A Killing in the Valley

by JF Freedman

  Kate was flush with excitement. “We know the boys were together earlier in the day. So if one isn’t Tyler, the other one couldn’t be Steven.”

  “Because some taco slinger says so?” Luke challenged her. He felt compelled to play devil’s advocate—from experience he knew that photo ID’s were notoriously undependable. “Find me a jury that’ll be swayed by that and I’ll treat you to a vacation in Paris. And I guarantee you, if we ever put that guy on the stand, Alex Gordon would blow him away in ten seconds flat.”

  “I think it’s good stuff,” Kate argued stubbornly. “You’re the one who keeps saying it must have been someone else. Now I give you this on a silver platter and you shit on it. Jesus, what else can I do?”

  “Hey, I’m not saying you didn’t do good,” he mollified her. “But this isn’t much.”

  “It’s better than nothing. Isn’t there some way you can find out where Steven and Tyler were then? Can’t you ask Steven?”

  “Yes, and I will,” Luke answered. “Except anything he says is automatically tainted. But we can try another angle.” He punched his intercom. “Margo, do you have an Arizona phone number for Tyler Woodruff? I think there’s one in our files.”

  “I’ll see,” came the filtered reply.

  They waited a moment while the number was located. Luke jotted it down, picked up the phone, and dialed. A few seconds went by, then he said, “Tyler?” He paused, then gave Kate a thumbs-up. “This is Luke Garrison, Steven McCoy’s lawyer.” He listened to the other end for a moment. “He’s out on bail, at his grandmother’s ranch. He’s not allowed to talk to you, that’s why your call didn’t go through.” He glanced at Kate. “Listen, Tyler, I have a couple of questions for you. I’m here with my private investigator, Kate Blanchard. I’m going to put you on the speaker, so she can listen in.”

  He punched up the speaker phone. “Hi, Tyler,” Kate said.

  “Hi,” came back the echoing reply.

  “So, Tyler,” Luke said, “I want to go back to the morning you and Steven got to Santa Barbara. After you and Steven left the ranch you drove into town and had lunch, right?”

  Kate looked at Luke with concern. She didn’t recall any mention about the boys eating lunch.

  To her surprise, Tyler answered, “Yeah, we did.”

  “Mexican food?”

  Another “Yes.”

  Now Kate stared at Luke in astonishment. “Are you clairvoyant?” she whispered.

  He grinned. “Just lucky,” he whispered back. “Mexican food is usually the choice of guys their age. Now for the million-dollar question.” He talked into the speaker again. “You went to a joint near Santa Barbara High called…” He waited a moment, as if recalling a thought, or checking a note. “Chico’s, right?”

  “Chico’s?” Tyler said. He sounded confused. “We didn’t eat at any place called Chico’s.”

  “Where did you eat, then?” Luke asked. “I thought Steven said it was near the high school.” Both he and Kate were leaning toward the speaker box, as if close proximity would make Tyler’s answers more legitimate.

  “At a taco stand called La Super Rica,” Tyler answered, his voice hollow in transmittal. “Steven was raving about it on the drive down. It’s a tradition for him to have lunch there whenever he’s in Santa Barbara.”

  Luke smiled. One for their side; finally. “So La Super Rica is where you guys ate lunch, not Chico’s? You’re sure.”

  “Yes,” came the muffled reply.

  “About when? Twelve, one o’clock?”

  “One sounds about right. After that we went over to the mall, and I met Serena. Anyway, why do you want to know about this Chico’s place?”

  “Just clearing my records,” Luke answered. “That does it. Thanks for the time. We’ll be talking again before the trial.” He punched off the connection.

  Kate sat back. She felt relieved and vindicated. She had passed the devil’s advocate test. And Steven was a little bit farther from conviction—she hoped. For the first time, she was beginning to think that Luke was right, that Steven might be innocent.

  “Satisfied now?” she asked.

  “It’s better than nothing,” Luke allowed, “but it’s no silver bullet.”

  “It sounds pretty damn convincing to me,” she protested. “If they were at La Super Rica when Maria was at Chico’s, they couldn’t have been the boys who met her there.”

