Cathie stifled a sob. “Of course.”
Tom Ruiz patted his brother-in-law on the back. Devargas’s eyes filled with water, but he blinked and it was gone. “When can we get my baby back so we can give her a religious burial?”
“We’ll work on that right away,” Decker told him. “It would be helpful if we had scientific corroboration that it is Isabela.”
“Dental X-rays,” Marge explained.
Devargas looked at his wife. Tía Sandy crossed herself, then slowly dropped her hands to her lap, the interlaced fingers clutched so hard her knuckles were white. Her voice was clear when she spoke. “She saw Dr. Bradley and Dr. Chipley.”
Tom Ruiz said, “Dr. Chipley passed away a long time ago, but Fred Bradley’s still around. I just saw him at the Plaza’s spring pancake breakfast…when was that?”
“About a month ago,” Lucy said.
“Do you know if he still has his old files?” Oliver asked the old man.
“I’ll call him up.” Devargas picked up the telephone.
Tía Sandy said, “Peter, it’s after midnight.”
“He’ll make an exception. I know I would. You know where he lives, Tom?”
“I think he lives in Quail Run. He’s a big golfer.”
Devargas called up information and had the number within a few minutes, waiting several rings for someone to pick up the phone. He said, “Fred, it’s Peter Devargas here. I’m sorry to wake you up so late, but we have an emergency situation. You know my daughter went missing a long time…yeah, Isabela. Do you still have her dental X-rays? They found some bones in Los Angeles and…” Devargas momentarily choked up. He gave the phone to Decker and stormed into the bathroom. Decker introduced himself to the retired dentist on the line and explained the situation.
“Oh…okay,” Bradley said. “Now I got it.” A pause. “I sold my practice years ago to Jerome Rosen, a very nice young man who moved here from New York with his family. Done very well. ’Course I sold him a very busy practice.”
“So if anyone would have the X-rays, it would be Dr. Rosen.”
“Hold on, young man. It’s late, I’m old, and you’re moving too fast. I didn’t say that Dr. Rosen would have the X-rays, although he does have all my old patient files. But I kept Beth’s file…that’s what everyone used to call Isabela…Beth. I kept her files and her X-rays because of the special circumstances, I thought…well, at least, I was hoping someday that someone would make this phone call. I didn’t want her X-rays getting lost when the practice was shifted from me to Dr. Rosen.”
Decker gave Marge and Oliver a thumbs-up sign. Normally, they would have slapped one another a high five, but the mood was too somber to celebrate anything. “That was very smart of you to keep her X-rays.”
“Well, any thinking person in my field might consider doing the same thing. Like I said, I was hoping for the phone call. Well, actually, we were all hoping for better news than this, but after all these years, how likely was that? Anyway, if the poor girl was dead, the least I could do is make sure that she was identified. God knows the parents deserve to give her a decent burial.”
“When can we come over to collect the X-rays?”
“It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I got to find them first. How about one in the afternoon tomorrow?”
“That would be fine.”
“Okay.” Bradley gave them the address. “I’ll see you then. Good night now.”
“Good night.” Decker hung up the phone and regarded the men. Peter Devargas had returned, his eyes as flat as his expression. “He specifically kept the X-rays. That should speed things up.”
The parents nodded. They were mute and shell-shocked. Thirty-two years had just melted away. The wound had opened up and the pain was unbearable.
Decker said, “I know this is an incredibly rough time, but we’re going to need to talk to you about your daughter’s life. As you might have suspected, it appears that she was murdered.”
“The only bones you found were Isabela?” Devargas asked.
“Yes. Just one person. We didn’t find any indication that her husband had died with her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s exactly what I’m getting at,” Devargas answered. “’Course you wouldn’t find his bones. That’s because the bastard did it.”
Devargas’s voice and accusation could have come from Farley Lodestone’s mouth.
“I’d like to find out more about him…Manny.”
The room fell silent except for Peter Devargas muttering under his breath. “I never liked that son of a bitch. He was bad news from the minute she brought him home!”
“We need to talk about him in detail. As far as we know, he’s still missing as well. How about if we come back tomorrow and talk about what happened?”
“What happened is he killed her, son of a bitch!”
“Of course that could be a very real possibility,” Decker said. “We’ll need as many details as you can give us.”
Sandra Devargas stepped in. “I can tell you details.”
“When?” Decker asked. “You mean now?”
The old woman slapped her head. “How inconsiderate! You all must be so tired.”
“I’m fine, but I know I could concentrate better in the morning. Would you mind if we came back around eight or nine tomorrow?”
“That would be fine. I’ll make some breakfast.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Devargas, I’m sure we’ll all be hungry.”
Cathie nodded approvingly. It would have been rude not to accept the invitation.
“Come as early as you want,” Devargas told them. “I’m sure as hell not going to sleep tonight.”
“No we will not sleep tonight,” Sandy reaffirmed. “The truth is I have not really slept in thirty-two years.”
