Max waited for me to finish, but I went silent. I couldn’t explain what I wasn’t sure I truly understood.
He glanced over at me, his face etched in sadness. “Clara, maybe you should think about what you want out of life,” he said. “As for me, I know: I want to give us a real shot, the one that was stolen from us all those years ago.”
“But how can we—” I started.
“We can if you want to,” he said. “As for the others, Ardeth will come around. The folks in town will come around, maybe not all of them but most of them. And you’re probably right—solving the case would be a big step toward getting that done.”
“It will.” I heard uncertainty in my voice, as if I were trying to convince myself. Still, I insisted, “I believe that.”
“Good.” Max sighed, and when I glanced over, he looked relieved. The thought occurred to me that he’d been wanting to say those words to me for a very long time. “What worries me is how to calm things down in the interim,” he said.
“People have the right to protest.”
“I know, but—”
“Max, let’s just work the case,” I said, determined to keep focused. “I promise that we’ll figure the rest out later. Okay?”
That didn’t appear to put his concerns to rest. “I don’t like these demonstrations. They could get out of hand.”
I didn’t like them either, but I swallowed my feelings and changed the subject. “You didn’t say if you heard anything from your guy in Mexico? Did he get back to you about Carl?”
Max pulled out his phone and checked emails. “Not yet. They’re busy with their own work, I’m sure. Whenever I’ve dealt with them before, it’s been pretty hit-and-miss.”
“Maybe give him a call,” I suggested.
Max sat quietly for a moment, and I wondered if he wanted to say more about us and the decision I hadn’t yet made, or if he was still worried about the protesters. But instead he placed the call. “Hola, señor,” he said, when the guy answered. “Tienes algunas información para mí sobre los amigos Jacob Johansson y Carl Shipley?”
While the guy talked, Max kept nodding and going, “Si… si…” I didn’t know Max spoke Spanish, and I was impressed. Although I wouldn’t have understood all of it, most likely just snatches, I wished I could have listened in. Max focused intently, and I had the sense it could be important. The conversation went on for ten minutes or so.
“Spill it,” I said when he hung up, eager to hear.
“Well, that was pretty interesting. The guy I was talking to works for the local cop shop in the town down the mountain from El Pueblo de Elijah. He’s the top guy in the station.” Max stopped talking and shook his head. “This is all pretty crazy.”
“And he said?” I prodded.
“They’ve had a lot of problems with the folks living in El Pueblo over the years. Infighting within the sect has sometimes led to violence. Some of it against women and families. The local cops tend to ignore it, because they get no cooperation when they do try to investigate. The town is clannish, circles the wagons when anything happens and won’t assist local authorities,” Max said.
“That sound like any of the folks we know?” I asked, the question rhetorical. “Any of the violence tied to the Johansson family?”
“Not that the guy knows of,” Max said. “They had no issues with Jacob, but Carl Shipley was a frequent problem. He left El Pueblo and drove down to the town, often on his own, where he drank and harassed people. Multiple women complained that he hassled them. He got into a couple of bar fights. They locked Carl up one time, kept him for a few days before Jacob showed up with money to get Carl out.”
“He paid a fine?” I asked.
“I think the guy was suggesting that Jacob paid a bribe,” Max said. “Anyway, things really blew up about a year ago, when Carl started pestering a woman named Señora Maria Sanchez Mendoza. Turns out this señora is the wife of a powerful local politician. Her husband noticed Carl watching the house from the street, taking photos through the windows.”
“This all sure sounds eerily familiar,” I remarked. “What happened?”
“The politician stormed the police station demanding Carl’s arrest. This time they couldn’t ignore the charges. The police drove up the mountain to the pueblo, but when they got there, Carl, Jacob and his family, they were all gone. The folks in the pueblo said that Carl and the Johanssons had moved back to El Norte and assured the local cops that none of them would return.”
“Maybe that was the reason Jacob agreed to return, not Michael and Reba’s need for someone to run the bison ranch, but Carl’s need to get out of Mexico?” I speculated.
“Sounds like it,” Max agreed. “The timing is pretty definitive, I would think.”
I considered what we’d just learned. “So, we know that Laurel wasn’t Carl’s first obsession,” I said. “But your contact didn’t say anything about him going past the photographs, beyond pestering the women?”
“No,” Max said. “That’s it. No assaults or other types of harassment.”
“That would be a big jump, from stalking to committing four murders,” I said. “But it’s not unheard of.”
“No,” Max agreed. “Unfortunately, it’s not.”
I’d turned off the highway and was headed toward Carl’s trailer, but as I drove by the MRJ Ranch, I noticed one of my department’s squad cars parked out on the road watching the house. I wondered what was up, until I saw the long white van with shaded windows in the driveway: the van my family owned. “Who do you think is at the ranch?” I asked Max, although I had my own suspicions.
“Naomi, maybe? That’s odd,” he said. “Is that the squad you have watching over Jeremy? You think she has the baby inside with her?”
“Yup,” I said. “I think that’s exactly what’s going on.”