  “If Woodruff’s telling the truth.”

  “You think he’s lying?” she asked in disbelief.

  “He could be. If they did meet Maria, he’d have good reason to cover Steven’s butt. I’ll come at Steven sideways on it, see if he gives the same answer.” He leaned back. “But it might not matter anyway.”

  “How could it not?”

  Luke ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “One: Maria Estrada shares her lunch table with two boys. Two: Who aren’t Steven and Tyler, if we take your man at Chico’s word that Tyler’s picture wasn’t a match. Three: Maria leaves. The guy at Chico’s said they didn’t leave together, right? She and those boys left separately.”

  “Yes.”

  “Maria goes to the mall. She meets another fellow, who’s been identified as looking like Steven. Mr. Big-Spender buys her a pair of earrings to entice her to go somewhere with him, a reasonable person could infer.” He tapped a finger on his desk for emphasis. “We’ve got her and Steven in the mall at about the same time. That’s dead certain now. So they could have met there regardless of who she was with at Chico’s. Not outside the realm of possibility, is it?”

  “I suppose not,” Kate answered sullenly.

  “Hey, lighten up,” he told her. “You did good. It’s possible there’s another set of boys in play now. Maybe Steven has a doppelganger. We’ll definitely start working on that. But…” He raised his finger in warning. “Steven’s afternoon is still unaccounted for, he had access to the ranch, knew the combination to the lock on the gate, and both their prints are on the murder weapon. Those are the elements we’re up against. All the other stuff is noise.”

  A minute ago Kate had been high. Now she was deflated again. “So now what?”

  “We need to keep coming up with these contradictions and alternatives. If there are enough of them, we can establish enough doubt that a jury will be squeamish about convicting Steven.” He church-steepled his long fingers. “Or we can find the real killer.” With a wry smile, he added, “If he exists.”

  20

  KATE HAD BEEN AWAKE early enough to hear the papers, the News-Press and the L.A. Times, hit the front door. That was about six, six-thirty. She lay in bed, naked under a sheet, debating whether to get up, make coffee, and leisurely read the papers, or to lie in bed and meditate for a few minutes. She had closed her eyes for a moment to think about which choice to make, and then it was a quarter after eight. She had fallen back asleep.

  There was rattling going on in the kitchen. She threw on her robe and padded out in her bare feet. Sophia was at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee and eating a toasted onion bagel spread with almond butter. She was already dressed for the day, in jeans, a Radiohead T-shirt, and running shoes.

  “Hey, Mommy. I made coffee.”

  Kate was still feeling the sleepiness melt from her body. “That’s good. So what’s on your agenda? You’re up early.”

  Sophia bit into her bagel. “Riding lesson,” she said around her chewing,

  “Riding lesson?” Kate repeated. Her brain was still fuzzy from sleep.

  “With Mrs. McCoy. We talked about it, remember?”

  The fog cleared. “At her ranch?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s where the horses are.”

  Kate crossed to the cabinet above the drain board, took a mug out, shuffled over to the coffeemaker, and poured herself a cup. She took a carton of milk out of the refrigerator, topped up the mug, and sat down on one of the stools alongside the island. “You didn’t say anything about going out there.” She could feel her heart all of a sudden, flutteri
ng inside her chest.

  “Sorry,” Sophia answered casually. “Thought I did. She and I talked about it on the phone, day before yesterday.”

  “I…” Damn, Kate thought. How am I going to approach this? She took a sip of coffee to stall for a moment. “You know her grandson is living on the ranch?”

  Sophia nodded. “You told me. She bailed him out, right?”

  “Yes.” Now what? “I don’t know if he’s allowed to see other people. Besides his grandmother and ranch people. And his parents.” She sounded ludicrous, a babbling idiot. “And his lawyer.”

  Sophia looked at her as if she were talking in an unknown language. “Why? He’s innocent, right? Isn’t that what you believe?”

  “Well, what I believe…”

  “He’s innocent until proven guilty. Right?”

  Kate took a deep breath. “Right.”

