Killing Secrets

by Dianne Emley

  The other man sounded authoritative and, Nan thought, coplike. Had she been tracked from L.A.? Or had her bad guy put out feelers, intuiting where she might be going and the route she might take? Or had the suspicious old coot Roscoe called the cops on her just because he didn’t like her? There was one thing she knew for sure: She had to get out of there and fast. But she wasn’t at all clear about the best way to do it.

  She heard Roscoe say, “I’ll be in my office.”

  Darting beneath the shower spray to wash off the soap, she saw the wedge of light grow wide across the ceiling when the door was opened. She peeled back the shower curtain and saw a local cop. He was standing with his right hand on the butt of his pistol in its holster on his belt. He was young and wiry with dark hair. She guessed that he was about her height and thought she might outweigh him.

  He said, “Ms. Buchanan?”

  “Yes?” She left the shower running. “Who’s there?”

  “I’m Deputy Ashford with the Fresno County Sheriff’s Office. Ma’am, please come out of the shower. I’d like to talk to you.”

  Standing at the rear of the shower stall, Nan pulled open the curtain to expose only part of her face. “Sheriff’s Office? What’s the problem?”

  “Ma’am, I just want to ask you a few questions.” He crooked his fingers at her. “Please step out of the shower.”

  “Questions? About what? I didn’t do anything.” Her heart was wildly pounding. She struggled to keep indignation in her voice and her abject fear out of it.

  “It’s best if you come out on your own free will.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing. I’m covered in soap. Privacy, please? I can’t go anywhere in here.”

  “Okay, ma’am. You finish your shower and get dressed. I’ll be right outside.”

  Nan made a show of flinging the shower curtain closed but she then stealthily opened it far enough to see him searching through her belongings on the hooks. He might have been hoping to find her ID but she knew he was primarily looking for weapons.

  With the water still running, she grabbed both sides of the shower curtain up high and pitched herself forward, pulling down the curtain and the rod as she hurled her body onto the cop. She got the curtain and the rod over his head and shoulders before she knocked them both to the ground. He hit the tile hard with his face. She was splayed across him, pulling the shower curtain to partially immobilize his arms. When she’d leaped, she’d whacked the showerhead, which was now spraying their lower bodies. He thrashed and kicked as he tried to turn over. The shower curtain that encased his head and shoulders muffled his yells.

  Wrapping the shower curtain around her left hand to keep it tight, she pushed up to straddle him. She kneeled on his left arm, freezing it, but endured blows from his flailing right hand, which tried to grab her but kept slipping off her wet and soapy skin. Beneath her thighs, she felt the Kevlar vest he was wearing under his beige uniform shirt. She planted her right knee, hard, onto his right wrist. With both of his hands pinned and his upper body trapped beneath the curtain, she grabbed his gun from his holster and tossed it across the room, where it slid against a far wall.

  While he was struggling to rock her off him, she flipped open his handcuff case on his equipment belt, got out his handcuffs, and snapped a cuff on his right wrist. She didn’t see anything nearby to cuff him to. The sinks were too far away. On the wall above them was a tampon dispenser, which was useless. If she could cuff both his wrists, she’d temporarily delay him from pursuing her because he’d have a hard time opening the closed door with his hands cuffed behind him. But he was strong and she couldn’t pull his right wrist close enough across his back to secure the cuff around his left.

  He heaved his torso and planted a foot against the wall, trying to get purchase to knock her over. He managed to push his body up toward his right side, pinning her right leg and his handcuffed hand beneath him. The movement allowed her to yank the shower rod farther down the front of his body. He kept pushing his leg against the wall, moving farther up and squeezing her beneath him. The open handcuff was on the ground to their right. Nan grabbed it. She released her pressure on him and he rolled both of them onto their right sides. He was resisting and she couldn’t pull his left wrist close enough to snap the cuff over it, plus his wrist and hand had the shower curtain wrapped around them. She was able to latch the cuff around the shower rod, which extended beneath his left arm. He was now sufficiently trussed and it would take him a while to figure out which end was up, but she was also trapped since he was lying atop her right leg.