31
DAYBREAK BROUGHT A crystalline sky against a backdrop of deep violet mountains, a scene so crisp and infused with pure colors that it almost looked artificial. Decker took an early-morning walk around the Plaza, a green square in the center of town. All around were one-of-a-kind boutiques that specialized in regional arts, crafts, and clothing. He saw the Indians setting up their wares on the sidewalk under the portico fronting the old courthouse, placing handmade silver jewelry, pottery, and sand art on worn, wool blankets. By the time he got back to the hotel, Marge and Oliver were waiting in the lobby. Peter Devargas had called about twenty minutes ago. He was ready whenever they were ready.
Breakfast with the grieving couple was a somber affair, but that didn’t stop anyone from eating. The meal included scrambled eggs, trout hash served with salsa, beans, rice, and the ever-present corn tortillas served steaming hot. Fresh grapefruit juice and piping-hot coffee were the beverages of choice. When there was nothing edible left to consume, Sandra got up to clear. Everyone did their share and the dishwasher was loaded in record time.
The group adjourned to the living room, the detectives sitting three across on the couch while Sandra curled up in a chair opposite the sofa. She was dressed in a caftan, her gray hair long and loose. Devargas was in jeans and a work shirt. He leaned against the wall, staring out at a large cottonwood tree that dominated the front of his house. Cathie and her parents, Tom and Lucy Ruiz, would come by later in the afternoon.
Marge started out by addressing Sandra Devargas. “Thank you for talking to us at such a difficult time. It would be helpful if we had pictures of Beth and Manny.”
“As many photographs as you can give us,” Oliver added.
Peter spoke. “We got lots of Beth. I’ll want them back.”
“Of course,” Marge said. “Pictures of Manny would be helpful as well.”
“That’s too bad because I burned them all,” Devargas answered.
“Why do you think he was responsible for Beth’s death?”
Peter turned around and faced the detectives. “The boy was a snake in the grass.”
Decker turned to Sandra. “What did you think about Manny?”
She didn’t speak right away, assessing her thoughts. “He was charismatic, good-looking, the star of the football team.”
“He was a running back.” Devargas addressed the men. “Fast on his feet and quick with a line or a comeback. Girls fell for it and for him.”
“He did have his share of dates,” Sandra said.
“All the attention made him cocky.” Devargas spoke with bitterness. “Here, he was a big fish in a tiny pond. When he got to Los Angeles, he wasn’t so special anymore. To me, he was only special in his own mind.”
“Tell the truth, Peter. He had a lot of local fans.”
“Well, I wasn’t one of them.”
“That may be, but you weren’t a young girl with a free heart.” She sighed. “I think L.A. took him down a notch. In the beginning, they were both miserable. I thought that it would give them motivation to move back to Santa Fe, where they were loved.”
“She was loved,” Devargas corrected.
He was sounding more and more like Farley Lodestone, Decker thought. “Did they ever consider moving back to Santa Fe?”
Sandra shrugged. “If they did, they never told me. Then, of course, they disappeared…”
“She disappeared, he cut out.” Devargas glared at the detectives. “That boy is somewhere out there. If you people are worth a tenth of your salary, you’ll go out and find him!”
“If he’s out there, that’s exactly what we’ll do,” Oliver said. He turned to Sandra. “Do you think that Manny was responsible for Beth’s death?”
“Sometimes yes, but sometimes no,” Sandra answered. “I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.”
“How did they support themselves?”
“Beth worked as a waitress and Manny took on odd jobs.”
“The boy was a damn janitor.”
“There is nothing disreputable about honest labor, Peter.” She looked at the detectives. “He worked as a janitor, but he also took on odd jobs—carpentry mostly. He was good with his hands.”
“They were fighting all the time,” Devargas said. “There was never enough money.”
“At first, there was tension,” Sandra agreed. “Later on they got along much better.”
“How so?” Marge asked.
“Well, maybe they just adjusted. She and Manny had steady jobs, but I think what really helped was joining the church. It gave them friends with common interests and spiritual guidance.”
“It wasn’t like a church,” Devargas snorted. “It was more like a whacky cult.”
“She was raised Catholic.” Sandra stepped in. “But over here, Catholicism is often mixed with our tribal customs. I’m Santa Clara Indian, so our children were always taught several ways of honoring the Holy Spirit. We’re more tolerant of unconventional worship. So it was natural that Beth would be comfortable in a service that might be a little different.”
“This wasn’t just unconventional worship, this was a damn cult,” Devargas kept insisting. “They were all gonna live together in a commune, probably get stoned on pot and have orgies.”
“Peter, you don’t know that at all.”
“I know that Manny smoked pot all the time.”
“Not all the time.”
“Every time I saw him, I smelled it on his breath. We tried to warn Beth about him, but she wasn’t having any of it.”
Sandra had no comment to his pronouncement. Decker was writing notes as fast as he could. “Why do you think the church was a cult?”
“Because it was the seventies,” Devargas said. “That’s what the young rebellious kids did. They got together, smoked pot, and had orgies—”
“Peter, that’s just not fair. There were lots of wonderful young people back then. They just had something to say.”
Devargas snorted. His eyes shifted between Decker and Oliver. “You two would be about Beth’s age. I bet you remember the wild times.”
