San Buenaventura Mission was erected in the late eighteenth century by Franciscans, the last of its kind to be founded by Father Junipero Serra, who was sainted in the twenty-first century. Most of the old structure had been destroyed by fire and earthquake, but the newly remodeled building still contained the original church with its painted crossbeams and hardwood floors. The place had been refashioned in the Monterey style with a peaked roof, white exterior walls, and dark trim. After paying an admission fee in the gift shop, Decker, Marge, and Erin walked through the shop and up a few steps into a tiny museum with historical artifacts and then out into the grounds built around a tiled fountain with walkways in a T shape.
The magnificent gardens were irrigated by a duct system created by the indigenous Chumash Indians. The beds were filled with native flowers still abloom in the warm California sun. The flora was especially lovely because the day was warm and cloudless with a gentle breeze wafting from the ocean blocks away. Choosing a bench at random—the place was empty—Marge sat and placed Erin between Decker and herself. Dressed in a white shirt and black pants, the restaurant uniform, Erin hung her head and had seemed to curl inward.
Decker regarded Marge and then took the lead. “Erin, I was really worried about you. I’m really glad you’re alive and well.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “You know, you’re not in any trouble.”
Silence.
“He needs your help,” Marge said.
“For what?” Her voice was soft.
Decker said. “Recently we’ve found some bodies near Bogat Trail. I realize that the pathway wasn’t around when you lived in Greenbury. But it’s near your mother’s cabin and you know the area. I was terribly worried that you were among the bodies, so it’s wonderful to find you not only alive, but in a new life. And I have no desire to uproot you or upend that life. But as Sergeant Dunn said, I need your help.”
When she didn’t talk, Decker continued. “I think you were brutally attacked. I think that’s why you left so abruptly, without packing, without a word to anyone. You felt lucky to be alive and all you wanted to do was escape.” Tears were streaming down her face. “Tell me about it.”
She shook her head no.
“Please, Erin. There are three sets of parents who are looking for justice. Just tell me what happened.”
“I’m not going back.”
“Understood.”
“Ever.”
“Understood.”
She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I’m going to get fired if I don’t get back.”
Marge offered her a tissue. “No, you won’t. I promise.”
She sighed and took the Kleenex. She started shaking even though it wasn’t cold. “It was Rick.”
Decker narrowed his eyes and thought a moment. “Ricardo Diaz?”
She nodded. “You talked to him?”
“I interviewed him about you.” He took out his notepad. “He said he fired you because your hands were in the till. Was that a lie?”
A long pause. “No. I did . . . take money.” She rubbed her arms. “He said he wouldn’t report me. And I was very grateful about it. But . . . afterward . . . he expected things.” Her knee started bouncing up and down. “It wasn’t any big deal at first. It wasn’t like I was a Catholic schoolgirl or anything. But he got real controlling very quickly. Very demanding: who I was with, where I’d go. Things that weren’t any of his business.” She bit her lip. “When I tried to call it off, he threatened to tell my boss at the Circle M. So I told him I’d just tell my boss myself. And that made Rick furious.”
“He had to be in control,” Marge said.
She nodded.
Decker said, “What happened the night you disappeared?”
The tears flooded back. “It was warm and I decided to walk home. I’d done it hundreds of times. There was a car . . . his car. He pulled up beside me.” Her voice was trembling and her breathing became shallow. “I told him to go away. He said he just wanted to talk.” She was almost panting. She bit her lip again. “I knew better than to get inside the car. I started running . . . into the woods. He got out and ran after me.” She tried to sniff back tears. “I tripped. Next thing I knew he was on top of me.” She started sobbing. “He tore off my necklace. It sliced my neck. He started choking me.”
Marge put a hand on her shoulder. “You must have been absolutely terrified!”
She nodded and wept. “I fought as hard as I could because I knew he was going to kill me. But . . . I couldn’t get him off. I blacked out.”
Both Decker and Marge waited for her to go on.
She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Marge gave her another tissue. “Thanks.” A long pause. “When I came to . . . it was still night. I remember feeling very, very cold although I remember having my clothes on. I was in the woods, lying on the ground. I was very confused.”
Her eyes were far away.
“My throat was sore. My head was throbbing. I felt raw all over, like I’d been sanded. I couldn’t move anything except my head. I saw a figure digging a hole . . . a deep hole.” She looked at Decker. “I don’t know where exactly it was, but I knew I was in the woods.”
“You’re doing great, Erin,” Decker told her. “Just terrific.”
“In my mind, it’s very sketchy.”
“Actually, for something so horrific, you have an amazing amount of detail.”
She clasped her hands and hit her chin with her knuckles. “I forgot what I was saying.”
“You saw a figure in the woods.”
She nodded. “Digging a hole. I knew what it meant. I knew . . . he thought I was dead. Or . . . he didn’t care. I knew I had to get out, but I was very weak and confused. ”
She didn’t talk for a long time. Decker said, “How’d you escape?”
