by Cliff Black
I handed him my picture of Virginia Teresa with her daughter. “Do you know this lady?”
He looked at the picture, and I watched his face. The hard lines only became harder.
“Who wants to know?” he said.
“My name is Daniel Corbin. I’m a private investigator. I understand you used to work on the Castillo ranch, and that you might know where Virginia Teresa is.”
“Who wants to know?” he repeated, this time with impatience in his voice.
“A woman named Alice McLaughlin hired me to find the little girl in the picture. She is her grandmother.”
“I think you have made a big mistake, Señor. The little girl is Maria Dolores Gil.” He said Gil with a hard H, but his tone of voice and facial expression had softened. “She is Virginia’s daughter from her first marriage. There would be no grandmother named McLaughlin.”
I thought a few seconds and then said, “Perhaps you are right. Did you know Virginia’s first husband?”
“No, Señor. She was married to Paul, El Pretendiente Grande, when she came back here.”
There was again a hard edge to his voice but it was directed at Paul Kennedy rather than at me.
“When was that?” I asked.
“I was almost twenty-one then. That would be about fifteen years ago.”
“Did you know Virginia before she went away?”
Ricardo's voice took on a note of sadness as he said, “My family worked always for Don Hernando. I was born at the hacienda. The Señorita and me, sometimes we played together as children. When we were older, I went with her when she rode her horse away from the hacienda.”
“You were friends?” I asked.
“Only in my dreams. I was a vaquero. She was the Don’s daughter. We lived in different worlds.”
“How old were you when she went away to school?”
“I was twelve, and she was fourteen. I wanted so much to be older.”
“Did I understand correctly that you called Paul Kennedy 'The Great Pretender'? Why was that?”
Ricardo looked at me and his eyes narrowed. “The man was a fool, a–what do you say–a big shot? He pretended to know much about horses. He could not even ride. Why would Virginia Teresa choose such a man to marry? The old Don would have seen what he was. Paul Kennedy was a–a fake–an imposter. It was Diego, the ranch foreman, who began calling him El Pretendiente Grande.”
“Then you don’t really know if Virginia was married once before?”
“Hey, gringo, she told me so herself. She said her Alfredo died in an airplane crash. Why would she lie to me?” There was no anger in his voice, only persuasion.
I said, “I think it is because she bought the little girl–Maria Dolores. I think the story of her first marriage was only to cover an illegal adoption.” Ricardo was silent for a minute and I watched the play of emotions on his face as he digested what I'd said.
“Then you say Maria Dolores is not Virginia’s daughter?” Ricardo asked, as the possibilities dawned on him.
“Her adopted daughter only.”
“She was not ever married to Jose Alfredo Gil?”
“I don’t think such a one ever existed.”
“Did her Gringo husband, El Pretendiente Grande, know about this?”
“I suppose he would have.”
He paused, kicked the ground a few times, and then said, “No, no, I think he did not. I think he would have used it against Virginia Teresa if he had known.”
“Do you know where Virginia is now?”
After a long pause Ricardo said, “I do not want to help you, Señor. You have given me much to think about, but if you find Virginia it will only mean trouble for her.”
“Yes, I’m sure it will, but there is another man looking for her too. He is the man who sold the little girl, Maria Dolores, to Virginia. He is a man who lies, cheats, steals, and even kills for money. He will cause Virginia a lot more trouble than I will–if he finds her first.”
Ricardo thought about what I’d said, kicked the ground a few more times, and then said, “I do not know where to find Virginia. Only Rosa would know.”
“Rosa? Who is Rosa? And where can I find her?”
“I do not think Rosa wants you to find her. I think you should forget about this. Leave them alone.” The hard edge was back in his voice.
“I have to find them,” I said. “If this other man finds them first, he will kill Virginia–maybe the girl too–once he’s ransomed her. The McLaughlin grandfather is very rich. This other man knows that. That’s why he’s trying to find her. You may be in danger too.”