  She shoved his shoulders. “Get off me.”

  A muffled “Fuck you” came back.

  On a hunch, she dug her fingers beneath his Kevlar vest and started tickling him. She’d guessed right. He was ticklish and began spasmodically jerking his body, yelling “Stop!”

  She freed her leg and got to her feet, then snatched her sweater and jeans from the hook and struggled to pull them onto her wet body. She was wearing one flip-flop and didn’t know where the other one was. She grabbed the towel and wig and stepped over Deputy Ashford as she flew from the restroom and ran to the Bronco. Roscoe glowered at her from the front porch of his office. As Nan raced from the RV park, she saw Roscoe hightailing it to the women’s restroom.

  She got off the highway as soon as she could, turning onto the first local side road she found. After a few miles, she turned onto an unimproved truck road and bumped along it through a grove of pistachio trees. Feeling reasonably certain that she hadn’t been followed, she stopped the Bronco and backed into a row between the trees, facing out for a quick getaway. She took a moment to catch her breath and gulp some water. She’d traveled a good twenty miles and had no clue where she was. She turned on the Garmin and watched the display as it searched for satellites, breathing a sigh of relief when it found one. Between the GPS and the collection of maps that Jim kept in the glove compartment, she was able to plot a route on back roads.

  She was pretty certain that Roscoe at the RV park was the one who’d put the sheriffs on to her and that the tentacles of the bad guy hadn’t reached her in this remote area in the vast California landscape. Still, her confrontation with Deputy Ashford had rattled her and brought home how close to the edge she was skating.

  Chapter 53

  Nan didn’t completely breathe a sigh of relief but felt more at ease when she began ascending into the Sierra Nevada Mountains without further incident. She pulled off at a gas station and took fresh clothes and a towel into the restroom, where she washed off the rest of the sticky soap as best she could. She also topped off her gas tank and checked the old car’s fluids. It was late in the afternoon by the time she reached Yvonne Zuniga’s home on Tumbleweed Lane in an older neighborhood in Sparks, Nevada.

  The beige stucco house was nondescript and had bars over the windows.The front yard was covered with red rock instead of lawn. Other than a few weeds that poked through the rocks, a large manzanita tree was the sole vegetation. In the driveway was a Ford Taurus with sun-damaged brown paint.

  Nan had ditched the wig and now she put her gun in its belt holster and attached her shield to her belt. She had reached her destination and could no longer hide behind a disguise. She had come all this way to try to get the truth from the last decent person involved in the Hayword saga, whom Nan believed still had secrets to tell. If Nan was arrested, so be it.

  She carried one of her business cards in her hand as she walked up to the front door, which was open with a metal security door over it. A TV in the living room was showing an animated movie with a dark-haired Disney princess Nan didn’t recognize. There was an open toy box against a wall. Dolls, stuffed toys, and puzzles were strewn across the carpet.

  Right after Nan rang the doorbell, she heard a young voice call, “I’ll get it,” and a girl of about eight or nine years and dressed in black and white ran into the room through a doorway at the rear of the living room. Her long black hair was done in pigtails tied with co
lorful elastic bands decorated with tiny plastic butterflies, and a row of neat bangs brushed her eyebrows. She stopped short before reaching the door and blinked at Nan with big brown eyes. She reminded Nan of Emily at that age.

  Nan leaned down and looked at her through the gate. “You must be Isabella.”

  She looked suspiciously at Nan and didn’t come closer. “I thought you were my friend who’s coming. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

  “Issy, who’s…?” Yvonne Zuniga came in carrying a basket of folded laundry. Her eyes widened at Nan. “Issy, go to your room, please.” She set the basket on a sofa and approached the metal door. “Can I help you?” Behind her, the girl picked up two dolls from the floor and went into the back of the house.

  “Mrs. Zuniga, I’m Detective Nanette Vining with the Pasadena Police Department in California.” She saw interest pique in Yvonne’s eyes. She held up her business card so the woman could read it. “I called you on the phone the other day.”

