“Interesting,” thought Moffat. It was now a Baptist church. Moffat stepped inside. He smelled old wood and varnish. To the right of the entrance, attached to the back of the nearest pew, he saw a wooden box filled with photocopied black and white brochures explaining the history of the building. In 1910, the popular minister Hugh Wilkinson changed his affiliation from the one to the other, bringing nearly all the townspeople with him. Moffat gazed at the simple dais, imagining Reverend Pane pouring out a fiery sermon to a motley congregation. He left the church and continued his tour walking up the hill through the graveyard where he saw an open grave with perfect sides and a neat pile of dirt nearby. No doubt this was the handiwork of Reverend Pane that so perplexed his Sergeant.
From two hundred yards below in the area of the crime scene Moffat heard excited shouts. Descending the slope rapidly, he saw the photographer on the extended ladder of the fire truck in front of and above the place where Gillis’s body had been last night. Moffat joined one of the policemen. The photographer, he said, had noticed something inside an Italian cypress about ten feet from the side of the building. A metallic object had caught the light from the morning sun and reflected into the camera’s lens and the photographer’s eye. The second officer carried an A-frame ladder and placed it upright next to the bush. Climbing the rungs so that his hand was at a height of just about eight feet, the officer looked down into the shrub and saw a handgun wedged between two branches at the trunk. The officer next to Moffat handed the one on the ladder an evidence bag. Using it as a glove, he carefully placed the gun inside and passed the bag down to the first officer.
Moffat watched and smiled. “Congratulations, gentlemen. I think you may have found our murder weapon.” Moffat directed them not to mention the gun to any member of the public.
Moffat sat on a bench at the sidewalk and made bulleted notations in his notebook. The presumed murder weapon was completely out of sight when, five minutes later, he saw Mrs. Pane rounding the side of the building carrying a platter. She smiled and called to him and the other officers. The platter held four large paper cups filled with coffee and a stack of large biscuits sliced in half and filled with scrambled egg, cheese and bacon.
* * *
During the twenty-minute drive back to the station with the officer who had pulled the gun from the cypress, Moffat phoned De la Peña, telling him of the photographer’s discovery. Moffat was surprised by his reaction. He hadn’t known the Sergeant long but would have predicted a more enthusiastic response to a development as significant as finding the murder weapon from the normally exuberant De la Peña.
“Oh, well, good. That should help.” The Sergeant seemed a bit distracted.
“How’s the interview going with Aaron?”
“Yeah. Well, we’ve made some progress here, too. He admitted that his aunt had a visitor but wouldn’t give the name. I finally got him to describe the car. It’s a dark Jaguar XKZ. The watch commander believes he’s seen the car in the north county and that he may be able to determine the owner. He’s making some calls now.
“Good, Sergeant.” Detecting tension in De la Peña’s voice, Moffat asked “Is there a problem?”
“The kid isn’t talking much. He’s really nervous. He just about freaks out when I’m in the room.”
“Moffat grew concerned. “Is he alone now?”
“Yes.”
“Have Officer Tashara and Mrs. Grubb sit with him until I get there.”
“Yes, Sir.”
* * *
Moffat thought De la Peña was a bit “freaked out” himself when he joined him outside the interview room at the station. The Sergeant put five quarters into a vending machine, collected a can of Dr. Pepper and took a large drink. He was sweating and flushed. Apparently, the interview with the 15 year old had not gone smoothly, in spite of the fact that they may now have a lead on the sports car.
De la Peña never thought of himself as a bully. Though tall and athletic since childhood, he had always made an effort to be kind to anyone smaller or weaker. It was an important part of his self-image. Now, he worried he may have pushed too hard. The trip to the station was meant just to show Aaron that this was a serious situation. The Sergeant had continued to be a bit tough in the interview room.
“This is a murder investigation. You can’t lie to me. It’s a serious offense,” he had told Aaron.