“Your duende man doesn’t scare me. Forget about Virginia Teresa. She has had much sadness already in her life.”
With that, he got on his three wheeler and rode back into the hay field. I was about to go after him, but thought better of it. Perhaps someone in town would know where to find Virginia or Rosa.
I drove to Tularosa and found a room for the night. I asked several places about Virginia Teresa Castillo Kennedy. Most of the older people knew of her, but no one had any current knowledge. Neither did they know of a Rosa who would know where Virginia might be.
I used up the next day driving to Santa Fe and turning over rocks there. It didn’t help any that it was Saturday. I found the Kennedy’s former estate and tried to talk to the neighbors. They were rich and mostly inaccessible. I was only able to talk to three. Two remembered Virginia and her husband. They acted like the Kennedys had committed some terrible social gaffe and it was now beneath their dignity to have any knowledge of them. None had even heard of Rosa.
I gave up by seven o’clock, drove back to Albuquerque, turned in my car, and hopped the last plane to Durango. I called Nat before we took off. She was waiting for me at the Durango airport with the top down on her flashy Miata. I had her let me out a mile from home, so I could walk the rest of the way. It felt good to stretch my legs. I still had the cane, but I didn’t need it. I made a mental note to call Doctor Bell and ask when I could start running.
Chapter Eighteen
Before I went to bed that night, I sat down at my computer to transfer my notes on the quest for Virginia Teresa Castillo Kennedy. When I finished that, I checked my email and found a note from Ezzy Miller.
Geronimo, I think Candace Appleton has been identified. Call me.
Finally! I hoped it meant a break in the case. I punched in Ezzy’s number. He was on duty but not in the office. I asked the dispatcher to have him return my call. A few minutes later he did.
“How, Geronimo,” he said. “What's happening?”
I explained Nat's discovery of Alfred Hill in Colonia Juarez and my trip there. Then I said, “I learned Maria Virginia Teresa Castillo likely never married any Jose Alfredo Gil, and that she frittered away a small fortune in Spanish land grants. Beyond that, I learned almost nothing. She dropped out of sight after she lost her land and money. What’s this about identifying Candy Appleton?”
“You went to Colonia Juarez?” Ezzy asked. “Dang, I wish you’d taken me with you. My second-great-grandfather is buried there.”
“I would have been glad for the company, Ezzy. Tell me about Candy.”
“All us public servant types got together and searched about a mile of the right of way along 666. We found Candy’s wallet half a mile this side of the border.”
There was that Satanic number again. “Has anyone thought about changing the number on that highway?” I asked.
“What, you don’t like 666? There is a group working on changing it. Not a very high-powered group, though.”
“Getting back to the matter at hand, what was in the wallet?”
“You need to come see me. I made copies of everything I got my hands on, including all the photos. There’s something that may relate to your case.”
“How about nine o’clock tomorrow morning?” I asked.
There was a pause, and then Ezzy said, “Tomorrow is Sunday, Geronimo. It’s my day off. Can’t it wait until Monday
?”
“I don’t know, Ezzy. I don’t have plans for Monday, but I'm getting a bad feeling about this case. I’m afraid Smith is two steps ahead of me. I would hate to have someone get hurt or killed because I took a day off.”
“Our church block runs from eleven to two. I’ll make an exception for you this time, but you owe me.”
“Nine o’clock then?”
“Works for me. Come to the office.”
I drove my new pickup to Dove Creek Sunday morning. It was the first chance I’d had to try it out. It was nice, but then new is always nice.
I was ten minutes late getting to the Dolores County Sheriff’s Office, but Ezzy was there with the evidence packet already laid out on a table. He waved me to a seat, sat down opposite me, and began to pull out full color eight by ten prints.
He flipped the first one over to me and said, “Some of this stuff is in bad shape. Rain, snow, sun, and dirt doesn’t help it much.”