I turned in, waved at the officer in the squad, and parked next to the van. Out of the back seat, I grabbed the bag I’d filled with Jeremy’s things. At the front door, I knocked. We waited. No one answered. I knocked again, this time shouting, “Mother Naomi, you need to open the door. It’s Clara and Max Anderson.”
Nothing. “You think she’s in there?” Max asked.
I took another look at the van. It had to be her. “Let’s try the side door.”
The third time I pounded, the door eased open so gradually that I didn’t realize it was moving until the hinges squeaked. I saw a thin slice of her face. “Mother Naomi,” I said. “I know you’re in there, now please, open this door.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“We want to know what you’re doing here,” I said. “And why do you have Jeremy? He’s supposed to be with Jacob’s sister and her family.”
Naomi sighed and opened the door all the way. She had on an old dress and big rubber boots and gloves. “They’re busy planning the funerals. I offered to babysit and get the house ready for Jacob to come home.” Naomi looked piqued, one eyebrow higher than the other. “How is this any business of yours, Clara?”
“This is a crime scene, and although it’s been released, everything that happens at this house right now is our concern,” I said. “Why are you the one cleaning?”
“I wanted to be of service to Jacob and his parents, and I offered,” she said. “The doctor said that maybe Jacob can come home tomorrow. I didn’t want him returning to an untidy house. Clara, your officers left this place in a mess. I wish they’d cleaned up. The blood was all over the kitchen and Laurel’s room.”
Max gave her a strange look and then came right out and said it: “Naomi, how is this any of your business?”
“Well…” She stopped talking and frowned, her lower lip protruding as testimony to how irritating she found the question. “Because I care about Jacob and his family, and I want to help. I’m being a good neighbor.”
I didn’t believe that for a blink of an eye. “Let us in. We need to talk.”
At first, I thought she’d refuse, but she slipped back an
d opened the door all the way. Right about then, I heard a whimper coming from the kitchen. I pushed forward. Except for the gap left by the missing tiles, the kitchen sparkled. The dishes had all been returned to the cabinets, and on the table sat an infant carrier with a squirming baby. “And here’s Jeremy,” I said, walking over. The little guy scrunched his pug nose, twisted and turned, and I leaned down toward him. He had a dumbbell-shaped rattle in one hand and was kicking his legs and hitting his skinny thighs with it. The poor little guy did look a bit undernourished. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are you the one babysitting? Jacob has a whole pack of family. Someone must be able to help out.”
“None of this is yours to worry about, Clara,” Naomi insisted. “You and Max need to leave me to finish my work.”
“These are Jeremy’s clothes. I’d planned to have them dropped off with his sister, but I gather there’s no need,” I said as I put the bag down on the table. That settled, I stared at her and said: “What’s the deal here? Half of Alber is gossiping that you’ve set your sights on Jacob, planning to pull him into a marriage. That true, Mother Naomi? Is that where this is going?”
Behind her, Max smiled. I had the distinct impression he thought this was more than a little amusing.
“Well, I just thought I could be of service,” Naomi sputtered. “You know, Clara, the family is having a rough time and—”
“I understand that this has been going on for some time, starting before the killings. I hear that Jacob has visited you at the bee shed,” I said.
“Who would tell you such a thing?” Her eyes flashed wide and her mouth dropped open, as if in shock.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” I asked.
“No, well yes, but only once,” she admitted.
“Why was he there?” I demanded.
Her voice got quiet, and she gave me a cold stare, as if challenging me. “He came to buy honey. That’s all. How dare you insinuate anything else!”
From behind her, Max said, “Naomi, if you two have a relationship, there’s nothing wrong with that. But we need to know. We’re trying to put all the pieces of the case together.”
“What does anything I do have to do with the murders?” she asked. “I don’t have to answer these questions. I have a right to my privacy.”
I shook my head. “That’s the thing about a criminal investigation. We don’t know what does and doesn’t matter until things start to link up, so no one has any privacy. Right now, you need to tell the truth. What’s up with you and Jacob Johansson?”
Naomi peeled off the gloves and threw them into the sink, the drain missing. The CSI unit had taken the pipes out to have them tested for blood. “I don’t know why you had to do so much damage to the house,” Naomi groused again. “Jacob is going to have to do a lot of repairing to make this place livable again.”
“Rather inconvenient if you’re planning to move in,” I commented.
Her lips parted, and she appeared ready to chastise me, when she stopped.
I gave her a suspicious glance. “Why aren’t you talking? What are you hiding?” I asked.
She averted her eyes, began picking at her sleeve, pulling off a piece of lint. “Nothing. Nothing.”
“Sit down,” I told her, pointing at a chair. “We’re getting to the bottom of this.”
She hesitated, gave me another of her judgmental looks, but then did as told.
The three of us spent about half an hour talking. Although I tried to get her to open up, Naomi didn’t offer any information. But when I confronted her with what I knew, she confirmed it was true. She’d had her eye on Jacob for months. She saw him as a catch with his big house and the farm, and he seemed interested in her. At least, that was the way she interpreted it when he called her a few times at the house.
“We didn’t see your house number on his phone records,” I mentioned, curious. “But he called you?”
“Always from the car,” Naomi said with a shrug. “It must have been on his cell phone.”
