by Cliff Black
“We didn’t give that Smith dirt bag any pictures.”
“Humor me. Scan what you have and email them to me.”
I gave him my email address and said, “I’ll send a statement of expenses to date.” He growled something and cut the connection. I should have sent the statement right then, but I got sidetracked.
After talking to McLaughlin, I dialed his home number. I would have liked to avoid talking to Arthur, but I didn’t know how his wife would react to news of the dead and missing. When Alice picked up the phone, I identified myself and asked what college her daughter had been attending and what she was studying.
“Performing Arts. She wanted to be a dancer,” Alice said. “She was enrolled at Miami of Ohio. It’s in Oxford, Ohio, not far from here.”
“Do you know if she had a friend named Laura Strassburg?” I asked. “She would have been a dancer too.”
“It’s been too long. I don’t think I’ve heard that name. Why do you ask?”
“Where was your daughter living at the time she died?”
“It was an apartment house on Fourth Avenue. It’s been torn down--part of an urban renewal project. Is that important?”
I said, “I talked to your husband a few minutes ago. He doesn’t think I need to know anything about your daughter, but I have a feeling everything ties together somehow, so I’m asking you.”
“I told you we shouldn’t have let him know you were working on the case,” she said.
“Maybe you’re right, but I like having all the cards face up. I asked him to email baby pictures of Cherish. Could you remind him for me?”
She hesitated and said, “I’d do it myself, if I knew how.”
“Maybe just ask if he’s heard from me.”
Alice agreed to do that.
I checked the time on my computer screen. It was nearly four o’clock. I wondered if Shelly had the evening free.
I found the local newspaper. There was nothing at our movie theaters I wanted to see. Maybe dinner. I called her.
“Hi, Shelly. I have a free evening. Would you like dinner with me?”
“Where are you?” She asked.
“Durango, right now.”
“Good. There’s an Italian restaurant over there I like.”
We made arrangements to meet and were about to ring off when she said, “Oh, Crap! Here we go again, I didn’t get out of the house quick enough.”
“What is it?”
“Somebody found Barry’s pickup, and now this Sergeant Collins person is back dogging my footsteps. He won’t leave me alone–even on Sunday. You’d think I killed Barry.”
“Barry's dead then?” I asked.
“Collins won’t tell me if they found Barry’s body. He won’t tell me where they found the pickup–or if it was wrecked. All he does is ask questions–mostly the same ones over and over.”
“If it’s a problem, we could go some other night,” I said.
“Unless he arrests me, I’ll be there. See ya.”
Half an hour later, Nat came home from church. I asked if she thought she could find a phone number of someone named Strassburg, if she knew the city. She said there was a good chance. I gave her the details, and she went to the computer.
Nat came back about fifteen minutes later waving a paper. “Found it.” she said, “And that reminds me. I think I know where that Candy woman worked if you’re still interested.”
“Great! How did you do it?”
“I didn’t want to call all the dentists in the Four Corners, so I called our dentist and asked if he knew of a way to contact them en masse. He didn’t, but he gave me a number for a supply wholesaler dentists use. I talked their order clerk into giving me all the email addresses they had for dentists. Anyway, I emailed them. I got an answer from Shiprock. A woman named Laura Strassburg worked at the clinic there for about two months. She left in January with no notice and has made no contact since. Now I see you’re looking for a Strassburg in Kentucky. I don’t suppose that’s a coincidence.”
“No coincidence. Things are coming together. The police searched along the border and found a wallet to go with their Candace Appleton bones. There was a California driver’s license for Candace Appleton, and a Nevada license for Laura Strassburg. Pictures on the licenses look like the same person. Let me have that Louisville number.”
Nat handed me the paper and said, “Can you find yourself something to eat tonight? I’ve got a date.”
“No problem. It happens I have a date too.”
Nat whirled. “Juanita?”
“No, a cousin of Evelyn Miller’s. That’s Ezzy’s wife. Evelyn thought we should get together.”