  Yvonne peered at the card. “Please put the card in the gate.”

  Nan did what she’d asked. “You wouldn’t talk to me on the phone so I drove all the way from L.A. to see you in person. I hope you might spend a few minutes with me. May I come in?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I need your help. I’d like to talk to you about Silver Spur and John Hayword.”

  Yvonne’s eyes grew anxious. “I told you on the phone that I don’t talk about the past. All that’s over and done with. Please go.”

  “Mrs. Zuniga, why won’t you talk to me? You seem afraid. Has somebody threatened you?”

  Yvonne had her hand on the house door and was about to close it but stopped when Nan said, “I read about your son David’s death. I’m so sorry. I’m a mom too and I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child. You may have heard about Melissa Hayword recently losing her and John’s son, Jared? He was seventeen.”

  Yvonne clasped her hand over her mouth and began rapidly blinking at the ground as if coming to grips with something.

  “It happened in Pasadena, California,” Nan said. “Jared and his high school teacher, Erica Keller, were found dead in a park. The police say that Jared stabbed Erica to death and then killed himself. I suspect that Erica and Jared were both murdered but I need proof. I’m hoping that you can help me and you’ll also help Melissa find out what happened to her son. Here are pictures of Erica.” Nan unfolded the tattered photocopy of Erica’s two photos and held it up to the gate over the door. “Did she come here to talk to you?”

  Yvonne’s expression turned from fear to horror as she looked at Erica’s photos. She clutched the fabric of her blouse over her stomach in her fist. “Yes, she was here.”

  “What did she want?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Yvonne abruptly wheeled around at a noise behind her and saw Isabella peeking from the hallway. Yvonne hissed, “Issy, go to your room.”

  Nan watched the terrified girl dart away. “Did Erica ask you about John Hayword’s murder? You knew John and I’m pretty sure you don’t believe that he killed himself. Please help me, Mrs. Zuniga. Melissa Hayword has lost her husband and her son. You know that grief. Help me find the people who are responsible for this.”

  Again grabbing the door, Yvonne said, “I can’t. I’m sorry for Mrs. Hayword, but I can’t help you. I have Isabella to think of.”

  “Mrs. Zuniga, you did an incredibly brave thing in cooperating with John Hayword to bring down the Silver Spur ring. It took a lot of guts to wear a wire to get incriminating statements from the likes of Barney Sax and Eli DePaul. You were brave then. Why are you cowering now? Why did you put yourself on the line to help John Hayword but you won’t help me? Were you in love with Jack Hayword?”

  Yvonne frowned as she leaned to look through the gate and around Nan. Nan turned to see a black SUV with tinted windows slowly cruising down the street. The car turned at the next corner. When Nan again faced Yvonne, her eyes were no longer afraid but focused and fierce.

  “That’s been thrown at me before. That I was sleeping with Jack and that’s why I helped him.” Yvonne bitterly laughed. “That’s so easy and so insulting, the divorced woman swayed by the affections of a powerful man.” She angrily shook her head. “That’s not it at all.”

  Nan kept her voice calm. “Mrs. Zuniga, isn’t it time to set the record straight?”

  She saw Yvonne take a shuddering breath and again look into the street behind Nan. Nan turned to look. The street was empty. “Mrs. Zuniga, may I come inside so we can sit down and talk about this?”

  “No.” Yvonne anxiously shook her head. She was a rawboned woman and Nan saw how the years of tragedy had eroded her. “I can’t let you into the house, but I will tell you about Jack Hayword. He was going to arrest me for money laundering. I’d worked for Barney Sax for twenty years. Barney began asking me to do funny things with the books and said it wasn’t illegal. I knew it was and told him so. Then he said that if I didn’t do it, he’d find someone who would. I was raising Issy. Barney was generous with time off and paid me well, so I went along with him. Nothing was going to happen, right?” She rolled her eyes.

  “Jack Hayword pulled me in. He offered me immunity if I cooperated with his investigation. I told him I wanted more than that. I said I’d do whatever he needed me to do to bring down the Silver Spur ring if he promised to find out who killed my son, David. I wasn’t getting anywhere with the Reno Police and Sergeant Keller.”

