"I don't know but he became very agitated suddenly, even fearful. He was like that until a few days before he died." Mrs. Pane dropped her head and said in a soft voice "Maybe it didn't really bring him peace of mind after all. But we really need that money and God wants us to have it."

Moffat said nothing for several seconds.

"Captain Moffat, if you don't have any other questions, I do have to get back to my work. Thank you for the coffee."

She stood, smoothed her dress with both hands and walked to the exit, making a visible effort to hold her head up.

Moffat stared at the empty bench across the table for several minutes, in deep concentration. Interesting, he thought, that even with the financial windfall, the Panes' would still have lost their home and their church if Veronica Gillis pursued her plans to develop the property to which she held title. What will happen now?

"Any more coffee, Captain?" Donna had appeared next to him.

"No thank you. Could I have my check please?"

"It's on the house. We like having you here. Tall, distinguished, nice suits. You dress up the place."

Moffat laughed. "Thank you."

"Where was your young Sergeant today. He promised to come in days ago for some butterscotch pie."

Moffat held his smile. "He's on another assignment. But I'll tell him about the pie." Yesterday blackberry, today butterscotch...poor De la Pena, Moffat thought. Then another thought occurred to him. "Donna, what are the rumors in town about Wade Gillis?"

"Nothing really. He stopped for coffee the other day on his way to Tahoe. He has a job up there."

"No rumors about him leaving with someone else? A woman maybe?"

"Nobody has said anything like that. Captain, if people are talking about something in Miner's Flat, I hear about it. We get more news here than the Ledger Dispatch ever hopes to. Gillis is a big tough guy, but he's suffering for the loss of his wife. He won't be ready to see another woman for a long time."

Moffat thanked her and left. As he traced the steps to his car, he heard Mrs. Pane's words: "I can't imagine who could have done it." Right, Mrs. Pane. That's why you were so determined to suggest it might have been Wade Gillis or Aaron. I think you've imagined that your husband killed Veronica Gillis.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 43

"Well, I'm expecting a police captain but that can't be you. Too skinny to be an old cop." A tall, large middle-aged man laughed; turning from the horse whose saddle he was adjusting to shake Moffat's hand.

"I'm an old cop all right - Alexander Moffat. I'm glad to meet you Sergeant Grant. My administrative assistant Mrs. Grubb said you might have some information for me. "

"If you don't mind, I'll continue my work while we talk, Captain. I have to catch up with them in a few minutes." He pointed to a train of riders on horses on a trail through the two-foot tall grass toward hills beyond.

"I don't want to hold you up Sergeant. I can talk to you later if this is a bad time."

"No, don't worry. My nephew is leading that group. At the pace he's taking them, I'll catch up in no time. A bunch of computer people on a corporate team-building retreat. We take it slow with them. Can't take any chances. They're the ones who make the computer toys your grandkids will ask for next Christmas." He laughed adding, "They're half drunk already."

Moffat took in the sprawling ranch house, new barn and stable with fenced pasture beyond. "It's a beautiful place. How big is it?"

"Just what you see here by the road. A perfect set up. Our land ends where the trail leads off to the hills. That's national forest land. You can ride for twenty miles, clear up into the pines without seeing a house or a road. It's perfect for a horseback riding business."

The smell of the horses and saddle leather took Moffat back to family camping trips in the Sierra Nevada. Every summer his parents, siblings, aunt, uncle and cousins camped for days of hiking, swimming and horseback riding.

"What can I help you with, Captain?"

"The Veronica Gillis case. We don't have a lot to go on. I heard you had an encounter with her about ten years ago. I'm hoping you can tell me about the gun she had in her car."

"What a shock that was. Local businesswoman shot just as she was about to dig up half of Old Town. You must have about eleven hundred suspects. Two blocks from the town square and not a single witness, isn't that true?"

"Fairly close. Sergeant, I heard that you picked up Gillis on a concealed weapons violation."

"No record is there?"

"None."

"It was more than ten years ago. I think closer to twenty."

Moffat nodded, taking notes. "Is there any way you can narrow down the timing?"

Grant rubbed his chin, the white stubble creating a rasping sound. "Let me think." He was silent for about twenty seconds then clapped his hands once. "Yes, I can. I bought a house a year later. Ronnie sold it to me. That was in the summer of 1990. So I met her the first time in '89."

"Would you tell me everything you can remember?"

"Sure. I have a good recollection of the whole fiasco. I was patrolling one of the old neighborhoods in Segovia. I was on the police force, that was before we merged with the Sheriff's Department. Of all things, she was parked in front of a fire hydrant. It was a warm afternoon and that was the shadiest place. I pulled up behind her. She was driving a white convertible Lincoln. I got out just to tell her to move the car. As I walked up I could see she was going through her purse looking for something. While she was digging around, she pulled a handgun out, set it on the dash then kept searching. I couldn't ignore that. She smarted off some. I brought her into the station. Then all Hell broke loose. The Chief of Police suggested I should find better things to do than harass one of the county's most prominent citizens from one of it's wealthiest families. I ended up driving her back to her car and apologizing. The whole thing was over three hours after it started."

"That doesn't seem right. Weren't you just a bit annoyed?"

"Only at first. It was embarrassing to have to apologize but then she cut it short and wanted to talk about real estate. A few months later, she and my wife were out house hunting. She got us a great deal. Then, a few years before I retired, she found this ranch for us and helped us get the financing. That was the most rewarding apology I ever had to make. When we started up the stables, Ronnie even managed to steer a lot of corporate business our way."

"Interesting. Sergeant, can you remember what the gun looked like?"

"Yeah, it was a revolver with a fancy handle." Grant saw Moffat's eyes widen. Moffat said nothing. He wanted to avoid planting any suggestion that could influence Grant's recollection."

"Was the handle ivory?" No reaction from Moffat. Grant smiled. "No that was General Patton, but it was very unusual. It was like a pearl. You know, mother of pearl. My wife has a jewelry box that looks just like it."

"You're sure that's what it looked like?"

"Oh, yes. That gun got me into a lot of trouble but then turned out to be very lucky for me. I can see it now."

"Thanks, Sergeant Grant. You have been very helpful."

"I won't ask you but I think I know why," Grant said. "Captain, would you like to take a short ride? It's a spectacular day for it. We're great with beginners."

"I really would but I'm short on time. I'd like to bring my wife here. She hasn't been on a horse in six or seven years but she would love it."

Grant pulled his horse over to a two-step wooden platform. He stepped onto the platform, put his left foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself easily into the saddle. He smiled at Moffat with just a trace of embarrassment. "You have to make some allowances for middle-age. I wouldn't want to hurt my back getting onto the horse. That's why I wait for the customers to leave before me. It would disappoint them to see an old cowboy take the easy way up. Hope to see you soon, Captain. Adios."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 44

Back at the station, Moffat walked through the door of the team center and saw De la Peña, Fat, Duncan, Tashara, Schoenberg and Peake gathered between the two front rows of tables. With the exception of Tashara who was slumped in a red molded plastic and steel stacking chair, the others sat on the edge of the tables between keyboards and monitors.

"You're looking refreshed, Sergeant," Moffat said.

"A couple of hours sleep and I feel great," De la Peña responded.

"What is it?"

"It seems like we're getting somewhere. This Harold Etcell showed up at the winery." De la Peña brought the team up to date on the reappearance of the Sentra. "Now, look at this."

An hour earlier, when Tashara returned with the surveillance video tapes, she and De la Peña wired the VCR to the input jack of his computer and created short video files of the middle aged man identified by McLean. They saved them on the network drive and then e-mailed links to the videos to the team members. Moffat saw a grainy image of the laundromat interior fill De la Peña's screen. He leaned in watching a man walk behind Officer McLean at the dryer then return to his chair.

De la Peña addressed the group. "This may be Harold Etcell, the owner of the Sentra. He matches the physical profile. If it is him, he has taken the bait. He knows where she works and where she lives."

"How do we know that, Sergeant?" Fat asked.

"Assume that Etcell followed McLean from the laundromat to Denny's, then to the house. He was waiting for her this morning on the corner when Duncan and Peake saw him follow her to the winery. He came back there at lunchtime and drove past her car in the employee lot."

"Sounds believable," Peake said. "When the Sentra reappeared, well...that told us somebody has taken an interest in her."

"Here's a problem," Tashara read from a single sheet of paper. "I'm looking at Etcell's DMV record. He's sixty-four and only five feet eight. The man in the laundromat is about six feet and looks maybe ten years younger."

"Maybe there are two of them," Schoenberg offered.

De la Peña nodded. "Yeah. Who knows at this point. Whatever may have happened so far, we have to stick with the plan. But if we get a chance to stop the driver of the Sentra, let's do it. We don't want any obvious police activity around McLean, the laundromat, Denny's, the bungalow, the winery...if the Sentra driver doesn't turn out to be our suspect, we don't want to scare off the real one if he is around."

"Right," Schoenberg said. "We follow the Sentra away from McLean and stop him somewhere out of sight. Hey, if he is our man, we want him off the street as soon as possible." Schoenberg looked at Moffat for a sign of agreement. Moffat said nothing. Schoenberg continued. "OK, Sergeant, I'll give the Patrol Division instructions to look for the Sentra. We'll have them check with us before they pull him over."

"OK," De la Peña said. "So if we have a suspect interested in the decoy, how long will he wait before he makes his move? We can't keep this up for weeks, can we?"

Moffat spoke. "I know this is just more conjecture, but if our man really does identify victims who are new to the area, he would have to move quickly before these women make new friends and maybe a boyfriend--people who would spend time with them and most importantly, miss them if they disappeared. If this is true, he would not be likely to drag out the stalking phase. He would make a move as soon as he was satisfied with the victim he had chosen and thought it would be safe for him."

De la Peña's was still elated. "Well, if we're lucky, we'll see the Sentra follow her from the winery or maybe we'll see Etcell in the laundromat and at Denny's."

Next De la Peña reviewed plans with the team for repeat visits to the laundromat and Denny's before McLean would return home about the same time as the previous night. In a few minutes, Peake would drive an unmarked police car past the winery, timing a u-turn so as to pick up McLean's car on the way back into town. McLean would be on her own in the laundromat but with surveillance from across the street. In early evening, Schoenberg would pick up his wife and arrive at Denny's in time to see McLean enter. After dinner, they would follow her up to the point where she would turn onto the street to the bungalow, then Schoenberg would be off for the night. De la Peña and Fat would relieve Lang at the van, spending the night observing the rear of the bungalow. This night, a reserve officer already at the van would assist them. They also would monitor audio from a microphone placed just today near the bungalow's front door.

* * *

There were a few disappointments that night. McLean's car was followed into town by a white pickup and a minivan full of girl scouts, but no brown Nissan Sentra. Although the day's laundromat surveillance tapes would not be replaced and transported to the station for review until the middle of the night, neither the officer above the hardware store nor McLean herself noticed anyone resembling the man seen in Thursday's video. Etcell or whoever had been in the video also was a no-show at Denny's.

De la Peña, Fat and the reserve officer had a good time in the van. De la Peña recognized the new man from the gym. He was a forty-year old dentist, with glasses, a receding hairline and the body of an Olympic gymnast. The three ate sandwiches, coffee and fresh pears while waiting for McLean to return home. The dentist was a natural comedian. Fat and De la Peña made themselves laugh silently to avoid attracting attention to the van, but they were an appreciative audience. Settling in at the bungalow for the evening, McLean shocked them all when she put in a DVD of the 1974 thriller _Stranger in the House_. The sound spilled out of the bungalow and was captured by the microphone.

"Oh, man. She's got nerves of steel," De la Peña whispered to the others as they heard eerie music, moans and screams.

Fat said, "I know this one. Some maniac is making obscene phone calls to a bunch of girls in a sorority house. The police trace the calls. They're coming from inside the house."

The dentist chuckled. "We should phone McLean right now. Ask her to go up and check on the children. Remember that one about the babysitter? It'll keep her up all night."

De la Peña's phone rang. All three men jumped slightly, then laughed at each other.

"Sorry. I'll put it on vibrate." De la Peña said. Then into the phone he said "Hello, Captain."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 45

Saturday, May 20

Like a poker player sticking with his strategy through a string of disappointing hands, on Saturday the team stayed focused on carrying out each element of their plan, perfectly but with no perceivable results. In the van, the dentist lightened the load of the long hours of surveillance with entertaining stories from dental school, most concerning the antics of a brilliant but immature fellow student whose presence in the dental profession somewhere in California sent fear into Fat's and De la Peña's hearts. After the scary movie, McLean slept soundly, late into the morning. Her guardians watched but were not even provided a false alarm to break up the monotony.

Fat went home at eight a.m. The dentist stayed an extra two hours to bridge a scheduling gap, then he and De la Peña turned the surveillance over to two officers borrowed from the patrol division. A female reserve officer arrived at the laundromat at opening time and spent the entire day there looking out for a visitor to the shop who looked like the man in Thursday's video. While there, she washed four loads of laundry - for herself, her boyfriend and her parents - read a paperback mystery and ate a rather large brown bag lunch.

McLean arrived at the laundromat at ten fifteen. She modified the plan, which had called for her to wash the drapes from the bungalow. McLean saw that preparing the drapes from the living room and bedroom windows for cleaning would require removal of the metal hooks for each pleat. She saw no reason to go to that much trouble. Instead she pulled the slipcovers from the living room couch and chair and dropped them in the laundry basket. She kept up the act of looking shy and just a bit lonely but attracted attention only from an elderly woman and a mother with two small children.

Back at his apartment De la Peña showered and fell into bed, barely dry. He slept several hours from late morning into the early afternoon. When he awoke he remained in bed and immediately began to worry. The Nissan Sentra's two appearances had sent his hopes upward. What if we had somehow scared him off? Maybe they should have set up the operation so that a black and white could have stopped the driver and questioned him. Of course, De la Peña couldn't have known that checking the license plate would lead to an apparent dead end. In spite of Moffat's guess that Nicole's attacker would strike again soon, De la Peña worried that the decoy operation would drag on for many more days. The cost and the drain on manpower could not be supported for long by an organization the size of Segovia's police department. De la Peña knew that if the operation ended without capture of a suspect it would be considered a failure. He and Moffat would be blamed. The new guys goofed up. The confidence the chief placed in these two imports from big city police departments was misplaced. What would be unfair, though, was that going in he and Moffat both considered the probability of success for the decoy operation as something less than fifty-fifty. They just didn't have any better options. They would play the hand out and hope for some luck.

"That's enough," De la Peña said aloud. The sunlight streaming through the window showed dust on the surface of a dark walnut bookcase. De la Peña leapt from his bed, pulled on a pair of turquoise boxer briefs and a gray tee shirt and began the comforting chore of dusting and vacuuming his apartment. Forty- five minutes later he walked into Mr. Whelan's Pub and, after an update to the proprietor on his family, social life and career, sat down with a cider and cheese and onion pasty to watch his beloved Dodgers win a twelve inning pitchers' duel.

From the laundromat, McLean phoned an order for pick up, drove to Denny's then backtracked to the bungalow. The afternoon was as uneventful as the morning. At six, as planned, she drove a mile and a half to the Village Theater, bought a ticket, then walked next door to Main Street Coffee for a medium coffee of the day Costa Rican dark roast. Fat and a female officer from the traffic Division walked up to the glass window of the ticket booth five minutes behind McLean. They bought their tickets and pretended to window shop for the next forty-five minutes. It had been decided last night, based on McLean's risk in a darkened theater and of walking to her car that Fat would not bring a civilian date. It was just as well because Fat was on a two year losing streak with the opposite sex, a special concern to his Chinese grandparents who were about to take his love life into their own hands with a series of arranged meetings with eligible granddaughters of their friends from Sacramento to Fresno.

The movie "Atonement" was considered by Lang, Schoenberg and even Duncan to be a "chick flick" but Fat and the two female officers considered it excellent. As far as they could tell, McLean drew no special attention during the course of the night. Fat followed her home in his car then phone calls were exchanged among the occupants of the van, the bungalow, Fat and De la Peña. "Nothing to report" was reported throughout the evening and night.

Two discoveries were made Saturday but would be unknown to De la Peña and Moffat for two to three days. Both were the work of technicians earning premium pay for Saturday work, who recorded them in notebooks for later incorporation in reports. One discovery was in Sacramento at the office of the California Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence, the second from just north of the city of Segovia at the laboratory of Doggie Ancestry.com.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 46

Sunday, May 21

Shortly after nine thirty, McLean laughed to herself as she walked a narrow path through the bright green grass leading to Main Street. I've left the front door unlocked and the back bedroom window open, she thought, in the hopes that a psychotic serial killer will sneak in while I'm gone. What a cheery thought! It was hard not to have cheery thoughts on a morning like this. Sunny, temperature in the low 60's. Blue stellar jays and rust-breasted robins swooped from tree to fence post to shrub, accompanying her on her walk. McLean reached the El Dorado Bakery two blocks north of the place the brown Nissan had been parked on Friday morning, waiting to follow her to work. She ordered a strawberry and cream cheese filled croissant and a venti cup of light roast arabica and took them to a redwood bench under a patio canopy. McLean watched the Sunday pedestrians as they left apartments, old Victorian homes and B&B's to fill Segovia's sidewalks. She had bought a newspaper which she now unfolded A riot at Guantanamo prison, explosion in a Kentucky coal mine, the Chinese completed their giant dam for hydroelectric power, West Nile Virus fears in Segovia...She thought she would get back to the front page section later. Sports would be more pleasant to read right now. Martina Hingis beat Venus Williams in the semifinals at the Italian Open. Who would she play next? A Russian, Danica Safina. Let's see if that's on TV tonight.

It really was a nice assignment. McLean had caught up on her laundry, read novels: _The Da Vinci Code_ , _Wicked_ and a Chief Inspector Barnaby mystery, and made valuable contacts within the Segovia P.D. in case she might want an opportunity for promotion sooner than the Sonora Sheriff's Department was ready with one. The break from her boyfriend was a good thing as well. She could tell by their phone conversations that he was missing her. She felt the same way. Like the old folks say "hearts grow fonder," she thought.

* * *

At eleven o'clock Sunday morning, in the Church Canteen, Martha Pane washed twelve coffee cups and placed them on a plastic drainer to dry. Catherine Martius wiped a long yellow Formica table with a pink sponge. Martha moved away from the sink and took a towel and began to hand dry the cups and place them in a cupboard. Catherine removed the filter basket from a 50-cup coffee maker and washed the grounds down the drain.

Finished with their regular Sunday clean up, the women set off in silence on a walk that would take them on a two mile path through Miner's Flat, zigzagging to avoid the steepest hills, looping to end on the street to Catherine's house. Ten minutes into the walk, Catherine spoke.

"Dear, for Heaven's sake, what is it? You've been sighing and staring off into space all morning."

"I'm sorry, Catherine. I'm so worried. I tell myself it's ridiculous but I can't help it."

Catherine placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Let's hear it. Whatever is bothering you, talking about it will help."

"Captain Moffat interrogated me. He asked to meet for coffee but then he treated me like a criminal."

"Come on Martha. That man is so polite, you know he didn't really..."

"Well, no. It was the questions he asked. I think he thinks Reverend Pane may have committed the murder. A minister of the church suspected of something like that..." She shook her head forcefully.

"What makes you think that?"

"He asked a lot of questions about something that has nothing to do with Mrs. Gillis' murder but when you put that 'something' together with the fact that she was taking the church and throwing us out of our home, it all looks...well, a person might think...that he would have had a reason to do it."

"Martha, you're not making any sense. What are you talking about?"

Mrs. Pane hesitated, fearful of how her next revelation might appear to her best friend. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this earlier, Dear. A few weeks ago, Major Franke told us he was going to make a bequest, leaving us something from his life insurance. I'm sure it was to help out with the church...although, Lord knows, it's too late for that. He couldn't leave it to the church, because of the lawsuit over Clement Jones so he made it to Reverend Pane himself. Catherine, I didn't want you to think..."

"Of course not. Not for a minute. You and the Reverend aren't that kind of people. She patted Martha on the shoulder with her left arm. "How much did he leave?"

Martha had hoped not to be asked that. Accepting a large sum of money from a sick old man you are caring for, well, that could make a person seem unprincipled...greedy, really.

She told Catherine. Catherine showed no sign that she disapproved. At least that was a relief.

"What does that have to do with Veronica Gillis?"

"I just know that the Captain must think Reverend Pane could have done it to stop the work on the property. She was planning to demolish almost everything, you know. Now it's all up in the air."

Catherine flashed a slight smile. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"And now we have the money to buy back some of our property - maybe the church and the hall."

"Very good."

Her friend's reaction distracted Martha temporarily.

"What if he did do it, Catherine?"

"You are not serious. How could you think such a thing?"

"It's really bothering me, dear. Over the years I've seen some things that make me wonder whether..."

"What has he done that makes you think he might be capable of murder?"

"Well, once, nearly twenty years ago, we were in Modesto then and there were some protestors picketing the church about something the Reverend had said from the pulpit and that he repeated to the newspaper. They were screaming. They were quite hateful. You know how those people can be."

"Not really."

"Well, the Reverend was turning into the driveway leading back to our house. They were blocking our path. They would not move. Not fast enough anyway. The Reverend got a really strange look on his face. He hit the gas pedal hard. Two of them had to jump to keep from being hit by the car. I was speechless. He just said 'that filth' - he called them 'filth' and said they were lucky this time."

Martha could see her friend was unconvinced.

"I didn't know he had such a temper, but still..."

"There have been other things I never told you. Our second daughter Janelle married a Mormon when she was twenty-two. The Reverend told her she would go to Hell and refused to speak to her. He kept it up for three years until she got divorced. Then he said he forgave her and that it wasn't a real marriage anyway. But he had been so cold to her. Our daughter. How could he treat her that way? They've never really been close ever since."

"Oh, dear. I had no idea. You should have told me before. We mothers are called upon to endure so much. I'm sorry."

Martha had one more fact to present. "Did you know he was a soldier in Vietnam?"

"No, I didn't. He's never mentioned it."

"He killed a lot of people. Well, enemy soldiers."

"Men have to do that in war. That doesn't mean they would commit murder back home."

"I know, you're right. It's just that he's always been a bit different and he has no alibi."

Having shared her worries and reasoning with her friend, suddenly they seemed fanciful. "Oh, Catherine, thank you for letting me share this. I feel better now. Foolish but better. I let my imagination run away with me." She laughed finally.

Catherine joined in the laughter. "To tell the truth..."

"Yes?"

"I had similar thoughts. It crossed my mind - just for a minute - that my own daughter might have killed Veronica."

"Cheryl? How could you think that?"

"She was so angry with her. And not for the first time."

"Catherine, really," Martha admonished.

"Well, she doesn't have an alibi either."

They laughed then walked in silence for barely thirty seconds when Martha said, "Look at the two of us. Aren't we something?"

"I guess so. You know, you and I should have done it. She really did deserve it and no one would suspect us. You could have stood lookout while I filled her full of lead."

"Oh, Mercy, Catherine. What a thing to say."

"Martha, you're just too nice, sometimes. No, all the time. If we get to keep the church and you get to keep your home, well then that's just fine. I'm not going to pretend to feel sorry about it."

She took Martha's arm in hers as they rounded the corner to her street.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 47

McLean and her watchers were disappointed that there was no action that morning. Mrs. Grubb had suggested a visit to the park with its variety of activities out in the open providing opportunities for McLean to be observed and followed. The temperature warmed to seventy-three by the time McLean arrived at the entrance to the Farmer's Market. She wore pink shorts and a pink and white striped sleeveless blouse with white sandals. She carried a backpack in which she had her cell phone, newspaper, paperback novel and a small blanket for the grass in case she wanted to sunbathe.

McLean walked through the market stalls and bought fresh corn on the cob for her mother. She was fairly certain that her watchers would not have detected anything suspicious so far. A red-haired round-faced woman gave McLean her change offering a plastic bag for the corn. McLean declined and put the ears in her backpack. She passed stalls with several kinds of lettuce, oranges, lemons and grapefruit, strawberries and fresh trays of brown and white eggs, with signs proclaiming "free range."

McLean bought two yellow daffodils from a ruddy, white-haired man in his seventies. His bright, watery blue eyes conveyed warm appreciation for her youth and beauty but nothing to raise concern.

She sat at a wrought iron bench under an oak. She was in the shade and felt a slight chill. Twenty yards away, five college age men spread out into an irregular pentagon and began to toss a Frisbee. McLean read her paperback for a half hour then lay it on the bench next to her. Her cell phone rang a minute later.

"Nice show behind you." It was Officer Jane Duncan's voice.

"Oh, yeah," McLean said looking casually over her shoulder. "I see what you mean."

The young men had removed their tee shirts, exposing mostly pale but muscular physiques to the late morning sun. Following a bizarre fashion that would not seem to die, the shorts of all five were worn beltless, hanging low on their hips exposing boxer shorts except in one case. The exception drew the attention of both women.