“The good part was I wasn’t tied up. Like I said, he must have thought I was dead. There was another shovel close to me. Maybe another person was supposed to come to help him dig the hole, I don’t know. But I do remember reaching out my hand. I couldn’t get it. I inched toward the handle . . . as quiet as I could be. I finally was able to grip it. I waited for a while . . . just holding the shovel while lying on the ground. I kept trying to clear my head.”
“Of course,” Marge said.
“At one point, he stopped digging. Started walking toward me . . . maybe walking to the other shovel, I don’t know. So I knew I had to do something. I sprang up on my knees—that was as far as I could move—and bashed him in the back of his legs. His knees buckled. He fell. I stood up and tried to bash his head, but he rolled over and tried to pull the shovel away. Instead, I whacked him on his arm and on his back. I must have hit him with the sharp end of the blade because he started bleeding really bad. Just blood spurting all over. And then I just ran. I ran and ran and ran and ran. I don’t even know how I got home. I certainly don’t remember packing or anything and I don’t remember riding my bike anywhere. But I must have ridden it to a bus stop because I do remember being on a bus to L.A. with a small bag of clothes and about five hundred dollars in cash. I felt dirty and awful and sick and scared. I didn’t have my purse or a phone. Rick must have taken it . . . them.” She checked her watch. “I need to get back.”
“Erin, I know how hard this is for you,” Decker said. “It has to be traumatic and painful. I remember when I was shot. So many things go through your mind.”
She turned to him. “You were shot?”
“It’s a danger of my job. But what happened to you should never, ever happen to you again or to anyone else. The scope of the horror is unimaginable.”
She nodded.
“But you know, I can’t arrest him without your help.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.” Her voice faltered. “I just can’t.”
“Erin, I respect your decision and I respect that you may have your own timetable for recovery, but we can’t let him do this to any other woman.”
“My mother still lives there.”
>
“We can protect her.”
“Sorry, but I don’t think you can.”
“I can’t get him without you, Erin.”
“I’m not going to testify against him.” When Decker was silent, she said, “So where does that leave me? Are you going to arrest me?”
“No.” Decker shook his head. “No, I would never do that. You’ve suffered enough. But without you, it’ll make it that much harder to get Diaz. I’ll just have to put a watch on him and hope he trips up.”
She nodded.
“We could videotape something if you’re willing.”
“No . . . not yet. I’ll . . . think about it. That’s as much as I can do right now. I’m sorry.”
Decker said, “I understand.”
Erin stood up. “So can I get back now?”
Marge and Decker stood as well. She said, “Sure, you can get back.”
Decker said, “Thank you so much for talking to us.”
“We’ll give you our cards—cell numbers included,” Marge said. “If you suddenly remember something, please call us anytime.”
Erin nodded.
“I’m local,” Marge said. “If you just want to talk, I’m available whenever you want.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Decker said, “Would you mind if I take down your phone number? I couldn’t find one for you. I might need to call you if I have any more questions.”
“I only use burner phones. And I never call anyone. If you have a question, call Sergeant Dunn and she’ll get in contact with me.”
“Sounds good,” Decker said. “Thank you, Erin.”
“Elena, please.”
“Elena, then.”
“Tell my mom I love her. But make sure no one’s following you.”
“I’ll be sure to relay the message, and I’ll be sure to be alone.”
The trio walked a block in silence. Erin started to speak, but then stopped herself.
Decker caught it. “What is it, Elena?”
“The figure digging the hole . . .” She stopped talking.
Marge put her arm around her shoulder and talked softly. “What about him?”
“I might be wrong . . . I wasn’t thinking clearly at all, but . . .”
“Go on,” Marge said.
“I think . . . I’m not sure.” She swallowed. “I think I remember seeing him without a shirt. I don’t know why he’d be without a shirt. Maybe he worked up a sweat digging. Anyway, I could be making all this up. The mind plays tricks after you think about something over and over.”
“Sometimes,” Decker said. “But sometimes you remember details that have been pushed aside. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Well, like I said, it was very dark and I really never made out his face. I mean, I saw a face, but no features really. Like just this shadow.”
“Okay.”
“Like I said, I might be making this up, but I saw this guy shirtless. I remember in my mind now that he wasn’t all that big and he wasn’t all that muscular.” She turned to Marge then to Decker. “I’ve seen Rick’s body many times. I don’t think the digger was Rick Diaz.”
Back at the hotel room, Decker was pacing. “Two people. It’s so obvious now. That’s what happens when you get tunnel vision.”
“Until now there was nothing to lead you in that direction,” Marge said. “There are plenty of serial killers who bury bodies all by their lonesome.”
“And how could I miss Diaz?” He turned to Rina. “Did he give off a weird vibe to you?”
“Actually, in retrospect, he did.”
“How so?”
“Saying that he’d remember me because I was a pretty older woman.” She made a face. “Almost identical to what Hank Carter said to me.”
Decker slapped his forehead. “You’re right. I betcha they’re in cahoots.”
Marge said, “Slow down, partner. I know you don’t like Carter, but you might want to get something to tie him with Diaz before you reach conclusions.”
“You’re right. I don’t like Carter so I’m putting him in the picture. But Rina’s right. The phraseology was almost identical. It’s something to consider.”