Aaron had stared at the Sergeant then lowered his eyes, shoulders slumping and both arms resting limply in his lap. From that point, Aaron seemed barely to hear him, his body shaking and answers, when they came, in one or two words.
Moffat and De la Peña switched on the monitor connected to the camera that recorded everything in the interview room. Mrs. Grubb and Officer Tashara were seated at the table with Aaron. There was a plate of brownies in the center. Tashara ate one as she chatted quietly with Mrs. Grubb. Aaron had a plastic water bottle, open, in front of him and was slowly turning the pages of a magazine.
“Looks OK now.” Moffat told De la Peña.
As they stood watching the monitor the day shift watch commander came up from behind them. He handed a slip of paper to De la Peña. The most likely driver of the Jaguar had been identified. Moffat tapped on the door of the interview room, entered and sat at the head of the table.
“I’m Alexander Moffat, Aaron. I hope this isn’t uncomfortable for you. Most people are a little nervous in a police station.” The boy shook his head, staring down at the table.
After a short delay, De la Peña entered the room. Aaron raised his eyes and watched him intently. Aaron’s breathing quickened and he blushed slightly.
“Aaron.” Moffat drew the teenager’s attention back to himself. “You are here voluntarily to cooperate with the investigation of your aunt’s death. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know anything about what happened to your aunt?"
“No.”
“…And you last saw her?”
“When I was working in the yard. She was only there about an hour.”
“You didn’t see her when you were bicycling home?”
“No.” He seemed to think it was an odd question.
“What grade are you in, Aaron?”
“I’m a sophomore.”
“And what are you studying?”
“English, World History, P.E., Algebra 2…”Aaron was reminded of the test he had missed this day. He felt pain in his stomach. Moffat noticed the pain register on his face.
“Do you like school?”
“It’s alright.” His expression didn’t change.
“Aaron, we know your aunt had a visitor when you saw her yesterday. We think it was your schoolmate Scott Conti.”
Aaron turned pale. He clenched his teeth.
De la Peña asked: “What is your relationship with Scott?”
Aaron raised his voice for the first time. “We don’t have a relationship. He’s a senior. We don’t even like each other.”
De la Peña leaned toward the boy. “What were you and Scott doing with your aunt? We’re bringing him in to talk to us. Why did you lie about him being there?”
“Don’t…” Aaron moved his left arm, pushing away from the table and De la Peña. His lower forearm bumped the water bottle. It teetered then fell, a small amount splashing on Aaron’s stomach and lap.
“Oh, man!” De la Peña regretted the words as soon as he spoke them. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The teenager turned a very bright red. Moffat passed a small stack of paper napkins to Aaron and began talking calmly.
“This room is a little hot. Jason, would you turn the thermostat down just a bit? Officer Tashara, how are these brownies? Aaron, would you like one?”
De la Peña stood, walked to the far wall and turned the thermostat counter clockwise. Aaron watched him. De la Peña removed his jacket, walked to the corner and hung it neatly on a coat rack. Aaron’s eyes never left De la Peña. Moffat thanked Aaron and signaled De la Peña to join him outside.<
br />
In the hall, De la Peña raised his hands, palms up, silently asking Moffat “what did I do?”
“Don’t worry about it, Sergeant. This kid is having a pretty rough life. I don’t think he can help us. Would you ask Officer Tashara to drive him home? Ask her to pick up his bike at the Gillis’s on the way.”
The watch commander approached them. “Captain, I just got a call. Scott Conti and his father are on their way upstairs.”
“Thanks. Sergeant, make sure Aaron stays in number one until we get the Contis in Room 2.”
* * *
Nicholas Conti was accustomed to having his way. He had always been a mediocre software engineer but was superb at recognizing what the market place would want. This, combined with his wife’s considerable technical skills, had made him wealthy. He shook Moffat’s hand.
“We want to help in any way we can, Captain. My son hardly knew Mrs. Gillis. She’s been to our house a few times. Her husband is my son’s field hockey coach.”