  “So what’s the problem, Mom? I’m not going to be hanging around with him or anything. What are you worried about?”

  About my irrational fears as a mother. Which someday, when you’re a mother yourself, you’ll understand.

  “Nothing,” she declared, trying to sound totally positive and comfortable with this. “I’m not worried about anything.” Juanita McCoy would never let harm befall Sophia. Of that, she was certain. She forced a smile. “Have a great time. Say hello to Mrs. McCoy for me.”

  Sophia had her lesson in the little riding ring next to the stable. When it was over, she and Juanita went into the house and drank Arnold Palmers. Juanita spiced the drinks with fresh mint from her spice garden. Sophia had been curious to see Steven McCoy in the flesh, but he was nowhere in sight.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Juanita observed, looking out the window to the foothills. “Not too hot, for a change. Why don’t we go on a picnic? Unless you have to get back.”

  Sophia shook her head. “I don’t have to be back any particular time.” Juanita fixed egg-salad sandwiches on whole-grain bread. She wrapped them in Saran Wrap and made up a picnic basket of the sandwiches, homemade potato salad, ripe peaches from one of her peach trees, and a large water bottle. Putting on large straw hats for protection against the sun, they went back outside, mounted their horses, and rode off toward the foothills.

  Sophia sat tall in her saddle, as Juanita had taught her. After climbing a gentle plateau, which led them high enough so that they could see Lake Cachuma, the county’s main water source, which glistened in the midday sun, they headed into a section that was denser with growth—stubby, crooked trees, mostly native oaks, and thorny native bushes. Juanita led them up a trail that wound through the area. They rode single file, Juanita leading, Sophia close behind. The horses skillfully picked their way over the hard terrain. Then the area cleared, and they were in open country again.

  It’s so beautiful, Sophia thought, so stark and compelling. The loudest sound was the wind coming down from the hills. Overhead, large birds glided in the thermals, like she’d seen when she went hiking with her mother in the hills above Santa Barbara. There were more of them here—hawks, eagles, buzzards. Wild turkeys, the toms big as goats, their red cocks standing up on their heads like greased-up pompadours, attended to by smaller, less colorful hens, could be seen among the dense clumps of bushes. And there were mule deer, dozens of them in packs, running along the brown burnt-grass mesas. The deer weren’t skittish until the horses got close to them; then they bounded away in long, loping strides.

  They rode side by side now, walking easily. “Breathe in deeply,” Juanita instructed Sophia. “The aromas are as engaging as the sights.”

  Sophia inhaled through her nostrils. She could smell sage, rosemary, other sharp, almost overpowering odors she didn’t recognize. “This is awesome,” she said. “Thank you for bringing me.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Juanita replied. With the slightest tinge of sadness, she added, “It’s been a long while since I had as nice a companion as you to share these spaces with.”

  Sophia flushed from the compliment.

  They crested a ridge and headed down into a deep meadow, now dry grass from lack of rain. Off in the distance, two men were working on a fence, stringing barbed wire onto posts. Near them, a group of cows were grazing.

  “That’s my foreman, Keith Morton, and my grandson, Steven,” Juanita explained. “Let’s ride down and say hello.”

  They made their way toward where the two men were working. As they approached, the men heard them and looked in their direction. The taller one, who had his shirt off, waved.

  Juanita waved back. “That’s Steven.”

  The boy who’s been arrested for murder, Sophia thought. She felt her skin tingle.

  They rode to the men and stopped when they were a few feet away. The older man, the foreman, was wearing a short-sleeved western-style shirt with snap buttons, jeans, and worn boots. A straw cowboy hat was perched low on his head. His tool belt hung low over his hips. Steven, Juanita’s grandson, was in khaki cargo shorts and running shoes. His T-shirt was slung over the fence. He was hatless. His lean, muscular body glistened with sweat.

  “How’s it going?” Juanita asked.

  “Going okay,” Keith answered. He tipped his head toward Steven. “He’s a capable worker. Easier with two sets of hands.”

  Steven smiled. He looked from his grandmother to Sophia.

  “This is Sophia Blanchard,” Juanita said, making introductions. “This is my foreman, Keith Morton, and my grandson, Steven McCoy.”