"Crack Attack!" Jane laughed as the upper buttocks of the one man without boxer shorts came into view when he lunged for the Frisbee.

"Could be a lot worse," McLean maintained an expression of disinterest. "Don't make me laugh, Jane. Where are you?"

"Top floor of the carriage museum."

"I haven't seen anything. Have you?"

"No, but at least we have some entertainment."

"Talk to you later." McLean flipped the cell phone shut and replaced it in her backpack. She picked up her book.

By mid afternoon, McLean's bench was in the sun. The number of people in the park multiplied. The college boys' game broke up with shouts and loud laughter. Two boys passed McLean on the right. A dark haired, stocky boy held the head of a crew cut blond in a neck lock with his left arm. "Hello," he said to McLean. She smiled. The other boy said "good bye" as his captor marched him toward the west end of the park. The other three boys ran by on her left, also shouting hellos. McLean waved as they raced away then returned to her novel.

She had read just two more pages when another interruption occurred.

"Hi, my name is Christopher. It's a beautiful day isn't it?" McLean looked up. A man of about her own age sat down at the bench, two feet from her. She was startled, though it would not have been noticeable to anyone seeing her at that moment. McLean considered how her character would react. She would be more polite than the real Kim McLean who had tired years ago of unsolicited attention from men she did not know. She smiled shyly. A lonely accountant, new in town might appreciate a chance to meet this man. He had chestnut hair, smooth, flawless skin, a warm smile and pale blue eyes. Christopher seemed oblivious of his appearance, his attention focused on McLean.

"I have a gift for you," he said, his eyes seeming to twinkle.

"Uh oh. My mother warned me about talking to strangers." McLean returned his smile.

"I know, but this gift is just a few words that make all the difference in the world."

So that's it, McLean thought. Scientology, Moonies, Amway, maybe...He pulled a black leather bound book from his bag and proceeded to explain to McLean that the New Testament tells how Jesus died for her. Just a garden variety Bible thumper. That's what we have here, McLean thought. He could be making a fortune modeling but here he is in Segovia's Central Park searching out people who happen to be alone and trying to convert them. Serial killer material? Possibly. I'll talk to him but not for long. I don't want anyone to think we're together.

Just then, McLean was sure she spied the middle-aged gray-haired man from the laundromat video, standing forty yards away at the edge of the park.

"I'm sorry. I really have to make a phone call right now." Christopher stopped talking but showed no indication he would leave.

"It's a private call. Thanks anyway for stopping."

He nodded, stood up quickly, bowed slightly and walked away.

"Jane, I see the man from the laundry," McLean whispered into the cell phone.

"Where is he?"

"Right under you. Just across the street."

Duncan saw him. He began to move slowly along the sidewalk, toward the south. Within seconds, three plain-clothes officers were alerted and directed to his location. Unhurriedly, the man crossed the street on a diagonal to the sidewalk in front of the Carriage Museum. Duncan lost sight of him as he moved to her right.

"He's turning toward Main Street." McLean was the only officer who could see him at the moment. Then she lost sight as well. Seconds later the officers converged at the corner of Fulton and Main. They looked up and down all four directions. Their target was nowhere in sight.

* * *

A few hours later, Dawn Miller chatted with her son while she packed clothes including shorts, two bathing suits and a form-fitting red dress with a low v-neck into a large orange suitcase that had belonged to her sister-in-law. Dawn was elated to see Aaron with an expensive haircut looking handsome in new clothes courtesy of Loraine. He spoke of his new computer and cell phone and the friends he was making in his support group. Aaron sounded apprehensive about his return to school tomorrow but he was more enthusiastic about life than she had seen him since he was a child. Dawn was thrilled herself by the prospect of her first real vacation, a cruise to Mazatlan paid for by her mother-in-law. While Aaron wheeled her suitcase to the car, she joked about meeting a millionaire on the ship and extending her vacation a few months.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 48

Monday, May 22

This morning at 8:30, an increasingly fatigued Sergeant De la Peña sat at his desk in the Team Center updating the investigation log on the computer. He had joined the stakeout at the park Sunday afternoon just after the near miss with the presumed sighting of the suspect but in time to pick up his team's exhilaration. Sunday night De la Peña worked the bungalow watch again, managing only three hours of frequently interrupted sleep, ending around 3:00 a.m.

The man in the park was the only bite the police had all weekend. McLean was convinced she had seen the man in the video but this was followed by another uneventful night. During the morning commute, McLean and her escorts were disappointed again not to see the brown Nissan. They reported more traffic than usual. The officers following McLean had seen a white pickup two cars ahead of them. It stayed in the line of cars for several minutes before taking the last right before the winery turning onto a road leading to a residential section of South Segovia. Remembering a similar vehicle on the road during McLean's Friday night drive from the winery to the laundromat, the officers reported it to De la Peña. They were unable to get a plate this time, though it appeared to match the description from Friday.

De la Peña checked the task force records from Friday. Then, the shadowing officer had recorded a plate for both a white pickup and a minivan, neither considered suspicious at the time. This morning, De la Peña ran the pickup's plates. Within seconds, results came in from the Department of Motor Vehicles computer. The truck from Friday - which may have been the same one observed this morning - belonged to a seventy year old man in Lodi. There were no warrants of any kind. It was a 1992 Ford F-150. The description recorded on Friday mentioned a very darkly tinted rear window but nothing else to distinguish it. Today's report described a full size white Ford pickup, early 90's, with a darkly tinted rear window. It seemed to De la Peña it was late in the operation to introduce a new vehicle but he notified all the task force participants to watch for the Ford as well as the Nissan.

Moments later, De la Peña read an e-mail from the San Leandro police. No one was home at the Etcell's house. Neighbors said they were on a European vacation, having left two weeks earlier. De la Peña shook his head in frustration. Maybe we made a mistake, he thought. He made a mental note to stop referring to the suspect as Etcell. Wrong age, wrong height and, now we know, out of the country...I guess I blew it with that one. So tell the team to look for a brown Nissan, I don't care what the license plate is.

* * *

At Miner's Flat High School, during the ten o'clock break, the undercover cop pretending to be Julie Chancellor examined her face in the mirror of the girl's rest room at the end of the wing nearest the Quad. As she prepared to touch up her powder and lipstick, she noticed again the dermatologist's handiwork that helped a twenty seven year old police officer pass for an eighteen year old high school senior. The week before she began this assignment a quick Botox injection had erased a vertical "worry" line between her eyebrows. Very slight furrows that appeared on each side of her mouth when she smiled were removed with collagen injections. The procedures were helpful in creating the illusion but Julie, as she took care to call herself even in her thoughts owed most of her youthful appearance to a metabolism that prevented her from putting on even a pound of excess weight. She had inherited this from her mother who also had enforced strict rules on daily use of sunscreen. Of equal importance to her appearance, a talent for mimicking the speech patterns that had changed considerably since her teenage years in Chula Vista and the imagination of a method actor provided the final components of an impenetrable false identity.

Four junior girls chatted quietly at the far end of the restroom. Julie overheard the words "that kid with the gun" and listened to the rest of their conversation. Two girls were excited at having seen Aaron Jamison. One said she thought most people would have killed themselves. Julie wondered whether she meant because of the bullying he had undergone or from embarrassment after snapping last Monday. A third asked how he looked. The answer "well, pretty normal, I guess" took the spirit out of their gossip. "He's kind of cute," another girl said. The first voice added "weird."

Better give Captain Moffat a call later, Julie thought. She knew he would want to hear about Aaron's first day back and how the students were reacting. Moffat had written a commendation for her performance during Monday's event - secret for now. She was pleased about having it added to her personnel file. Developing a professional relationship with this high-ranking officer could help her career so she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to talk to him again.

Julie glanced at the clock. Scott Conti would meet her in ten minutes, just outside. He had a permanent pass to come to school after second period. Julie new the justification for the pass was phony but had been signed by his father. Conti was a fairly good student and with extra credits earned at a private academy during two previous summers, he had no worries about meeting the requirements for graduation.

Julie walked to the edge of the Quad to wait for Scott. She stood very near the position she had taken last Monday when she could see several hundred students scattered about among the concrete, grass and planters in the morning sunlight. Today, scanning the crowd, she quickly spotted Aaron only thirty yards from her. He was with four other students and appeared to be engaged in conversation - listening mostly but speaking occasionally. The group broke up, two seniors and a junior moving toward the "A" wing, Aaron and a sophomore girl named Michelle walking back toward Julie and the block of lockers. From his expression, Aaron seemed normal and happy. He even seemed taller. But Julie thought he was self-conscious, walking a bit awkwardly like a shy person in a home movie. She thought he was quite brave under the circumstances.

Scott walked toward Julie, carrying two small cups of Starbuck's. She realized he had altered his regular route to avoid Aaron and Michelle. She was amused that the highly self-confident and arrogant Conti was now dodging the skinny sophomore. Scott was smart, though, and would readily adapt his behavior to whatever was to his advantage. He had never mentioned Aaron or anything about his role in the incident or, for that matter, his questioning by police about Veronica Gillis' death. She had never asked, since her objective was to explore a completely different aspect of Conti's life.

* * *

"Jason, man, you look bad. I'm eight and a half months pregnant but I bet I can take you in the half mile. Mrs. G, doesn't he look like...doesn't he look bad?" Tashara reported for her shift at one but ten minutes passed before she looked at De la Peña.

"Not bad, dear, just tired," Mrs. Grubb offered. De la Peña's short hair, normally parted neatly and combed back from his face, was pointing up and out in multiple directions. His eyes were red with faint, blue gray half moons below.

In the back of the room, the door closed softly. Moffat had entered and now he walked between the rows of tables to join the two officers and Mrs. Grubb. De la Peña took a deep breath and made an effort to look more alert than he felt.

"Anything new?"

Moffat was aware of McLean's sighting of the suspect and the negative report of the night's surveillance. De la Peña told him about the white truck from the morning commute and the report from San Leandro P.D. Moffat nodded and kept nodding as he appeared to drift into thought. He sat at his desk, pulled a small black address book from his jacket pocket and made a long distance call.

"Assistant Chief Joseph Walker, please." He turned to De la Peña. "Classmate at the Academy. I want Lodi P.D. to check on the white Ford."

The others listened as Moffat requested that a plainclothes detective go to the address in Lodi to determine whether an F-150 with the plate number recorded in Segovia on Friday was there now and if it had been in Segovia or elsewhere out of town or out of the owner's possession recently. Moffat told Walker they would send a screen capture of the suspect from the laundromat video then added that two detectives should be sent with instructions to take precautions because of the possibility Moffat's suspect may be at that location.

"Thanks, Joseph. No, you don't have to go yourself. Thanks, talk to you soon."

Moffat turned back to De la Peña. "I want to clear up these questions about the vehicles. Now, let's call San Leandro." Moffat phoned a contact in the Criminal Investigation Division, Detective Paul Goodsell, exchanged greetings then pushed the "speaker" on the telephone. He and De la Peña waited several minutes while the officer who had e-mailed De la Peña the information about the Etcells was brought on the line.

"Good afternoon, Officer," Moffat said facing the telephone. "I need to find out where the Etcell's Nissan is now. Did you see it when you went to the home?"

A youthful male voice responded. "No, Captain. The garage door was locked and the one window was blocked by pegboard. The neighbor said they hadn't taken the car and that it would be there in the garage. Give me just a minute to check my notes...OK, I have a name for their daughter."

"Any contact info?" Moffat asked.

They could hear keyboard strokes.

"Yes. I have a number and address. She's up in Walnut Creek."

The San Leandro detective spoke. "Brian, see if you can get her on the line with us. Alex, we'll see if we can get you some answers right now."

Less than two minutes passed. The young officer returned to the phone and announced he had reached the daughter Lydia Ballard. A fourth phone was added to the teleconference with the push of a button.

"Thank you for speaking with us, Mrs. Ballard. I'm Police Captain Moffat in Segovia. An automobile matching the description of the one registered to your parents has come up in an investigation here. I understand your parents are out of the country?"

"Yes. They are on a twenty-one day bus tour through England, Scotland and Ireland."

"Do you know where their 1996 brown Nissan Sentra is now?"

"In the garage. At least, I think it is. My niece drove them to the airport in her own car. Theirs has to be at home." Her tone reflected a growing sense of concern. I have an emergency number for them in England. Should I call my mother?"

"There's nothing for you to worry about, Mrs. Ballard. Let me ask you, do you have keys to your parents house and garage?"

"Yes. Should I go there?"

"It would be helpful for me to know that your parents' car is in fact at their home. Paul..."

"Right, Alex. Mrs. Ballard, can you meet me at your parents' house? In about a half hour?"

They heard a faint laugh. "Give me a few extra minutes, Detective Goodsell. I can't drive quite as fast as you can."

The others laughed.

"One more request, Mrs. Ballard."

"Yes?"

"I'm assuming the car will be in the garage," Moffat said. "If it is, would you phone your parents and ask them if they have made any visits to Segovia, Tuolumne or Amador counties with that vehicle? If so, get me as much detail as you can about when and where they stayed and what places they visited. It could be very helpful."

"I will do that, Captain. I hope you can tell us what it's all about sometime."

"My Sergeant promises to do that just as soon as we can." Moffat smiled at De la Peña, who made a note to comply with "his" promise, then Moffat gave his phone number to Mrs. Ballard.

"I'll phone as soon as we're at the Etcell's, Alex."

"Thanks, Paul, Brian, Mrs. Ballard. Talk to you soon."

Fifteen minutes later, Assistant Chief Walker phoned Moffat with the results of the Lodi police's check on the F-150. De la Peña thought he could guess what line Moffat was now pursuing and was not at all surprised when Moffat repeated what he had been told by his old friend. The pickup was in the driveway. Its owner had opened the door when the detectives came up the walk. He was unarmed, helpful and bore no resemblance to Moffat's suspect. He hadn't been in Segovia, Friday, or, for that matter, he hadn't been there since his grandson played in a basketball tournament in 1999. The truck's owner had driven it to Segovia on that occasion.

Not long after, Paul Goodsell called from his cell phone from the Etcell's driveway. Moffat used the speakerphone again.

"Mrs. Ballard just drove up, Alex." Goodsell narrated as she joined him and the two walked up the steps of the front porch.

"We're ringing the bell. No answer. I'll take your key, Mrs. Ballard. Nothing out of the ordinary, Alex. Very neat. I'll go to the garage now. It's detached from the house. Ok, we're at the side door. There it is. Your Nissan Sentra. Mint condition. Plate reads 'One Paul Ocean King three zero zero. When did you think this vehicle was in Segovia, Alex?"

"Now I think probably not for some time. There's another explanation for what we saw."

"I read you. Ok, Mrs. Ballard will phone you as soon as she gets a hold of her parents. It looks to me like the problem is all yours in Segovia."

Moffat thanked Goodsell, then hung up the phone, sat back in his desk and saw his own smile mirrored by De la Peña.

"What do you think, Captain?" Mrs. Grubb asked. She had been working quietly at her own computer throughout the afternoon's phone calls. Moffat turned to De la Peña who spoke first.

"Mrs. G, want to take a bet on whether the Etcells have ever been to Segovia? I can't say when but I'll tell you what car they drove. How about it, Mrs. G? Five bucks?"

"No."

"Here's our current theory, Mrs. Grubb," Moffat said. "Our suspect sees a car or truck of the right make, model year and paint color from among the thousands of tourists who drive to the Gold Country on weekends. He doesn't steal their plates because that would create a police report. Instead, he counterfeits them so that his vehicles can't be traced back to him. It might not do him any good if he were pulled over, but it would rule out an eyewitness connecting him to a crime by catching his license plate number."

"How hard would it be to counterfeit a plate?" She asked.

De la Peña said "Not hard, if you had the right equipment. It would be easy to match the colors of the paint on the plate. Maybe he uses the counterfeit when he's stalking his victim...or attacking them. It seems like it would be too risky to use it all the time. What if he were stopped for speeding or an illegal turn? We would see the plate didn't match the registration."

"Maybe. What we know for sure, though, is that two vehicles with counterfeit plates have been seen following our decoy. That tells us our suspect is careful, methodical, maybe even obsessive. It fits with our idea of how he chooses his victims. He takes great pains to plan his crimes and avoid detection. If he gets the slightest hint that we're trying to trap him, my guess is that he'll disappear, maybe for years." Moffat paused and seemed to be looking inward then turned his intense gaze to De la Peña.

"Sergeant, it's a difficult balancing act this team has to perform. We can't let him see any police activity around McLean or he'll disappear but if we get a shot at him on the road, say following her on Highway 49 or Main Street, let's take it. Have two more unmarked cars in the vicinity when you escort her to and from work from now on. If we see one of the two vehicles, block any escape, get back up and bring him in."

De la Peña visualized the capture scenario as Moffat spoke. It sent adrenalin to his bloodstream. He nodded, biting his lower lip, then began to consider where he would find the additional resources for the twice-daily drives. An hour later the pieces were in place.

* * *

"You look tired, Sergeant De la Peña. Were you up all night?" Moffat finally noticed what Tashara and Mrs. Grubb had seen two hours earlier. The activity of the teleconferences and subsequent planning had given De la Peña a lift but now he suddenly felt the effects of sleep deprivation. He admitted to Moffat that he had had only three hours the night before. Moffat suggested that De la Peña go home, reminding him that they could not predict when the suspect might be seen again, that it could as easily be days rather than hours and that the team had to be ready for the longer duration. De la Peña did not answer. Moffat had put on his jacket, picked up the portfolio that held his notebook and pulled his car keys from the drawer. De la Peña felt a strong desire to know where Moffat was going; his curiosity more apparent because of his fatigue.

"I'm going to Miner's Flat to interview Wade Gillis again." Seeing the interest in De la Peña's face, Moffat could tell De la Peña wanted to accompany him. He laughed. "Sergeant, I think your time would be better spent getting some sleep."

"Well, Captain. If you drive up and back, I can catch about an hour's rest in the car and still join you for the interview," De la Peña said smiling.

"Ok, if you want. Mrs. Grubb, have you got a pillow and blanket for the Sergeant?"

"Honestly, you would think you were taking him to the drive-in. Go on. Tashara will call you if anything happens."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 49

That afternoon, Moffat drove his Toyota Highlander De la Peña reclined the passenger seat and within minutes was sleeping peacefully. On the floorboard next to De la Peña's left foot, Moffat's portfolio rested against the side of the stereo console. It contained his notebook but this time bulged with a plastic evidence bag that held the weapon used to murder Veronica Gillis--a Lady Smith revolver with a distinctive mother of pearl handle. Moffat enjoyed the ride. De la Peña began to awaken slowly when Moffat turned into the high school parking lot. Moffat followed a marked lane in the blacktopped area behind the football stadium that led to the other athletic fields. They parked at the intersection of a baseball diamond and one of several soccer fields. Moffat expected to find Gillis coaching field hockey practice. They stopped a custodian for directions and were pointed to a distant field below the plateau on which the baseball and soccer parks were located. Neither detective had any complaint about the walk through the freshly mowed grass between the fields.

De la Peña watched baseball practice as they walked by the outfield. The pitcher lobbed the ball to home plate where a batter - possibly a coach - hit a high fly ball to right center field. It flew over the heads of two outfielders and rolled in the grass to a point ten yards from the detectives' path. The right fielder had run out in a vain attempt to field the ball, now stopped and called for "a little help" from the two men. De la Peña trotted away from Moffat to pick up the ball. He grasped it tightly and brought it up to his face, examining the ball carefully. Then with his left hand he signaled to a point in the sky above and beyond the outstretched glove of the right fielder. De la Peña pulled back his right arm and with a snap of his wrist hurled the baseball over the outfielder and two infielders in a direct line to home plate. The ball bounced eight feet from home and was fielded expertly by the catcher. Moffat watched and noted that De la Peña's perfect throw of about 320 feet would easily have caught any runner trying to score on a sacrifice fly.

For De la Peña, the sun, the blue sky, the smell of the grass and the feel of the ball combined to send him back in his baseball memories of eighteen springs from age five when he played tee-ball to his last season of college baseball at age 22. A cheer broke out from the ball players. De la Peña waved then jogged to meet Moffat, showing a wide smile.

"Very impressive, Sergeant."

The detectives continued walking across the grass. They approached another playing field, this one at an elevation about twelve feet below the baseball field. A gentle, grass-covered slope of about 20 degrees connected the two fields.

Fifteen boys were scattered about on a field 100 yards by 60, dressed in sky blue shorts extending to three inches above the knee, striped stockings covering the calves of their legs and nylon white and blue jerseys. Except for goalkeepers at both ends of the field, the boys carried matching hockey sticks, black with a wide orange stripe. Wade Gillis in blue jeans and a gray, sleeveless sweatshirt was the only adult.

"Scott Conti is on the team Sergeant. Look for him and watch how he reacts when he sees us."

A few seconds earlier, two boys had apparently collided. They were being helped to their feet by teammates. De la Peña observed Conti running in a diagonal line to the center of the sidelines where he met Gillis. The Sergeant observed the moment when Conti recognized them and noticed that his movement changed then, he lowered his stick and slowed his pace. At the same time, Conti's expression changed. When he reached Gillis, Scott stopped and stood with his head down, wearing an expression of slightly exaggerated attentiveness and respect. Gillis spoke rapidly, pointing to several players and positions on the field. As Moffat and De la Peña neared, Gillis followed Conti's gaze over his own left shoulder. He acknowledged the approaching policemen, then turned back to Conti who seemed to have frozen in place. Gillis pushed Conti gently around and back toward the other players. Then, with a solemn expression, he shook both officers hands but said nothing.

"We have some more questions for you, Mr. Gillis," Moffat said.

Gillis nodded. Moffat studied his face and posture. He showed no outward signs of sadness but seemed completely empty of emotion and sounded and looked mentally fatigued. Though clearly a superbly fit individual, his shoulders and head sagged, in contrast to the straight-backed, military posture Moffat had observed on their first meeting.

"Sure. No problem. Hang on a sec." Gillis called out "5 players offense, 4 defenders, diamond rotation," then turned to Moffat and De la Peña.

Moffat said "I remember you from the '84 Olympics, Mr. Gillis. I saw you score two goals against Malaysia. It was a great game."

"Thanks." Gillis' eyes showed a flash of life. "It was my best game ever. We lost though, 9-8 on penalty strokes. Well, we never had a shot at a medal but we did better than anyone expected. In game five, we held Australia to two goals. They finished fourth." Gillis' mouth formed a faint smile.

"You were a lot smaller then."

"Oh, man. Yeah." He chuckled. I weighed 160 then with a 38-inch chest. I had powerful legs though. I could tear up the field and change directions like a jack rabbit." The smile remained on his face. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "This team is looking pretty good. Conti, Baker, DiCioccio...these guys are talented. Give me a couple of years; any one of them could make the Olympic team.

"Mr. Gillis, I need you to confirm something." He placed his hand on Gillis' shoulder and guided him to the right so that his back was to the playing field. De la Peña moved to Gillis left side and opened the portfolio to give Gillis a view of the evidence bag and its content."

"Can you tell us if this gun belonged to your wife?" Moffat asked.

With a large index finger he pushed the gun in the bag to reveal the handle.

"Yeah. That's Ronnie's."

"You're sure? No doubt about it?" Moffat asked.

"Yeah, that's it."

"Can you tell me..."

"There's a hairline crack. She dropped it once. I fixed it. New screw, resin filler. You can barely see it."

Gillis confirmed that his wife routinely carried a handgun in her purse. Asked who else would have known this, he replied "everybody." His wife, he explained, had a habit of showing the gun at parties. Elsewhere too, he guessed.

De la Peña sighed but said nothing. He wanted to chastise Gillis for not telling them about the gun but realized that Moffat had not revealed that it was the murder weapon and apparently the Captain didn't want Gillis to know that his wife had been shot with her own gun.

"When we spoke last week, you said you couldn't think of anyone who might have had a reason to commit this crime. Is that still true?" Moffat asked.

"Yes."

"Did you know some of the people your wife worked with?"

"Yeah. It's a small town."

"Do you know Cheryl Haugen?"

"Sure. I used to see her when Ronnie would drag me out. I coached her son in soccer. That was quite a while ago."

"Were you aware of any problems your wife had with her?"

"Problems? No. I never paid much attention. I guess I wouldn't know one way or the other."

"Since your wife's death, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?"

"Huh?" Gillis tilted his head, staring at Moffat with a mystified expression. Moffat returned his gaze and waited for an answer.

"Well, yeah. People called about business. They think they get to explain something to me and I should say 'ok.' I don't want to have anything to do with all that. My mother-in-law was going to take care of it but now with the problem with the kid, I don't know...Well, I hope she'll go back to the office pretty soon. There's no way I'm going to do it."

"Who did contact you, Mr. Gillis?"

"Rees called me the next night. He wanted to come over, wouldn't say why, said it had to be discussed in person. When he got to the house, he said he and the other employees wanted to buy the company. He said they already had the money lined up and we should do it fast so that business wouldn't be hurt."