“Thank you both for coming down. Please, take a seat.”
The elder Conti sat to Moffat’s right, his son next to him. Moffat looked directly at the teenager. “Scott, I have a few questions for you. Why did you drive to Veronica Gillis’ home yesterday?”
“Who said I was there?”
“Scott,” his father admonished. “He was there yesterday around three.”
“ Yeah. I had to pick up some sodas for the team party. She was donating them.”
“How long were you there?”
“About ten minutes is all.”
“Can you tell me what you talked about?”
“Nothing really. Just some laughs. She was a funny person.”
“Did you see anyone else there?”
“Aaron Jamison was there the whole time working in the yard.” A smirk appeared on Scott’s face. “Oh, yeah. His aunt told him to get to work. He was dogging it. He gave her a really dirty look. He was pretty mad.”
“All right. What did you do the rest of the day?”
“I had practice. Went home for dinner. Did some homework and went to bed.”
“So,” Moffat said, “from 5:30 to 6:30 you were at your parents’ house?”
“Yeah.”
Nicholas Conti elaborated. “That’s right, Captain. We were at the house spending some time together before dinner. Talking, watching the news.”
The watch commander knocked on the door, stuck his head in to say there was an urgent call. Moffat excused himself. During his absence, De la Peña asked about the elder Conti’s contacts with Gillis. She had handled real estate transactions for their home and business and had attended several of the Contis parties.
Moffat returned. He thanked the teenager and his father saying he would be in touch if he had any further questions.
As they walked through the office, Scott said to De la Peña “Say hello to Aaron for me. Tell him I‘ll see him tomorrow.”
* * *
De la Peña felt bewildered, not that he would ever describe himself that way. He had expected Moffat to press harder with Conti. That one was the kind of kid a policeman would take an immediate dislike to. The smirk and the attitude that he’s better than everyone else - that combination is guaranteed to set off a cop. De la Peña could not imagine why his boss let them go so quickly.
“Break for lunch?” Moffat interrupted De la Peña’s musings. They walked the hall to the stair well.
“I didn’t believe Conti’s story about the soft drinks,” De la Peña said as he followed Moffat down the steps.
“It didn’t have the ring of truth, did it?”
“No. His father dropped the Chief’s name in there. I don’t like that. Does he think he can scare us off?”
“Maybe. I’ve met some rich people who think the rules are different for them. We’ll keep an open mind. Being obnoxious doesn’t make him a killer.”
At the entrance to the cafeteria, De la Peña pulled two plastic trays from the stack, handing one to Moffat. De la Peña greeted the two ladies working the grill and steam table. One of them passed a bowl of beef stew to Moffat as she said “Hi, Jason. Cheeseburger today?”
“Yes and fries extra crispy.”
“You got it. Extra fries, extra crispy for our newest policeman.” She beamed at the Sergeant.
The ladies whispered to each other and laughed. Moffat turned to De la Peña with an amused look. De la Peña, cheered now, shrugged.
At a table by a plate glass window with a view of the mountains, De la Peña salted his potatoes and thought he would bring up Aaron Jamison.
“I’m sorry about botching the interview with Aaron. I misread him. I just wanted to rattle him a little. Man, that kid is touchy.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. It’s not easy to predict how people will react. Adolescents are harder. We can question him later in a more relaxed environment. Do you have him on your list of suspects, Sergeant?”
“I guess we can’t rule it out. The spoiled rich kid said he was mad at his aunt. Maybe he just snapped. He seems like he could.”
“Who else do you have so far?”
Sergeant De la Peña chewed thoughtfully, took a drink of cola and said “The husband’s usually my first choice. Maybe she was having an affair.” De la Peña thought a few more seconds then continued, “He didn’t seem like the type to get so jealous he would commit murder.”
“I know what you mean. Who else?”
“There’s that ghoul Pane. But no, he would have used an axe or a chain saw.”