Nat gave me an ‘a-ha’ look and retreated to her bedroom.
I called the Louisville number. A woman’s voice answered. I said, “Is this Mrs. Strassburg–Laura’s mother?”
“Yes, it is.”
“This is detective Daniel Corbin. I need some background on Laura. I’m sorry to intrude on your grief.”
“It’s all right,” the woman said. “Laura’s been gone a long time. What do you need?”
“Did Laura ever go to college, or did she train to be a dancer?”
“Oh, no. We wanted her to go to college, but she wasn’t interested.”
“Did she have boyfriends?”
“I don’t think so. Books were her friends.”
“Did she ever mention a James or Jimmy Smith?”
“No. Like I said, she didn’t have a boyfriend. She usually stayed home nights and read or studied.”
“Studied? I don’t understand.”
“She was going to a tech school. She trained to be a dental assistant.”
Bingo. At least that fit. I said, “I understand she wasn’t living at home when she disappeared . . .”
“That’s true. She got a job when she graduated. She wanted to be independent, so she moved to an apartment in town. She liked being close to her work.”
“Do you remember where the apartment was?”
“Third or Fourth Avenue, I think. The building has been torn down.”
Another bingo. Mary, Laura, and Jimmy were likely in school together, and probably lived in the same building. “Thank you Mrs. Strassburg. That’s all I need for now.”
Before I could hang up Mrs. Strassburg said, “Well, it isn’t all I need. I don’t understand this. Laura wasn’t the kind to run off and never call us–or let us know where she was. We thought she was dead all this time. Are you sure it’s Laura’s body you’ve found?”
“As sure as we can be without running DNA tests.”
“Are you going to run the tests?”
“They’re quite expensive, and we’re a poor county.” I had to hope my deception didn’t get back to the San Juan County Sheriff.
I hung up the phone, and wondered how much significance there was to Jimmy Smith and Laura Strassburg both being in dentistry. That and the probability they were living in the same apartment house made it even more likely they knew each other. It seemed reasonable that Jimmy Smith might take up with Laura after Mary was killed, but why did Laura drop out of sight and take up a career as a Nevada showgirl? Was it taking Cherish under false pretenses that caused her to disappear, or did she always have some hidden yearnings her mother didn’t know about? Did she and Jimmy have a falling out? Was Smith really out of the picture? If he wasn't, would he come here? If Smith did kill Carter’s partner and was trying to hide, wouldn’t it be easier to get lost in say, Las Vegas, or Atlantic City? Smith certainly, and probably Laura/Candy too, knew it was Virginia Teresa Kennedy who adopted Cherish McLaughlin. Was Candy looking for the girl? Why? Was that why she came here? What did she know that I had been unable to find out? So many questions and so few answers.
I decided to visit Shiprock the next morning. Perhaps there was a clue there. My intentions were good, but I didn’t make it to Shiprock.
Chapter Twenty
Shelly walked into the restaurant less than five minutes afte
r I got there. Every man in the place, including me, stared at her as the maitre d' brought her to my table. She was wearing a long, black dress that left her shoulders bare. The skirt was slit up one side to just above the knee. She had a lightweight wrap over one bare arm and a pearl necklace at her throat. I could see men almost falling out of their chairs as she walked by. I suspected she favored black because it is slenderizing. Not that she was fat, but neither was she thin. She was one good-looking, classy lady–with muscles. I had worn a pair of light tan trousers, a white golf shirt, and a dark-blue blazer. I felt under dressed.
We ordered and made small talk until our entrees came. I guess it was the former cop or the private investigator coming out, but I wanted to ask about her visit from the sergeant. I also thought it would be bad manners, so I refrained. Instead I asked if she’d grown up in the Four Corners.
“Now seriously, Daniel, do I seem like a girl who grew up out in the sticks?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know how to answer that without getting in trouble. I just thought you being Evelyn’s cousin . . .”