"What did you tell him?"

Gillis shrugged. "What could I say? I didn't know what he was talking about. I didn't even know who our lawyer was then. I got kind of mad. Not at him but just because it was frustrating. I said a few words, I mean, I swore." Gillis laughed. "He didn't like that. I apologized. I just told him I'd have to figure it out and let him know. Next day, Loraine went into the office. First time in years. That's all I needed. I'm telling anyone now to talk to her."

"I understand. Did anyone else contact you?"

"Ah, well. The lawyer called me the day after that. We had a meeting last week, he and I and Loraine. Then the skinny preacher came over. Pane."

"When was that?"

"The Friday after Ronnie...I thought, oh man, what's this guy going to want to talk about? I didn't want to be stuck with him for who knows how long going on about the Bible. But no. He said he was sorry for my loss then wanted me to sell him some property. Where the Miner's Flat church is. He wanted me to do the 'right thing.'"

"What did you tell him?"

Gillis laughed. "Not much. I swore. I didn't apologize to him. By then, I'd talked to the lawyer. I told Pane to call the office then gave him a shove out the door. He was still gabbing when I shut the door."

"So that happened Friday, you say?" De la Peña asked.

"Yeah."

"Did he mention an amount?"

"Maybe. Yeah, but I didn't really hear. I was telling him to hit the road and he kept talking."

De la Peña made notes. Moffat stood without speaking. The boys' shouts seemed to grow louder. Gillis smiled sadly and shook his head. "Yeah. It's been about two weeks of 'out of the ordinary' shit now that I think about it."

Moffat patted his shoulder. "Thank you Mr. Gillis. We'll let you get back to your coaching."

"No problem."

De la Peña thought Gillis seemed to have undergone a change of mood. He seemed now relaxed and alert. His eyes brightened as he watched the boys send the ball across the field. He and Moffat walked several yards when Gillis called out "Hey, Guys. We have a tournament here next month. You should come. Teams from the Bay Area and Sacramento. We should do well."

Moffat looked at an enthusiastic De la Peña and smiled. The Sergeant answered. "Hey, that sounds great. I'll be there."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 50

In the inner row of lockers, empty except for two persons hidden from the view of nearby classrooms, Julie Chancellor handed a five-dollar bill to a guy named Keith. He passed her a single orange capsule, wrapped in waxed paper like a piece of taffy. "Amps", formally known as Adderal, a prescription drug used in the treatment of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, would keep Julie awake and energized through the night so that she could complete a term paper due tomorrow. Keith was not a student at Miner's Flat but knew his way around. He had seen Julie with Scott Conti and had heard she was his girlfriend and so had determined he could do business with her. He said he expected to see her at the party Saturday night then checked his cell phone and moved on to his next appointment.

Julie - that is Officer Melanakos--walked through the open hall to the front of the school. From this point, she saw, in the distance, Captain Moffat and Sergeant De la Peña climb into Moffat's Highlander, then drive toward the north exit of the campus. She walked along the sidewalk in front of the administration building. Though classes had ended an hour ago, cars were still pulling into the front drive to pick up children. She saw a 1994 gold El Dorado pull in just as Aaron and Michelle walked out from the south side of the Quad. Michelle carried a battered black case that Melanakos knew from her real high school experience contained a flute. Aaron opened the front passenger door, leaned in then stepped aside for Michelle to enter the car. He closed her door then moved quickly to take a seat in the back. Melanakos saw the driver, a gray-haired, elderly lady, accelerate rapidly and turn onto the main road without stopping. She had been close enough to see Aaron's face. He looked relaxed and happy. She glanced at the time on her cell phone then walked rapidly to the back of the campus to meet Scott after practice.

* * *

At 4:10, Peake arrived at the stakeout, which had this day been moved from the van to a second floor room at the Travelodge. The room provided better visibility and was a lot more comfortable. She relieved Duncan who left minutes later to get into position as one of the five escorts for the decoy's trip home from the winery. As requested, she brought Lang a sandwich from the cafeteria. While he ate, Peake watched the monitors and gazed through the window at the bungalow. At 4:20, she announced, "I see our white pick up, it's just entered the street."

Lang dropped his sandwich and picked up a pair of binoculars. He saw the truck pass between houses before it disappeared in front of the bungalow. It reappeared and turned into the driveway of the third home beyond McLean's and parked.

"That's convenient," Lang observed as he got a good view of the truck for the first time. Then in a low voice he said "Sorry, Peake. You misidentified a 2004 ? ton Toyota as a 1992 1 1/2 ton Ford. Better take a refresher course..."

"Forget the white truck."

"Huh?"

"Look." She pointed to one of the monitors. The brown Nissan Sentra moved slowly behind the bungalows through a dirt and gravel area that encircled the outside of the homes. Lang raised his eyes to the window and saw the Nissan speed up and move toward Old Highway 49, leaving a growing cloud of dust.

At the station, Schoenberg answered Lang's call. They quickly ruled out sending black and white's to the area with sirens and flashers. They agreed there were too many possible escape routes to be confident of stopping the vehicle. Instead, Schoenberg radioed for every available unmarked car - which was only three due to the decoy escort demands - to proceed immediately to the area and perform a discreet search for the Nissan.

When Schoenberg returned to the line, Lang asked, "Where's De la Peña?"

"Up in Miner's Flat with Moffat. Too boring for him, I guess."

"He's going to freak that he missed this."

"Good. I'll call him right now."

De la Peña didn't freak. He was once again asleep in the passenger seat of Moffat's SUV which was still fifteen minutes from Segovia when Moffat took the call from Schoenberg. Moffat told him as they walked through the parking lot of the County Administration Building. By then, all reports indicated that the Nissan and its driver had disappeared once again.

* * *

Monday night the entire team and half of the force were ready to act. Patrol officers were diverted from the rest of the county and held in reserve at the station. Five black and whites would swarm the neighborhood, surrounding McLean's bungalow at De la Peña's signal. He and Moffat prepared to sleep at the station. De la Peña instructed McLean to sleep in the living room, protected by double-locked windows and doors, with her gun, radio and phone by her side. The bathroom window was too small and high to be of concern. The bedroom window was left as it was when the team placed McLean in the bungalow. Sticky paint provided more security than the simple latch between upper and lower windows. The target was being lured to that one point of easiest entry. The Travelodge stakeout team was increased to four and would monitor every sound inside and out, in addition to the remote cameras.

As soon as the sun set, two teams of one male and one female officer were sent into the area on foot. Appearing as young couples out a stroll, they ascertained that the area behind the bungalow was deserted. Undercover of darkness, one of the men slipped into the bungalow where he would remain on watch through the night until an hour before dawn.

During the night, there was no intruder, no alarm of any kind. An expanded escort followed McLean back to the winery in the morning, then the extra personnel were sent home, the day shift of patrol officers resuming their normal duties, but with a reminder to look for a 1996 brown Nissan or 1992 white Ford truck, whatever the license plate might read. De la Peña slept soundly from 1:00 am to 8:00 on a foldout cot in the communication center. Moffat went home for a shower and a change of clothes and met De la Peña in the cafeteria for breakfast and more planning and waiting.

* * *

In his cubicle in the first floor, a large envelope lay in Officer Fat's in-basket. It had been delivered the previous afternoon by the mailroom clerk. Also on Monday, four hours earlier, an e-mail had arrived and was waiting unopened in Fat's in-box folder somewhere within the equipment of the Segovia Police's computer network. Not until soon after he arrived at nine a.m. Tuesday and Fat turned on his PC in the Team Center would it load onto his hard drive. From there, Fat would run downstairs to his cubicle.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 51

Tuesday, May 23

Moffat and De la Peña sat at their usual table in the third floor cafeteria, next to a floor to ceiling window with a view of the pedestrian mall. Their trays held identical meals: on pale green melamine plates, hash browns, 2 fried eggs and 2 slices of bacon. Each had a cup of coffee with cream. The only difference was that De la Peña added a half teaspoon of sugar to his coffee. As they ate, Moffat recounted the details of a 4:30 a.m. voice mail from Lydia Ballard. Her parents had driven their new car to the Gold Country in the spring of 1996 and hadn't been back since. That piece of information confirmed for Moffat that the suspect had been active at least ten years. Moffat and De la Peña turned their conversation to observations of the previous day's events. De la Peña acknowledged that, after the surge of excitement upon learning of the Sentra sighting, the rest of the day and night had been a disappointment. "Where do I go to complain?"

Moffat smiled. "I know how you feel." Seeing that De la Peña had finished eating, he pushed his own plate to the side and leaned across the table. "Let's go over the plan for today."

De la Peña slid his tray to the side as well and leaned toward Moffat

"I think I'd like earlier warning," the Sergeant said. "What if we put officers in three unmarked cars, one near each end of Horseshoe Drive and one at Old Highway 49 where the gravel road joins it? Since we know the two vehicles he drives, we should see him before he gets to the house. We'd be able to respond sooner."

"Good idea. Six officers or three?"

"One per car would be less noticeable. Besides, we're running out of manpower. I'm pulling in three reserve officers to work with Fat, Duncan, Lang and Schoenberg today. Peake is off duty until midnight. During McLean's return home, I'll have two black and whites just off each side of 49, not visible from the highway. And we'll put a patrolman in plain clothes to ride with Tashara."

"Then what about tonight?"

"We'll keep cars in place near the bungalow...relieve the three officers around eight so that they can move to the Travelodge unit and get some sleep. We'll do undercover foot patrols like last night.

An older woman, one of the cafeteria employees came to the table. She placed her left hand on Sergeant De la Peña's shoulder as she approached. "Let me give you some room to work," she said with a warm smile. She stacked the trays, plates and utensils, leaving just the coffee cups.

"Captain, I'd like to take one of the surveillance cars on Horseshoe Drive. I can be in touch with everyone by radio. I don't think that will be a problem."

"Sure. Any reason?"

"I'd like to be closer if anything happens."

Moffat nodded. They sat silently for a few seconds. Then Moffat saw Fat rushing toward their table. He carried some papers.

"I've got news. It's big. Really big," he said then his tone changed. "Although...I don't have a clue what it means."

"Let's have it," De la Peña said eagerly.

Fat handed De la Peña several typed sheets attached by paperclip to a 10" by 13" mailing envelope. De la Peña flipped over the stack of papers and saw the return address:

California Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence

Sacramento

"CBI? What did they send?" De la Peña passed the papers to Moffat.

"They found a match to the ballistics evidence I sent in from the 1970 murder case, the one where the young woman was shot at the government office. The same weapon was used in a murder in Segovia County that occurred just two weeks ago...Veronica Gillis."

"What the 'F'?" De la Peña shouted.

At the same time, Moffat turned the pages of the report with great force. He looked up at De la Peña shaking his head.

"I can't believe it," De la Peña said. "Two murders, thirty-six years apart. It can't be a coincidence, can it? I mean, we don't know where or when Gillis got the gun. Who would sell a gun they'd used to commit a murder? Wouldn't you throw it to the bottom of a lake? Make sure it was never seen again?"

Moffat put his chin on his hand and sat motionless, his unblinking eyes staring beyond De la Peña.

Fat smiled, pleased at the impact of his new evidence. "Not exactly a break in your case, is it?"

Moffat ignored the question. He spoke to De la Peña. "I'll have to think about this one. Sergeant, I don't know exactly why, but I think we're going to have to solve the 1970 case in order to learn who killed Veronica Gillis."

De la Peña shrugged. "Doesn't it seem like these two cases - Gillis and Nicole Davies - are playing tug of war with us? Every time we go to work on one, the other gets hot."

"You're right. Gillis will have to wait, though. We have to keep our attention focused in the decoy operation."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 52

De la Peña was an hour into his shift in the car on one end of Horseshoe Drive. He was parked between the first and second bungalows on the south entrance from Highway 49. Duncan was positioned similarly on the north entrance. The early afternoon sun had moved so that the car began to heat up. De la Peña lowered the two front windows, letting in cool, grass scented air. His eyes moved from the left side mirror, to the rear view mirror to the right side mirror then to the view ahead. "Lather. Rinse. Repeat," he whispered as he continued the routine.

Trying to look like a salesman, De la Peña opened a red plastic three-ring binder in his lap then phoned Lang.

"Everybody checked in?"

"Yes, Sergeant. All in position. Nothing to report. This is one quiet neighborhood on the weekdays. I've seen the mailman, a rabbit and two squirrels. That's it."

"Keep at it, Lang. Ah, yeah, I see the mailman. Talk to you later."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, in the leftmost area of his view from the motel room, Lang saw a man walking onto the dirt and gravel area behind the bungalow next to McLean's. He radioed all units.

"We have a male on foot, wearing dark green Levis, a brown wind breaker and a khaki hat. Carrying a hiking pole \- about 4 feet, I think. He's got a gray waist pack, water bottle attached. He's about thirty yards from the 'nest' moving parallel to the bungalows."

De la Peña and the other two officers in the cars as well as Moffat and Tashara at the station heard the message. De la Peña constructed a mental image-- bird's eye view--of the terrain, buildings and a solitary hiker.

In the motel room, Lang called Schoenberg, Fat and Reserve Officer Becker to join him at the window. "Fat, watch the monitors. Schoenberg, Becker, keep an eye on the whole view while I watch him."

De la Peña listened intently for Lang's next words. Back on the radio, Lang said "Ok. He's directly behind the Nest. Ten yards away." Lang's voice rose. "That's it. He's walking right to the bungalow. He's crossing the drainage ditch. He's heading for the window. Hey, I can see he's wearing gloves. He's at the window, Sarge."

"Lang, have your guys move down, but stay out of sight."

In the motel room, Lang told Fat to man the window and the radio. He, Schoenberg and Becker put on light weight black jackets with "POLICE" printed on the back in large yellow letters. They ran from the room, down a concrete staircase to the parking lot and moved to a position about sixty yards from the back of the bungalow, sheltered from view by a half dozen large shrubs.

Fat continued the description of the man at the bungalow. "He's got something in his hand - could be a screwdriver. That's it, Sergeant. He's prying up the lower window.

De la Peña noticed the change from Lang to Fat, was momentarily curious then radioed for all units to move as soon as Fat reported the intruder had entered the bungalow.

"He's got the window completely up. He's pulling himself up and in. That's it. Go guys."

From their different starting points, Duncan, De la Peña and Reserve Officer Baldwin drove toward the bungalow. Duncan arrived first, parking diagonally in the street in front of the bungalow just north of McLean's. Seconds later, De la Peña arrived at the corresponding position before the bungalow to the south. De la Peña looked for Baldwin's vehicle moving more slowly from the gravel area. Less than a minute later he came to a stop. The three officers left their vehicles and moved quietly toward the bungalow.

At the station, Moffat directed three black and whites to the scene. According to the plan they would drive to where Duncan, De la Peña and Baldwin had parked and remain there to prevent any escape.

"He's in the bedroom. I can still see him," Fat reported.

Lang and Reserve Officer Becker crossed the open ground down the slope from the motel parking lot. They jumped over the drainage ditch moving in a north westerly direction to avoid being seen from the bedroom window. Schoenberg took a circular route to approach the bungalow from the south. From opposite sides, Lang and Schoenberg arrived at the bedroom window, stopping four feet from the window, their guns drawn and attention focused squarely on the open window. Becker left Lang and took his position on the windowless north side of the bungalow, where he could see Duncan's vehicle parked and saw the female officer moving toward the front of the house.

"Lang and Schoenberg are in place, Sergeant. Becker is in place," Fat radioed from his vantage point above the scene.

De la Peña approached the front of the bungalow, watching the curtains in the front window. They were drawn completely, as McLean had left them six hours earlier. To his right, De la Peña saw Reserve Officer Baldwin move into position on the south side of the building, crouching to stay below the small kitchen window that was located fairly high up the wall. De La Peña signaled to Duncan who relayed to Becker that they were in position.

Fat saw the signal from Becker. At the station, Moffat heard Fat's announcement. "The team is in place."

Duncan and De la Peña took two wooden steps up to the porch. There was a faint creak as De la Peña stepped toward the door. Thinking he should have mentioned it earlier, Fat announced that he had lost view of the intruder several minutes ago. De la Peña listened for any sound from inside the bungalow. There was silence. With his left hand, he removed a single key from his pocket and slid it silently into the deadbolt lock above the doorknob. With his right shoulder pressed against the wall next to the door, his gun in his right hand, De la Peña turned the lock without a sound. He nodded to Duncan. She turned the knob. It's lock had been removed and her action was just as silent as De la Peña's had been. De la Peña nodded to Duncan. Expecting the door to open easily, he shouted "Police Department" and kicked the lower part of the door with his right heel. The door moved a half-inch then stopped, resisting De la Peña's push. With his right arm and right leg De la Peña slammed against the door. It gave with a cracking sound. De la Peña moved back behind the wall.

"It was a wooden chair. You broke it Sergeant. He'd propped it against the door," Duncan shouted. From her side of the open doorway, she saw no one in the kitchen or dining room.

"Living room's empty," De la Peña shouted.

Lang and Schoenberg stood by the window. Both expected the intruder to come through it at any moment.

"Nothing here," Lang radioed.

"He's still in there," Fat responded.

"We're going into the living room," De la Peña reported.

When he heard Duncan say the kitchen was empty, Baldwin had raised his head and peered through the window. Now, he saw De la Peña and then Duncan rush through the doorway, both watching the hall that they knew led to the bedroom before it took a right turn to the bathroom behind the kitchen.

De la Peña walked to the beginning of the hall. It was empty. Two steps forward and he could see most of the bedroom window. Lang and Schoenberg moved their heads quickly to the window then away again.

Schoenberg shook his head. Lang radioed, "Looks empty. Watch out for the closets on the opposite wall."

De la Peña entered the bedroom followed by Duncan. The length of the wall between the bedroom and living room contained a long narrow closet with four sliding doors, painted white. McLean had left the closet as open as she could, exposing half the area, sparsely filled with clothing on hangers.

De la Peña listened for any sound but heard nothing. Seeing the left side of the closet was empty, he positioned himself in front of the first two doors, which were lined up with each other. Duncan moved to the middle of the room with her weapon pointed toward the closet. De la Peña pulled back the first two doors, exposing an empty space - just the pole and shelf. He moved forward and pulled the other doors back while Duncan stood ready. There was no one.

"The closet is empty, the bedroom's clear," De la Peña reported. He and Duncan walked back into the hall, looking forward, confident that the intruder must be behind one of two remaining doors in the hall. The first led to the bathroom. De la Peña carefully turned the knob. It was unlocked. He pushed it open. The mirror above the sink revealed the bathtub and shower, curtain pulled completely to the side. A quick glance left and right showed the room was empty.

De la Peña exhaled and shook his head. He looked at the closed door to a service closet at the end of the hall. He crouched before the door. Duncan pushed herself against the wall. As De la Peña reached for the doorknob, he and Duncan on the inside and Baldwin on the outside, all heard a muffled sound from somewhere inside the house. Duncan looked behind. De la Peña looked above his head, searching for some kind of attic access. Baldwin moved back to the kitchen window and peered in. Alarmed and suddenly angry, De la Peña pushed open the closet door. He saw the home's small furnace and water heater. Just inside a doorway, a throw rug lay on the floor. De la Peña thought it looked sloppy, placed at an angle to the wall and furnace with one corner folded under. He slid it aside with his right foot. There was a trap door, apparently providing access to the crawlspace under the house.

Before De la Peña could radio the others, even before he had opened the service closet door, from under the house, the intruder silently moved a 2' by 3' wooden lattice that covered an opening in the foundation on the south side of the bungalow. With his fingers, he slid the lattice to the right. The opening was hidden by a large, unruly oleander. While Baldwin gazed through the window, the intruder pulled himself out into the light.

At this time, De la Peña called out "He's under the house."

Baldwin heard footsteps and turned to see a tall man already out from under the house, starting to run. He was only about twelve feet away, but his shoes were digging hard into the packed earth as he accelerated. Baldwin shouted something the others couldn't understand. Lang and Schoenberg saw the man's figure as he ran toward the southeast seconds after Fat radioed, "He's out. He's heading toward the trees."

Schoenberg, Lang and Becker began pursuit. The man was initially about twenty yards ahead. At the point he crossed it, the drainage ditch had widened into a natural arroyo. The man sprinted to the ridge at the beginning of a foothill between two oaks. He continued up the ridge, gaining ground on the three policemen. He reached the edge of a dirt trail that joined the ridge from the right and accelerated even more. Twenty seconds later the ridge trail led through an area where the oaks were more dense. The officers lost sight of him here but continued up the trail. Then they heard a motor starting. Very briefly, their target appeared on a black motorized trail bike moving swiftly farther up the ridge trail.

The police radio speakers were filled with Lang's expletives. De la Peña, Duncan, Becker, six uniformed officers in the three black and white cars, Moffat, Tashara and by now, Chief Halvorsen understood at once. The target had escaped the trap.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 53

"We'll need the helicopter and the canine unit. Can we get the Forest Service planes up in the air? We've got about four hours of daylight left." Moffat unfolded a topographical map showing the roads and trails in the area.

"Em...I'll get the helicopter back here," the Chief said with a grimace. We just flew the County Exec to Manzanita for the grand opening of a new golf resort. I'll have it back in half an hour. Joanie, radio the pilot to start back immediately and send a car for Doyle, would you please?" A young communications officer began to carry out his request while Tashara phoned the Forest Service and Mrs. Grubb gave directions to the Canine Unit officer.

Within twenty minutes, the Segovia Police Force including Halvorsen's corp of reserve officers were placed at roads and trailheads leading out of the area into which the suspect had fled. The Department lacked motorcycles suitable for cross-country use but five officers who owned trail bikes were identified. They were sent to join the officers on foot then would proceed ahead trying to track the suspect. Before this, three members of the canine unit - a bloodhound, a Labrador retriever and their trainer - were airlifted from the bungalow to an open area near the ridge trail about five miles away. By four p.m., the search force scouring the area included four persons in two planes, two in a helicopter, five on motorbikes and the rest on foot. Another forty officers were posted in locations outside the search area.

At six thirty, De la Peña joined Moffat at the Communication Center in the station. "Anything?" he asked.

"No. The aircraft have been up over two hours. They haven't seen anything."

"I think if he stayed among the oaks on the ridge, he could ride it all the way into the pines. He must have done that. So I guess the guys on wheels didn't find anything either?" Moffat shook his head. "Anything from the dogs?" De la Peña asked.

"They will continue for a few more hours but the trainer doesn't think they have the trail. If nothing changes, we're going to bring everybody out and post them at the exit points.

De la Peña frustration showed. "He's got to run out of gas soon. He either comes out before that or he's stuck on foot in the middle of the National Forest. He didn't have any gear for living in the wild. Don't you think he'll come out?"

"Probably, but we can't be sure. He seems to put a lot of effort into planning. Maybe he has supplies stashed somewhere out there. On the other hand, where is his car? When he attacked Nicole Davies it was parked nearby. I had thought he planned to drug her and take her somewhere. If he only had the trail bike, what did he plan for McLean?" Moffat paused. He appeared to be trying to think of an answer to his own question. "At sunrise, I want a search of every street, parking lot and garage within two miles of the bungalow to see if we can find the Sentra or the F-100 or any other vehicle that doesn't belong there.

De la Peña noted the order in his book then wrote "manpower?" below it.

"Also, Sergeant, we had Fat get more video shots of the suspect from the surveillance cameras. We've given those and the one from the laundromat to the press. It should be on the ten o'clock news."

"Yeah, along with the story that I let him get away," De la Peña said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Captain."

"Don't blame yourself. It was a good plan. Maybe we'll get him tomorrow."

Mrs. Grubb came in with a message that the Chief wanted to see Moffat for a quick meeting. Moffat suggested De la Peña go home and get some sleep. The Sergeant said he would wait a while. He didn't say it, but he wanted to see Moffat after the meeting with the Chief.

De la Peña's intuition was correct. Moffat returned to the Communications Center a half hour later. He signaled for De la Peña to join him at the back of the room. He put his hand on the Sergeant's shoulder.

"Well, the Chief is making some changes."

"Oh, man. I was afraid of that."

"The decoy operation is over. A suspect is at large. Now it's a manhunt."

De la Peña nodded, waiting for more.

"You and I are new to this area. We don't know the county as well as others in the department. Chief Halvorsen is reassigning the task force to Captain Hughes. He will head up this part of the operation."

"Oh," De la Peña nodded slowly. "What are we going to do?"

