by K. A. Tracy
“It’s some kind of small car that still looks too big for her.”
Sam hung up, frustrated. So whose Lincoln is that?
• • •
Monica handed Sam her phone messages when she walked in. “And some faxes came in, too.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a Manila envelope. “I didn’t think you’d want these left on your desk with Mr. Read-Over-Your-Shoulder on the prowl. Marlene wouldn’t let him leave early so he’s in one of those foul moods.”
“Thank you,” Sam gave Monica an appreciative bow. “I’ll start collecting for your Christmas bonus now.”
Sam glanced into Marlene’s office, saw she was on the phone, and decided to bring her up to speed later. She sat at her desk and read her messages. The first was from Nate saying most of her order was on the way, the rest would be over by the end of the day. The second was from Joe. She called the condo but no answer. As threatened, he had rented a car and was probably on his second round of shopping.
Leaning back in her chair Sam’s body sagged with fatigue, a mid-afternoon slump she suffered whenever she didn’t get enough sleep the night before. She idly picked up Rydell’s Palm Springs map still tucked under her keyboard and studied the creases. Originally the map folded in half, then thirds, exposing the front and back covers. But there was a second set of creases. Sam folded the map to match those. Where the back cover should have been was the section of map that included the area where Rydell’s body was discovered.
“I simply do not believe in coincidences,” Sam muttered, staring at the map. The vast area east of Highway 111 from the tram to the 10 Freeway was a flat expanse inhabited primarily by energy producing windmills. But on the west side were a couple of roads that led up into the foothills of the mountains. “What the hell were you up to?”
She logged onto a paid service that supplied address information as well as tract and parcel numbers. She typed Palm Springs in the search box and an aerial map of the city loaded onto the page. She moved the cursor where Highway 111 turned into Palm Canyon and double-clicked. The map zoomed in to show more detail of that area. It was like Google Maps on steroids. She kept going deeper into the map until she could see structures. She clicked on the Gas 4 Less and a window popped up showing the owner—Margery Black—and the real property information.
Sam zoomed out and located the turnoff nearest to where Jeff’s body was found. Devil’s Canyon Road snaked up the mountainside past a small trailer park and dead-ended into two large commercial buildings both identified as belonging to Environmental Tech Services, Inc.
Sam opened a second browser and searched until she found a detailed topography map of Palm Springs and zoomed in on Devil’s Canyon Road. She adjusted the degree of zoom on both windows until they were the same proportions then printed them out, the property page a fast draft so it would print lighter and the topography page best quality so it was darker. She put the property sheet on top of the topography sheet and held them up to the window. They told an interesting story.
The two buildings were situated on a bluff directly above Devil Canyon Wash, a deep channel that ran down the mountainside east, back towards Highway 111. On the other side of Devil’s Canyon Road, to the north, was a visible trail that curved over a relatively low tor. Sam guessed it was a makeshift road created by ATV riders or a long-existing Indian trail. However it was formed, following that path led almost directly to where Sam found the jacket—an exposed expanse that would make someone running for their life easy prey. Sam stapled the two pages together and set them aside.
Next, she did a fictitious business name search for Environmental Tech Services. The listed owner was a limited partnership called ETS. Looking statewide, Sam saw there was another Environmental Tech Services office near San Francisco. Sam called local directory assistance and asked for a listing.
“I have two,” the operator said. “One is in Palm Springs on Devil’s Canyon, the other is in Cathedral City on Via Rancho.”
“Can I have both please?”
Sam wrote down the numbers then called the listing on Devil Canyon. There was no answer so she called the Cathedral City location.
A female voice answered, “ETS.”
“Hi, I was wondering if you could tell me what kind of business this is?”
“We’re a recycling company,” the woman responded politely.
“Where I can drop off my paper and bottles?”
“No, we do industrial and technology recycling.”
“Oh, I see. Well, thanks anyway.”
Sam minimized the window on her screen and leaned back in her chair. Technology recycling included old computers, surplus inventory, overstock software, discarded cell phones, and other related materials. It was a thriving Information Age cottage industry.
She closed her eyes and assimilated this new wrinkle into the facts as presented.
Ellen called Jeff a computer whiz.
There was a flyer for software stashed in his papers.
Not far from where his body was found is a building in the business of computer recycling.
He borrows $500 from George as seed money for some business venture, maybe drug-related but maybe not.
He tells Kim he’s heading home but has business to finish here first.
Kylie sees him reading papers from an envelope marked confidential.
Jeff’s map is folded to the area where the buildings are located.
Marge sees him drive off in that direction followed by a big black car similar to the one that came close to making her human road-kill.
Jeff gets into a verbal confrontation with Mystery Man A at Crazy Girl.
Their argument elicits amusement from Money.
A half hour later, Jeff and Money get into an altercation that leaves her furious and driving in a car with Mystery Man B, possibly Argo.
Jeff ends up dead in the desert.
His car, laptop, and surveillance equipment are missing.
Rather than dwell on it, Sam cleared her head and left it alone. Eventually, some nugget of information would ignite a chain reaction of deduction, and in a moment of synaptic fission the picture would come clear. Until then, she just had to keep investigating.