I nodded, and Max asked, “What did he talk to you about?”
“Mainly advice about the children, how to train them to mind and such. Nothing really, but I thought maybe he was feeling me out, trying to decide what kind of wife I would be and if I would fit into the family. I hoped that he’d ask the prophet for me,” Naomi said. “I was encouraging that, trying to show him how helpful I would be to have around, that a wife who was a little older would be more attuned to caring for him and the children. I thought I’d be a good influence on Anna and Laurel, I could teach them how to run the house.”
Naomi lowered her head as if embarrassed. Good Alber women weren’t supposed to pursue men; they were raised to be modest and compliant, not brazen enough to set their sights on a man and go after him.
“Since you two talked, you must know more about Jacob than you’ve let on,” I said. “What haven’t you told us?”
“Nothing, really,” she said.
“Did Jacob seem upset in the days before the murders? Was he complaining to you about anyone or anything?” I asked.
Naomi squirmed a bit in the chair. “Well, I guess. Maybe a little.”
Max moved to the edge of the couch, listening intently. “What about?”
“This is so personal,” she said. “I don’t think I should be telling anyone what Jacob confided in me. That would be—”
“Talk,” I ordered. “Now.”
Naomi took a long breath.
“Are you going to tell me, or do you want to have to call the Johanssons to get someone here to take Jeremy, because Max and I are taking you to the station for questioning?” I asked.
At that, Naomi squinted at me, spitting mad. I still didn’t think she’d open up, but she finally acquiesced. “Laurel complained that she suspected Carl sometimes followed her. She saw him peeking at her through the windows at the house and once watching her from behind a display in the grocery store in town. Jacob said that Laurel was upset about it and making things miserable at the house.”
“Was Jacob angry at Carl?” I asked.
“I don’t… I’m not sure,” Naomi stuttered. “Jacob didn’t like it. He said that Carl needed to back off, but I don’t think Jacob was really mad. It was more that he was annoyed about Laurel complaining.”
“It didn’t bother Jacob that his friend was watching Laurel?” Max asked. “After all, Laurel was Jacob’s wife. That would seem to be crossing a line.”
Naomi thought about that for a few minutes, then shook her head. “I don’t know, but I think what bothered him was that Carl was causing discord at home. That the women—Anna and Laurel—were upset.”
Nothing about this smelled right. “Mother Naomi, when I arrived at the hospital and you were in the room with Jacob, I was right, wasn’t I? He was awake and you were talking to him.”
At that, her eyes flashed round. She shook her head. “No, Clara. No. He didn’t wake up.”
I couldn’t prove she wasn’t cooperating, but all my senses said she was holding back. There had to be more she wasn’t saying. I looked at her and wondered. At that moment, the baby cried, and Naomi jumped up to get him, I suspected grateful for the distraction. “I have no more time,” she said. “I need to feed Jeremy and finish my work. You two need to go.”
Knowing I wouldn’t get more from her, I agreed. Outside, Max turned to me. “What do you think?”
“Well, she confirmed that there was tension in the house before the murders,” I said. “But it wasn’t about the kids. It was because the women were fed up with Carl.”
Max nodded. “Any other takeaways?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think Naomi is still lying. I can’t help but believe that she knows more than she’s telling.”
From the ranch, we drove to Carl’s trailer, where everything looked much as it had when we were there the day before. But this time his pickup wasn’t out front, the door was locked—I tried it to be sure—and he didn’t answer when we knocked or when we called out i
nto the woods for him.
“Should we look around?” I asked.
“I don’t think he’s here,” Max said. He looked as confused as I felt.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“That the evidence is piling up against Myles,” Max said. “But that Carl’s the one who looks increasingly suspicious.”
“You’re still thinking about the way Carl disappeared as soon as Jacob woke up, aren’t you?” I asked.
“It was really odd,” Max said. “It was like he couldn’t leave fast enough.”
“Maybe he just wanted to let Jacob’s parents spend time with him. Maybe he didn’t want to get in the way.”
“Could be,” Max said.
“Speaking of Jacob, it must be about time for him to be heading back to his room after surgery,” I pointed out. I glanced at my watch and decided we’d been spinning our wheels long enough. It was time to talk to our best witness. “We can look for Carl later, after we find out what Jacob knows.”
Twenty-Eight
Jacob’s parents appeared to be growing into the chairs they’d occupied outside his room for the past two days. Reba had her knitting spread out, aquamarine yarn she twisted and pulled around two of the biggest needles I’d ever seen. She was making some kind of a loopy scarf. When she saw us, she frowned, shook her head and let out an abrupt huff.
“Clara, I hear you’ve got a heck of a stew boiling over in front of the police station,” she said, sounding delighted at the notion. “Folks aren’t happy that you haven’t arrested whoever murdered our grandkids and daughters-in-law, are they? Maybe you need to get busy looking for the real killer instead of bothering Carl. I heard you were at his trailer again this afternoon.”
“Who told you that?” I asked.
Her Final Prayer: A totally gripping and heart-stopping crime thriller (Detective Clara Jefferies Book 2) Page 21