  Keith muttered a low “Hello.” Steven looked Sophia full in the face and said, “Hey.”

  “Hello,” Sophia answered to both of them. She didn’t want to stare at Steven, but it was hard not to. He was hot, and not from being out in the sun. If Brad Pitt had a younger brother, he’d look just like this boy, she thought.

  “Sophia’s mother is a detective working on your case,” Juanita told Steven.

  “I know,” he answered, still smiling.

  Sophia looked off, so that she didn’t have to face Steven dead-on. There was an intensity coming off him that was both compelling and scary. She could see how a high school girl would go for this boy in a heartbeat. Or any girl, even a grown woman.

  “Do you come out here a lot?” Steven asked her. He had his gaze fixed on her.

  “I’m giving Sophia riding lessons,” Juanita informed him. “She’s a natural,” she said pridefully of her student.

  “I’ll bet you are,” he said to Sophia. “You look like it, how you sit your horse.”

  Sophia could feel herself blushing under her hat. “I’m just starting out,” she said quietly.

  “It’s a good place to learn,” he told her. “And a good teacher to learn from. She taught me, back when I could barely climb up onto a saddle.”

  Juanita smiled at the memory. “You were a good student, too.”

  Steven grinned back at her, then looked at Sophia again. “I could go riding with you, when you come up here again.”

  Sophia felt her muscles tightening all up and down her body.

  “Sophia’s my private riding partner,” Juanita said, deflecting Steven’s attempt at ingratiating himself. “You have your own stuff to take care of. Which keeps you busy enough.”

  “You’re right,” he answered. The smile faded, but he kept his eyes trained on Sophia.

  “Don’t work too hard,” Juanita told her foreman and grandson.

  “We’re almost done,” Keith told her.

  “Good,” Juanita said. “I’ll see you later. Come on, Sophia.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Steven called to Sophia.

  Sophia nodded without replying out loud. Juanita turned her horse to ride away. Sophia followed. The old woman and the young girl rode back up into the hills, where they could find a pretty patch of grass, get off their horses, lay out in the shade, and enjoy their lunch.

  Later that afternoon, a girl who was about eighteen or nineteen went through the metal detector at the sheriff’s compound and walked up to the recept
ion desk.

  “Can I help you?” the duty office asked. He was a uniformed sergeant. He was sitting at a desk, copying some field reports into a computer.

  “I want to talk to somebody who’s working on that murder case,” she told him. “Maria Estrada.”

  He looked her over. She was wearing jeans, a top that showed four inches of chubby belly, and flops—the standard uniform. Light brown hair cut Jennifer Aniston-style, nondescript figure, a slouch in her posture. Why can’t teenage girls stand up straight, he thought? He had two at home, he was an expert on the subject. He got up and walked over to her. “What about?” he asked.

  “To tell them something. That might be important.”

  They already had their suspect and a bulletproof case against him, from what he knew. But if this girl had fresh information, they should find out what it was.

  “Detectives Rebeck and Watson are the leads,” he told her. “Let me see if I can page them. Have a seat.”

  She sat down on a plastic chair that was against the far wall, crossed one leg over the other, and jiggled the flop on her foot. She didn’t seem concerned or nervous about being in the sheriff’s office.

  The sergeant spoke on the phone for a moment. He hung up and looked at her over the counter. “I contacted Detective Rebeck. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  The girl nodded. “Can I use the bathroom?” she asked.

  A female sheriff’s deputy led her down the hallway to the ladies’ room. When she came out, the deputy brought her back to the desk area. A few minutes later, Cindy Rebeck, wearing a mid-thigh skirt, low heels, and a linen blazer, came in the door. She walked over to the girl and introduced herself. “You want to talk about the Maria Estrada murder?” she asked. “Is there something you know about it?”

  “Yes,” the girl answered to both questions.

  Rebeck led her through the complex to the detective’s area. They sat down in her small office. “What do you want to tell me?” Rebeck asked. She had been on her way out to the valley, to a wine tasting in Los Olivos. She hoped this wouldn’t take long.