She called Larissa Dodds—no answer, no voicemail, or machine. Sam saved the number on her cell phone to call later. She also saved the numbers for Ellen and Detective Larson.
Sam made another copy of the motel receipts and registration, put them in a fresh envelope, and wrote Attn: Detective Larson on the front. She put the envelope in her backpack then opened the email from Veronica Flowers listing the nearby phone numbers of Rydell’s former Cattle Hill neighbors along with their names. Like Nate, Veronica kept her emails cryptic, leaving off the area code and just listing the local number. It was going on 6:15 in Eastern Tennessee, a good time to reach people at home.
Sam pulled out her laptop, attached her headset, and opened Skype. As soon as a call connected, she had an app that automatically recorded the conversation. The laws on taping phone conversations varied from state to state. California was a two-party state, meaning both parties’ consent was required; to secretly tape record a phone call was a misdemeanor. If Sam worried the person on the other line might resist, she simply shuffled some papers while asking, “Do you mind if I tape some notes?” In all her years, only one person had ever noticed she was saying tape instead of take.
Sam looked up Tennessee law and discovered it was a one party state so she could tape with legal impunity. And she felt no ethical qualms about taping without asking.
The first number she called was Jeff Rydell’s former house. It only rang twice before a woman of indeterminate age answered. Sam glanced at the page. “Hi, is this Mrs. Pangburn?”
“Yes it is,” she answered without a trace of wariness.
“My name is Samantha Perry. I’m calling from California. I’m trying to track someone down, and I’m hoping you might be able to help me.”
“California! I certainly don’t know anybody in
California.”
“I’m looking for Jeff Rydell. I believe you bought your house from him.”
“Jeffery Rydell, that’s right. But we didn’t know him. We never even met him. Everything was handled by the real estate agent.”
“Did the agent ever mention why the house was on the market?”
“He said that Jeffrey’s mother had recently died after a long illness, and he needed to sell the house to pay off bills. The house wasn’t in the best of shape, to say the least.”
“Do you know if any of your neighbors have stayed in contact with him?”
“I wouldn’t,” she apologized. “I haven’t gotten to know the neighbors very much, what there is of them.”
Mrs. Pangburn couldn’t remember the name of the real estate agent, “I’ve blocked all that from my memory,” but suggested Sam call later to talk to her husband.
There were three other numbers Veronica had designated nearest neighbors. To infer from Mrs. Pangburn, these people could live miles away, but Sam was hopeful Cattle Hill wasn’t that rural. There was no answer or machine at the first number. A service picked up on the second number, but Sam didn’t want to tip her hand by leaving a message. The last number belonged to a Mrs. D. Monroe. The voice that answered sounded elderly but lucid.
“Is this Mrs. Monroe?”
“Yes, that’s me. Who is this?”
Sam introduced herself by name, not profession. “I’m trying to track down relatives of Jeff Rydell and was hoping you might be able to help me.”
She clucked her tongue. “I don’t think so, dear. He doesn’t have any left.”
“So you know Jeff?”
“Only for all his life.”
Sam sat forward. “Mrs. Monroe—”
“Oh, it makes me feel so old when people call me that. Please call me Dorothy.”
“Okay, Dorothy. So his parents are dead?
“Yes, Stan and Vicky have both passed away. They were each only children, and Jeff was an only child so there aren’t many Rydells to be found in these parts anymore. Why is it you need to know this?”
Sam originally intended to lie because she didn’t want to risk any friends or relatives learning about his murder through gossip. But if Dorothy was right, there wasn’t much point in being circumspect. And since she wasn’t next of kin Larson couldn’t bust her chops.
“I’m afraid I have some sad news. Jeff’s been killed.”
“Oh, no. Dear God bless his soul,” she whispered. Sam visualized her making a sign of the cross. “Are you with the police?”
“No. I’m a reporter in Palm Springs working on a story about his death. I’ve been trying to find someone who knew him to get some background information. He never told his acquaintances here much about where he was from or his life.”
“No, I don’t suppose he would have,” she sighed, sounding shaken but holding it together.
“Why do you say that?”
“Jeff went through some hard times in recent years taking care of his mama. She had liver cancer, and it took her a long time to pass. Terrible thing. But he was devoted to her. His daddy died right after Jeff graduated from high school, and he took the responsibility of being the man of the house to heart. Instead of going on to college he stayed home, got a job, and supported Vicky. Then when she got sick he took care of her that way too.”
“So to your knowledge, he has no living relatives?”
“Well now, that I can’t be sure of, no, because Jeff was adopted, you see. So who knows if he has any blood kin left, but this line of Rydells died with him. What happened? Was it a car wreck?”
Sam hesitated, still digesting the fact Jeff was adopted. “No, it wasn’t an accident. Jeff was murdered last Sunday.”
Dorothy gasped. Please don’t drop dead of a heart attack, Sam prayed. But when Dorothy spoke she was stunned but steady. “I’ve never known anyone who was murdered. Who did it?”
“The police are still investigating, but right now they’re not sure who killed him or why. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” a scenario Sam didn’t believe but hoped would deflect any more questions.