“Evelyn didn’t grow up out here either,” she said. “Evelyn’s mom married a bean farmer when Evelyn was fourteen. Until then, we both lived in Colorado Springs. I came out here because I wanted to escape the dweeb I had just divorced, and because the bank offered me an assistant manager’s job. I didn’t know Evelyn was anywhere near until we ran into each other in Wal-Mart. I love the relaxed atmosphere and the views out here, but the isolation gets to me, and I have to find some city lights.”
Strike one, I thought.
Shelly asked if I’d found the girl I was looking for. I gave her a brief run-down, and she chattered about softball and the bank.
When we finished eating, the waiter brought a dessert menu. We both declined and he returned quickly with the check.
“You know what I’d like to do now?” Shelly asked. “The moon is nearly full, and I’ve always wanted to walk along the river trail by moonlight. Barry wouldn’t do it. I think he was chicken. Are you afraid of the dark, Daniel?”
When I didn’t answer immediately, she said, “Oh, I forgot about your leg. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“It sounds fun,” I said. “I think my leg is up to a couple of miles.”
“Great! I’ll meet you in the entry. I have to change. I can’t walk a hundred yards in high heels. It used to make Barry sooo mad.”
She got up and walked quickly across the room and out the door. I fished out my wallet and laid enough bills on the plate to cover the check and the tip. I garnered some curious looks as I walked to the entry. Some of the diners probably figured my lady had walked out on me. I wasn’t watching them, though. I saw Shelly come back in and slip into the powder room carrying a gym bag.
When Shelly rejoined me, she wore white running shoes and a black and silver warm-up suit with Vectra Bank” stitched on one side of the jacket front “Shelly” stitched in a curving sweep across the back and her slinky black gown over an arm.
Shelly led me to her car, laid her dress across the back seat, then locked the gym bag in the trunk. “Those are real pearls,” she commented, so I’d understand why the bag couldn’t go in the back seat too. “How do you like our new warm-ups?” She posed a minute and then turned to walk with me. “I talked the bank into going half on them,” she said. “They give us a psychological boost when we come on the field wearing them. Not that we need any advantage.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the same thing with Nat’s under nineteen comp team. Their warm-ups are bright red. They don’t need the advantage either, but it sure pumps up their egos.”
My new pickup and her Jag were both parked on College Drive, a short distance from the river. We left our wheels where they were and walked to the trail. I couldn’t contain myself, so I asked, “What did your detective friend want this time?”
“He showed me some clothes. The cops have been up there with dogs looking for a body. He said all they’ve found so far is Barry’s jacket, shirt, and hat.”
“Where is ‘up there?’”
“Collins called it Menafee Mountain, wherever that is. I don’t want to talk about Barry. I came here to get away from him. That dumb cop wanted to keep me there, but I told him I had a date. He even took down your name to see if I was lying. I expect he’ll want to talk to you next. Give him a message for me. Tell him I’m an ax murderer, that I chopped up Barry’s body and fed it to the neighborhood dogs–idiots!”
We walked the trail for half an hour before we turned around. The stars were out in force until the moon came up. We walked hand in hand, or sometimes Shelly held onto my arm. Our strides matched nicely. The night was cool but pleasant. We enjoyed the sound of the river and the night creatures. It was warmer after we got back in town among buildings and pavement.
When we got to Shelly’s car, she said, “I could go for an ice-cream cone. How about you?”
“Sounds like a winner,” I said. “I almost never turn down ice cream.”
It wasn’t far to the Baskin-Robbins shop, but we took her car. We were outside leaning against a fender eating our cones, and I was trying to think of a way to extend the evening, when I saw Nat drive up in her Miata. I knew she’d seen me. She talked intently to the young man in the car with her for a minute, then she got out, came around, opened his door, and half-dragged him out.
She led him to where we were, and said, “Hi, Dad. I want you to meet Brian. Brian, this is my dad, and . . .” She looked at Shelly.
“Shelly Grafton,” I said. “Shelly, I’d like you to meet my daughter Natasha and her friend Brian. Fancy meeting you guys here,” I said to Nat and Brian.