"The Chief wants us back on the Gillis case full time." Seeing De la Peña's disappointment he added, "I know it's hard to give it up after we came so close, but the Chief was right. Hughes and Sergeant Clark are better qualified for what happens next. Go home. Sleep in. I'll see you back at our office. We've got two homicides to work on tomorrow." He patted De la Peña's shoulder. "I promise, we won't have time to feel sorry for ourselves."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 54

Wednesday, May 24

In the early morning, Officers Fat, Duncan, Peake and McLean - on loan another three days from Sonora - made a last visit to the bungalow and Horseshoe Drive. Captain Hughes and Sergeant Clark had agreed to carry out the check of all vehicles in the vicinity. Between 7:00 and 8:00 a.m., the four contacted all the neighbors and verified registration of their cars and trucks. This effort resulted in the discovery of a 2001 Dodge Cirrus in the carport of a bungalow just two homes beyond McLean's temporary residence. The bungalow was completely empty of furniture and the garden overgrown. Neighbors told police that out of state owners planned to put it up for sale. Using the vehicle identification number on the engine block, the police identified the Cirrus as one stolen in the town of Jackson in 2004. The Forensic Unit quickly ascertained that it had been wiped completely clean of any fingerprints, even the previous owner's and its odometer showed only forty-five miles had been added to the mileage estimated as of the date it was stolen. Following the vehicle search, the four officers reported to the station where they were assigned to relieve night shift officers at some of the two-dozen roadblocks within the county.

* * *

At eight, Moffat climbed the stairs to his office on the second floor of the 100-year old Brannan Building. For the first time in ten days he smelled the musty odor of the wood floors and sat at his own desk. Mrs. Grubb was there already. She might have remained at the station to assist the officers in command of the manhunt but she said, patting her chest, that it was too stressful for her. "Let someone younger work that." Moffat suspected she would be there this morning if he were still leading the task force. Mrs. Grubb made quick judgments about people and he was thankful he had been deemed worthy of her loyalty and friendship in just three months. De la Peña won't take even that long to be admitted to Mrs. Grubb's select circle, he predicted to himself.

The Sergeant arrived at 8:20. The three filled their coffee cups, moved their chairs together and began to discuss their two homicide cases.

"Ok, where do we start?" Mrs. Grubb asked, patting her hand on the table.

Moffat turned to De la Peña who began reading from pages in a thick file.

"The victim Sandra Smith, age 22, resided at 1718 Old Highway 49, apartment 237, Segovia. On January 27, 1970 at 7:45 a.m. a member of the janitorial staff discovered her body face down on the floor about five feet from the exterior door. Here's a photograph."

Mrs. Grubb and Moffat saw the body of a young woman dressed in a short skirt, bright pink with a wide black belt and a white blouse, the latter garment bearing the evidence of the bullet wound that killed her.

De la Peña continued, "It says here that Franke arrived a few minutes later, just before the police. He gave them her name and other information, including next of kin Mr. Alfred Smith. Franke said some new office equipment was missing and a small amount of money. Petty cash box was open on the floor behind the victim's desk. No fingerprints. Thirty-eight caliber bullet was recovered, no murder weapon. Victim's father was interviewed. He hadn't seen his daughter since the previous Sunday, wasn't unusual. She lived alone.

"Investigators took down the information of the missing equipment, recorded in government property records."

"Government?" Mrs. Grubb asked.

"This was the local office of the Selective Service System." De la Peña said. "Franke was head of the draft board. The coroner estimated the time of death between five and seven the previous evening. There was no sign of forced entry. They guessed the thief or thieves entered before the victim left for the day. Their scenario was that they held her at gunpoint, she tried to make a run for it and they shot her before she could reach the door."

Moffat spoke, "It's odd that her killer would then stay around to load office equipment into a getaway car after firing a shot at that time of day."

"Yeah, it does seem odd. But the other offices and storefronts on that side of the building were empty. No one on the street side remembered hearing a gun shot."

"Let's get to the heart of the matter," Mrs. Grubb narrowed her eyes. "Was there any hint of a relationship between Franke and the girl?" They both looked at her. "Somebody had to ask it," she said.

De la Peña returned to the file, flipping pages. "No. No mention of anything like that. Maybe they never looked into that kind of motive."

"What did the autopsy show?" Moffat asked.

"See if it says she was pregnant," Mrs. Grubb offered.

De la Peña leafed through the contents of the folder.

"Ok. It says there was no sign of sexual assault. No evidence of recent sexual relations. It says the victim was believed to have been sexually active. No mention of pregnancy, though. They would have checked, wouldn't they?"

Moffat responded, "Yes, they would have tested for that."

"That doesn't rule out the possibility of an affair," Mrs. Grubb said.

"No," Moffat responded. "Sergeant, you read there was no sign of forced entry. Was there any specific mention of the windows and doors? Anything about checking for prints?"

De la Peña continued scanning the first eight pages of the file. "No, not so far. Wait here's something about a window. It says the office had a large front window next to the outer entrance. It had been repaired on November 25, 1969. Eleven weeks before the crime. It says it was broken during the recent demonstration. No other details. That's kind of sloppy. What demonstration?"

"We'll have to look into it." Moffat tapped his fingers. De la Peña continued reading. Mrs. Grubb had been resting her head on her right hand, her eyes unfocused; she seemed to be gazing at a point above De la Peña's head. "What we need is some gossip. I'd like to know what people were saying about the victim and Major Franke.

"Franke lived in Miner's Flat. Maybe Donna Ferguson would know," De la Peña suggested.

"She was in high school at the time. This crime in Segovia might have been a bit removed from her world then," Moffat said, and then added, "Still, she could tell us if Franke was ever inclined toward extra marital activity. She might know someone we could ask. I agree with you, Mrs. Grubb. We need some background information."

"Gossip," she said.

"Yes," Moffat said softly, then more forcefully "I think Reverend Pane may know something about this."

"Really? Why do you say that?" De la Peña asked.

"Before he died, Franke unburdened himself of the lie about his military record. If he was involved in the murder of this young woman, he would have had something much more important to get off his conscience. Something worth $400,000 of penance."

"You think Mrs. Pane lied about what Franke told them?" Mrs. Grubb asked.

Moffat thought briefly then said "No. I thought she told me everything she knew. Maybe Franke spoke only to her husband about Sandra and he withheld that from her. Of course, it is all conjecture at this point. I've gone off on a tangent, Sergeant. Back to the case file...what was stolen?"

"Office equipment and petty cash."

"What equipment and how much cash?"

"Cash...Franke said there would have been about $500 in the box that night."

"That was quite a bit of money in 1970. More than you would get robbing a liquor store," Mrs. Grubb said with certainty.

Both detectives looked at her. She laughed. "No, I'm not speaking from personal experience. I've always been keen on crime. I've always read the newspapers."

"Ok. Here's the office equipment: A new, red IBM Selectric typewriter and a three-year-old Dictaphone Model 6702. I'll bet they were expensive in those days, something you could sell to a fence for a good price."

Moffat was thinking aloud. "A type-writer...Selectric...red." He asked Mrs. Grubb "What did a Selectric look like?"

"Oh, come on. You're not that young," she said then changed her mind. "Maybe you are. They were around for years. Didn't you ever use a typewriter?"

"No."

"What about term papers in high school?"

"My mother typed them."

"And in college? Oh, wait. Jean typed your college papers, didn't she?"

"Yes, after my second year. Before that it was my mother."

"Well, we have one in shipping. We could go to the station and I could show you. The Selectric has a look quite distinctive from other typewriters."

"Wait, I'm getting a picture." De la Peña had wheeled his chair back to his desk and entered "Selectric typewriter" into Google Images. Twenty small pictures appeared as he scrolled down the page.

Moffat stood to see over De la Peña's shoulder. "That red one...make it larger." Mrs. Grubb removed her glasses and looked at the screen. "That's a Selectric, all right."

"I think I've seen one of those recently."

"Where?" De la Peña asked.

"Where else?" was Moffat's response.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 55

Mrs. Grubb and De la Peña listened to Moffat's phone conversation with Lewis Franke's niece. Moffat asked if anything had been removed from her uncle's home, seemed satisfied with her answer, said he wanted to see her uncle's office, then said they would meet her in thirty five minutes. De la Peña had already put his jacket on and was bouncing his car keys in his right hand.

"You'll need this," Mrs. Grubb said handing De la Peña a slip of paper with the model numbers, serial numbers and government property identification numbers of the stolen office equipment.

* * *

De la Peña backed his Mustang from its space in the parking lot.

"Head to the station, Sergeant. To the motor pool."

"I don't mind driving my car, Captain."

"I know, but I want to listen to the police radio...hear how the manhunt is going."

"Oh, yeah. Right."

Moments later, Moffat and De la Peña stood in the motor pool compound with the county employee responsible for the vehicles. "This is all we have right now, boss."

A small white pickup, a large white cargo van, and a new black and white Dodge Charger made up the balance of the motor pool.

De la Peña pulled his eyes away from the Charger to ask the attendant "There's a county-wide manhunt going on. Why is the Charger still here?"

"It's the Chief's 'baby'."

"We'll take it," Moffat said.

* * *

De la Peña was so happy to be behind the wheel of the Charger that he was smiling as he accelerated from the last Segovia city traffic signal. He had no doubt the 340hp V8 could reach sixty in six seconds and 150mph in another six but he intended to prove it. He almost laughed. Moffat was listening intently to the police radio communications. De la Peña knew he would notice, but wouldn't complain about the speed.

The radio back-and-forth to the Communication Center quickly revealed that there had been no sightings of the suspect. Roadblocks were functioning smoothly. The public was cooperative. Most drivers were aware of the police operation and familiar with the photos of the suspect and description of his vehicles. So far today, two Sentras and dozens of white trucks were stopped and searched by cautious law enforcement officers. Their drivers enthusiastically handed over their licenses, opened trunks, toolboxes and cargo carriers and waited for plates to be run through the computers in Sacramento. Moffat unfolded a county road map and noted the location associated with each report.

Although they were fifteen minutes early, when De la Peña parked the Charger on the street in line with the red concrete path to the house Janice Russell met them at the curb.

"It's good to see you again, Captain Moffat." Noticing De la Peña coming around the car toward them, she smiled broadly and said "Who's this?"

"Janice Russell, Sergeant De la Peña. She's a police mom, so don't be surprised if you get a hug, Sergeant." Moffat laughed.

"I only hug them when they're off duty, Captain." She shook his hand and led them to the porch. At the wooden steps, she turned and said, "It's a good thing you called. I'm having a garage sale Saturday and Sunday. Anything that doesn't sell is going to the Goodwill Store or to the dump."

"We just want to check something in his office." Moffat saw Janice's eyes widen with curiosity. "I'm sorry. I can't give you any information."

"I understand," she said while unlocking the front door. "Make yourselves at home. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Now, two weeks after he had seen Lewis Franke on his deathbed and had performed a cursory search of the rooms facing the street, Moffat walked directly to the closet at the back of Franke's office. He slid the door to the right. There was the red typewriter.

"It is a Selectric. It looks like the one in the picture," Moffat said.

De la Peña pulled a dictation machine from the shelf above. "This must be the other piece."

"Look for a property tag."

"I don't see one on this." De la Peña set the machine on the desk behind them.

Moffat stepped away to let De la Peña get to the typewriter. The Sergeant lifted it up then held it in front of Moffat.

"Here's a tag. 'Property of U.S. Government T23DZ633'." Moffat read. He picked up Mrs. Grubb's note from where De la Peña had dropped it by the Dictaphone. "We have a match, Sergeant De la Peña."

"Wow...Man..." De la Peña set the typewriter in the center of the desk. "That means Franke...well, at least we know he was really involved in the murder. Where do we go from here?"

"We don't say anything to Janice Russell. She wasn't close to her uncle, but it would still upset her."

"Oh, yeah. I bet it would."

Moffat and De la Peña began a thorough search of the office. The dictation machine had no property tag or other identification but it had the same manufacturer and model number as the one reported stolen. The detectives opened every drawer of the desk and searched the files from the cabinet one by one. De la Peña lifted the typewriter. Moffat looked under the leather and felt pad covering the surface of the desk. There were black and white photos of Franke and his wife in their twenties.

"Nothing here," Moffat said.

"So, Captain, your idea about Pane knowing about Franke and this crime...it's got some weight behind it. Are we going to see him today?"

"Oh, yes."

* * *

The Reverend Pane's office was at the back of the church on the other side of a wall from his pulpit. The policemen entered through a dark hall. De la Peña was immediately struck by how small the room was. Pane's desk, facing the entry, spread most of the distance across the width of the room, leaving the thin but long-limbed, gangly preacher barely fifteen inches to go to or from his desk chair. De la Peña guessed that Pane would bruise his legs with every trip. The room was dark as well. Pane's high backed chair and large head obscured much of the light shining from the window behind him.

Pane offered no particular greeting and Moffat skipped his usual "thank you for seeing us."

"I learned from your wife that Lewis Franke told her about his falsified war record."

Pane stared blankly at the Captain.

"As a combat veteran yourself, how did you feel about that?"

Pane seemed momentarily surprised by the question.

"Were you angry?"

"I never get angry," Panes said calmly in his deep voice. "Franke gave in to temptation. He stole the praise and respect of his neighbors. He sought to elevate his status. All men do. I believe police officers are susceptible to that desire." De la Peña shifted in his chair and scowled. Ignoring him, Pane said, "A man can lie to himself and others but God knows the truth. He will even the scale."

"Mr. Pane, who first suggested that Franke change his beneficiary? Was that you or your wife?" Moffat asked.

"I'm quite sure it was Mr. Franke. It never occurred to me."

Moffat did not believe it but was impressed at how coolly the minister made the assertion. "I have reason to believe that Franke told you about a crime more serious than fraudulent claims about a military record. What else did he tell you?"

"Mr. Moffat, I can't reveal anything about our conversation. What he said is beyond your reach. You know very well of the protection provided by the clergy/penitent privilege. Mr. Franke cannot waive his privilege to complete secrecy and I do not choose to waive mine. I'm surprised you would ask."

"Well, Mr. Pane, you can be called into court and asked for evidence in a criminal case. You could make your claim to privilege then but it might not turn out the way you expect. A judge might determine that your solicitation of the insurance bequest eliminates the privilege in this case. You could be compelled to testify after the revelation of some embarrassing facts."

Pane's eyes had never moved from Moffat's. "As I said, the bequest was completely Mr. Franke's idea."

"You're not going to turn it down, are you?" De la Peña said, his tone an accusation.

Pane turned his stare to De la Peña but with no expression.

"We've taken down your responses, Mr. Pane. Some of them are helpful to our investigation." Moffat showed the faintest smile. Pane's face displayed puzzlement briefly then returned to a stony deadpan. "I have one last question. Where were you in 1970?"

Pane smiled. "I had recently returned from Vietnam. I would have thought you knew that."

"When did you return?"

"October 30, 1969."

"And was that to Miner's Flat?"

Pane smiled, acting like he had won a slight victory. "No, I'm sorry. I resided in Miner's Flat from 1977 to 1979 and now, since 1992."

"So where were you in January 1970?"

"I was in Segovia."

"Thank you."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 56

Wednesday was day thirty-four of Jerry Green's new found sobriety. The sole attendant of the only gas station in the mountain village of Torre de Oro, the fifty-year-old former accountant spent most of his time behind the cash register in the gas station's glassed in office. He did not see the Gold Country's most wanted man until he crossed the threshold, but Green recognized him from the morning news show's report on the manhunt. Green glanced at the surveillance camera image of the pumps. His pulse accelerated when he saw a brown Nissan Sentra.

"Good morning," Green said as calmly as he could manage.

"Number 3," the tall, gray-haired man said, referring to the pump he had used to refuel his car.

"Nine point five gallons, $35.50," Green read from the pump monitor display. How can I stall him, so I can call the police, Green considered.

The man handed Green a $50 bill.

"Wait just a minute, I'm short on change. I'll be right back." Green started toward the back room, really no more than a broom closet, thinking he could call the police on his cell phone.

"Never mind. Here." The man placed three bills--a twenty, a ten and a five--and two quarters on the counter.

"Oh, ok," Green said, handing the fifty back. Green watched the man return to his car and pull out toward the street. He moved from behind the counter to the far end of the office in order to see which way the Sentra turned. It went west on County Road 192.

* * *

Back in Segovia, Green's report created a dilemma for Captain Hughes and Sergeant Clark. Torre de Oro was outside the circle of roadblocks they had set up around the part of the national forest the suspect had entered late yesterday afternoon. If the report was true, he had circumvented the roadblock on 192 east of the village. It also could mean that most of their assets were deployed north, south and east of the suspect's last reported route. Hughes ordered the police helicopter to turn around and fly immediately to the area of the sighting. Until there was confirmation, the current roadblocks would be maintained.

This was the situation relayed on police radio when Moffat and De la Peña returned to the Charger after the Pane interview. As De la Peña pulled onto the road - Miner's Flat's Main Street, Moffat grasped the microphone and radioed Sergeant Clark that they were available to participate in the new search and were proceeding south on State Route 84.

"Good," Clark replied. "There's a road two miles south of Miner's Flat. Turn right there and head to County Road 163, turn left and wait for instructions."

Moving his finger slowly over the map, Moffat found an unidentified road connecting 84 with the county road. "It's about another mile," he told De la Peña.

Moments later they heard a report from the helicopter. A vehicle believed to belong to the suspect had been sighted.

The helicopter followed the Nissan for several minutes. Hughes and Clark scrambled to move four vehicles (including Moffat's) to cut off the Nissan's most likely escape routes, while they pulled personnel and vehicles from the northern check points toward the southwest, hoping to deploy them in time to prevent an escape beyond Highway 49. At 10:15, an officer in the helicopter reported a new challenge. The observers from the air would soon lose visual contact with the Nissan. The suspect's vehicle was approaching a large, mixed stand of evergreens, poplars and oaks that would shield it at the intersection of three roads with five possible paths: County Route 163 heading northeast and southwest, the end of County Road 192 heading west from Torre de Oro and the boundary of the National Forest and a dirt road that, to the southeast intersected State Route 84 and to the northwest crossed State Route 86 and Highway 49 before climbing through the foothills on its way to the great Central Valley of California. The helicopter circled the wooded area but was unable to find the Nissan.

Sergeant Clark called Moffat "Captain, the suspect may turn north on County Road 163. Please proceed south and prepare to intercept him."

De la Peña accelerated to eighty through a relatively straight section of the road leading to the northern part of the woods that now hid the fugitive's vehicle. According to the radio reports, a police car approaching the intersection from County Road 192 had seen nothing so far. There were no police vehicles yet on either branch of the dirt road. The reports from the north revealed the possibility they would not be able to intercept him from that direction. The helicopter still had not regained visual contact.

Now in the woods, De la Peña rounded a sharp curve to the right and saw the Sentra two hundred yards ahead approaching at high speed.

"He's turning," De la Peña shouted. Moffat reported the turn and that they would follow. De la Peña braked the Charger sharply and turned right onto a single lane road overgrown with grass, the pavement revealed only where wheels of occasional vehicles kept down the vegetation. Though obviously little used, the road was fairly smooth. Moffat noted the skill with which De la Peña guided the Charger, gaining steadily on the Sentra.

This road was not on Moffat's map. Back at the station Sergeant Clark identified it as an old logging road on a satellite photo of the area. He radioed the car on State Route 86 to turn around, find the intersection with the logging road and cut off the fugitive's escape from that route. The helicopter was also redirected with the expectation that its pilot and observer would soon locate the Nissan and the Charger.

"He can't outrun us in this," De la Peña shouted to Moffat Pushing gently on the gas pedal, he closed within two car lengths of the Sentra and prepared to follow it to a roadblock soon to be established on the road a few miles ahead. With both vehicles entering a straight segment of about 50 yards, Moffat saw a puff of blue smoke escape from the tailpipe of the Sentra as it's driver pushed it as hard as he could. For a moment, he managed to pull away from the police car. De la Peña applied slightly more pressure to the accelerator and the Charger again closed the distance. He and the suspect slowed their vehicles into a turn. Then, without warning, Moffat saw the Sentra's brake lights glow bright and its back end grew larger. The driver had slammed on his brakes seconds before striking a large object in the center of the road. Whatever he hit flew up and over the Sentra. De la Peña's right foot was on the Charger's brake pedal instantly. He maneuvered to avoid the sliding Sentra now entering a 360-degree spin. The object with which the Nissan had collided - in a fraction of a second Moffat identified it as a large male deer moving through the air - struck the center of the Charger's windshield, shattering it and covering both men with small pieces of glass. De la Peña's attempt to avoid the deer sent the Charger into a skid. It rotated counter clockwise into a sideways slide. Moffat felt the change in momentum destabilize the police car. His view now rotated on the vertical axis. Through the space of the missing windshield, Moffat watched the trees on the side of the road turn over twice. The second flip left the Charger on its roof sliding slowly toward the Sentra. A final partial rotation left the upended police car facing the left rear side of the vehicle it had been pursuing.

This was the scene as Moffat regained his senses after the collision and deployment of the Charger's airbags. Moffat was suspended by his seatbelt with a limited view of the Sentra twenty yards ahead. There was no sound from De la Peña. Moffat saw the driver slowly exit the Nissan and walk to the trunk. He opened it and leaned into the left side, Moffat's view blocked now by the left fender. The man pulled back and Moffat saw he held a very large handgun. Leaving the trunk open, the suspect turned to face the Charger. He began walking toward the police car with the gun pointed ahead. Moffat struggled to free his right arm, pinned between his body and the seatbelt, so that he could reach for the weapon in the holster at his lower back. As he worked to release his arm, Moffat watched the gunman approach the police car. At that moment it seemed that's Moffat's sense of hearing suddenly returned. He heard the blades of a helicopter above them, and a police siren growing steadily louder. The gunman stopped. He hesitated briefly then turned completely around and ran back to the trunk of the Nissan. Moffat watched him reach in once again. This time he pulled out a large, full backpack, obviously quite heavy. The man slung the backpack onto his shoulders, snapped together two straps around his waist and began to jog up a slope rising from the left side of the road. He was quickly out of Moffat's view.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 57

Forty minutes later Moffat and De la Peña were in the emergency room. The first officers on the scene had helped Moffat pull himself from the upside down Dodge Charger. De la Peña was still unconscious. Not knowing the extent of his injuries, Moffat and the two policemen decided to let the EMT's extricate him. While waiting, they radioed the station with Moffat's description of the accident and the suspect's actions. De la Peña came to during the ride to the hospital but seemed to Moffat to be a bit dazed.

Another forty-five minutes passed. Moffat and De la Peña were examined, treated and moved to a corner of the Emergency Room. Moffat had pieces of glass removed from the back of his shoulders, neck and head and was given seven stitches in the back of his left hand. The doctor had looked in the Sergeant's eyes with a flashlight and cleaned a gash in scalp. When the Chief arrived, De la Peña lay on a stretcher covered with a blanket, Moffat beside him seated in a yellow, vinyl-covered chair. A nurse followed Halvorsen. She told them De la Peña would soon be taken to the Radiology Lab in the East Wing for a CAT scan and that Moffat would be released. When asked by the Chief, how he was feeling, De la Peña complained of a mild headache and thirst. Chief Halvorsen filled a paper cup with water from a nearby sink and helped De la Peña sit up to drink it. He offered to phone Jean to tell her about Moffat's condition. Moffat said that wasn't necessary. He didn't want to worry her.

"She may hear about your accident on the radio, Alex."

"That's true. I'll phone her myself." Moffat pulled the phone from his jacket. De la Peña and Chief Halvorsen listened.

"Hi, Dear. How is your day going?"

Halvorsen leaned toward De la Peña and whispered "Wow. Sounds pretty nonchalant, doesn't he?"

De al Peña nodded weakly.

"Yes, it has been very busy, but I'll be able to get away early."

Halvorsen's commentary continued. "Watch. That'll raise a red flag."

"Nothing serious. I'll tell you over dinner. Can I pick up anything?" Moffat listened to her answer then said "Ok, see you in a little while." He closed the phone and looked at Chief Halvorsen and De la Peña. They were laughing.

"What?" Moffat asked.

"If I could have misled my first wife that skillfully, we'd still be married. Learn from this guy, Jason."

A few minutes later, the nurse walked back to their corner. "We're going to have to wait a while for the CAT scan. They're just about to close the office for lunch, so I'll be back for you in about an hour."

"Miss, would you wait just a minute?" the Chief said using a tone Moffat recognized as his "command" voice. The Chief held up his hand and said, "I'll just call the boss. This won't take a minute." Halvorsen moved a few feet away, his back to the other three. Moffat heard Halvorsen ask for 'Tom' and assumed the person who was about to be connected with the Chief was Dr. Thomas Hughes, Chief Medical Officer of Mark Twain Community Hospital. Moffat overheard fragments of the conversation including "damn lab" and "one of mine." The Chief ended the call cordially then turned to the nurse with a smile. "You can take the Sergeant over to the East Wing now. The Radiology Department will be rescheduling their lunch break today." He handed her a business card. "If there is any problem at all, call me on my cell phone."