I looked at photos showing the contents of the wallet. There was a Chevron credit card and a MasterCard both made out to Candace Appleton. There was a California driver’s license in the same name. The photo showed a striking woman with black hair. Appleton’s date of birth was shown as July 4, 1963. That made her only thirty-five.
Also from the wallet, there was a worn photo of a baby–a girl–judging by the hair bow and the pink clothing. Then there were several photos of show girls in elaborate costumes, and finally there was a clue to the woman’s real identity. It was a current Nevada driver’s license for Laura Strassburg. The photo on the Nevada license was very similar to that on the California license. The birth date was May 16, 1959. She was my age. Was this what Ezzy thought might interest my clients? I asked, “I presume Candy’s real name was Laura Strassburg?”
“It will take DNA tests to find out, but that’s the presumption the Utah cops are going on.”
“What is there that might interest my clients?”
Ezzy said, “A woman named Laura Strassburg disappeared from Louisville, Kentucky seventeen years ago.”
“That does seem too much of a coincidence.”
“Laura’s parents reported her missing February 20, 1981. She hadn’t been living at home, so she might have dropped out of sight earlier than that. They hadn’t spoken to her since the first of the month.”
“And that might interest my clients?”
“Think about it, Geronimo.”
“I’m trying to, Ezzy, but my brain’s stuck in Mexico. If Laura Strassburg is in any way related to the case I’m working on, my guess is she was the new ‘wife’ Smith had with him when he took Cherish from the McLaughlins.”
“Seems likely, but you have to wonder where she was between February of 1981 and the spring of 1982 when she showed up at the McLaughlin’s with Jimmy Smith.”
Ezzy had a point there. Why the missing year? I put the photos back in the envelope they came out of and handed it to Ezzy.
“Once again those are yours, Geronimo,” he said. “Maybe if you look at them enough times your brain can get back across the border and figure out what’s going on.”
“Thanks, Ezzy. And thanks for coming in on a Sunday. I’ll get out of your hair now and let you get off to church. Say a prayer for me. I need all the help I can get.”
“We all do, but some of us are too dumb to see it.”
It was nearly ten o’clock by the time I was back on the road. I thought about Candy Appleton and the photos I’d seen as I drove. The one thing that didn’t fit was the picture of a baby girl. The baby looked about six months old. If the photo was of Cherish McLaughlin, the picture was taken before her mother was killed. Smith could have had the snapshot from before the accident, but how did Laura get it? And why did she keep it?
Then I thought about the date Laura was reported missing. It was close to the same time Mary McLaughlin died in the fire. Was that significant?
Chapter Nineteen
After thinking about the new evidence for a few hours, I called Arthur McLaughlin’s office. Candy Appleton was something I wanted to talk to him about–personally. I wasn’t sure Alice could handle it. After I dialed, I remembered it was Sunday. I was about to hang up when a scratchy voice that sounded almost like McLaughlin’s said, “McLaughlin Enterprises.”
“Mr. McLaughlin?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Daniel Corbin.”
“Just a minute.”
I guess he’s there. He must be a workaholic, I thought.
“Corbin! Have you found any trace of my granddaughter yet?” There was no mistaking this gravel voice.
“No, Mister McLaughlin, I haven’t, but I’ve burned up all your money and then some. I do think I know who adopted Cherish. She grew up with the name Maria Dolores. Her last name was either Gil (I pronounced it Hill), or Kennedy.”
“How can you know that and not know where she is?” McLaughlin said. The disgust showing plainly in his voice.
“It’s a long story, Mister McLaughlin. As I said, I know who the adoptive mother is. I traced her from Chihuahua, Mexico to Tularosa, New Mexico and then to Santa Fe. She left there ten years ago, and I’m stuck until I find another lead. That’s what I’m calling about.”
“What, you want me to give you another lead?”
“Perhaps. I also wanted to tell you something the police in Utah just turned up. I thought you might find it interesting.”