“Of course,” Marge said. “I’ll keep an eye on Elena for you. Make sure she’s okay and that she doesn’t run. If she stays put, I’m betting I can get her to come around.”
“How the hell did I miss Ricardo Diaz?” Decker was still admonishing himself. “I’m sure he didn’t show up on any registered sex offender list in the area.”
“Maybe he wasn’t a registered sex offender,” Rina said.
“No, you don’t suddenly choke a woman to near death and not have done it before.”
Marge said, “Maybe he hadn’t been caught. Or he did it and scared the wits out of his victims. He certainly scared Elena. Or maybe he is a sex offender but when he came to Greenbury, he didn’t register.”
Abruptly, Rina said, “He dyes his hair.”
Decker looked up at her. “What?”
“He had dyed blond hair. I remember noticing that he had dark roots.”
“So much for my powers of observation.”
“Women notice these things. I thought the color was an affectation—an attempt to be cool with the college kids. But in context, it could be he was changing his identity.”
Decker pawed through his notes. “I’m rusty!”
Rina said. “Stop berating yourself. You found Erin Young when everyone else gave up.”
“She found Erin Young.” Decker cocked his head toward Marge.
“After you gave me the picture,” Marge said. “Anyway, let’s concentrate on Ricardo Diaz. What do you know about him?”
“Just what he told me about himself,” Decker said. “Probably all lies.” He continued to page through his notes. “Where the hell is that list?”
“What list?” Marge said.
“The registry of sex offenders in the area. I thought I brought it with me. I was planning to show it to Erin or Elena—ask her if she knew anyone on there, but it turned out to be irrelevant. I can’t believe I left it at home. Shit. I bet Donatti’s looking through it right now.”
“Why would he do that?” Rina said.
“Because he can.” A pause. “Maybe I can call him up and have him read it to me. There weren’t that many names as I recall.”
“Why don’t you call Tyler?”
“Because that would be way too logical.” Decker picked up his cell. A moment later, he was explaining the situation to the kid.
To Marge, Rina said, “You know, your help has been invaluable. You solved one case but maybe more.”
“We got lucky. I’m just glad that Erin is alive. I’ll work on her to give up Ricardo Diaz. These things take time, though. The big guy will need to keep track of him.”
“I’m sure Pete will put a man on him. Most of the time, it’s pretty quiet where we are.”
Decker hung up. “Tyler’s e-mailing me the sex offenders list as we speak.”
“Good,” Marge said. “I need to get back to work.”
“Go, go. I’ve already wasted enough of your time.”
“It certainly wasn’t a waste of time to solve a missing person case. And I’m happy to be a part of it.” She hugged Decker. “See you tomorrow night?”
“Eight o’clock. We’ll be there.”
“You’d better. I bought a whole new set of pots and pans and plastic dishes just for you.”
Rina kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”
“See you then.” Marge gently closed the door as she left.
Decker kept his eyes glued to his iPad. He said, “She probably thinks I’m a doofus.”
“She adores you and so do I.”
“Ah. Thank you, Harvard!” The attachment was a list of thirty names. His phone rang: McAdams’s cell. “Got the list. Thanks.”
The kid said, “Ricardo Diaz isn’t on it.”
“That much I know. We’d remember if he was. We should look for
possible aliases . . . like the one staring right in front of me.”
“Richard Damon,” McAdams said.
“You’re one step ahead of me. I’ll call Marge and ask her to run the name through the national register of sex offenders and NCIC for me. If Ricardo Diaz is the same guy as Richard Damon, it means that Diaz didn’t register as a sex offender. I can bring him in. But I don’t want to play that card until I have more information.”
“Like what?”
“Like another open case with the same MO. We need to find out if Diaz had an alibi for the night Yvette Jones went missing.”
“I thought he told us that he didn’t arrive in Greenbury until after she disappeared.”
“According to him.”
McAdams said, “I could come down tomorrow, while you’re still in Ventura, and question him myself. He’s going to tell me that he can’t remember back seven years ago. But I can find out where he was living and verify that.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, it would help. But don’t ask him about the others, especially Erin Young. Don’t want to let on that we found her. Just make like we’re getting nowhere and this is just a routine follow-up.”
“Interesting to see how he handles being questioned again.”
“He knows Erin escaped. And we know that he had a partner. When I get off the phone with you, I’ll call up Greenbury and have Kevin watch him. Let’s see if he tries to contact someone.”
“Want me to apply for his phone records?”
“Without Erin, we don’t have enough evidence to justify a warrant. But it would be interesting to see if he meets anyone. Keep a watch.”
“What about the other two murders when he was living in Greenbury?”
“Don’t mention those.”
“You think he was involved?”
“Three bodies buried in the same place? Yes, I think he was involved. He admitted that he knew Pettigrew. And he admitted that he remembered Occum very well. Let me call the name Richard Damon in to Marge. I’d call Greenbury to look it up, but I know her department has a bigger database.”
“Still using outside help, Old Man.”
“Harvard, I’m using any help I can get.”
Chapter 33
Bone Box Page 27