Moffat and Halvorsen spent the next forty-five minutes in the Hospital Chief Executive Officer's office. The Chief was on and off the phone during much of the time. During a brief break in the calls, Halvorsen briefed Moffat on the pursuit of the suspect. The helicopter, the canine unit and eighty officers and volunteers on foot were scouring the area in which Moffat had last seen the suspect. Halvorsen agreed that this sounded familiar but pointed out that this time the police had a smaller area to search with more hours of daylight remaining and the fugitive did not have the advantage of a trail bike.

"He's on foot with a heavy backpack, Alex. We'll get him."

"And a revolver, don't forget."

"So I heard. Were you able to identify it?"

"Yes, sir. Ruger Alaskan, 454."

"Oh my God. It must have given you a thrill when he walked toward you that thing in his hand."

"That's fair to say. The barrel looks pretty big when it's pointed in your direction. Fortunately, I didn't have a lot of time to think about it. It was over quickly."

"Better leave out the Ruger when you tell Jean tonight. Make it a knife." Halvorsen laughed. "Maybe a sling shot."

Moffat brought the Chief up to date on the Gillis investigation including the link to the 1970 murder and Lewis Franke's possession of the stolen office equipment.

"Enough," the Chief said in reaction to the confusing connection between the two crimes. "Just tell me when you've closed both cases."

* * *

By the time they finished the dinner dishes, Jean had extracted nearly all the pertinent facts of the car chase and accident with the exception of the suspect's few steps toward Moffat and De la Peña with the revolver.

"I'm not sure I like you riding with that Sergeant De la Peña. He sounds reckless. You said he is very young, didn't you?"

Moffat was relieved to have the conversation turn to De la Peña's driving habits. "Yes, he is young. I'll have a talk with him. Now, let's watch some TV. How about a glass of sherry?"

The sherry was a mistake. While Moffat filled their glasses, Jean took possession of the remote. Local news was on when Moffat returned to the family room. Jean watched intently as the newscasters repeated the day's top story: Suspected Serial Killer escapes police for the second time in two days. Jean frowned when the crime reporter described the suspect as "armed and dangerous." Moffat was satisfied to see a rebroadcast of the laundromat video and a new picture of excellent quality taken from the Torre de Oro gas station's digital surveillance camera. The field reporter's words were somewhat sympathetic to the Segovia police but the banter between to anchorwoman and the weatherman that followed his report included some ridicule and derisive laughter. Jean put the television on mute.

"They said he was armed. How did they know?" she asked Moffat.

"I saw him take a handgun with him when he ran into the brush."

"Oh." Her tone showed she was not happy about this last detail.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 58

Thursday, May 25

Moffat and De la Peña met outside the Police Communication center of the County Administration Building, both on their way to an eight a.m. briefing on the manhunt.

"You look completely back to normal, Sergeant. How are you feeling?"

"I feel great. No problems at all. Not even a headache."

"You seemed a bit dazed yesterday. Definitely not your usual self."

De la Peña smiled. "Maybe I was trying to keep Chief Halvorsen from thinking about how I wrecked his Charger."

"Good idea."

Every police officer not staffing the roadblocks or patrolling the search area was in the large conference room just off the Communication Center. This included the Chief's direct reports, what was left of the day shift and County Executive George Doyle. Moffat and De la Peña received a standing ovation when they walked through the door. Moffat observed what happened next with satisfaction. De la Peña's fellow officers shook his hand and slapped him on the back as though, through physical contact, they would bring him firmly back into the tribe after his near death experience.

Captain Hughes began with the results of the search for the suspect. He projected a map of the northern half of the county showing the search area, roadblocks and patrols. The canine unit had lost the trail, if they every really had it. Aerial Search, completely unsuccessful yesterday, had resumed at daybreak. Hughes said he was optimistic but it was obvious to all that the fact that the suspect had slipped through their dragnet yesterday was weighing on his mind.

"There was a major development out of Forensics," Hughes said. "Captain Moffat, you'll be pleased to learn that your team was on the right path. Dr. McDonald, can you give us the results of your analysis?"

Lisa McDonald stood, a notepad in her right hand. "It's very simple. The blood we collected from the suspect's vehicle after the crash matched two samples we analyzed last week for officers of Captain Moffat's task force. The man in the Nissan Sentra committed the rape of a woman in 1975 and also left several drops of blood in the home of another woman who was reported missing in 1998."

"Have you run this through the DNA files of California and the FBI to see if we can get a name for this guy?" Hughes asked.

"No need to. I already know the answer from last week's search. Neither Bureau has this guy in their records. That doesn't mean that he's never been convicted, just that they never collected a sample from him. California is in the process of taking DNA samples from all convicted sex offenders but it could be years before they catch up with that backlog. We did get some excellent prints from the Sentra's steering wheel, window and door. No match to police records with these either. I'm sorry, we don't have any way to identify him at this point."

Captain Hughes nodded grimly. "Unfortunately we don't have any better news about the Sentra. The plates...one of your guys, Officer Peake...Melissa.... checked the plates right away. Apparently you already knew this, Captain," he said directly to Moffat, "the plates are homemade, counterfeit. The VIN on the window and the engine block were scratched out. This guy was prepared. Anyway, we're not going to get a name with what we have. We've been running his picture on the TV and in the papers for 36 hours now. Sooner or later, somebody is bound to recognize him. We'll see."

The manhunt would continue. Hughes described shifts in the roadblocks and expansion of the search area based on the negative results of the last 20 hours. Highway Patrol and the U.S. Forest Service would provide additional resources. Police organizations throughout California and Nevada were on the alert, aware of the possibility that the suspected serial killer would elude the Segovia County dragnet.

While Sergeant Clark announced assignments for the police personnel in the room, Officer Brandon Fat completed a brief conversation on his cell phone. He spoke to De la Peña then the two of them approached Captains Hughes and Moffat at the front of the room with Chief Halvorsen.

"What is it, Fat? You look like you've got something," Hughes asked, seeing Fat's expression, a mixture of excitement and elation. Moffat and Halvorsen turned to listen.

"Jake Amladi of DoggieAncestory.com will be here in five minutes. He says we have some matches to the schnauzer DNA."

Captain Hughes interrupted. "Do you mind if I leave this with you, Alex? I'm not familiar with this particular path of your investigation and I've got to get back to the search. Send Fat back when you're finished with him."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 59

De la Peña, Moffat and Fat went to the Team Center. De la Peña turned on his computer and projector and brought up the database of crimes and missing persons Moffat's team had begun to investigate ten days earlier. In the minutes it took Mrs. Grubb to check in Dr. Amladi, De la Peña updated his spreadsheet with this morning's DNA evidence. Fat opened his logbook of schnauzer samples. Moffat studied De la Peña's spreadsheet, deep in thought.

Mrs. Grubb introduced the visitor to Moffat and De la Peña.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Captain. I'm kind of a fan. I read the book about Jeffrey Donald Bird. It must have been quite a case."

Amladi shook Moffat's hand, grasping Moffat's lower arm with his left hand. Moffat smiled, offered him a seat, then sat next to him. The others gathered around them.

"Well, as I told Officer Fat, we have several matches. I have the numbers right here. They show that some of the dogs you sampled last week are related to the first two Dr. McDonald brought to me." He read log numbers to Fat who located them immediately.

"It's just what I expected after you called," Fat said. "Captain, Sergeant, last Thursday we took a sample from a dog in north Segovia. It's owner bought it at an unlicensed breeder. He was able to give directions. Duncan and I went there. It's very isolated. A farmhouse, barn and two kennels but you can't see any of it from the road. No one was there. We took samples of the dogs through the kennel fence."

Moffat raised his eyes to the screen showing De la Peña's worksheet. "So what we've learned is that the dog breeder and the man who directed you to him have dogs related to the dog that licked the envelope of the Ledger Dispatch letter to the editor about the Price case - that was 2003 - and the dog whose hairs were found in the stocking cap found near the home of the 1989 missing person."

"That's right."

"Just to confirm one point," De la Peña said, "The guy you interviewed doesn't look like our suspect, right?"

"No, it's not him," Fat said. "We should go back to that farm house."

De la Peña looked to Moffat "How do you want to handle it?"

"With extreme caution." Moffat said. "If the suspect is there, he is well armed. This place could belong to an accomplice. I don't want to take any chances. Mrs. Grubb, please call the Chief. I'll call Captain Hughes. We'll meet back at the Communication Center Conference Room. Sergeant, you and Fat find out everything you can about that address."

Moffat caught Hughes just as he was about to leave for his mobile command center in the north county. He wasn't pleased to divert his attention from the search but agreed to return at Moffat's insistence.

* * *

"This farmhouse is related to our investigation, possibly to the suspect we're now searching for." Moffat spoke as De la Peña projected the Google satellite image of the farmhouse northeast of Segovia. He explained the connection to the 1989 missing person and the e-mailed letter to the Ledger Dispatch that had helped to arouse the editor's suspicion at the start. "No one was there last Thursday, but there was plenty of evidence of recent habitation. Sergeant, what more have you learned?"

"Fat checked and the address is not on the property tax roles. The Post Office has no record of its existence. It doesn't appear in the DMV computers either. I'd say this guy is living outside of the normal world - kind of like the Unabomber but with more conveniences."

"Captain Hughes, I can't be sure this place belongs to the man I saw yesterday but based on what we've learned, we have to assume the occupants are armed and present a danger to the officers we send in there. I think we will need your Special Response Team."

Hughes frowned. Moffat knew he was concerned about pulling resources away from the manhunt. Hughes walked to a county map tacked to the wall. "Ok, I don't think the guy with the Ruger can be at the farmhouse. Look, here's the river." He pointed to the lower fork of the Calaveras River. "Our man would have to cross the river to get to your ranch. There are only four bridges and we've stopped everybody crossing since yesterday, we've searched every vehicle. I know he couldn't have made it there since you saw him. Hughes waited while De la Peña, Moffat and Halvorsen studied the map, then said "What if I give you five guys? They go in, secure the area, then turn it over to your detectives and Forensics. I'll need them back on the line as soon as possible."

Halvorsen looked at Moffat "It sounds reasonable, Alex. I'll get the search warrant. You have Forensics ready to go in as soon as Sergeant Clark gives the word."

* * *

Fat and Duncan felt less uneasy on their second visit to the isolated farmhouse and kennels. This time they were in a police car instead of on foot. The SRT officers had already conducted a complete search and informed the detectives that the only signs of life in the compound were chickens and dogs. Also, this time Captain Moffat, Sergeant De la Peña and four investigators of the Forensics Services Unit accompanied the two young police officers. There was a last minute addition to the procession that drove up the road to park between the house and the barn. A Channel 11 newsvan with two camera operators and the crime reporter followed Moffat's Toyota Highlander up the hill. Chief Halvorsen told Moffat the police needed to show the public they were making progress.

Moffat sent the forensic personnel into the house with specific goals. Moments later, one of the four exited the front door holding an evidence bag containing a toothbrush, hair brush and safety razor. She left immediately for the lab.

De la Peña radioed Moffat to come to the barn saying he had found something of interest. Moffat jogged the forty yards to the barn. His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the change from midday sun to the darkness of the barn. Then he saw De la Peña and Duncan in front of a machine.

"It's a metal stamping machine," De la Peña said. "Look at these." The Sergeant pointed to a block of wood carved with raised letters and numbers. It was incomplete, having only a single digit and three letters but was clearly intended for use in creating a California plate.

"This is how he counterfeited the license plates. He'd spot some out-of-towner with the right year, model and make of vehicle, then copy their plates."

"Do you see one for '1POK300'?" Moffat asked.

"No, just this one. Maybe he burned the block after he used it."

"Too bad, that would be a connection to the suspect, wouldn't it?" Duncan said.

Moffat nodded.

Moffat left Duncan and De la Peña in the barn and walked back to the cluster of parked vehicles near the garage. Channel 11's camerapersons had collected the footage their editor would need for the story and now the reporter required a few words from Moffat.

"Yes, Constance. This site has been linked to some of the crimes we believe were committed by the fugitive. We do not yet have a name. The police appreciate your cooperation in informing the public and again we ask anyone who recognizes the man in the video or this ranch to phone our hotline immediately."

The morning's search yielded no identification, no documents, nothing that would give them a name. After Moffat finished his interview, De la Peña told Fat to remain while the forensic investigators dusted the house for fingerprints and to greet the Animal Control Officers who would take charge of the hungry dogs. He, Moffat and Duncan returned to the police station.

* * *

Sergeant Clark sent Duncan out on patrol in the west county with barely a five-minute bathroom break. Moffat met Mrs. Grubb at the Communication Center and asked her to go to the Forensics Lab where she would phone him as soon as there were any results. Standing in the Center amidst the conversations of manhunt operations management, Moffat and De la Peña briefly considered working on the Gillis investigation but admitted their minds would be on the hunt for the fugitive and the DNA testing of the toiletries from the farmhouse. De la Peña caught up with Sergeant Clark and volunteered to help. Clark assigned him to coordinate reporting from the Forest Service and the Highway Patrol. This kept De la Peña fully occupied so that when Fat called he was unable to answer. Moffat took the call. The Forensics investigators at the site had failed to locate even a single clear fingerprint in the house and were now moving on to the garage, then barn and kennels. Fat told Moffat that two uniformed officers would be guarding the site through tomorrow at least and asked if he could leave to join the manhunt. Moffat agreed and notified Clark that Fat was free for an assignment.

For himself, Moffat decided to remain at the station rather than return to his office a block away. He walked to the desk in the corner of the empty Team Center, sat down, opened his notebook and, with his pen in his right hand and chin in his left, stared off into space. With results now in from both the schnauzer and the decoy operations, Moffat realized that his involvement in the cases grouped together under the name Davies/Price ought now to be coming to an end. He hoped the police would soon identify and apprehend the suspect but he didn't think he had more to offer in that effort. With that, Moffat determined he would turn his attention firmly to the Gillis case. Later in the day he would pull De la Peña back to work it with him. He had just begun to reacquaint himself with facts of that case when the call came from Mrs. Grubb.

"Come to the Communication Center in fifteen minutes. Lisa has the results. She's just finishing her report. She says she has something."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 60

Word of news reached the Chief as well. He rejoined Moffat and Captain Hughes at 1:30 to wait for Medical Examiner and Director of Forensics Services Lisa McDonald in the conference room where the morning briefing had been held. De la Peña turned his headphones over to another officer just in time to walk with Mrs. Grubb and Dr. McDonald through the Center to the doorway of the conference room.

"Gentlemen and lady," Dr. McDonald began, sounding like a good-natured college professor, "I have some interesting information for you. We collected excellent samples from the toothbrush, hairbrush and razor. All belonged to a Caucasian male and just as you suspected, Alex, he is the same person who left his blood in the Sentra yesterday."

De la Peña exhaled with force. "That's it then."

"Good work." The Chief slapped Moffat on the back.

Moffat pulled his copy of De la Peña's spread sheet from his notebook. He moved his finger down the last column on the right where he had penned notes in blue ink. "We now have a clear path linking the 1975 rape, 1989 missing person, 1998 missing person and Price, the missing person from 2003. By the suspect's description we can add the 1973 indecent exposure and the 1982 stalking. And I am very confident that most if not all of four other missing persons as well as the attack on Nicole Davies were committed by this man."

"Very impressive, Captain," Hughes told Moffat, smiling. "Now, if I can just manage to catch this guy, we'll have Segovia P.D.'s most productive week ever."

"Yeah, well, that's right," Chief Halvorsen said, his mood suddenly shifting. "Let's get back to work. Somebody out there has to see this guy soon."

* * *

Moffat and De la Peña walked out together.

"Is there anything you have for me the rest of the day, Captain?"

A quick glance at his Sergeant's face told Moffat that De la Peña had something he wanted to do.

"I'm going back on the Gillis case. I can get by without you today if you have something else."

"They need someone on the helicopter search until sunset. I thought it would give me a chance to learn the terrain and roads here."

Moffat nodded, a slight smile modifying his otherwise serious expression.

De la Peña laughed. "Oh, yeah. We _are_ talking about riding in a helicopter."

"All right. See you in our office tomorrow morning at eight."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 61

Forty minutes later Moffat was alone at his desk in the Brannan building, a chicken salad sandwich on a piece of waxed paper and a paper cup of coffee on his left, his open notebook in front of him. He was determined to finally turn his attention back to the Gillis investigation. He took his pen, placed its point on the blank page, then remained frozen for several minutes. In the privacy of the empty office, Moffat's face began to reflect his changing thoughts - doubt, uncertainty, suspicion, disbelief and confusion. These thoughts found their way to the paper, unedited, flowing freely in a solitary brainstorming session.

* * *

What was I planning yesterday before Mr. Toad's Wild Ride? Investigate Franke's love life. Get gossip from Donna. Where are we with case? Two homicides - one in Miner's Flat, one in Segovia - separated by 36 years but linked by murder weapon and name Lewis Franke. In recent case, Frank seemed to have most peripheral of roles, dying man, house happened to overlook murder scene. In 1970, though, was in the prime of life. Employed the victim and, when her body discovered, reported as missing several items he had apparently removed from site, and, at some point, stored in his home. Lied to his friends and neighbors about his war record. Lied to the police about murder, very effectively creating false motive for crime, sending investigators in wrong direction. Last days of life, told at least two people of remorse about falsified war record. Shared another secret before he died, but, because of clergyman's privilege, we can't find out what it is. Possible other route to this secret? Still, hard to imagine knowing will lead to killer of Veronica Gillis.

Moffat paused to re-read the last six sentences. He considered an option _._

Could ask Catherine Martius if Franke said anything to her about phony war record or 1970 murder. Of course, after grilling I gave her daughter about her phone call, couldn't expect much cooperation. Plus, Franke was her friend. She might not want to say anything that would harm his reputation.

What about Catherine's daughter? Cheryl was teenager in 1970, involved in some kind of competition to be cheerleader according to Donna. Probably many other important teenage issues. Can't see connecting her to the 1970 murder. She's still in the picture for Veronica Gillis, though. GSR of suit she wore day of the murder turned up negative as did orange sweater Fat brought from her closet. She could have washed them before we picked them up. Of all people interviewed, she's the one who acts guilty. Acting guilty - that's a subjective assessment. She did lie though.

Can't rule out victim's mother Lorraine Jamison. Didn't seem broken up about her daughter's death. Not the frail elderly woman I thought she was at first interview. Maybe Lady Smith was hers in 1970. Note: talk to James Rees to see if there is any connection between Mrs. Jamison and Franke.

Not much else. Last person in contact with Gillis was her architect, by phone. Other than murderer, last persons to see Gillis alive were Mrs. Martius and Mrs. Pane. No, not necessarily true. Believe a four-year old boy saw Gillis on her way to church grounds. Not much help there. Should have interviewed child soon after murder. Of course, considering the last two weeks, can't blame myself too much for not getting to it. Note: talk to the boy tomorrow.

* * *

"All right," Moffat whispered in the empty room. He examined the pages he had just filled. Good handwriting, he thought. Not much in the way of detective work. He decided to phone Donna Ferguson then head home for the day.

Donna sounded in a good mood. "How can I help you, Captain?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me: Did you ever hear of Lewis Franke being involved with other women?"

Coming from the serious, soft-spoken policeman, it caught Donna by surprise. She couldn't help but laugh. "Why would you ever need to ask a question like that? Are you starting up a gossip column in the local paper?"

"I know, it does sound like an odd question to ask about an elderly man right after his death but it may help me understand the background of some matters I'm investigating. I wouldn't ask anyone close to him but I thought you might have heard something and wouldn't mind telling me."

"Strictly professional interest then?"

"Oh yes."

"Well, don't even think there was anything between him and Ronnie. She went after a lot of men but he wasn't one." She paused. When Moffat said nothing she added in a more serious tone, "No, Captain, I never heard anything about Major Franke. He was a big wheel around here before he retired. Belonged to every volunteer organization, on every committee. His picture was in the paper all the time. His wife was always with him. She worked in his office even."

"Would you say they seemed to have a happy marriage?"

"Yes, as far as I ever knew. One thing, she never seemed as impressed with him as the rest of the town was...well, people my parents' age. They always acted like he was a VIP, calling him Major. Not her, though. I guess you can't be a hero to someone who lives with you. You never really know about someone else's marriage, do you?"

"No."

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe if you told me what you're investigating, I could be of more help. That and the fact I'm dying to know."

"Are you free tomorrow morning, about seven-thirty?"

"I'll be right here," she said cheerily.

"We'll see you then."

Moffat left a voice message for De la Peña saying he would pick him up at seven and they would have breakfast at the Miner's Flat Café. He recorded a second voice message for Mrs. Grubb to tell her of his plans and ask her to go to the Ledger Dispatch building in the morning. She should speak directly to Raymond Sato and ask for access to papers from July 1969 to June, 1970. She would copy stories on the robbery, the victim's funeral and obituary, the Selective Service office in Segovia and local antiwar demonstrations.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 62

Friday, May 26

"I'd like to speak to Captain Moffat." A man in his late fifties with reddish blonde and gray hair combed straight back presented himself to the desk sergeant at Segovia Police Headquarters at 6:00 a.m. "I have information about the man he's searching for. I saw Captain Moffat on TV yesterday and I drove all night to get here."

The Sergeant looked him over. The first glance answered the most important question. This was not the suspect. He was the right age but wrong height and hair color. The man had excellent posture and an air of authority but also seemed to be genuinely good-natured and sociable. The Sergeant glanced at the electronic display of the Brannan Building's security monitors. Someone had deactivated the alarms at the front door and the Crimes Against Persons Office. "The Captain may be in his office already; if not he'll be in soon. I'll have an officer take you there."

Melissa Peake was the first to answer the phone so she drew the task of escorting retired United States Air Force Master Sergeant Dale Buck to Moffat's office. She drove a black and white to the front of the station, turned off the engine and jogged up the steps to Reception. Moments later, she walked with the citizen - as she would think of him - back to the car and when she opened the passenger door for him was greeted with a chuckle and a cheery "Thank you, Officer Peake." Peake became the second member of the Police Department to quickly form a favorable opinion of Dale Buck that day. Back behind the wheel of the police car, she made a quick 180-degree turn and drove the 150 yards to Moffat's building, parking at the bottom of the wooden stairs.

They found Moffat alone at his desk; all but two of the office lights were still off. Peake introduced Mr. Buck then, removing her notebook and pen from a soft plastic brief case, she sat beside him across from Moffat and began taking notes.

"I recognized the farmhouse on cable news last night. It belonged to my grandparents. I used to visit there as a child. Now it belongs to my cousin Wyman Buck, age, uh, fifty four, it would be." Dale Buck sighed. Beyond his genial disposition, Moffat could see it was painful for him to have this interview about his cousin.

"When did you last see Wyman, Mr. Buck?"

"Please call me Dale. I'm not going to want to hear my last name after all this, I bet. It was three weeks ago. We hadn't been in contact for nearly thirty years but I was passing through here on the way to San Diego at the end of a long road trip in my camper."

"So you think your cousin is the man we're looking for?"

"Yes, it's him. I've got a picture I took three weeks ago here on my digital camera." Dale retrieved a small red camera from his pocket. He flipped up the display screen, pressed a button several times then handed it to Moffat "It doesn't surprise me, that Wyman could be a... oh, man." Dale paused and rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. "A serial killer. You see, he was really odd starting about when he was a teen-ager. His mother was very strange as well. She had her own bizarre religion. Wyman was home-schooled. He's been by himself the last thirty years, I guess, out on that ranch. I couldn't tell that he'd ever had anyone with him since his parents died."

Dale Buck described happy childhood memories staying at the farm on summers and holidays. He and his cousin had been close growing up.

Moffat listened patiently, making occasional notes. When Buck finished Moffat moved quickly to get information he hoped this witness could provide.

"Dale, thinking back on the time you spent with your cousin as children, did you or he have any places you might hide things?"

Dale laughed. "You mean like cigarettes and girlie magazines?"

"Maybe. Anything boys might want to keep out of sight of adults. Or maybe just things for fun and games. Hidden treasure, maybe."

"Treasure," Buck said tentatively. "Yes, we did. We used to read Hardy Boys mysteries. We buried some toy doubloons near a big granite boulder we used to climb on. Then we moved the treasure to a burned out hollow in the roots of an old oak. I haven't thought about that in years. Do you think he's hidden something at the farm?"

"So far, we haven't found a single document that would show his identity. We're hoping to find bank statements, vehicle registration records, property tax bills - that sort of thing. Would you come out there and show us any place where you think he might have hidden his personal papers?"

"Sure. I'll do anything I can to help, Captain."

"Officer Peake," Moffat said, "Please phone Sergeant De la Peña and tell him there's been a change in plans. Ask him to come here as soon as he can."

* * *

Moffat, De la Peña and Dale Buck climbed into a black and white Chevy Tahoe SUV. Moffat radioed ahead, directing that Wyman Buck's security gate be unlocked. (The police had padlocked it to prevent access to the farm by sightseers and other non-authorized persons.) De la Peña drove up the road, passing the open gate and came to a stop in the open area between the house and the garage.