They laughed together.
Moffat added a name. “The sweet Mrs. Pane had a confrontation with the victim just before the murder.”
“Oh, that reminds me. I told Officer Fat to check the minimart surveillance camera. If we find Mrs. Pane there buying a ticket, we can drop her.”
“Good idea.” Shall we pay a visit to Veronica Gillis’ real estate office?”
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 5
For the second time Thursday, Moffat rode with De la Peña to Miner’s Flat. When the white SUV descended the pass, both men looked to the left up the road to Veronica Gillis’s house. Three miles northwest of the old town there was a modern commercial area with an industrial park and three four-story office buildings. De la Peña parked in the lot near a sign that read “Gillis Executive Real Estate Group.”
The detectives stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor. Five of Gillis’ employees were engaged in conversation, standing with coffee cups in front of the reception desk. At the center of the group was a slim, well-groomed man of about sixty with short gray hair, blue slacks, a tailored pale blue shirt and a dark blue and gold tie.
Moffat approached the receptionist. “I’m Captain Moffat. I’d like to see James Rees,”
“I am James Rees,” the gray-haired man said from behind them.
Moffat displayed his badge and he and De la Peña followed Rees to a glass-walled office at the corner. Mrs. Gillis’ business occupied the entire floor. Carpeting, cubicles and furniture looked new and expensive. The policemen sat in comfortable leather chairs across the desk from Rees. Moffat noticed a large, ornate gold ring on the second finger of his left hand. The credenza behind Rees, was decorated with a wooden model of a sailing ship, a trophy with a large golden medal and an 8x10 framed color photograph of Rees, a man about the same age, an Asian woman about twenty-five and two average sized dogs with curly dark gray hair, the dogs’ faces trimmed to look like old men with goatees.
Moffat began. “Mr. Rees, you have my sympathy for the loss of your colleague.”
Rees smiled sadly, nodding. “Thank you, Captain, that is very considerate. You don’t always realize how much a part of your life a coworker can be. Ronnie was such a …” Rees struggled to find the words. “She was such a larger-than-life person. There will be quite an empty space in our small group.”
“Mr. Gillis said you had known her the longest.”
“That’s true. I started working for L
araine while still in my twenties - about the Sergeant’s age I would guess.” He smiled at them both. “Ronnie began working summers here while she was still in junior college. That was in the 70’s. She studied business, got her bachelor’s degree and eventually passed the state exam to be a broker. Like her mother, she had a natural talent for finding buyers and helping them find exactly what they want. When Laraine had her stroke, Ronnie took over and never missed a beat.”
“Was there ever any resentment about the boss’s daughter being groomed for the top?” De la Peña asked.
“Not at all, Sergeant. We have occasional employee turnover, two or three a year, but that is usually because we let them go for poor performance or people leave on their on. Most of the rest of us have worked here for years. Laraine and then Ronnie both had a golden touch. They’ve always made a lot of money and they’ve spread it around.”
A slender, auburn-haired woman of about thirty-five entered carrying a tray with three steaming mugs. “Café latte, everybody,” she said with a wide smile.
De la Peña had detected the sounds and smell of the espresso machine but the plate of warm oatmeal cookies that she placed on the desk was a surprise.
“Very, nice,” he said, lifting a mug from the tray.
Moffat thanked the woman for her thoughtfulness.
“Don’t you offer your customers refreshments, Sergeant?” Rees asked, laughing.
“Just bread and water.”
Rees leaned back sipping from the cup. “You must spend your time in quite a different world than we do. We’ve never had policemen in this office except with their wives shopping for a home. I met your wife once, Captain, a few years ago. She was in the market for some investment property.”
Moffat nodded. This was no surprise.
Rees continued “I recognized her when the paper did a story on you earlier this year.” He turned to De la Peña. “Are you married, Sergeant?”
De la Peña was chewing a cookie. He shook his head.
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