by Lynn Bohart
He approached them with a tense expression. “I’m Ron Martinelli. Pam tells me you’re here about Lisa. Please, let’s go into my office,” he said, gesturing with his left hand.
Giorgio noticed the heavy gold watch on his wrist. With a rigid turn, Martinelli led them into his office, where Ms. Brinson stood off to one side.
“We’d like to speak to you alone, if you don’t mind,” Giorgio said, eyeing the assistant.
Martinelli circled his desk to stand behind it. “You can speak freely in front of Ms. Brinson.”
“I don’t think so,” Giorgio countered. “This is a police matter. We need to speak to you alone.”
Martinelli started to object, but she put up a hand. “That’s fine, Ron. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
She left for her office through an adjoining door, and Martinelli offered the two men a seat.
“What’s this about Lisa?” he said, sitting behind the desk. “Is there some new information about her disappearance?”
Giorgio glanced at Swan. “You haven’t seen the news?”
“I just got back from Florida. What news?”
“We believe we’ve found her remains,” Giorgio said.
Martinelli inhaled, his eyes growing wide. His fingers reached out for a pen lying on the desk. He picked it up and began rolling it between his fingers.
“Where?”
“Some landscapers found an old well on the property of the monastery up in Sierra Madre. At the bottom was the skeleton of a young girl. We found a faded pink flower headband and a heart necklace with the body.”
Martinelli inhaled again and held it this time. His eyes glistened as tears threatened. He opened his eyes wide to control the onset and then dropped his chin. After a moment, he said, “My God, she was there all the time. So close. And we didn’t even know it.” He lifted his head and looked at Giorgio through wet lashes. “What happened? How did she die?”
Giorgio glanced at Swan again, allowing him to take over.
“It appears she may have been struck on the head. They found an old army shovel in the well with her.”
At the mention of the army shovel, Giorgio noticed a quick flash of recognition in Martinelli’s eyes, but then it was gone.
“Did you know anyone who owned an army shovel back then?” he asked.
Martinelli laughed a mirthless laugh as he opened a drawer and drew out a tissue.
“We all did,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Well, any of us who were in the Boy Scouts. We used them for making camp.”
“I see,” Giorgio said. “Can you tell us what happened that night? We’ve read the case file. But we’d like to hear it from you.”
Martinelli stared at them a moment and then got up and turned to look out the big picture window behind his desk. It looked out onto a canopy of trees and a stretch of green lawn.
“It was prom night…1967,” he said as if the memory of that night had just reformed in his mind. “I picked Lisa up around six o’clock. I had borrowed my dad’s car and took her to dinner at the Northwoods Inn in Pasadena,” he smiled. “From there we went to the prom at the Huntington Sheraton.” He turned back, his hands in his pockets, his nervousness abated now that he was walking down memory lane. “We left the dance around eleven o’clock and…” He stopped.
Giorgio had the distinct feeling he was contemplating something. To lie? To tell the truth?
“The temperature was mild that night, so we went to the park and…well, we had sex.” Martinelli said with a shrug. “Then I took her home.”
“What time did you drop her off?”
“Just before midnight.”
“What happened the next day?” Giorgio asked.
“I went to church with my parents. I tried calling Lisa when we got home, but no one answered.” He looked up at the detectives. “Her mother drank a lot, so I didn’t think much about it. But by noon, she was calling our house wondering where Lisa was.”
His throat seemed to close around the words, and he reached over and grabbed a bottle of water on his desk. He opened it and took a swig. A bead of sweat glistened at his brow.
“By Monday, her disappearance was all over school. Everyone was hammering me, wondering what I’d done to her,” he said.
“They thought you’d harmed her?” Swan asked.
Martinelli sat behind his desk again.
“Not necessarily. A lot of my friends figured we’d gotten into a big fight, and she’d just run off. But we hadn’t fought. The police department was pretty small back then, and they didn’t even look into it until Monday night. By that time, it was clear that something had happened to her, and they opened an investigation. And of course, I was their primary suspect, and I didn’t have anyone to corroborate my story.”
Martinelli shrugged his broad shoulders again as if it was no big deal, but the tense muscles around his mouth said otherwise.
“What about Jimmy Finn?” Swan asked.
Martinelli’s eyes seemed to shrink back into his head at the name. “Jimmy had a crush on Lisa. Everyone knew it. He lived next door to her in a duplex up near the canyon. She was always nice to him, but that’s as far as it went. As far as I knew, he’d never done anything inappropriate towards her — she would have told me. I mean back then, white girls didn’t date black guys. Well, not many, anyway. So if he’d so much as suggested anything, Lisa would have said something.”
“So you don’t think he killed her?” Giorgio said.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why he would. But then I don’t know why anyone would…” He dropped his head again and clasped his hands. “She was just a really nice girl, Detective. She may not have been from a wealthy family, but she was smart and funny, and she wanted to be a teacher.” He paused and sighed deeply. “She would have made a great teacher,” he said, almost to himself.
“How do you think her belongings got into Jimmy’s locker?”
He glanced up, recognizing the edge to Giorgio’s voice.