* * *

At the side of the farmhouse, standing in the shade of a fifty year old Modesto ash, Dale Buck peered toward the edge of the flat area beyond the fenced field around the chicken coops. He moved his eyes slowly along the base of the foothill.

"Uh, hmm," were his only sounds. Moffat and De la Peña followed him along the fence. Midway from the buildings to the hill he stopped. "Looks like the old oak tree is long gone, guys. The ground where it was has been plowed and leveled off."

"What about the granite boulder?" De la Peña asked.

Buck looked bewildered. "Maybe one of those is the one I was talking about," he said pointing beyond the pond. "They all look too small, though." Then he chuckled. "Of course, I was a lot smaller when we were climbing around up there. But it does all look different."

Shielding his eyes from the sun, De la Peña scanned the view. "I guess there have been some changes in thirty years."

"Oh, yes. Some obvious ones. The orchard has been shifted some. We were always replacing the older trees with young ones. It looks like he's cut back some of the orchard to make room for that kennel on the left. Overall, it's smaller but there seem to be more young trees than they used to have. And the pond has been moved. It used to be in that hollow near the right side of the orchard. Now it's on the other side of the ridge. It looks like Wyman must have moved a lot of earth to create a mound that holds back the water at the edge of the slope."

De la Peña grasped Moffat's elbow and pulled him gently so that both their backs were turned toward Buck. "Captain, we've got seven or more bodies to find. I can't think of a better place to hide them than buried under an orchard or a pond. What do you think?"

"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 his 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?"

De la Peña nodded.

"Another fact is the involvement of Lewis Franke in both cases. In the Gillis case, he is close to Catherine and the Panes who were all involved with the victim. Regarding the Panes, he told them a secret from his past. In the Smith case, he is definitely involved in that he created a false motive that served to mislead the investigators. It could be a coincidence that Lewis' name came up in the Gillis case, for example, because the killer happened to get the opportunity to commit the crime at that one location of the church. Otherwise, we would never have gone to Lewis' house that night. A person planning to kill Mrs. Gillis might have done it while she was alone in her office or in a dark parking lot. I can't be sure it's not a coincidence that he or she attacked Gillis in the line of sight of Franke's bedroom window.'

"Next we have Cheryl Haugen. Though we don't have the evidence to charge her, she is a prime suspect in Veronica Gillis murder due to their lifelong rivalry, the angry confrontation at the café and her lie about phoning Gillis' office. It seems significant that Haugen is the sister of the 1970 victim but she could have committed the Gillis murder and have had no involvement in 1970 other than that she was the sister. It could be a coincidence or it could be a clue."

Moffat paused and looked at De la Peña to elicit his thoughts. "So your intuition seems like it's based on conditional probabilities from statistics. You may believe A or B or C are coincidences if they occur by themselves but when A, B, and C happen together, you think they are clues."

It didn't show but Moffat was delighted to find a fellow detective who could speak of statistical concepts. It was a first. "Well, I think you're right about that. I'm still not sure these things are significant but the fact that they occurred together makes me think they probably are."

"Where do we go from here?"

"We are going to try to construct a scenario that fits the facts of both cases."

"You mean something like a teenage Ronnie Gillis shot Sandra Smith in 1970 using her father's gun so that she could steal her boyfriend and thirty six years later the boyfriend figures it out and kills her for revenge?"

"Yes, that's the kind of thing we need to do. Of course it will be harder than it sounds. We'll have to gather more evidence, probably, to test the assumptions in our joint scenario, but, yes, that's what I'm saying we need to do."

"What if we can't come up with one that explains both crimes?"

Moffat shrugged. "Then I admit my intuition is probably wrong. We drop the Smith case and continue working the Gillis case until we find a lead."

De la Peña drummed with both hands on the table. "Ok, let's get started," he said.

"Here's an assumption for our joint scenario. Both victims were killed by someone they knew. Why do I say that?"

De la Peña shook his head.

"Gillis' killer knew she had a loaded gun in her purse. Smith's killer wasn't a thief, we know that. Franke was involved and may have done it himself. The file shows that the pattern of the small amount of blood splatter on the wall and the bloodstain on the carpet led the investigators to conclude that Smith was shot while facing and moving toward the door leading out of the office. The killer was behind her and inside the office. This suggests to me that there was some interaction between them before Sandra Smith attempted to leave."

"Great," De la Peña said. "The victims knew their killers. So if we can come up with a motive in each case, it will point the way to a suspect, won't it? What motive do we have for the 1970 murder?"

"Motive..." Moffat said thoughtfully. "That's the place to start. What possible motives are there for killing this young woman? Let's start with no motive at all, that is, a random killing. We've already ruled that out by saying she wasn't killed by a stranger. Then we have robbery, the motive the investigators settled on. Once again, we almost certainly eliminated that from consideration when we discovered the office equipment had been falsely reported as missing. I'm assuming Franke lied about the cash box as well."

"I agree. It doesn't seem likely there was a real robbery and murder and that Franke just took advantage of the situation to steal the typewriter and recorder. That would be too cold."

"So another typical motive for murder is something romantic or sexual...a love triangle, maybe or the victim could have rejected the killer's advances."

"Yeah, something like 'if I can't have her, no one else can!' Why don't we think that's likely?"

"Well, we have to consider it. An argument against it is that Franke would have to be involved in some way. He doesn't seem to be a candidate for extramarital activity himself. There were no rumors or even a hint of something between them. I guess Franke might have misdirected the investigation to protect a killer who was involved with Sandra. If he had a son who did it you could imagine him willing to lie to protect him. No son, but could there have been someone else close enough to Franke that he would be willing to cover up for? We can't eliminate the possibility completely, but what we have from Donna and the notes in the file, don't support that scenario."

"We could interview people who knew Sandra and Franke. We might turn up something the investigators didn't know then about her love life. Oh, but man, thirty-six years is so long. Who would remember? If they did, could we trust their memories? It's too bad she didn't keep a diary. She didn't, did she?"

"Not as far as we know," Moffat said. It's a good point though. Historians prefer contemporary sources to fallible human memory. So do we. Maybe someone else kept a diary at the time. If we have to go down that route next week, we can ask. Also, we can check correspondence from the time. She must have written her ex-boyfriend in Vietnam. We might find something there."

De la Peña jotted several lines of notes. He highlighted two in yellow. Moffat had noticed this was De la Peña's way of identifying topics for future action.

"Ok," Moffat said, "Let's move on. Revenge is always a possible motive for murder. Can you imagine someone killing Sandra for revenge?"

"She was pretty young. What could she have done to someone to make them want to kill her?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

"Oh, here's one," De la Peña said with a half-smile. "It's pretty off-the-wall. Remember the mob godfather who had his neighbor killed because the neighbor accidentally ran over the mobster's kid? Maybe Sandra did something like that. I can check her driving record for accidents."

Moffat smiled. "I agree with you. It is 'off-the-wall.' Still, it wouldn't hurt to check her DMV file. See if you can get her school records as well."

De la Peña made a note, then dropped his pen and picked up the yellow highlighter.

"The last motive or maybe group of motives I can think of would be work-related. Unless we turn up anything else, this is where I think our best prospects are. You can imagine a variety of motives here. She did work for the Selective Service - the Draft Board - at the height of the Vietnam War. Let's think. Bribery...conspiracy...embezzlement...or cover up of crimes like those."

"Speaking of cover up, maybe she found out about her boss's phony war record." De la Peña stopped then added, "I don't know how she would find out. And it's hard to believe he would kill her to hide it."

"I agree with all three of your statements," Moffat said, laughing at the quick progression of De la Peña's thoughts. "Maybe his war record plays a role."

"I wonder how we could investigate all of this."

"Well, here we do have some contemporary sources. Mrs. Grubb should be back soon from the Ledger Dispatch. I asked her to collect any articles written around the time about the draft board, the anti-war demonstrations in Segovia, Lewis Franke and Sandra Smith's murder and funeral. Maybe we'll find a lead there. For one thing, I want to know about the broken window that occurred in the office during the demonstration not long before the murder."

De la Peña's desk phone rang. It was an inside call, from the main building. "It's Fat calling."

Moffat listened to De la Peña's half of the conversation, clearly the less informative half.

"I thought you calculated it would take another hour and a half...Oh...Wow...Big news, Brandon. I'll tell him."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 65

De la Peña displayed a wide smile. "They found human remains at Buck's place. When they drained the pond some bones were exposed. Forensics have been digging for 15 minutes now. Duncan told Fat they've already discovered a partial skeleton of a second person."

Moffat did not seem surprised. "How were they able to drain it so quickly?"

"The Chief thought it was taking too long so he had them knock out a big section of the bank. Duncan said it caused a big wave and the highway was flooded. She said the place is a mess - mud and dying catfish everywhere but they saw a pelvis and a femur as soon as the pond emptied. They laid out sheets of plywood to create a path over the mud. Fat is rounding up dental records for our missing persons. Maybe we'll get some identifications this weekend."

Moffat could see De la Peña was excited by the news. It would be satisfying to close at least some of these cases.

The Sergeant continued. "I'd liked to have seen the Chief's face when the flood let loose. Duncan said the guys on the bank dropped their shovels and had to run when it started to give way. I hope there weren't any TV cameras around when that happened."

"I'm sure Channel 34 won't be allowed back in until they've cleaned up. The Chief prefers a controlled picture before the public."

They returned to their task but hadn't accomplished much when Mrs. Grubb arrived just before 2:00. She carried a large folder with several dozen 8 ?" by 11" photocopied sheets. She was exited.

"I've got quite a few news stories for you, Captain. This should keep you busy until teatime. Maybe a wee bit longer."

Moffat took the folder and sat back, opening it on the desk. He saw that each page was labeled with the publication date written large at the top right of each story. Moffat instantly noticed familiar handwriting on some of the pages.

"Mrs. Grubb, did you get some help on this assignment?"

"Why, yes. I did."

De la Peña watched as Moffat inhaled slowly and tapped his head, pretending to be in deep contemplation.

"My guess is that your assistant is a forty five year old woman, slim, with blonde hair and blue eyes."

"You may be an excellent detective, Captain Moffat, but it would have been wiser to say the lady is 39 years old."

De la Peña laughed. Moffat nodded.

"Just for future reference," Mrs. Grubb added "if you ever put out an APB on me, I'm 57. Got it?"

"Understood."

Mrs. Grubb joined in De le Peña's laughter. "Jean and I had our regular lunch date anyway and you did mention she was feeling a bit unoccupied, so I phoned her to come into town early to help me. I hope you don't mind. She did an excellent job."

"No, I'm glad. Anything to keep her from looking at real estate. I'd like to stay right where I am."

"I agree, Captain."

Moffat turned to the pages before him. "Ok, Mrs. Grubb. Let's see what you brought us. Anything arouse your suspicions?" His head was down, his eyes scanning the first article. Hearing no reply, he looked up to see a smiling, wide-eyed Mrs. Grubb.

"Oh, yes. I believe you both will be surprised, more than once. There's this for starters." Mrs. Grubb pulled a 5" by 7" manila envelope from the back of the folder and removed a photograph of seven people at a gravesite. It was dated February 3, 1970 and Moffat recognized Lewis Franke and Catherine Martius, both much younger, and a teenage girl who almost certainly was Cheryl Haugen. Mrs. Grubb held the picture for De la Peña to see. "Did you know..."

"Yes." Moffat and De la Peña said simultaneously with a trace of irritation. Moffat added sheepishly "We just learned that this morning."

"Oh." Mrs. Grubb drew out the syllable. "Well, at least they had the good taste not to print this. Can you imagine photographing a family at a moment like that? It was tucked just behind the edition with her obituary in the files. All right then. There are these two articles as well."

She leaned over Moffat's desk from the side and took the second and third clipped sets of papers. She opened one set, flipped several pages over and handed it to De la Peña, then did the same with the other set for Moffat. After reading silently for about a minute both men looked up at Mrs. Grubb who wore a triumphant smile.

"Let's hear yours first, Sergeant," Moffat said.

"OK. Here goes:

* * *

Dishonorably Discharged Vet Arrested at Draft Board Demonstration

Police arrested a recently discharged U.S. Army private for blocking the entrance to California Draft Board No. 37 in Segovia yesterday. The arrest occurred when James Rees, 27, of Merced, linked arms with other protesters and sat before the front door of the office on 2nd street. They met police with chants calling the Vietnam War 'racist' and accusing the United States of atrocities. The protestors ignored warnings and ignored police orders to disburse.

Speaking to reporters outside the office soon after the arrest, Draft Board Head Lewis Franke commended the performance of the police and described the protestors as "un-American hippies."

" _They do not value our freedoms," Franke said._

Reporters were shown a copy of Rees' confidential discharge record Form DD-214. In addition to the dishonorable discharge, a Separation Program Number Designator of 361 appeared on the form. This indicates that Rees was removed from the military for moral reasons.

Late yesterday, Rees was treated at Mark Twain Community Hospital for what police described as "minor injuries sustained while resisting arrest." He was returned to police custody early this morning.

* * *

"There's a picture of Rees being handcuffed." De la Peña passed the article across the desk. Moffat examined it carefully. The young man in the photograph had shoulder length black hair and a large moustache.

"Those minor injuries Rees got...they beat him up, I'll bet," De la Peña said. "What do you think the morals reasons were?"

"Homosexuality, I would think. We can look up the code."

"Oh," De la Peña said quietly.

Mrs. Grubb asked "Didn't the Ledger Dispatch story seem a bit one-sided?"

"I thought so, too," Moffat said. "Raymond Sato has set higher journalistic standards for the paper since he took over."

"You know, as I think back, it has improved during the years I've lived here. There's a follow up story, Jason, read it."

"Ok. One week later. Oh, there's a new picture. Look." De la Peña held up the page for Moffat to see. It showed a more boyish looking James Rees. His hair was cut short, to about a quarter inch of his scalp, and the moustache was gone.

"Looks like Rees got a free haircut while in police custody. Read on, Sergeant."

De la Peña began to read. "The head line is 'Draft Board Protestor Released, Charges Dropped.'"

* * *

The Ledger Dispatch has learned that Segovia Police released James Rees, 27, only a day after he was arrested at the November 22 demonstration in front of the Draft Board office on 2nd Street. Rees, a dishonorably discharged U.S. Army Private, was the subject of inquiries by this reporter following disclosure last week that he had been treated for injuries sustained during his arrest. Police refused to give any additional information on three occasions. This morning, a source within the district attorney's office said that officials had declined to charge Rees due to legal technicalities related to police evidence against him. The District Attorney had ordered his release. No explanation was given for the delay in responding to the Ledger Dispatch request for information.

* * *

"Thus ends James Rees brush with notoriety," Mrs. Grubb said. "There was no other mention of him for the rest of the year."

De la Peña said "Wow. You'd never guess he had a past like that. He seems so cool and easy going."

"It is very interesting, Mrs. Grubb. You were right. That was a surprise."

"Good. Now read yours, Captain," she said.

"It's a surprise as well, Sergeant. It's your old friend the future Reverend Pane. It seems he was also arrested during the year in question. Here's the title: Vietnam Veteran with Handgun Apprehended at City Hall."

* * *

Decorated Vietnam veteran Arthur Pane was arrested yesterday during an incident on the grass between 1st Street and the steps to the main entrance of City Hall. At 2:55 in the afternoon, police received reports of a shirtless young man waving a weapon and shouting that the building was full of communists. By the time they arrived at the scene, Pane had placed the gun inside the front waistband of military-style camouflage pants. He held a small black Bible. He continued shouting and was subdued by police after running up the steps with the book in his outstretched arms. Pane made no effort to reach for the handgun before or during his apprehension. Police reported that Pane's 357 Magnum revolver was loaded.

Pane was released this morning without charges. In a written statement, Police Chief Thomas Armey said that Pane had apologized for his actions and based on his commendable war record, Armey had chosen not to press charges.

* * *

Moffat and De la Peña looked at each other. De la Peña said "Revolver...357...hmm."

Moffat nodded.

"Captain, if you don't mind, I think I'll check the records for a model number and description of that revolver."

"You're hoping it turns out to be a Smith and Wesson Lady Smith."

"It would be quite a development in both cases."

"See what you can find, Sergeant."

* * *

De la Peña went first to his desktop computer to check the Police records database. Soon, Moffat heard him phone the Records Department, followed by additional calls. After a few minutes, Moffat lost track of the number.

While De la Peña searched for an answer about Pane's gun, Moffat returned to Mrs. Grubb's folder of news stories. Starting from the front, he read the first report of Sandra Smith's death. Dated January 28th, 1970, it lacked the victim's name and any hint of motive. Moffat attributed the sketchy information to the fact that the Ledger Dispatch was then an afternoon daily. Apparently police had not released details before the reporter's midday deadline. The following day's story contained Sandra Smith's name as well as those of her parents Alfred and Catherine. Here also, Lewis Franke claimed that cash and office equipment had been stolen. The report said, "Police do not believe there is a connection between the murder/robbery and an act of vandalism in which the large plate glass window of the Draft Board's ground floor office was broken on the night of December 16th last year." It's strange, Moffat thought, that the same reporter who wrote so breathlessly about Rees' arrest and subsequent release did not mention this in an article six weeks later describing a crime at the same location. And strange also that pro war Lewis Franke didn't seize the opportunity to blame hippies and anti-war conspirators. Follow up articles over the next six months provided only repetition of the basic facts of the case and reports of no results from investigators' efforts. Franke and the victim's family were not contacted or chose to make no comment for these follow up reports.

* * *

Across the table, De la Peña was not ready to give up in his search for information about Arthur Pane's 1970 arrest. The police department computerized records went back only to 1979, though, as with the Ledger Dispatch, there were plans to scan the earlier records into a searchable format when funding and personnel resources would permit. A senior clerk in the Records Office located Pane's name on the March 22, 1970 activity log but told De la Peña there was no report of any kind in the file for the arrest. The officer whose name was recorded on the log had died in retirement ten years earlier. De la Peña believed a second officer had been involved in the incident based on the wording of the newspaper story. The clerk was unable to locate duty rosters for the 1970's. De la Peña phoned a dozen officers who were on the force at the time. He left messages for four and reached the other eight at scattered locations around the county. None of the eight believed they had been involved. Finally, De la Peña phoned Edward Gordon, the Reserve Officer at Miner's Flat.

"No, Jason, I never heard of that," Gordon said. "You have to remember, no one in Miner's Flat knew Reverend or Mrs. Pane until they moved up here, about 1980 something. That was a long time ago. Maybe you shouldn't be digging this up about the man. I can't imagine why you would want to know about an embarrassing thing like that."

"We have our reasons, Ed. Nobody wants to dig up dirt just for fun," De la Peña said. "Well, thanks anyway. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Moffat looked up from his reading as De la Peña hung up the phone. "No luck?"

"No. None. I guess when they chose not to press charges they destroyed the arrest record. I was hoping someone might be around who was in on the arrest. So far, at least, I can't find anyone." De la Peña put his head on his fist, frowning.

Moffat returned to his reading. A minute passed. De la Peña said "Maybe we should get a search warrant for his house and church to see if we can find a 357 magnum revolver. If we test fire it and the bullet matches the one that killed Sandra Smith, we'll have quite a breakthrough."

"I don't' think that's such a good idea, Sergeant," Moffat said without inflection."

"No? Not enough to justify a warrant?"

"Well, yes, that," Moffat said, "and the fact that we have the gun here at the police station. It was used to kill Veronica Gillis, remember?"

De la Peña dropped his head to his chest, and then shook it slowly back and forth. "Oh, Man. That's it, Captain. I've had it. You should just send me back to Traffic Enforcement."

Moffat laughed joined by Mrs. Grubb. From behind De la Peña, she called out "Don't feel so bad, Jason. I was just about to type the application for the search warrant." She chuckled again then added, "That's why he's the captain. He's always thinking."

De la Peña blushed but joined in the laughter.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Sergeant. Just think of the abuse Lang and Schoenberg will give you when they find out."

De la Peña slapped his forehead. "Oh, no. You wouldn't, would you?"

* * *

At 3:55, when Officer Tashara came in, De la Peña's face had returned to its normal color.

"Are you coming back to work with us, dear?" Mrs. Grubb asked.

"No, not for a while." She sat in a chair next to Mrs. Grubb's desk. "I'm starting my maternity leave tomorrow. I went to the doctor this afternoon. He says I'm due soon, whatever that means. The sooner the better. Oh, my back hurts."

"Well, you just rest here for a few minutes."

Suddenly excited, Tashara said "Mrs. G, turn on the TV. The Chief's having a press conference. That's why I came here."

Mrs. Grubb turned on a small television that rested on the top of a four-drawer file cabinet behind her. Moffat and De la Peña crossed the office to join the two women. The news anchor introduced Channel 34's crime reporter as the screen showed live shots of Buck's farmhouse, barn, the orchard and the now empty pond. In addition to the local news van, the camera revealed a white news van from Sacramento's KCRA TV and two newspaper reporters, Amy Apcarian from the Ledger Dispatch and a man Moffat recognized from the Sacramento Bee.

"Good afternoon," the Chief began in a stern voice. "Today, Segovia County Joint Police Force has discovered human skeletal remains at this small farm eight miles northwest of the city of Segovia. We have located remains of at least three individuals, though our search is ongoing and we believe we will find more. The Department of Forensics Services under the leadership of Dr. Lisa McDonald is in the process of identifying the persons who were buried here. They will work through the weekend as necessary to complete this task. A suspect has been identified. His name is Wyman Buck, age 52, and he can be seen in these photographs and the video surveillance files we have provided the press. Mr. Buck's crimes are believed to date back to 1973. The suspect is known to have left Segovia County. Additional surveillance videos reveal he was in Oakdale, California on Thursday morning and San Gabriel, California on Thursday afternoon. As you can see, the fugitive has changed his appearance. Police forces around the state are searching for this man who must, of course, be considered armed and dangerous."

Moffat and the others studied the brief videos showing on the television while the Chief spoke. Buck had shaved the top front of his head and donned dark rimmed glasses.

"What a change," De la Peña whispered.

Moffat agreed. It would have been a very effective disguise if the police had not located his bank account information in the hidden space between the two bedrooms thus knowing which banks he would go to after escaping the Segovia dragnet.

The Chief finished with a change in the pitch of his voice that was more familiar to the four listening in the detective's office.

"Ladies and gentleman, I hope to have more information for you next week including the names of the individuals whose remains we are in the process of recovering. For now, I'd like to commend Captain Alexander Moffat and his team for the excellent investigative work that identified the suspect and led us to today's discoveries. I'm sorry; I can't take any of your questions now. I have to leave immediately for an important appointment. I thank you all for coming."

* * *

Mrs. Grubb moved into the break room and could be heard filling the teakettle with water. Channel 34 returned to regular programming - the Ellen Degeneres talk show with guests Hugh Jackman and Flavor Flav. De la Peña stood and turned off the set. "What's the latest from the dig site, Tashara?"

"I heard they were up to six, but they've dug up most of the area under the pond. Expect a few phone calls from me next week, Jason. I've got to know how many were on our list."

"Tea time, everybody." Mrs. Grubb came in carrying a tray with cups, a teapot and a plate of Carr's Ginger Lemon Cremes. "Here's a glass of milk for you Tashara."

"Thank you, Mrs. G."

The four enjoyed a pleasant break. A few questions were asked and answered about the soon-to-arrive baby, though the expectant mother would not reveal the gender or name. Even Tashara preferred to join the others in revisiting the activities of the previous two weeks.

Fifteen minutes later, Tashara dispensed good byes and hugs and was off for a six-week leave. De la Peña and Mrs. Grubb had cleared the evidence of the tea break with barely three minutes to spare when Chief Halvorsen strode though the door wearing a gray, Segovia P.D. sweatshirt and khaki work pants.

"What are you people doing working at this hour? It's nearly five o'clock. You had better get ready to leave. You don't want to get stuck in rush hour traffic."

Moffat, De la Peña and Mrs. Grubb laughed at the mention of traffic in comparison to the cities they had left before moving to Segovia.

"Thanks, Chief," Moffat said. "We'll take our chances with the traffic. We've still got the Gillis case. We're planning a few extra hours tonight. You did say you wanted it solved in time for the Spring Festival this weekend."

Halvorsen started to nod then realized what Moffat had said. "You're not really near to closing that out are you?"

"No, not hardly."

"I couldn't imagine you would be after the last two weeks." Halvorsen looked at De la Peña. "Sergeant, did you tell Captain Moffat about your appointment this evening?"

"No, Sir. I'm afraid I'm going to have to miss practice tonight." Turning to Moffat he explained "The police softball team is practicing tonight for tomorrow's charity game against the Harte College Faculty Team."

"Captain...Sergeant," Halvorsen said, raising his voice. "To misquote the Bible, 'for ye have murder always with you' but this game comes but once a year and this year I intend to win."

"I understand, Chief," Moffat said. "Sergeant, you go on to practice. I'll carry on here."

