“Ok. Here’s the office equipment: A new, red IBM Selectric typewriter and a three-year-old Dictaphone Model 6702. I’ll bet they were expensive in those days, something you could sell to a fence for a good price.”
Moffat was thinking aloud. “A type-writer…Selectric…red.” He asked Mrs. Grubb “What did a Selectric look like?”
“Oh, come on. You’re not that young,” she said then changed her mind. “Maybe you are. They were around for years. Didn’t you ever use a typewriter?”
“No.”
“What about term papers in high school?”
“My mother typed them.”
“And in college? Oh, wait. Jean typed your college papers, didn’t she?”
“Yes, after my second year. Before that it was my mother.”
“Well, we have one in shipping. We could go to the station and I could show you. The Selectric has a look quite distinctive from other typewriters.”
“Wait, I’m getting a picture.” De la Peña had wheeled his chair back to his desk and entered “Selectric typewriter” into Google Images. Twenty small pictures appeared as he scrolled down the page.
Moffat stood to see over De la Peña’s shoulder. “That red one…make it larger.” Mrs. Grubb removed her glasses and looked at the screen. “That’s a Selectric, all right.”
“I think I’ve seen one of those recently.”
“Where?” De la Peña asked.
“Where else?” was Moffat’s response.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 55
Mrs. Grubb and De la Peña listened to Moffat’s phone conversation with Lewis Franke’s niece. Moffat asked if anything had been removed from her uncle’s home, seemed satisfied with her answer, said he wanted to see her uncle’s office, then said they would meet her in thirty five minutes. De la Peña had already put his jacket on and was bouncing his car keys in his right hand.
“You’ll need this,” Mrs. Grubb said handing De la Peña a slip of paper with the model numbers, serial numbers and government property identification numbers of the stolen office equipment.
* * *
De la Peña backed his Mustang from its space in the parking lot.
“Head to the station, Sergeant. To the motor pool.”
“I don’t mind driving my car, Captain.”
“I know, but I want to listen to the police radio…hear how the manhunt is going.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
Moments later, Moffat and De la Peña stood in the motor pool compound with the county employee responsible for the vehicles. “This is all we have right now, boss.”
A small white pickup, a large white cargo van, and a new black and white Dodge Charger made up the balance of the motor pool.
De la Peña pulled his eyes away from the Charger to ask the attendant “There’s a county-wide manhunt going on. Why is the Charger still here?”
“It’s the Chief’s ‘baby’.”
“We’ll take it,” Moffat said.
* * *
De la Peña was so happy to be behind the wheel of the Charger that he was smiling as he accelerated from the last Segovia city traffic signal. He had no doubt the 340hp V8 could reach sixty in six seconds and 150mph in another six but he intended to prove it. He almost laughed. Moffat was listening intently to the police radio communications. De la Peña knew he would notice, but wouldn’t complain about the speed.
The radio back-and-forth to the Communication Center quickly revealed that there had been no sightings of the suspect. Roadblocks were functioning smoothly. The public was cooperative. Most drivers were aware of the police operation and familiar with the photos of the suspect and description of his vehicles. So far today, two Sentras and dozens of white trucks were stopped and searched by cautious law enforcement officers. Their drivers enthusiastically handed over their licenses, opened trunks, toolboxes and cargo carriers and waited for plates to be run through the computers in Sacramento. Moffat unfolded a county road map and noted the location associated with each report.
Although they were fifteen minutes early, when De la Peña parked the Charger on the street in line with the red concrete path to the house Janice Russell met them at the curb.
“It’s good to see you again, Captain Moffat.” Noticing De la Peña coming around the car toward them, she smiled broadly and said “Who’s this?”
“Janice Russell, Sergeant De la Peña. She’s a police mom, so don’t be surprised if you get a hug, Sergeant.” Moffat laughed.