“My Lord, I’m so glad Vicky’s already dead, or this would have killed her straight away.”
“Are you up to me asking you some questions?”
“Of course, dear. Anything I can do to help.”
“Thank you. Was Jeff adopted as a baby?”
“Yes, I remember the day they brought him home.”
“You and Vicky were close.”
“You could say that. We were neighbors and friends for well over sixty years. Her family moved into the house across the way when we were both ten. We were best friends all through school. Then I got married and started a family right away, and we fell out of touch the way you will although we always sent Christmas cards. When my folks died, I moved back into the family home with my husband and kids because it was more roomy, and my older brother didn’t want it. Not long after, Vicky and Stan bought her family home from her parents who were moving to Florida. So twenty years later we were reunited. It was like no time had passed at all.”
“But Vicky and Stan had no children of their own?”
“That was one of Vicky’s heartbreaks; she couldn’t have little ones. Then like a miracle they got Jeff. She was almost fifty by then, but having that little baby invigorated her.”
Sam was surprised a couple in their fifties would be able to get an infant, especially a healthy white infant. “They went through an adoption agency?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. It was a, uh, private situation.”
“They adopted the baby directly from the mother?”
“Something along those lines.”
“Were they related to the mother?”
“They really didn’t like to talk about it much.”
“I can appreciate that,” Sam spoke calmly, trying to gain her trust. “Every family has secrets they don’t want to share with strangers. But Dorothy, the truth can’t hurt them now. And it might help me a lot in understanding what happened to Jeff or at least get a better sense of who he was.”
“That sounds reasonable,” she conceded, but her voice wavered with uncertainty.
“Was it that a young girl in their family got pregnant and couldn’t care for the baby?”
“Something along those lines,” she said again, sounding relieved that Sam guessed it so she wouldn’t have to say it. “Vicky and Stan were very, very close to another couple over in Sevierville, where they lived after getting married. I met them once when they came during Christmas for a visit. We all had dinner, and it was such a fine time. For the life of me, though, I don’t remember their names.”
“That’s okay. Just tell me about Jeff.”
“What I can recall, it was the husband’s niece who got in trouble. She went to live with them so that nobody back home would know. After the baby was born, she didn’t want to keep it. Can’t really blame a girl that young. I don’t think she got along with her daddy, from what Vicky said. Sad state of affairs.” Dorothy’s voice sounded distant, lost in memories.
“So this girl’s uncle and aunt asked Vicky and Stan if they wanted the baby?”
“That’s right. They couldn’t stand the thought of putting it in an orphanage, and they felt they were too old to start a family, even though they didn’t have kids of their own either. Plus, they were moving out to California because he got offered a good job out there.”
“Why didn’t the girl’s family take the baby in?”
Dorothy hesitated. “It wasn’t a good place for a baby to grow up. There were…problems. I think the girl went with her aunt and uncle out west to get away from the situation.”
Sam could only think of one “problem” that would cause such hesitancy. “So her father was sexually abusive?”
“It sounded like it, from what Vicky let on. It had to be bad because she wouldn’t tell even me everything.”
“Do you remember what t
own this girl was from?”
“It’s not a matter of remembering; I never knew. What little I did know about everything, Vicky swore me to secrecy about. I think they were scared of that young girl’s daddy. So once the adoption was done, they never said another word about it. Not a one. Not to me, not to Jeff. Vicky took that secret to the grave.”
Sam wasn’t convinced. What if Jeff found out he was adopted and tracked his mother or her relatives to California? That would explain why he was here and some of the cryptic comments in L’s letter, which reminded Sam.
“Did Jeff have a girlfriend?”
“He did for quite a while. High school sweethearts. Vicky dreamed of having grandbabies and used to tease Jeff about hurrying up and getting married. But then Vicky got sick, and there was no way Jeff could settle down while caring for his mama.”
“Do you remember the girlfriend’s name?”
“Something like Lisa.”
“Larissa?”
“That’s it! I heard she moved away, though.”
“From whom?”
“Jeff. At his mama’s funeral I asked what he was gonna do. That girl, Larissa, got a good job in Knoxville, and he was thinking of moving there with her. I told him to go and not look back. With his parents dead there was nothing to tie him to Cattle Hill anymore. It was time to get on with life and find himself some happiness. That’s what Vicky would’ve wanted, and I told him so.”
“When was the last time you talked to Jeff?”
“That was it. About a week later I saw a For Sale sign go up in the front yard. Never saw Jeff or that big old car of his again, so I assumed he left to be with his girl in Knoxville.” Sam heard a sniffle. “I can’t believe anyone would hurt that boy.”
Sam had no response that would make sense of the senseless. “I want to thank you, Dorothy. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me. If I have any other questions would it be okay if I call you back?”
“Of course, dear. You can always catch me at supper time.”
“And if you remember anything else, like the names of Vicky and Stan’s friends, please call me.” She gave Dorothy her number, said goodbye, and called Larissa Dodd’s number. Still no answer. Sam would just keep trying, into the middle of the night if need be, until someone answered.