"I could come back afterwards, Captain," De la Peña said. "It should only be a couple of hours."

Moffat glanced at Halvorsen then said "No, Sergeant. We want you rested for the game. My wife and daughter will be with me tomorrow rooting for our team. You go ahead. Based on what I heard about last year's lopsided score, the Chief is going to need all the help he can get."

"That's right, men. I'm not going to be beaten again by a bunch of professors, admissions clerks and janitors. The pride of the department is at stake. Alex, I'll get you all the help you need on Monday but tonight I need your Sergeant."

"You've got 'im." Moffat gave a salute. In a single smooth movement, De la Peña pulled a sky blue gym bag from under his back table and sprang to his feet. He raced to the men's room to change saying "I'll be right behind you, Chief."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 66

"I'm here for as long as you need me, Captain," Mrs. Grubb said.

"Thanks. I know you have a dance tonight so I won't keep you too long. I just want to gather as much information as I can, then I can work by myself for a few hours." When a scowl appeared on her face he added "I guess I should phone, Jean, shouldn't I?"

"When I saw her at lunch, she said she wasn't expecting you until late tonight, but you had still better call her." Mrs. Grubb looked at Moffat over her bifocals, narrowing her eyes but leaving unsaid the remaining words of her warning: if you know what's good for you.

"I'll call right away. She'll have Allison all to herself. That makes it easier."

"Just be ready tomorrow morning to go with them to the Spring Festival." Mrs. Grubb leafed through her in-basket and found the eight-page flyer for Pioneer Days. She brought it to Moffat "Jean's looking forward to having you the whole day."

Moffat phoned his wife. Jean's words confirmed Mrs. Grubbs admonition about tomorrow. He promised they would spend the day together.

* * *

In the quiet that followed the phone call, Moffat was happy to return to his reading of the contents of Mrs. Grubb's Ledger Dispatch folder. He selected the bundle of papers marked miscellaneous, which included the Arthur Pane story from 1970, an October 15, 1969 banner headline reporting the death of three Miner's Flat soldiers in a grenade attack on a popular bar in Da Nang, a November 15 editorial and a December 2 story about the previous day's draft lottery. Moffat read the editorial first. It criticized the nation's draft boards for inconsistent criteria for deferrals, decried rumors that some young men had received preferential treatment and lauded the upcoming lottery for its potential to end those abuses. The editorial writer assumed confidently that Segovia's own draft board was above reproach but predicted that the new process would make the board's task much easier.

Moffat continued to the next story, one that described the lottery.

* * *

Selective Service System Lottery

Determines Draft Order for 1970

A drawing held in Washington D.C. yesterday will determine the future of up to 800,000 young men between the ages of 19 and 26. In the first draft lottery since World War II, a random selection of numbers set the order in which eligible men will be inducted into the armed forces next year. In a major revision of Selective Service policies, deferments for students and married men and fathers will be phased out. In subsequent years, all able-bodied young men will be subject to the draft the year they turn nineteen, with selection based on the lottery held the preceding summer. The new system is expected to remove uncertainty that has until now loomed over the lives of young men.

For California, Robert M. Lawrence of the Selective Service Youth Advisory Board selected capsules with dates for draft order 288 through 295. Representatives of all fifty states and the District of Columbia were invited to participate in the drawing.

Formal notices will be sent to each of the nations 4,107 local draft boards directing them to order their files by yesterday's selection dates, with men born September 14 at the head of the line. Men with a birthday of June 8th will be the very last to be drafted in the unlikely event the military's manpower needs grow to that extent.

* * *

So, Lewis Franke's draft board had power over the county's young men. Even in peacetime, Moffat thought, most would choose to do something else for two years. During the Vietnam War, the stakes were much higher. It would be a situation with the potential for corruption. And, as with any human interaction where the participants had a great deal to gain or lose and would fear exposure if they cheated, that had the potential for homicide. The article said about 800,000 men and about 4000 draft boards. That means an average of 200 men, more or less depending on the area covered by the local board. That's a manageable number, Moffat thought. Segovia's small population would have meant many fewer men affected by its draft board. I wonder where the records are.

"Mrs. Grubb?" These were the first words spoken in twenty minutes.

"Yes?"

"I need the draft board records for the men affected by the lottery held on December 1, 1969. There are probably one or two hundred files involved. Where do you think we can find them?"

"I'll start with County Archives. Let me make a few phone calls and I'll see what I can find."

* * *

Moffat returned to his reading. The death of three soldiers on one day filled half the front page on a Wednesday in early autumn. Jean had copied follow up stories extending into the next week. The loss was devastating to the small town of Miner's Flat and seemed to have sent shock waves through the county. A nationwide "Moratorium" antiwar demonstration was held the same day. The North Vietnamese prime minister sent the U.S. peace movement organizers a letter wishing them success. Vice President Spiro Agnew and, at the local level, retired Major Lewis Franke attacked the peace movement for being pawns of the communists. All in all, it seemed like a sad and angry time in the county.

Mrs. Grubb phoned her friend Virginia Castle at archives. Ginny, speaking from memory of her thirty five years in County Records and an overlapping twenty-five as a volunteer with the Segovia Historical Society, was fairly sure they had copied and filed copies of all the records twenty years earlier when the originals were sent to the National Archives in Washington D.C. She was planning to leave soon but when her friend Evelyn said it was important and needed as soon as possible by Captain Moffat, Ginny promised to stay an extra ninety minutes. She would change her evening plans and drive directly to the dance from work, so there better be no comments about her wearing slacks tonight. Mrs. Grubb agreed and offered to help. Ginny said she could use the help Monday which would be the earliest that she could have the documents ready to photocopy. It would take her the time left this evening just to find the master listing for 1970 and identify the individual files involved.

When Mrs. Grubb told him the information wouldn't be available until Monday, Moffat didn't seem surprised. She, in turn, wasn't surprised when he suggested she go home. She had had a productive day but now it seemed Moffat wanted to work by himself.

"See you tomorrow, Captain."

"Hmm?"

"The Spring Festival. Don't forget."

"Right. I'll be there."

* * *

So much for that path tonight, Moffat thought. Franke's work sending young men into the army or marines had the potential to have played a part in Sandra's murder, Moffat thought. There may be a lead in the records of those men. Unfortunately, it looks like we will have to wait until next week to explore this path.

"What else?" Moffat whispered aloud. Pane? Under what conceivable scenario would Pane be involved in Sandra's death. If Pane did it, what would have been his motive? Maybe he thought she was a communist. The murder occurred 54 days before his wild scene at City Hall. Was he in the midst of a multi-month mental breakdown? Pane could have been involved romantically with Sandra. If Pane killed her for whatever motive, what would prompt Franke to engage in a cover-up for him? It doesn't fit, which is too bad since Pane has an excellent motive for the Gillis murder.

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 journalism 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 bottom 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.

Moffat walked back from the printer carrying a stack of the DMV records for fifteen young men from the 1970 table. Passing De la Peña's desk, he saw a similar printout, this for Sandra Smith, that the Sergeant had left after trying to verify his theory that she had run over a mobster's child. Moffat smiled, trying to imagine the godfather who's turf would have been the sparsely settled Segovia County of 1970. Moffat scooped these pages into his own stack and returned to his seat.

Falcone was at the top of the pile. The full name, including middle name, and address matched the draft board data.

"Uh Oh," Moffat whispered, comparing the remaining information. "What is this?"

The birth date didn't match. This was exactly the kind of clue Moffat was looking for.

"Mr. Falcone, the DMV says you were born February 14th. The Selective Service thinks you were born March 14th."

Moffat checked the draft lottery results he had bookmarked from the Internet. "Big difference," he whispered. The lottery number from February 14 was 006. March 14th's was 354. Now, of course, this turnabout in the young man's prospects could be the result of a typographical error. Moffat didn't think so. He would have to see the file to be sure. One by one, Moffat crosschecked the birth dates of the other men he had looked up on the DMV database. Ferguson, then the younger Pane, the two other Miner's Flat residents and the rest of the last twelve on the list \- those with draft lottery numbers 320 and above - all checked out. Gregory Lawrence Falcone's was the only one of the sample with an error.

Moffat added the job of double checking the birth dates of every other man on the full list to his Monday tasks. If Falcone did escape the draft, who went in his place? Moffat thought he should be able to determine that easily enough.

Everything had changed. With the bright, overhead lighting in the office and three long windows facing the street below, Moffat suddenly felt exposed. He lowered the wooden Venetian blinds and rotated the wand to close them. Thoughts raced through his mind. The fact that it was Loraine's son, of all the men on the list, opened up many possibilities. For the first time, he believed he could make some progress in constructing a plausible joint scenario. At first, it was somewhat like building a house of cards, with the structure occasionally collapsing under a doubtful or disprovable assumption. Then the process came more to resemble the construction of an arch, in which the structure cannot support itself until the addition of the last piece, the keystone. For Moffat, the keystone appeared to him when he noticed Sandra Smith's birth date, February 14, 1947. A child in the same school in a small town sharing a birthday with another would remember this special coincidence, wouldn't she? Cover up or revenge...these words crossed Moffat's mind.

* * *

"Oh," he whispered. He had found a motive for the recent murder and a group of assumptions that could be supported. How would he collect the proof he would need? Moffat sat motionless for nearly five minutes. Then he picked up the Spring Festival flyer and examined the schedule of Saturday's events and the festival sponsorships.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 69

"This is Sergeant Latham." The watch commander was surprised when Moffat's name appeared on the caller id screen on a Friday night at 9:52. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"Good evening, Sergeant. I would like you to write instructions for tomorrow's day shift and schedule some uniformed officers to carry out several tasks for me."

"Yes, Captain."

"I need someone to contact Catherine Martius and Cheryl Haugen. Tell the two women that officers will pick them up at 1:30. I want you to do the same with Reverend and Mrs. Arthur Pane. Also, contact April Slater in the morning. Have an officer pick up her and her four-year old son at 1:00. Once they have collected these people, have the officers call me for instructions. I'll need the same arrangement for Dr. Neil Zielinski of Mark Twain Community Hospital.

"Got it, sir. Anything else?"

"One more thing. Tell all the officers they will bring these people to the Miner's Flat Spring Festival. It's on the grounds of the high school.

"Yes, sir."

"Have tomorrow's watch commander phone me if there are any problems. Thanks. Have a good night."

"Yes, sir. Good night."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 70

Saturday, May 27

At 7:00 a.m., the star left fielder of Coach Halvorsen's Police Department All Stars pushed himself out of bed, took a very hot shower, pulled on sweatpants and a tee shirt, combed his black hair back from his face and began twenty minutes of stretching. De la Peña reached slowly to the floor, placing his palms down against the carpet, feeling his hamstring tendons lengthening with the slow movement. The television was broadcasting the news. De la Peña listened hopefully for some word of success in the statewide manhunt. Trouble in Iraq and Iran... the Presidential Campaign in Mexico. Then came the disappointing news that Wyman Buck's whereabouts after his visit to a San Gabriel savings and loan late Thursday were a complete mystery. De la Peña twisted and stretched his lower back, then concentrated on his shoulders and neck. He was in a great mood. Both the Chief and Captain Moffat seemed to accept the failure to capture Buck with much more equanimit _y_ than De la Peña could muster. Neither blamed him. This morning, he decided to let go of his own disappointment and enjoy the day. After practice last night, he and his teammates had gone for pizza and beer. This morning they were meeting their opponents at the festival grounds for a pre-game pancake breakfast. De la Peña packed a change of clothes for after the game into his gym bag. He changed into a modified baseball uniform consisting of pinstripe baseball pants, a long sleeve tee shirt, protective gear and cleated shoes. He threw his glove in the bag and set off on what promised to be a very pleasant day.

* * *

Loraine Jamison had taken her morning bath. The effort drained her energy. She sat on the padded bench before her vanity and rested. She intended to do her make up and hair but her mind drifted as she sat. A few minutes passed and the dog Cocoa apparently became concerned. He placed his front paws against the side of her leg, pushing on her quilted robe. Whimpering turned into a bark and Loraine pulled her mind back to the present. She patted his head, stood slowly and walked to the door, opening it and letting him pass through before closing it again.

Across the house, at the kitchen counter, Aaron sat on a stool, a bowl of cereal half eaten before him. He held a cell phone in his right hand, a text message ready to send to Michelle. It said he would leave in a few minutes on his bike for the high school. Aaron heard the dog's license tag tap against the metal loop of its lavender rhinestone collar. He stepped off the stool, bent down and picked it up with his left arm then got back on the stool to finish breakfast.

Aaron was looking forward to the day. He had told his grandmother he couldn't work the Gillis Realty Executives Refreshment Pavilion today because he had volunteered to help staff one of the organization booths. Michelle and his other new friends would be there with him as well as some of their parents. Aaron's sleeping bag, pillow and small toiletries kit were on the couch in the family room. Before he left on his bike, he would borrow his grandmother's car keys and put them in her trunk so he could pick them up later for the campout. Tonight, Aaron and most of the north county teenagers would be sleeping in tents on the football field, each sponsored by friends and family whose contributions were expected to raise $60,000 for the American Cancer Society.

* * *

Back in town, in Miner's Flat's old section, Catherine Martius sat at her kitchen table. She had been up by six but was only now about to eat breakfast. A steaming bowl of oatmeal was before her. She sprinkled three spoons of brown sugar, then poured low fat milk around the sides of the cereal. Allowing the oatmeal to cool, Catherine emptied her Saturday pills from a pink plastic seven-day pill dispenser into her hand then placed them on a cloth napkin. Furosemide, a small white tablet serving as a diuretic; white diamond-shaped amlodipidine to treat pulmonary hypertension; large, rose-colored simvastatin to reduce cholesterol; and yellow digoxin for improvement in pumping ability all were there to treat congestive heart failure. She took them one at a time with a glass of milk then began to slowly eat the oatmeal.

* * *

Five miles away, Catherine's daughter Cheryl dressed in a pink sweat suit jogged through the narrow streets of her neighborhood. She had been meaning to start an exercise program for months now. The normal stress of the job, the extra worries of being interrogated by the police and her life-long problem controlling her weight - these were the reasons she used to convince herself to finally "get off her big butt" and do something healthy for herself. It had been surprisingly easy to get up early. Now twenty-five minutes into the jog, Cheryl slowed to a brisk walk. She enjoyed the morning air and spring flowers - daffodils, pansies and geraniums - decorating the front yards in the neighborhood. When she got back, she would have a healthy breakfast, dust and vacuum the living room and clean the kitchen before dressing and picking up her mother for their day at the Pioneer Days Spring Festival.

* * *

While Catherine's fifty-four year old daughter finished a morning jog, her best friend Martha Pane filled two mugs with coffee and brought them to the kitchen table where the Reverend Pane sat studying the real estate section of the newspaper. Martha watched her husband, eager to know what he was looking for. He raised his head and returned her gaze, unsmiling. When it was obvious she wouldn't ask, he sighed.

"I've made an appointment with an agent. He'll pick us up at four at the festival."

"Do you think he can find us a church already built? It would be nice if we could move the congregation without any disruption."

"No."

Martha thought for a few seconds. "So are we looking for property so we can build a new church? It would be nice if we could find something close."

"No, Martha. We're looking for a new home for ourselves. The church at the strip mall will be fine for now."

"Oh, but Arthur. It's so plain and dreary." It just doesn't seem like a house of worship. It was a karate school before we leased it."

"It will do for now. Let the congregation buy property and build a new church. That's not going to be our concern."

He spoke with the authoritative voice, the one that usually ended any discussion at home or at church. Martha was uneasy. In a timid voice she asked, "Didn't Lewis leave you that money for the church?"

"That money is mine, not the church's."

Martha said nothing. She thought of her friend Mary Jane Franke buried up the hill in the cemetery. What would become of her and so many other friends Martha had seen buried in that beautiful place? Veronica Gillis had received County Planning Commission approval to relocate the graves. Would that still occur if the Reverend didn't use his inheritance to buy back the church?

* * *

Nicholas Conti sat alone at an octagonal oak table in the sunny breakfast nook by the kitchen. Conti's wife was in Redmond, Washington for a series of business meetings. Brenda, the cook/housekeeper had cleared his breakfast dishes and was now working many rooms away, out of earshot. His only son was still in bed. Nicholas had heard Scott come in at 2:05 last night. He had hoped his son would make it an early night because of the need to be at the Festival grounds at 10:30. Conti had been surprised when Scott agreed to work at the booth on the charity arcade that Conti & Associates was sponsoring to raise money for the Food Bank. Scott said yes and without an argument or demanding a bribe. Two other boys, sons of Conti's employees, had committed to working the booth as well and Nicholas knew they were friends of his son. That must have been what did it. Thank heaven for small miracles, as Nicholas' father would say. Conti now had to dress for his special role in the day's activities. First he would tell Brenda to wake Scott at ten. Conti would phone him on his cell ten minutes later--after Scott's anger at being awakened had a chance to dissipate--to make sure he left for the festival by ten twenty five. It wouldn't look good for the boss's son to get there late.

* * *

At the high school, an assortment of structures was going up rapidly. The refreshment tent was the largest. Its assembly was solely the work of the rental company employees. They had politely turned down offers of assistance from the many volunteers who had arrived hours earlier. Rows of steel and canvas booths were growing on the lawn nearest the parking lot. Recreation clubs, social organizations, counseling and medical facilities provided their own squads of volunteers who were attaching banners with their groups' names, taping down plastic tablecloths on folding tables to withstand the breeze and in other ways decorating their individual pieces of choice real estate.

On the grass behind the baseball field, Wade Gillis directed the set up of the Kids' Corral. A party equipment rental firm had started to inflate a huge bouncing castle. Nearby, volunteers arranged bales of straw to section off the small animal petting zoo. Lambs, goats, rabbits, a baby llama and other animals were still in trailers waiting to be relocated to their temporary pens. Wade watched three thin, unshaven men - probably brothers - assemble a merry-go-round. They swore and smoked non-stop but Wade could tell they were doing a competent job. Others would have said Wade was glum. He hadn't been seen to smile by any of the several dozen people with whom he interacted that morning. Deep in his heart, Wade was cheered at the joy the corral would bring to hundreds of children this weekend.

* * *

Back in the Segovia hills, Moffat first stirred after a restful night's sleep. He, Jean and Allison had stayed up late the night before "catching up." Mom and Dad delighted in hearing about their daughter's job and life and at having their small family reunited, though it had only been a month since they were last together in Sacramento. Allison, as always, was interested in her father's current investigations. She insisted on all the details of Buck's escape including the accident and his removal of the Ruger from the trunk. This was the first time Jean had heard the more perilous aspects of the car chase and accident, but she made no comment. Allison approved of her Mother's small job helping Mrs. Grubb research the 1970 murder. Moffat guessed the two of them, during their daily phone calls, had discussed Jean's need to find new ways to spend her spare time. He thought it would be a worthwhile topic for later in the weekend since he was sure Allison would not encourage a return to extensive real estate activities for her mother. For his part, Moffat mentioned that he would have to take care of a few police matters during the day but that he would handle them by phone and on the spot at the festival. We three will still have the entire day together, he promised them.

When Moffat came downstairs, the table was set for breakfast on the patio. The morning sun lit grass and oak-covered hills to the left as well as newly green vineyards below and to the right. Moffat smiled thinking whatever else Jean may wish to change in her life, it wouldn't be this place. His wife and daughter were talking and laughing as they brought the meal to the table. It looked fairly healthy: scrambled eggbeaters with low fat cheddar, slices of turkey bacon and a large bowl of sliced strawberries, apples and oranges, but there were also fresh baked biscuits and Jean's homemade pineapple jam.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 71

It was after eleven when Moffat turned the Highlander into the entrance of the Miner's Flat High School student parking lot. Like the rest of the campus the lot was spacious and beautifully landscaped. Still, it was nearly full from the event crowd. A uniformed policeman waved to Moffat and directed him to a parking space very near the path to the festival from which a teen age volunteer was removing a temporary barrier.

"Look," Jean said, stepping out of the SUV. "There is Norma and Ralph's motor home. Let's wait for them."

In the distance, Moffat saw Jean's aunt standing behind the vehicle signaling Ralph who was at the wheel, his head thrust out of the window. Though their voices were unintelligible at the distance, Norma was obviously attempting to guide Ralph into two spaces intended for normal sized automobiles. It didn't appear to be going well. Ralph pulled forward and backed up twice, each time coming perilously close first to a car on the left then one on the right. On his third try, Ralph managed to center the motor home evenly between both cars then continued to back up onto the concrete curb surrounding a planter directly behind him, knocking down a young oak that was positioned between two wooden support poles, surrounded by ivy. Ralph swore - they could make that out clearly - then pulled forward three feet.

"Maybe we should go ahead," Jean suggested. "We can find them later."

Moffat and Jean each took one of Allison's hands and the three walked around the school building toward the temporary festival grounds. "Just like the old days, isn't it dear?" Moffat said to Jean.

"Well, I don't think we have to worry so much about her running away from us this morning." Turning to Allison, Jean said "It used to take both of us to keep you under control."

"I think you might have mentioned that once or twice," Allison said laughing.

The open space behind the facility, including basketball courts and grass-covered athletic fields, was filled with festival activities. The biggest part of the crowd occupied the bleachers for a softball game. They walked toward the field. Allison read the score on a modern electronic scoreboard that would have been the envy of most minor league professional baseball clubs. "Your team is behind, Dad. It's nine to six. It's still the fourth inning, though."

"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 Club 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 interest. 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?"

Cheryl sat motionless in her chair. She did not respond. At this time, Moffat signaled the policewoman behind Haugen, with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head. She leaned away and whispered into a radio microphone. Immediately, at the entrance of the tent, April Slater walked in and crossed the grass to a four-person table in a direct line with Cheryl Haugen's view over Moffat's right shoulder. Three steps behind April, Brandon Fat walked carrying with his left arm, four year old Ethan, the boy's arms and legs outstretched as he pretended to fly. A SpongeBob backpack hung from Fat's right hand.

"Let me continue, now, Mrs. Haugen. You had a lifelong rivalry with the victim. As I said, you had the angry confrontation in the café. I believe you were at the scene of the murder. You had access to the murder weapon. And, you have demonstrated a pattern of deception in this investigation. I believe the District Attorney will find these to be sufficient grounds to bring an indictment. Once more, will you tell me what you did after phoning Mrs. Gillis' office and learning she was at the church just two miles from your home?"

Cheryl had been looking more and more fearful throughout Moffat's speech. She sighed.

"I have been lying. But I didn't kill Ronnie. I did drive over there. I parked around the corner because I didn't want my mother to see my car from Major Franke's house. I walked to the church grounds. Yes, I passed that cute little kid. He saw me. I waved. Then I heard the shot. I kept going--I don't know why--and there she was. She was lying there on the ground. I stopped and turned back."

"How did you know she was dead?"

"I could tell she wasn't breathing. I could see the bullet wound." Haugen voice cracked. She sobbed.

"How close did you get to her?"

Cheryl looked scared again. "I never got close. I stayed on the path."

"You didn't think to call an ambulance."

"No." Cheryl was crying, softly, with weak moans.

Moffat signaled Fat. He picked up the child in his arms and left with the mother.

"You're story is hard to believe, Mrs. Haugen," Moffat said. "Unless you are covering for someone else." He turned now to Catherine Martius. "Are you prepared to see your daughter charged with murder?"

Catherine shook her head softly. "No," she said in a low voice. "I am not."

From behind the counter nearest them, Donna Ferguson gasped.

"Mother! What are you saying?" Cheryl said, her voice cracking.

Catherine looked at Cheryl, confused. "Didn't you see me?"

"No," Cheryl said plaintively.

Catherine sighed. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. What would you like to know, Captain?"

"Mrs. Martius, how did you come to have the murder weapon?"

"I saw it in her purse on the table when she opened it at the house. She had the nerve to snoop, taking photographs of Lewis' home like she was going to sell it out from under him."

"So you followed her to the church, found an opportunity to take the weapon from her purse, and then shot her?"

"Yes."

"And then what?"

"I threw the gun up into the middle of a bush and went back to Lewis' house."

"Mrs. Martius, you've never done anything like this in your life, have you?"

She laughed half-heartedly. "No. I surprised myself. I didn't think I would be able to. But she was so horrid to my daughter at the restaurant and then to Martha at Lewis' house, I knew I could. It was what I needed."

"You had wanted to kill Ronnie Gillis before that day, is that correct?"

"Yes. After all these years..." She put her face in her hands.

Moffat turned to still another person at the table.

"Mr. Pane?"

Pane grimaced at Moffat's failure, for the second time today, to use his title.

"Mr. Moffat?"

"Would you be willing to tell your part of the truth at this time?"

"I have nothing to say," Pane said, firmly, gruffly.

"Let me ask some questions that cannot fall under the clergyman's privilege. In 1969, when you came back to this country from Vietnam, you experienced a kind of nervous disorder, isn't that true?"

