“Nothin’ we didn’t expect. The ME said he’d dictate the report right away. We should have a copy in the next day or two.”
Books hesitated. “On second thought, I would be interested in what the ME had to say about the time of death.”
Call removed a small spiral notebook from his shirt pocket and began turning pages. “The ME estimated the time of death between noon and eight P.M. Sunday.”
“Sounds about right,” said Books.
As the meeting adjourned, Books asked Sheriff Sutter to stick around.
“Charley, I want to be sure you and I are on the same page going forward.”
Sutter nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Short of a confession from Clayburn, I intend to continue looking at other possible suspects until we can eliminate them.”
“I don’t see why that’s necessary. We’ve got our man; I’m certain of it.”
“You might be right, but I’ve been at this long enough to know that it’s a big mistake to focus exclusively on one suspect to the exclusion of others who may also have had motive. And even if it is Clayburn, we need to find out whether he was acting alone or in concert with somebody else.”
“Like Darby Greenbriar?”
“Possibly.”
“Anybody else?”
“At the moment, the short list includes Barry Struthers and Tommy McClain, and, as noted, Darby Greenbriar. That reminds me. I need your list of CFW members. Call already gave me the list of EEWA members that you and he put together.”
“Again, I don’t see the point. You don’t have anything tying members of the CFW to the murder.”
“Not directly, but one of our remaining suspects threatened the Greenbriars shortly before the murder, and he’d be a CFW member.”
“You mean Trees McClain.”
“Tommy and one of his yet-to-be-identified cohorts.”
Sutter frowned, got up from his chair, walked to the window, and looked out over the BLM parking lot. He turned back to Books and dropped a folded sheet of paper on his desk.
“There you go—knock yourself out. But don’t forget who’s in charge of this investigation. I intend to keep you on a short leash.”
Chapter Nineteen
Books leaned back in his chair and reviewed the list of likely CFW members. It included some predictable names, some he didn’t recognize, and a few that surprised him, such as Rusty Steed. Groups like the CFW had sprung up all around the West in response to real or perceived threats from environmental organizations. While Books knew little about the origin of the CFW, he guessed that it was mostly comprised of like-minded locals, intent on lobbying for state and county control of public lands.
Books intended to pressure Neil Eddins into surrendering an official CFW membership list much the way Darby Greenbriar had. He wasn’t holding his breath that Eddins would choose to cooperate, however. In the meantime he added the list to a growing murder book.
He wanted to roust Barry Struthers and Trees McClain, but that would have to wait. Instead he needed to schedule another round of interviews with Darby Greenbriar and Lance Clayburn to find out the exact nature of their relationship. Both had lied to him during their first interviews.
His plan called for Sheriff Sutter and Deputy Call to execute the search warrant at Clayburn’s home while he questioned Clayburn at the sheriff’s office. If everything worked, he would extract a confession from Clayburn while a search of his home yielded additional evidence linking him to David Greenbriar’s murder.
It was late in the afternoon when the telephone rang.
“Ranger Books, this is Assistant Medical Examiner Cornelia Wallace. I wanted to let you know that the body of Mr. Greenbriar is ready for release pending your approval.”
“We don’t have a problem with that. Would you like me to contact the family for you?”
“Please, that would be helpful. Any questions I can answer for you?”
Books thought for a moment. “I think I know the cause of death. Any other wounds?”
“Not much doubt about cause of death,” said Wallace. “There was significant trauma to the area around the heart—relatively small entry wound but massive damage with the exit wound. He wouldn’t have survived if he’d been shot in a hospital parking lot. As for other wounds, nothing major—some postmortem light bruising on both legs and one arm, probably caused when the body was moved.”
Books thanked her and disconnected.
He dialed the EEWA office. Celia Foxworthy answered.
“Hi, Celia, this is J.D. Books. I’m looking for Darby. Is she in?”
“She left early this afternoon—poor girl—she was sick all morning.”
“That’s too bad. Her stress level’s probably off the charts.”
“Could be, but I don’t think so. If I was a betting woman, I’d say she’s pregnant. This wasn’t the first morning she’s spent with her head in the toilet. I had two boys. I know all about morning sickness.”
“Don’t know what to say about that. Bad timing, maybe, or a planned pregnancy. Did she or David ever mention wanting to start a family?”
“Subject never came up, not with either of them.”
“One more thing for her to have to deal with, I guess.”
“I’ll look in on her tonight when I get home—maybe bring her something to eat.”
“That would be nice.”
Books then asked her to tell Darby that David’s body was available at the ME’s office in Provo.
“I’ll let her know,” said Foxworthy.
“Appreciate it,” said Books. “You might also ask her to call Lillian in Berkeley and discuss the funeral arrangements. I think a small contingent of David’s old friends plan to attend the service.”
“Okay.”
Books thought about Darby Greenbriar. While he could empathize with everything she must be going through, he could ill afford to let his feelings interfere with his next round of questions. There were things that only she and Lance Clayburn could answer. And as in every homicide case, time mattered.