“I do indeed, but I wasn’t part of it,” Decker said. “I was in ’Nam, then I joined the police force.”
“Times two,” Oliver said.
Devargas gave them a begrudging nod of respect. “Then you know that these communes were excuses to take drugs and have lots of sex. Beth wasn’t that type of girl, but she was smitten by that boy.”
Decker asked, “Did this church have a name?”
“Church of the Land…some crap like that,” Devargas spat out.
“The Church of the Sunland,” Sandra corrected. “After all, it was California.”
“Did you ever attend church services with your daughter?” Marge asked.
“No, we didn’t,” Devargas said. “We weren’t interested.”
“I did once,” Sandra admitted. “It was an alternative service, but I thought it was very nice. The church rented a storefront and there were about thirty congregants.”
“Do you know specifically where they rented space?”
“It was in San Fernando,” Sandra told them.
Decker said, “There’s the San Fernando Valley and the city of San Fernando, which is surrounded by the San Fernando Valley. You wouldn’t happen to remember a street name.”
Sandra thought long and hard. “I believe it was Becker Street.”
Marge said, “Becker Street’s in Foothill Division.”
“What a memory,” Decker said. “You said things got better between them. Did Beth tell you that things were getting better?”
“Yes, she did,” Sandra answered. “I remember that about a month or so after my visit, Beth called me up very excited—it sounded like my old cheery daughter. The church had a small plot of land in the back of the rented space and the plants were thriving. That gave her an idea. What if they pooled their money to buy acreage in central California, and tried their hand at organic farming? She thought a collective farm would be a wonderful way to serve God and make a living. I was happy because it seemed to me that the kids were finally developing some much-needed focus.”
“The scheme was phony as a three-dollar bill,” Devargas said. “And if you didn’t know already, guess who was in charge of the money?”
Decker asked, “Who elected Manny to be in charge of the money?”
“He probably elected himself.”
“Then the kids disappeared…” Sandra crossed herself and looked at her lap. When she looked up again, she was dry-eyed. “We tried to track down some of the church members and talk to them. We thought that the disappearance might be related to the money that Manny was keeping for the church.”
“Of course it had something to do with the money!” Devargas said. “When Manny and Beth disappeared, so did the money. We tried to meet with the church members, but they were mad and wouldn’t take our phone calls. The few that would talk to us accused the kids of stealing.”
“We were getting nowhere over the phone, so we finally decided to visit in person. By the time we got there, the church storefront had been locked and cleaned out.”
“When you arrived in L.A., how long had the kids been missing?” Decker asked.
“Two weeks at the most,” Sandra said. “The first few days that Beth didn’t call, I thought that maybe she was just busy. We didn’t speak every day. By the end of the first week, I was worried. That’s when we started calling the people in the church.”
“I read the missing-persons file,” Marge told them. “It was thinner than I would have expected, so it may not be complete. But I sure don’t remember reading anything about the Church of the Sunland and any cash that Manny was holding for the group.”
“I read the file also,” Oliver said. “There was nothing in there about that church or any church.”
Marge said, “Did you tell the police your suspicions about the church?”
“’Course we did,” Devargas said. “I told them about the church and the money and everything. I even gave them the name of that friend of Beth’s.”
“She was the one person who returned our phone calls,” Sandra said. “When it became clear that the
kids went missing, she was distraught.”
“More like distraught over the missing money,” Devargas said.
Marge got excited. “Do you remember the friend’s name?”
“She had three names,” Devargas said.
“Alyssa Bright Mapplethorpe,” Sandra told them. “I remember her saying that she was a distant relative of Robert Mapplethorpe, the artist.”
“Do you know what happened to Alyssa?” Oliver said.
“No, I’m sorry I don’t know,” Sandra said. “I might have her old phone number.”
“That’s a good place to start,” Marge told her.
Oliver said, “Do you remember anyone else from the church?”
The elderly couple thought a moment and both shook their heads no.
“I’ll tell you what I do remember,” Devargas said. “That the police didn’t consider it a crime if two grown people pack up their belongings and move somewhere else. People do that all the time, they told me. I told them, ‘Well, maybe people do it, but my daughter wouldn’t do it…worry her mother like that.’ That’s when I told them about Manny and him being in charge of the church money.”
“It’s coming back to me,” Sandra said. “I remember the detective saying that if Manny stole money from the church, then the church needed to file a complaint and then they could investigate a crime.”
“I knew that the church would never file a complaint,” Devargas said. “First off, the church didn’t exist anymore. Second off, with all the drugs and sex that was going on, I knew they wouldn’t get the police involved. For all I know, they were buying the land to grow marijuana.”
‘Peter, you’re making things up.”
“I’m not saying it’s true, but you can’t say it wasn’t.”
“We hired a private detective to find Beth,” Devargas said. “What a waste. He found some of the old church members, but they were no help at all. They just accused Beth and Manny of stealing and cutting out.”
“I was hoping he’d find Alyssa,” Sandra said. “But that didn’t happen. I called her number up a month after the disappearance but the line had been disconnected.”
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