"It was a difficult transition."

"Did you meet Mr. Rees at that time?"

"No."

"Did you meet Mr. Franke at that time?"

"No."

"Who is Albert Pane?"

Arthur Pane clenched his teeth. His wife looked completely puzzled.

"He was my brother."

"Did he serve in the military?"

"No."

"And yet he was twenty years old on May 15, 1970. His number in the draft lottery placed him at position number twenty for that year. Why didn't he serve?"

"He left the county. For Canada."

"But he didn't get to Canada, did he?"

"No. The police stopped him."

"At the border in Oroville, Washington. How did they know where to find him?"

Pane glared at Moffat "I turned him in. It wasn't right. I couldn't ignore it. I told him he had to serve. He told me to fuck off."

"So you never saw your brother again?"

"No. Nor my parents. They should have talked him out of it. What he did was unforgivable."

"Unforgivable." Moffat repeated the word, examining Pane's stony expression.

"Thank you, Reverend."

Moffat turned to Loraine Jamison. "Will you tell us about the events of 1970?"

"I have nothing to say, Captain," she said, borrowing the preacher's words.

"All right." Moffat repeated his own words. "Mrs. Martius, will you tell us about your real motivation for killing Veronica Gillis?"

"It just was fair. A daughter for a daughter. But then it really didn't make things equal. She had so many more years with hers."

"When did Lewis Franke tell you about the circumstances of your daughter's death?"

"It was the Sunday, a week before he died. He didn't tell me. That is, he thought he was speaking to Martha. He was miserable in spirit. He had confessed to the preacher and instead of forgiveness and consolation, Pane wanted money. As sick as he was, Lewis could tell the difference between an act of contrition and payment of blackmail. Those were his words. He told me it felt like Reverend Pane was blackmailing him. I encouraged him to tell me the truth. He told me about how they killed my first-born child at the very start of her adult life. You were right about one thing, Reverend Pane. It was unforgivable. They were cheating. My daughter caught them. When Sandra refused to go along with it, she shot her."

"Franke told you that Mrs. Jamison killed your daughter Sandra Smith?"

"Yes. He did."

"And so in revenge, you killed Veronica Gillis?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't. It didn't help. It made things worse. I acted completely on my own. Cheryl, I am so sorry."

Cheryl sobbed. Her mother comforted her with an arm around her shoulder.

Moffat saw Aaron appear behind the counter with Michelle Tremblay, the two joining a girl their age who had been serving refreshments. They moved closer to the corner near Moffat's group, close enough to hear. The police had created a barrier between this section and the rest of the tent, which was still busy with patrons and volunteers. Moffat called the younger of the two male officers to his side and whispered in his ear. That officer stepped back and spoke to another officer. The first joined Aaron and Michelle. The second left then returned almost immediately with Dr. Zielinski. He took the doctor back behind the counter with the others.

The only sound at the table for the past several minutes were Cheryl's sobs muffled in her mother's shoulder and the scratching of De la Peña's pen across the pages of his notebook.

Moffat began again. "Mrs. Jamison, I'd like you to tell us about how you made sure your eldest son would avoid the draft in 1970. You didn't need to follow any of Mr. Rees' suggestions, did you?"

"Captain, I am not going to say a word. James, would you phone John Neville in Sacramento? Have him come to Segovia. I expect he can meet me at the police station. Now, Captain, before I leave, let me point out that all you have against me is a wild story concocted by my elderly schoolmate here. Catherine, I don't know why you have made up such a story, but I promise you..."

"I didn't make it up, Lorraine." She lifted her purse onto the table and patted the side with her left hand. "I have proof."

"What do you have, Mrs. Martius?" Moffat asked.

"A cassette tape. I may not be able to operate a cell phone or VCR, but I can still use a cassette recorder." She pulled a cassette from her purse and displayed it to the others. "Here you are, Captain. Lewis Franke confessing that he and Loraine killed my daughter. It is undeniable, Lorraine."

De la Peña took the tape from the older woman. Moffat lowered his forehead into his left hand, staring at a point on the table before him.

Catherine leaned toward Lorraine. "Dear, we're old, not very healthy, not very happy. Tell us the whole truth, like he says. Tell it and let's be done with it."

Loraine sighed.

Rees said "Lorraine. No."

She patted him on the arm. "It's all right, James. Catherine is right. Let's have it out." She turned directly to Moffat.

"You know, I didn't pay as much attention to that war as I should have. In my heart I knew it was a stupid thing being done by stupid men. I thought I could keep my boy out of it. But then they ended deferments and announced the lottery. And then more boys were killed and it was so horrible. I didn't know what I would do, but the first thing I did was hire a private investigator. I thought I would need some bargaining chips with Lewis Franke. That was easy. The fool had been pretending he was a great hero. He had never left the States. When my son got the bad lottery number, I gave Franke $4,000 and promised to keep quiet about his lie. He changed the birth date on Gregory's papers. It was easy. No one should have known. Somehow, she found out. She phoned me, acting like she was just checking up on a clerical error. I called Lewis. We met her at the office. We tried to get her to accept $1,000, then $2,000. She knew the war was wrong but she wouldn't take the money. I couldn't allow her to expose what we had done. It was more than the draft now. I would be charged with a crime, I knew. How could I ever have done business in the county once people learned I had cheated? I couldn't let her leave. I pulled the gun from my purse and shot her. It was so quick. She never felt a thing."

Mrs. Jamison turned to Mrs. Martius. "But you see, Catherine, when you killed Ronnie, I already did know what it was like to lose a child. Gregory was killed less than two years later. I'm not superstitious. I knew better but somehow in my heart I always felt it was the payback for Sandra. I'm sorry."

Aaron called out. A single word, "No." Moffat heard the pain in his voice and saw it on his face before he turned away leaning on Dr. Zielinski's shoulder. Moffat's expression hardened. He looked directly into Lorraine's eyes.

"They shared the same birth date, Sandra and Gregory. That's how she knew."

Jamison dropped her head. "Oh."

"Loraine Jamison, I am arresting you for the murder of Sandra Smith. Officer Lang, would you read Mrs. Jamison her rights?" Turning to Catherine, he said "Catherine Martius, I am arresting you for the murder of Veronica Gillis. Sergeant, please read Mrs. Martius her rights." Finally he said "Cheryl Haugen, I am arresting you for obstruction of justice. Officer Duncan, please read Mrs. Haugen her rights."

Moffat leaned back in his chair, watching the activity in the room. First, Zielinski walked a badly shaken Aaron out through the back exit of the tent. Two police officers took Cheryl out, followed by two others escorting her mother and another two holding each of Loraine's arms as they walked her through the same path to the back exit.

Martha Pane dabbed tears from her eyes. Her husband glowered at the tabletop. Rees looked shell-shocked. De la Peña rejoined the people remaining at the table.

"Mister Pane," Moffat said. "I wouldn't plan to spend that inheritance just yet. I'm going to turn this over to the District Attorney. He may wish to charge you with obstruction as well. Either way, it will have a bearing if Mr. Franke's niece files a civil suit."

Moffat stood. De la Peña and Rees stood too, almost without thinking. Moffat patted Rees' shoulder.

"It's unbelievable," the older man said.

"I'll leave you to pick up the pieces here, Mr. Rees," Moffat said. "You've got a refreshment tent to run and, on Monday, a company. It's not my job to worry about all that, but I wish you luck."

Moffat turned and now placed his arm on De la Peña's shoulder. They walked across the tent, through nearly two dozen people, joining Jean and Allison still seated at their original table.

"Sergeant, shall we give ourselves the rest of the weekend off?"

De la Peña shook his head, looking mystified, then nodded. "Yes, boss, that sounds great."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 74

Loose Ends

Through Saturday night and into Sunday repercussions flowed from the resolution of Moffat's two cases, affecting the investigators, the guilty and the innocent. Of all the innocents, Aaron was the most impacted. His life, which improved so rapidly when his grandmother suddenly took an active role after he brought a loaded gun to school, now was shattered once again. With his mother out of the country, Zielinski took him home and guided him through the first hours of shock and grief. With his knowledge of the boy acquired in twelve days of treatment, this time Zielinski chose not to administer a drug - no sedative or sleeping pill. During the remaining daylight hours Saturday, he left him to himself for a while then pulled him out in the late afternoon for a long walk, mostly in silence. They spent the evening listening to music. After a difficult night, Aaron ate a light breakfast. He asked to have his grandmother's dog brought to him. Zielinski and Aaron spent an hour in the doctor's home office engaged in a heartfelt discussion. Afterwards, Aaron seemed even sadder. They went for another long walk. Then Aaron was left alone with his music and the dog. Zielinski was satisfied with Aaron's progress in the short amount of time but his future was unknown and worrisome.

Independently and with different motivation, Loraine Jamison and Catherine Martius declined to request that bail be set. Mrs. Jamison spent much of her time Sunday working with her attorney on arrangements for Aaron's future. She did not wish to see her assets drained by bail bond cost and legal fees and said to her attorney that she would like to plead guilty in whatever deal he could work out for her. Mrs. Martius did not have the financial means to post a bond or, she thought, hire an attorney. She requested a public defender but a friend of Cheryl's came to the police station volunteering to represent both of them. On her own, Catherine had come to the conclusion that she would receive whatever punishment Lorraine would and so she convinced him that she would like to plea bargain. What resources she did have she wished to use in her daughter's defense.

Knowing her mother was nearby Saturday night gave Cheryl some consolation. She remained dumfounded by her mother's confession and strangely satisfied knowing that Lorraine had been charged with Sandra's murder. Cheryl was charged and released without bail on Sunday morning. Her thirty-year-old daughter spent the day with her and was perturbed before noon when Cheryl donned a gray exercise outfit and set out on a jog. After a shower, change of clothes and a light lunch, Cheryl insisted on helping her daughter pack for the family's move to Colorado.

Early Saturday evening, through a phone call from James Rees, Wade Gillis was informed of his mother-in-law's arrest and Catherine Martius' confession to his wife's murder. Gillis asked no questions of Rees. He returned to his pool house weight room for a ninety -minute session then remembered to feed the dog. He wondered briefly where his nephew was but assumed the police were taking care of him. Sunday morning, at 7:30, Gillis phoned Rees and said he wanted to sell his share of the business and his home as soon as possible. He said he was going to move to southern California. He wanted to rent a condo on the beach.

Rees was up early Sunday. The employees of Gillis Realty Executives were committed to opening the refreshment pavilion at eleven and operating it through close of the festival at 5:00. With thirty-five years in sales, Rees' knowledge of human nature led him to expect a huge crowd. To that end, he conscripted his life partner and their daughter to work the tent today. He promised them dinner out afterwards and the long-secret story of his Vietnam War experience and antiwar activities.

Also on Sunday morning, in her large kitchen, Martha Pane prepared oatmeal and toast for breakfast. She had said very little since yesterday afternoon. For the first time in their married life, she chose to make no effort to view a problem or controversy from her husband's side. She was disgusted that he had tried to take advantage of her friend Lewis' guilt for his own benefit. Like an irresistible flirtation, she found herself thinking of what Captain Moffat must think of Arthur's behavior. Moffat was so decent and kind. He had had to be hard on her that day at the café. She understood now. Captain Moffat must see Arthur as a heartless, greedy, selfish man. Oh, and how must Lewis have felt when Arthur withheld the words of God's forgiveness? Martha thought of their daughter and then of all the nameless others Arthur had condemned because they were gay, divorced, Catholic, Mormon, Moslem...the list didn't end, she realized. Reverend Pane ate his meal in sullen silence. That is to say, he was his usual self. Later, the church service in the strip mall, in an indication of things to come, attendance fell significantly from the previous week.

Without planning, De la Peña found himself celebrating many things Saturday night. He met the gang from the singles complex at Whelan's Pub downtown. Jason was quickly the center of attention as his friends, other patrons and, of course, Mr. Whelan himself demanded to know the details of the pursuit of Buck and the outcome of Moffat's extraordinary convocation of the Gillis suspects at the festival.

Another matter drew people to De la Peña's table. The pub sponsored its own softball team in a Segovia City league and news of De la Peña's performance in the morning's game at the Spring Festival had reached its Saturday night regulars. Those who had watched wanted to relive De la Peña's exciting plays in the field and at bat. De la Peña happily accommodated them. Before the night was through, he was drafted to play left field for Whelan's Celtics - pronounced with a hard 'C.'

* * *

De la Peña was snoozing soundly and would continue to do so for two more hours when Moffat and Allison set the table for breakfast in the sun-drenched deck at the back of the house at the vineyard. In the center of the round table, next to a thermos pitcher of coffee, Allison placed a crystal bowl of colorful sliced fresh fruit. She and her father took their seats and watched Jean come from the kitchen with a large bacon, avocado and tomato quiche.

"Maybe you won't be so preoccupied this morning now that you've solved both cases," she said, serving a slice of quiche to Moffat "I prefer that you concentrate on my cooking rather than murder."

"Oh, Mom," Allison said, "I think he planned the whole thing for my benefit. I'm the only girl I know whose father can stage a real murder mystery weekend for her."

"I can't promise this for every visit." Moffat laughed then gazed at the same view from the previous morning. It was more enjoyable today. He exhaled, feeling a wave of relaxation. He took the first bite of the quiche. It was delicious.

"Your father and Jason are going running this morning. What shall we do, Allison?" Jean asked.

Moffat held up a finger, took a sip of coffee then said "You could go horseback riding." Apparently it was the old man's best idea in months.

* * *

While De la Peña and Moffat were midway though a 10K run from the outskirts of Segovia across the Calaveras River on a trail winding in and out of oak groves, Dr. Lisa McDonald worked with her staff to identify the human remains that had been arriving in her laboratory since Friday from Wyman Buck's remote ranch. When they saw the bones sticking up from the mud in Buck's drained pond an overwhelming curiosity seized McDonald and her three assistants. Lisa knew families scattered around the United States were waiting anxiously for the results of her analysis. Her staff responded to her offer of "unpaid overtime" and reported to work at 7:00 a.m. Saturday and again on Sunday. Officer Melissa Peake joined them both days and was put to work trying to locate dental records of all the women on Moffat's list. Other police investigators leapt at the opportunity to close out some of their most frustrating missing persons cases. More records were hand delivered from as far away as the Bay Area and Las Vegas. McDonald's staff performed DNA analysis as well in anticipation of the need to confirm dental identification or in some cases, identify the person through DNA alone. By Sunday afternoon, the forensic investigators had identified five of the nine individuals whose remains had so far been recovered. Amy Elaine Price, the subject of the letter to the editor that Raymond Sato pulled from the files on May 14th, was the second person to be identified as one of Wyman Buck's victims. McDonald prepared a draft memorandum she would send to Moffat Monday morning. So far they had identified:

Beth Murray 1980

Colleen Burns 1986

Christine Shaw 1989

Mindy Rice 1995

Amy Price 2003

Early tomorrow she would update the memo with whatever information her staff managed to gather in the remaining hours of the weekend.

At five, McDonald left her office and returned home to get ready for the Segovia County Public Service Awards Banquet that would begin in two hours.

* * *

Moffat was not overly fond of banquets but, like the Spring Festival Softball game, the Segovia Public Service Awards Dinner came just once a year. Chief Halvorsen was being honored with the Ernest Houston Award for Excellence in Management, named for the mid-century public servant whose widow provided the endowment to fund the banquet. Moffat did not want to miss that. He knew also that Jean enjoyed these events. She was in a very good mood and looked spectacular in an ice blue Donna Karan gown. At 6:40 Sunday evening, Alexander and Jean left for the Community Auditorium and Allison set off for Sacramento. Fifteen minutes later, Moffat drove the Highlander to the main entrance. Handing his key to the young valet, he took Jean's arm and they walked into the outer room of the banquet hall where they met George Doyle and the honoree Halvorsen himself.

"Here he is Doyle," Halvorsen shouted. "The man who made the streets of Segovia County safe. Sure he spent 1500 man hours and demolished the budget but he managed to lock up two of the most dangerous seventy five year old grandmothers you could ever come across."

"Magnificent work, Moffat," Doyle grinned, shaking Moffat's hand and hugging him at the same time. He turned to Jean. "Careful, dear. Don't laugh. He may slap the cuffs on you next. There's no telling what this dynamo will do."

Jean greeted the current Mrs. Doyle and the current Mrs. Halvorsen and the six walked together to the dining room. Doyle excused himself to sit with his county government department heads at the table front and center. Moffat and Jean followed Halvorsen to the table reserved for the police captains, their spouses and Mrs. Grubb. Jean and Evelyn acted as though they hadn't just spent much of Friday and Saturday together. They hugged and whispered, nodding and smiling. Jean glanced at Moffat with a curious look. Then, with the noise of a hundred and fifty voices in the background, Halvorsen pulled Moffat several feet away from the others.

"I've got a proposition for you Alex." Moffat turned his gaze to the Chief's face. Halvorsen gulped, a slight slip of his usual composure. "Where do I start? I've spoken to Judge Scholz and District Attorney Evans again. Jamison's lawyer contacted them with an unusual request. At her age and state of health, she doesn't seem to care so much about what happens to her. Her big concern is the well being of her grandson. She's asking - and I think it's an excellent idea - for you to become the boy's guardian."

Moffat froze. Staring at the Chief, he replayed his words in his mind, making sure he had understood. "They can't be serious. Why me? I'll have to give evidence against her."

"Well, no. There won't be a trial. She's going to plead guilty. What can I say? You made a good impression on her. You nailed her on a 36-year-old crime but she still likes you. And respects you."

"So Jean and I are part of the plea bargain?"

"Look, Alex. You're still young. It's only for a couple of years and then he goes off to college. Think about it, won't you?"

Think about it. Moffat repeated the words in his mind. The Chief acted like it was the most routine of suggestions--that a homicide investigator take in the ward of an accused killer. "I'll have to talk to Jean. This will take a lot of thought."

Halvorsen smiled. "Yes, well, Jean's already in favor of the idea. While you were off running around the mountain I had Evelyn phone her. I think the boy and his situation aroused her maternal instinct. But you think about it."

Moffat began to move back toward the table. Halvorsen had regained his usual sense of personal power. He grasped Moffat's shoulder, halting his progress. "I'll help you work it out. Let's look. What are the pros and cons?"

Moffat smiled. After six months and especially these last two weeks, he found it remarkable that this town could still surprise him. The most powerful members of the county government had decided what was best for those involved in the matter and laws, regulations and people's arms would be twisted to accomplish their plans. Yet, it didn't anger him. Segovia County's unusual, paternalistic approach to this and other problems was heartwarming in its own way. So what are the pros and cons, he thought. The strongest argument in favor of the proposal was that it would assuage his guilt over being the force behind Aaron's current predicament. On Friday night, when he understood how the pursuit of the truth would play out, he almost felt it would have been better to let the two ladies get away with their crimes rather than cause Aaron's life to fall apart so soon after it seemed to be on solid footing.

Halvorsen watched Moffat deep in thought and chuckled. "I know what you're thinking. It's the sad part of this whole business. I guess I'm trying to get you to ease my conscience."

Moffat thought about it. The idea did appeal to him. Why not? He had grown to like the boy through their interactions. Aaron didn't seem like he would present the typical challenges of a teenager. Certainly not the headaches Allison gave them in her early teen years. Then he laughed. "I've thought of a downside. He's almost sixteen. I'd have to teach him to drive. I haven't gotten over Allison's lessons yet."

A broad smile spread across the Chief's face. "Don't worry about that, Alex. I have a feeling De la Peña or Fat will volunteer to carry out that assignment." They started back toward the table. Halvorsen said, "I'll tell Jamison's lawyer you'll consider it. Judge Scholz will talk to the boy's mother as soon as she gets back from her cruise. I think it could work out."

Moffat sat next to Jean. He smiled and squeezed her hand. They were immediately engaged in the lively conversation of the table. An hour later, after a filet mignon dinner and an uproarious presentation and acceptance of the Ernest Houston Management Excellence Award, the band began to play. The third song was _Oye Como Va_. Jean and Alex, trophy winners in the Cha Cha from twenty years ago, moved quickly to the dance floor.

Jean gave Moffat a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry I didn't warn you, dear. They made me promise. Halvorsen said it was the kind of thing for a 'man-to-man' talk."

"I don't mind. He likes to get his way and he does mean well. Let's go home and talk it through."

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER 75

Final Words

On May 26, Tashara gave birth to an enormous baby boy, 22 inches and 11 pounds 14 ounces. Name: Jason Joshua Travis.

In the following days and weeks, other consequences of the two cases played out.

Moffat took the owner of DoggieAncestory.com to the lunch he was promised by Dr. McDonald. Brandon Fat joined them.

Cristina Melanakos received the Distinguished Service Award for her undercover work that led to the arrest of the drug dealers within the Miner's Flat High School student body and, more importantly, their suppliers. She transferred soon after to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department.

Scott Conti pled guilty, cooperated with prosecutors and received a suspended sentence. His college plans were de-railed. His parents would enroll him at Segovia Community College for a two-year program with the hopes of transferring him to a big name school later, probably one where money counted for more than qualifications. These ideas went through Nicholas Conti's mind following the judge's sentencing.

The bodies identified from Buck's ranch exceeded Moffat's expectation. In all, 11 Segovia cases were closed--including Nicole Davies assault, the rape and the indecent exposure--and one from Inyo County. The remains were turned over to the next of kin. At least their loved ones gained closure, Moffat supposed, but he thought that it would not help much. He preferred to think about the lives saved by stopping Buck, he hoped, for good. Unfortunately, there was still no trace of Wyman Buck, dead or alive.

The Ledger Dispatch published exclusive stories on Moffat's investigation of Buck's crimes and the Gillis/Smith murders. The former, naturally, received the most attention. It was picked up by newspapers all over the country, including Moffat's hometown Sacramento Bee. This led to phone calls from Moffat's old friends on or retirees from the Sacramento Police Department. A recurring joke was that Moffat was a magnet for serial killers. Moffat hoped this was the last one he would encounter.

Kim McLean, the 32-year-old undercover police officer loaned to Segovia to bait the trap for Wyman Buck, returned to the Sonora Sheriff's Department with a commendation from Halvorsen and a big IOU from him to her Sheriff.

On the subject of Aaron, Moffat and Jean found they didn't have much more to talk about Sunday night after the banquet. They both liked the idea. On Monday, Allison and Jean talked about it by phone straight through Allison's lunch hour and for another forty-five minutes in the evening. Allison had had the same reaction as Jean to Aaron's life story and seeing him at the refreshment tent in such distress so soon after meeting him at the PFLAG booth when he was so happy - it tugged at her heart too. She thought that taking in this boy would do her mother some good. Allison knew her mother was an excellent businesswoman but she had even more respect for her as a parent. Even if the old man worked too many long hours, she knew her mother would succeed in giving Aaron the parenting he would need as he finished growing up. Allison also agreed that she would take a role as well, although she claimed to be a "spoiled only child" and would need some time to adjust.

When Dawn Miller returned from her cruise - the best and only real vacation of her life - she was confronted with a startling turnaround. The judge talked to her again, the same one who had persuaded her to turn over custody of Aaron to his grandmother. This time it was to be to a couple of strangers. She wasn't so sure about it. Then she met Jean and spent an afternoon at the house.

Dawn talked to Aaron that night. She told him about Jean and said she was so nice Dawn would like to be adopted along with him. Dawn told Aaron that her own mother hadn't done such a great job with her and that she knew she hadn't been the best mother for Aaron. Maybe Jean could straighten us both out, she told him. These words made Aaron so sad that turned away and couldn't speak for a few minutes. Eventually he agreed to do what his mother and grandmother wanted.

It was determined that Aaron would move in with Alex and Jean in a few days, as soon as Dr. Zielinski thought he had progressed enough in the grieving process. Aaron was glad to have the summer to get used to the "big city" of Segovia before he had to face the prospect of starting a new school. He laughed at himself thinking that after what he had done and what had happened to him at Miner's Flat High School, he couldn't have withstood the embarrassment of going back there in the fall. There's only so much you can pretend to suck up and still face the world. That day at the Festival was more than he felt he could live down. People must think the whole family is crazy. Anyway, he could start all over at Kennedy High. It's hard to make new friends but it beat the alternative. Besides, somebody had said something about him learning to drive. Ever the optimist, Aaron soon began to look forward to his move.

* * *

Having found a home for Aaron, Chief Halvorsen looked to his other "pet" project. He was determined to find families for the dogs the police had liberated from Buck's kennels. They were now at the Segovia Animal Shelter and had created a temporary glut of dogs for adoption, threatening the resources of the tiny operation. Officers Fat, Peake and even Schoenberg, but not Lang, each ended up with a curly haired pup, as did Doyle and a dozen other members of the county administration. Moffat escaped the fate of schnauzer owner, but not because he had taken in Aaron. Loraine's poodle Cocoa came with the teenager. Moffat told the chief that was enough to ask of the Moffat household.

# # #
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