He decided to contact David Greenbiar’s attorney before he talked to Darby again. Stein would have answers to the estate questions that Darby was either ignorant of or deliberately lying about. When he called, the lawyer’s secretary informed him that Stein was in conference with a client and would return the call as soon as he finished.
Thirty minutes later, the phone rang. “Good afternoon, Mr. Stein. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
“No problem, Ranger Books. How can I help you?”
“I just spoke with the medical examiner. She told me that David’s body is ready for release. I assume a funeral service will be scheduled fairly soon.”
“I’ll pass that information along to Lillian.”
“Appreciate it. As a part of our investigation, we’re trying to determine the specifics of David’s estate—figured you’d be the man to help me with that.”
“Hold on a minute. I’ll pull the file.”
A minute later, Stein was back. “What specifically would you like to know?”
“Who stood to gain what in the event of David’s death?”
There was a pause. Books could hear the sound of pages turning. Finally, Stein said, “Here we go. It looks like David left a quarter-million dollar life insurance policy with Darby listed as the primary beneficiary.”
“Any secondary beneficiary?”
“Yes, in the event both he and Darby died, the policy proceeds would be split equally between Lillian and the Escalante Environmental Wilderness Alliance.
“Anything else?”
“Yes. There’s also a will. I tried to get David to dump it and create a revocable trust, but he never got around to it.”
“That means what?”
“That means nobody gets anything until the matter goes through probate,” said Stein. “There’s also the issue of estate taxes. The state of Califor
nia will end up getting a piece of the estate.”
“What was in the will?”
Stein sighed before continuing. “David left the bulk of his estate to Darby. However, he made several bequests to a small number of friends and to the EEWA.”
“Translate that into dollars for me if you can.”
“Sure. David’s university retirement account held between three and four hundred thousand, I’d say closer to four, but I don’t have any recent account statements.”
“Not exactly chump change.”
“No, it’s not,” said Stein. “He also maintained a small stock account with Charles Schwab. David liked to dabble in individual stocks and took great pride in his stock-picking acumen.”
“And what was that account worth?”
“Just a guess, but I’d say somewhere in the range of fifty thousand.”
“So, Darby stands to inherit roughly six hundred grand, counting the life insurance policy.”
“That’s ballpark, but yeah. And that doesn’t include the house in Kanab, which she also gets.”
“Tell me something else. Was Darby aware of what was in the estate and what she stood to gain in the event of David’s death?”
“Oh, yes. Darby attended several meetings. I’d say she took more than a passing interest in the estate planning.”
“That’s odd,” said Books. “The reason I’m calling you about the estate is that Darby professed almost total ignorance about what might be in it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, unless she snoozed through our meetings, and I don’t believe she did. She should have been able to fill you in on at least the rudiments of the plan, particularly in this kind of a marriage.”
“What do you mean ‘this kind’ of marriage?”
“I do a lot of estate planning, Ranger Books, and my experience has been that in the case of trophy wife couples, the young lady often has, how can I discreetly put it, an intense interest in the details of the estate.”
“And Darby was no exception.”
“Most definitely not.”
“Then let me ask you this. Did David ever consider asking Darby to sign a prenuptial agreement?”
“Oh, I suggested it to him on more than one occasion, but I’m afraid David was so smitten that he never seriously considered it. I doubt he and Darby ever discussed it.”
“Is that unusual in trophy wife marriages?”
“Not really,” said Stein. “I’d say in maybe half the cases I see, a prenup becomes part of the estate plan. And in this case, let’s face it, David was not a terribly wealthy individual. I think he considered himself a very lucky man to have landed a beautiful young woman twenty years his junior.”
“Let me ask you one more thing. Did David ever mention wanting to start a family with Darby?”
There was a lengthy pause. “Hmm, none of my business, you know, but I want to say that on one occasion, many years ago, Lillian expressed sadness that she had been unable to conceive. You’d better ask her about that.”
“I’ll do that. You’ve been most helpful, Mr. Stein, and I’ll look forward to meeting you when you come out for the funeral.”
“Likewise,” said Stein, and the line went dead.
Chapter Twenty
Books left the office and stopped at the post office to pick up his mail and buy stamps on his way home. He had a stack of unpaid bills lying around that required his immediate attention. After that, he’d go to work on the search warrant affidavit for Lance Clayburn’s home.
On impulse he drove into west Kanab past the home of Rebecca Eddins. Her SUV was parked in the driveway. He stopped, got out of the Yukon, and knocked on the front door.
Moments later, Eddins opened the mission-style door. She broke into a broad smile when she recognized Books. “What a pleasant surprise! How are you, J.D.?”
“Good, Becky. And you?”
“Fine. Please come in. Your timing couldn’t have been better.”
“Yeah, how come?”
“You’re just in time for dinner.”
“I don’t want to impose….”
“You’re not imposing. In fact, I’m going to put you to work. Follow me.” Books followed her into the kitchen.