“I didn’t put them there, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t know how they got there, and I would never have hurt Lisa.”
“How did Jimmy react when they found those things in his locker?” Swan inquired.
Martinelli thought back to that moment. “Two police officers came to the high school. We all went to PHS – Pasadena High School,” he clarified. “It was at the first lunch break, and they started going through lockers. We didn’t know why. We just saw the cops, so the kids all gathered around and watched. I remember Mr. Franken, the drama teacher, tried to get kids to break up and move on. We didn’t know what they were looking for, though, so it was better than watching a John Wayne movie. At least, until they opened Jimmy’s locker. They pulled out Lisa’s shoe…and her underwear.” He swallowed, as if his throat had tightened again. “And, my world kind of fell apart.”
“Was Jimmy watching with everyone else?” Swan prodded him.
“Yeah. He just stared at the officers. He was kind of slow, you know. One of the guys on the football team pushed him forward, and he kept staring at the underwear without saying anything. The cop asked him if it was his locker, and he said yes. But when they asked him how the shoe and underwear got there, he just kept shaking his head and saying, ‘no, no, no.’”
“What did you do?” Swan asked.
He sighed with remorse. “I lunged for him. I was pissed. I actually caught him by the shoulder and wrestled him to the ground. The cops had to pull me off.”
“So you thought he did it?” Giorgio asked.
“At the time I did. I mean, there was that evidence.”
“But not now?”
“Like I said, I don’t know. It just didn’t seem like him. But he got convicted, and then I heard Jimmy died in prison. So maybe we’ll never know.”
“What about Lisa’s step-father? Did you ever meet him?”
“No. Lisa never talked about him. I didn’t even know about the …you know, what he did to her, until the inv
estigation. She was a very private person.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Giorgio asked. “Kids who didn’t like her? Other boys who might have bothered her? Girls who maybe were jealous of her relationship with you?”
He just shook his head. “No. I admit that I was probably a good catch back then. I was on the football team, and my dad was obviously wealthy. But kids were pretty cool about our relationship. And Lisa was well-liked. She was even on the drill team. That was a pretty elite group of girls.”
“Elite?” Swan asked.
“Yeah. The drill team was very competitive, and all the girls wanted to be on it. Lisa loved wearing that stupid red and white uniform,” he said, his face relaxing into a smile. “But she didn’t have the money to buy it, so I paid for it.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I never told my parents, though.”
“Did your parents approve of your relationship?” Giorgio asked.
Ron Martinelli grimaced. “No. They tolerated it. My mother, just barely.”
“And they were both home the night she disappeared?” he asked.
Martinelli stiffened at the question. “Mother was, yes. My father was out of town.”
Giorgio perked up. “But you just said you went to church the next day with your parents – plural.”
“Yes…um…we did,” he stuttered. “My father came home late that night. He wasn’t supposed to be home for several more days, but…uh, he was there when I got home.”
Giorgio regarded him quietly and then stood up. “Well, if you think of anything else, please let us know.”
He handed over his card and moved to the door. Martinelli followed, stepped in front of him and opened the door.
“So, you’re opening a new investigation?” Martinelli asked. “You don’t think Jimmy did it?”
“I think Lisa Farmer deserved a better investigation,” Giorgio said.
As they stepped into the reception area, another man was standing at the front desk. He was taller than Ron Martinelli, and had dark, heavy features. Ron saw him, paused, and then moved forward.
“Detectives, this is my cousin, Fritz Martinelli. He runs the real estate half of the business.”
The other man was dressed in crisp slacks and a polo shirt. A gold chain glittered around his neck. He was about the same age as Ron, tan and physically fit. He regarded the two police officers with caution.
“Police? What’s going on?” he asked.
“They think they’ve found Lisa’s body,” Ron said. “After all these years. Up at the monastery.”
Fritz Martinelli’s thick eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “Really? Well, we all thought she was dead,” he said unsympathetically. “Took a long time to find her, though.”
“Yes,” Giorgio said, thinking this guy could use some sensitivity training. He glanced at Ron. “We’ll be in touch.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Giorgio and Swan returned to their car, and Giorgio pulled out his cell phone to call McCready.
“Hey, I need the current address for Ron Martinelli’s mother,” he said.
He waited while McCready found what he was looking for. A moment later, the young cop came back on the line with the information.
“By the way, I found the company that did the construction up at the monastery back in 1967,” McCready said. “They’re still in business over in Monrovia.”
“What’s the name?
“Aladdin Construction.”
“Okay, why don’t you head over there and talk to them. Find out if they still have records from when the patio was constructed and if anyone knew about the well. Also, we need to know if Lisa Farmer’s step-father is still alive. And see if the duplex the Farmers lived in still exists.”
“Will do,” McCready said.
When Giorgio hung up, Swan glanced at him. “Where to now?”
“Let’s go see the Ice Queen,” he said with a smirk.
Claire Martinelli still lived in her big Craftsman-style home in Pasadena, off Colorado Boulevard. The home was set back from the road, with sweeping lawns and a long, circular drive that ended in a large parking area in front of the veranda. The property was protected by a walled perimeter and heavy iron gates.