  Nan’s mouth dropped open. “Do you mean Ryan Keller, Erica’s husband?”

  “Yes. He was in charge of the investigation into David’s vehicular homicide case.”

  Nan worked through all the connections and breathed out a mirthless laugh. “Do you believe that Sergeant Keller was covering for whoever was responsible for David’s death?”

  “Yes. Over time, I became convinced that Sergeant Keller was stonewalling the investigation. He was polite and nice but he did nothing to dig into who killed my son. Evidence disappeared on his watch—paint chips transferred onto David’s motorcycle from the car that hit him. I even talked to Sergeant Keller’s supervisor about it. All he said was, ‘These things happen. The paint chips probably got misfiled.’ Misfiled, my behind.

  “So I made a deal with Jack Hayword: I’d help him if he helped me. I wore a wire. I was scared half to death. Jack promised that he wouldn’t let anything happen to me or Issy. Jack got his convictions and he was following through on his promise to help me find David’s killer.”

  Her voice cracked and her lower lip quivered. “Jack was such a nice man. An honorable man. He told me he was making progress. He’d found a witness, a man called Shorty who collected cans and bottles along the highway at night when it was cool and there wasn’t much traffic. Shorty had seen a dark-colored, souped-up muscle car driving at high speed that night near where David was killed. Then Jack died. You’re right. Jack didn’t commit suicide. I’m pretty sure he was murdered by somebody who didn’t want that car found. As far as the witness, Shorty, I asked Sergeant Keller about it and he didn’t know anything. If they can kill a federal prosecutor and get away with it, how much easier would it be for them to get rid of a woman and a little girl?”

  “Why did Erica Keller come all this way to see you?”

  Yvonne’s face settled into a look of resignation. “She called me on the phone and said she had information about David’s case. She wanted to help me. I told her, ‘What’s past is past.’ I didn’t need or want her help and hung up on her. Then she showed up here, just like you. I couldn’t listen to what she had to say. Understand?” She gave Nan a piercing stare.

  “You’re still being threatened, all these years later. Who’s threatening you? Can you identify him?”

  “I’ve never seen his face. He calls on the phone. Disguises his voice. Cars drive by—like that one you just saw. You’re a police detective. Why don’t you get him?” Yvonne again leaned to see around Nan.

  Nan turned to see the black SU
V again cruising by and turning at the end of the street. She turned back to see Yvonne’s front door closing, which was soon followed by the sound of the locks being engaged.

  Chapter 54

  Nan returned to the Bronco in front of Yvonne Zuniga’s house and took a few moments to be still. She rolled down the car’s front windows. A light breeze was blowing. The sun was setting. An orange glow rose behind the houses on the west side of the street.Traffic had picked up as people headed home from work, driving a little fast in their eagerness. She closed her eyes and inhaled the desert evening air, scented with dust and sage and something sweet—a flower that was blooming somewhere. She wished she knew what it was. Children rode bicycles and tossed balls. Their carefree voices and laughter elevated her and somehow gave her strength for what she expected would happen next.

  She considered calling the local cops, but what would she tell them? The guy in the black SUV would just talk his way out of any difficulty and she was the one who was wanted for questioning in a murder. The time had come for a showdown but she didn’t want it to happen in front of Yvonne and Issy’s home.

  Taking out her cell phone, she turned it on for the first time since she’d powered it off when she’d picked up Emily near the scene of Ashton’s murder. After the phone established a connection, texts and phone messages flooded in. Nan ignored them. She typed a one-word text message to Sergeant Early: Quake. It would take Early time to track her and send the cavalry but at least she’d be found, hopefully in one piece and having accomplished what she planned to do next. She sent the message and waited until the screen showed it had been delivered.

  Slipping her phone into her jeans pocket, she started the Bronco, turned on the headlights, and steered into the street. When she crossed a side street as she headed for the highway, the black SUV with tinted windows skidded around a corner and pulled close behind her.