“Nothing fancy, but Cody and I were just about to sit down to beef tacos and corn on the cob. You can shuck the corn.”
He smiled. “You always this bossy?”
“Always,” said Eddins. “In fact, that was one of my ex’s biggest complaints about me—that I constantly drove his car, as he liked to call it.”
“Did you?”
Becky sighed, “Yeah, I guess I did. But in my own defense, if ever there was a guy who needed somebody to drive his car, it was Clark Porter.”
“Porter. That was your married name?”
She nodded. “Once I had the baby, it felt like I had to raise two kids.”
“That couldn’t have been much fun.”
“Trust me. It wasn’t.”
Books stood over the sink and shucked three ears of corn. “There’s nothing better than sweet Utah salt-and-pepper corn on the cob during late summer. I’ve been gone a long time, but I still remember that. You don’t know it, but you saved me from another frozen TV dinner—they get old real fast if you’re eating them often enough.”
She smiled. It was a great smile. “We’re glad you could join us. So what can I get you to drink? I’m drinking Australian Shiraz, or I can get you a beer or ice tea.”
“A glass of the Shiraz, please. Tell me something, and pardon me for being so nosy, but what’s a nice young woman who grew up in the Mormon faith doing with a refrigerator full of beer and a nice rack of wine?”
“I guess somebody in the family was destined to become a rebel, and it turned out to be me. Clark grew up in the church, but his family was never very active. After we married, neither of us showed much inclination to remain involved.”
At that moment, a stranger walked in. He was wearing a two-gun rig around his waist, leather chaps over his jeans, a cowboy hat, and a sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt. Becky said, “Cody, I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine. Can you say hello to Mr. Books?”
Looking up, Cody said, “Hello, Mr. Books.”
Books extended a hand and Cody tentatively reached out and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Cody. I really like that two-gun outfit you’re wearing. Where’d you get it?”
“Grandpa gave it to me for my birthday.”
“That’s just what grandpas are for.”
Books glanced from Cody to Becky. “I can sure see his mother in him.”
“He’s an Eddins from head to toe,” said Becky.
They ate dinner outside under the covered portico. After dinner, Cody headed off to play while Books and Becky remained outside to enjoy pecan pie and coffee.
“By the way, thanks for organizing the homecoming party,” said Books.
“Glad to do it. We’re really looking forward to it.
“Heard you had a visitor the other night.”
“Sure did. I’d spent a brutal day in juvenile court in St. George on an ugly child custody case. By the time I got home, I was beat. I’d put Cody to bed and was relaxing in the hot tub when I heard someone or something walking across the sandstone.” She pointed to an area toward the back and side of the house.
“Did you see anybody?”
“Not really. When I looked at where the sound came from, I thought I saw something move in the shadows, but I wasn’t sure.”
“What’d you do?”
“I was out of the hot tub in a flash—ran back to the house, turned on the outside lights, and headed straight for the gun cabinet.”
“You didn’t dial 911?”
“Nope. I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” She sounded defensive. Books let it pass—none of his business anyway.
“Any idea who the visitor might have been?”
>
“Not a clue. I’ve also had some strange phone calls lately, no voice, heavy breathing, that sort of thing. I’d dismissed it as the work of some crackpot, maybe even some kid I’d dealt with in my law practice. Now I’m not so sure.”
They talked a while longer. By the time he left, Books thought he’d convinced her to dial 911 if she experienced another incident. In turn, he promised to keep an eye on the house whenever he could. She seemed relieved and thanked him. At the front door, she put her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. She kissed him lightly on the lips, holding the kiss long enough that Books felt a stirring he hadn’t experienced in nearly a year.
***
Back home, Books began writing the search warrant affidavit for Lance Clayburn’s home. It became clear that he’d overlooked something important. Did Lance Clayburn own a .30-06 caliber rifle? The shell casing found at the murder scene came from a .30-06. In the morning, he’d check the firearms registration records of the Utah Bureau of Criminal Identification.
The legal case against Clayburn already looked strong, and the possibility of complicity with Darby Greenbriar couldn’t be ruled out either. Short of a confession, nothing would strengthen the state’s case more than finding the actual murder weapon. There was no denying that physical evidence found at the murder scene put Clayburn there. Both he and Darby Greenbriar had lied about their relationship, and Darby stood to inherit significant financial assets from David’s estate. From what Books had learned from Victor Stein, Darby had even lied to him about her knowledge of what was in the estate. And now there was the matter of a possible pregnancy. Was David Greenbriar the father or could the father be Lance Clayburn? He had to find out.
***
Around midnight, Books surrendered to fatigue and went to bed. The nightmares started again as they did with alarming frequency—the adrenalin rush, the sound of gunfire, the agonizing screams of an innocent victim’s bereaved widow as she held his head in her lap and rocked back and forth watching her husband’s life blood stain the snow a dark crimson.
His memory of that awful day, his last day as a member of the Denver Police Department, remained as vivid as if it happened only yesterday:
On Deadly Ground Page 10