“I don’t know why I should be interested in what any Utah cops are doing,” he said.
Did I really want to talk to this ornery old grouch? I said, “Let’s give it a try, shall we?”
“All right, but this better be good. I know who’s paying for your time as well as the phone bill.”
“A few weeks ago, a woman’s skeleton was discovered northwest of Cortez, barely over the state line into Utah. Last week they found her wallet half a mile away from where the bones were found. The current identification she carried indicated she was either Candace Appleton–thirty-five years old, or Laura Strassburg–thirty-nine years old. Whoever she was, she’s been missing for eight months. Remember, now, Candace Appleton is the woman who owned the abandoned trailer I bought at auction, the one containing the microfilm strips that led me to write to you in the first place. I suspect she’s the woman Jimmy Smith had with him when he came to get Cherish. I also think she’s the one who hid the microfilm.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been burning up my money traveling all over Mexico trying to find this woman, and now she’s turned up dead right there in the Four Corners? Any trace of Cherish?”
“Try not to get ahead of me, Arthur. Candace Appleton is not the adoptive mother. That woman’s trail has gone cold. I may need to back up and work another angle. Even though the Appleton woman is not the one who adopted Cherish, there is reason to believe she knew something about your granddaughter. Either she or James W. Smith hid that microfilm in the trailer. I believe it was Candace. It may be a stretch, but I think the Appleton woman came to Cortez looking for Cherish.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I hoped you could tell me. If Ms. Appleton was indeed looking for Cherish; then she must have had information to believe your granddaughter is here in the Four Corners. Your wife said her grandmother’s instinct told her the girl is here.”
“That should save some travel money,” he growled.
I was beginning to get more than a little ticked. You'd think I was spending Arthur's last dime, and the money was more important than finding his granddaughter. I told myself to cool down and said, “There’s something else that may interest you. Ms. Appleton came here from California. She had a California driver’s license, but she also carried a Nevada driver’s license made out to Laura Strassburg. The interesting thing is that a Laura Strassburg disappeared from Louisville seventeen and a half years ago.”
“You think that’s who the Appleton dame really was?” Arthur almost sounded interested.
“That’s what the Utah cop
s think.”
“That turkey Jimmy Smith had a woman with him when he came for Cherish–claimed she was his wife. I’ll bet it was this Strassburg woman.”
“I think that’s what I suggested a minute ago, only I used her Appleton name.”
Arthur was silent, so I said, “Laura Strassburg was about the same age as your daughter and was reported missing shortly after your daughter died in that car wreck. I can’t help wondering if they knew each other.”
“Listen, Corbin, what does it matter if they did? We’re not paying you to dig up Mary’s past. Concentrate on finding our granddaughter. What’s the name of this woman who adopted her? What was she doing in Mexico?”
“The woman’s name at the time she adopted your granddaughter, was Virginia Gil. She’s the one in the picture where Cherish is about two years old. I think the birth was documented in Mexico to obscure the purchase.”
“What about Jimmy Smith? Carter thought Cherish was with him.”
“Smith knew Cherish made her guardian eligible for social security payments for her support. Since the adoptive parents wouldn’t be claiming her, he did it himself. He was ripping off the Social Security Administration.”
“Have you talked to Smith?”
“He’s either dead, or else he killed Carter’s partner, and used the body to fake his own death. If he’s alive, he won’t be easy to find, except he may be looking for Cherish too.”
“Why would he want her?”
“Ever hear of extortion?”
McLaughlin was silent for a minute then he said, “If I ever see that despicable con-artist again, I’ll rip his head off.”
“The main reason I called, Mr. McLaughlin. I wondered if you have any baby pictures of Cherish, especially pictures by herself.”
“What good would they do you?”
“Remember, I told you the girl might not want to be found. Your granddaughter probably has no idea she was adopted. Baby pictures might help convince her, especially if she has copies of the same photos.”