They had called in advance and were buzzed in when they announced themselves at the gate. A young Latino woman wearing a crisp uniform met them at the front door and showed them into a swank living room, with a big picture window overlooking the front gardens. A tastefully decorated Christmas tree stood in one corner, while a grand piano stood in the other. The piano was accented with green garland, red bows and a display of family photos.
Giorgio took a moment to survey the photos. He ID’d younger versions of both Ron and Fritz Martinelli, and two older men who looked enough alike to be brothers. One was probably Royce Martinelli, and the other was his brother, Fritz Martinelli’s father. According to the file, his name was Edmond.
“Detectives,” a strong voice said behind them.
They turned to find a woman in her eighties sitting in a motorized wheelchair. Wheelchairs often diminished an individual’s presence, but not so with Claire Martinelli. She appeared to be a tall woman and sat straight as a rod. Her gray hair was pulled back from an angular face, exposing high cheekbones and sharp brown eyes. She was dressed in an expensive gray pants suit, with a silk blouse and a string of heavy pearls at her neckline. Large pearl and diamond earrings graced her earlobes. There was nothing frail about this woman, other than her inability to walk. There was nothing casual about her, either. This was a woman who still commanded attention and wanted them to know it.
“Please,” she said, gesturing toward the sofa. “Sit down. I’ll have Rita bring us something to drink.”
She turned to the girl who hovered in the background and flicked her wrist. The girl disappeared down the hallway.
Claire Martinelli pressed a button on the arm of her chair and wheeled into the room. Giorgio and Swan sat at opposite ends of a pristine Queen Anne sofa.
“I understand you’re here to ask some questions about Lisa Farmer. I heard on the news that someone finally found her body after all these years. I’m afraid I won’t have much to say. As I told the police back in 1967, I was asleep the night she went missing.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Giorgio began. “But we’d like to hear it for ourselves.”
Her eyebrows arched. “I think you just did.”
Giorgio paused. Claire Martinelli was clearly used to controlling her environment, and he had just invaded her space. She didn’t like it. He would have to tread lightly.
“Let me be more clear,” he said with an apologetic nod. “Can you tell us what you did earlier that night?”
“I thought the man who was responsible was put in jail years ago. Why are you bothering to ask questions now?” she retorted.
“From what we can tell, there wasn’t much of a case against him. No direct evidence.”
She laughed derisively, her upper lip curling. “I beg to differ. They found her underwear in his locker. What do you call that?”
“That’s circumstantial evidence. Someone else could have found a way to put those things in there.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, why would anyone do that?”
Rita interrupted them by returning with a tray of glasses, ice and a pitcher of lemonade. She set it down on the coffee table and quickly poured a glass for her employer. Mrs. Martinelli took it and then flicked her fingers again. Rita poured glasses for her guests. When the girl was finished, she quietly left the room.
Swan picked up his glass and took a drink, while Giorgio continued.
“Mrs. Martinelli, just a moment ago you said they had arrested the man who was responsible for Lisa Farmer’s disappearance.”
She flinched. “Did I? Well, he’d be a man by now, wouldn’t he?”
“Actually, we understand that Jimmy Finn is dead,” Giorgio said. “He died in prison.”
She paused again, as if she hadn’t known tha
t. She recovered quickly.
“So much the better,” she said, with a flip of her head. “I’ve always thought we spend far too much money on our prison system.”
Giorgio wasn’t sure if her callous attitude was real or manufactured. But he was more curious about what it was meant to convey.
“If you could just tell us what you did the night Lisa Farmer disappeared,” he said, knowing that he was pushing her.
She took a sip of lemonade and placed the glass on a coaster on a side table. “I hardly remember every detail about a single night over forty years ago, Detective.”
“I understand. But please, if you would, try. We know your son left around six o’clock to pick Lisa up for the prom. Did you see him leave that night?”
“Of course. I took some pictures of him dressed up in his tuxedo.”
“Do you still have one of those photos?”
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Yes, I believe I have one in one of our photo books.”
She reached over and grasped a small bell and rang it. Rita appeared so quickly, it was as if she had been waiting down the hall. Mrs. Martinelli asked her to find the big green photo album in the family room.
“Did you approve of Lisa, Mrs. Martinelli?” Giorgio asked after the girl had left.
Her eyes flashed momentarily. “Neither my husband nor I approved of his dating that girl. She was from up in the canyon, and her mother was a drunk. But Royce said Ron was just sowing wild oats, and so we allowed it.”
“Had you ever met Lisa?”
“No. Of course not. My son wasn’t allowed to bring her to the house. What would our neighbors have thought?”
“You lived in what’s known as the Pinney House back then, is that right? On Lima Street?”
“Yes. It was a beautiful old Victorian. I believe it’s a bed and breakfast now.”
Rita returned with a large, faded photo album and handed it to her mistress. Mrs. Martinelli flipped open the pages until she came to the page she wanted. She extracted an old color photo of her son and held it out for Giorgio. The picture showed a young Ron Martinelli standing in the hallway in front of a room with a desk and a tall bookcase in the background. Giorgio studied the photo for a moment and then handed it to Swan.