“It’s a small world and a smaller town,” Nat said–then turning to Shelly, “We’re happy to meet you. See ya later, Dad,” she said over her shoulder as she led Brian inside the shop.
“Oh, my,” Shelly said. “You’re right, Dan. She is beautiful. And so confident. She frightens me. Come on. I’ll take you to your car.”
I was a little disappointed to rush off. I said, “My car is a brand new pickup truck.”
“What is it with men and trucks?” she said with no smile in her voice.
I was in the study half-an-hour later, when Nat came in.
“That’s some car Shelly drives,” Nat said. “Is she rich?”
“No. The Jag belonged to her ex-husband. She’s planning to sell it.”
“Isn’t she a little young for you?”
“Probably, but I doubt anything will come of it.”
“She doesn’t look much older than I am. I’d have a hard time calling her Mom. Does she always dress like that to go on a date?”
“Ah, you should have seen the dress she wore to the restaurant–full length, black, with a pearl necklace. She changed so we could walk along the river.”
“She must have planned that. Pretty romantic. What did you talk about?”
“Hey, what is this, Nat? I haven’t asked what you talk about with Brian. I told you it wasn’t serious.” Strike two, I thought.
Nat's grilling continued. “Does she play soccer?”
“Softball. She pitches a mean fast-ball. You don’t like her, do you?”
Nat thought about that for a bit and then said, “She scares me.”
“Odd. She said the same about you.”
Late that night I got six baby pictures by email. One was identical to the snapshot in Laura Strassburg’s wallet. Why did she have that photo, and how did she get it?
I went to bed wondering what it was about the women in my life that scared each other. When I gave up on that, I drifted off to sleep wondering what I’d turn up in Shiprock.
Chapter Twenty-One
I was barely out of the shower Monday morning when Nat opened the bathroom door a crack, stuck the phone through the opening, and said, “Some deputy sheriff in Tularosa, New Mexico wants to talk to you.”
I took the phone and said, “Daniel Corbin here.”
“Mi
ster Corbin, this is Deputy Hartley of the Otero County Sheriff’s Department. I understand you called on Ricardo Valenzuela last Friday.”
“Has something happened to him?”
“Answer my questions first, please. Then we’ll get to yours. Did you call on Ricardo Friday?”
“Yes, I did.” I tried to towel myself with one hand.
“What time did you leave his place?”
“Just a second.” I switched hands with towel and phone. “It must have been nearly six o’clock.”
“Where did you go from there?”
“Tularosa. I spent the night there, the Old Pueblo Motel. Now, will you tell me what’s happened?”
“Did you go back to the Valenzuela place?”
“No, I walked around the town a little, went in a few bars, asked about Virginia Kennedy. The next morning I drove to Santa Fe. From there I drove back to Albuquerque and caught the last plane to Durango.”
“Why were you in New Mexico?”
“I’m a private investigator. I’m trying to find Virginia Teresa Castillo Kennedy, her daughter actually. I went to see Ricardo because he used to work on the Castillo ranch. Now look. I spent four years on the police force in Las Cruces and seventeen years in the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. It’s obvious something has happened to Ricardo.”
There was a long pause before the deputy said, “Someone came to his house about eight o’clock Sunday morning. Ricardo’s wife is in danger of losing her baby. Ricardo was beaten and left for dead. He has a concussion, broken ribs and other injuries.”
I'd had a premonition something like this might happen. I draped my towel over one shoulder and sat down on the toilet lid. “Is he conscious?” I asked. “Can he talk? If the beating has anything to do with my search for Virginia Teresa, I have a good idea who the assailant was. His name is James W. Smith.”
“I’ll pass on the information about Smith. Maybe it will help. Can you help us with anything else?”
“Maybe, especially if I can talk to Ricardo.”
“Ricardo is conscious and he can see, but he’s in a lot of pain. Most of what he’s said makes no sense. They’ve got him sedated. The doctor says we can have five minutes with him this afternoon. He goes into surgery this morning.”