“I only hug them when they’re off duty, Captain.” She shook his hand and led them to the porch. At the wooden steps, she turned and said, “It’s a good thing you called. I’m having a garage sale Saturday and Sunday. Anything that doesn’t sell is going to the Goodwill Store or to the dump.”
“We just want to check something in his office.” Moffat saw Janice’s eyes widen with curiosity. “I’m sorry. I can’t give you any information.”
“I understand,” she said while unlocking the front door. “Make yourselves at home. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Now, two weeks after he had seen Lewis Franke on his deathbed and had performed a cursory search of the rooms facing the street, Moffat walked directly to the closet at the back of Franke’s office. He slid the door to the right. There was the red typewriter.
“It is a Selectric. It looks like the one in the picture,” Moffat said.
De la Peña pulled a dictation machine from the shelf above. “This must be the other piece.”
“Look for a property tag.”
“I don’t see one on this.” De la Peña set the machine on the desk behind them.
Moffat stepped away to let De la Peña get to the typewriter. The Sergeant lifted it up then held it in front of Moffat.
“Here’s a tag. ‘Property of U.S. Government T23DZ633’.” Moffat read. He picked up Mrs. Grubb’s note from where De la Peña had dropped it by the Dictaphone. “We have a match, Sergeant De la Peña.”
“Wow…Man…” De la Peña set the typewriter in the center of the desk. “That means Franke…well, at least we know he was really involved in the murder. Where do we go from here?”
“We don’t say anything to Janice Russell. She wasn’t close to her uncle, but it would still upset her.”
“Oh, yeah. I bet it would.”
Moffat and De la Peña began a thorough search of the office. The dictation machine had no property tag or other identification but it had the same manufacturer and model number as the one reported stolen. The detectives opened every drawer of the desk and searched the files from the cabinet one by one. De la Peña lifted the typewriter. Moffat looked under the leather and felt pad covering the surface of the desk. There were black and white photos of Franke and his wife in their twenties.
“Nothing here,” Moffat said.
“So, Captain, your idea about Pane knowing about Franke and this crime…it’s got some weight behind it. Are we going to see him today?”
“Oh, yes.”
* * *
The Reverend Pane’s office was at the back of the church on the other side of a wall from his pulpit. The policemen entered through a dark hall. De la Peña was immediately struck by how small the room was. Pane’s desk, facing the entry, spread most of the distance across the width of the room, leaving the thin but long-limbed, gangly preacher barely fifteen inches to go to or from his desk chair. De la Peña guessed that Pane would bruise his legs with every trip. The room was dark as well. Pane’s high backed chair and large head obscured much of the light shining from the window behind him.
Pane offered no particular greeting and Moffat skipped his usual “thank you for seeing us.”
“I learned from your wife that Lewis Franke told her about his falsified war record.”
Pane stared blankly at the Captain.
“As a combat veteran yourself, how did you feel about that?”
Pane seemed momentarily surprised by the question.
“Were you angry?”
“I never get angry,” Panes said calmly in his deep voice. “Franke gave in to temptation. He stole the praise and respect of his neighbors. He sought to elevate his status. All men do. I believe police officers are susceptible to that desire.” De la Peña shifted in his chair and scowled. Ignoring him, Pane said, “A man can lie to himself and others but God knows the truth. He will even the scale.”
“Mr. Pane, who first suggested that Franke change his beneficiary? Was that you or your wife?” Moffat asked.
“I’m quite sure it was Mr. Franke. It never occurred to me.”
Moffat did not believe it but was impressed at how coolly the minister made the assertion. “I have reason to believe that Franke told you about a crime more serious than fraudulent claims about a military record. What else did he tell you?”
“Mr. Moffat, I can’t reveal anything about our conversation. What he said is beyond your reach. You know very well of the protection provided by the clergy/penitent privilege. Mr. Franke cannot waive his privilege to complete secrecy and I do not choose to waive mine. I’m surprised you would ask.”
“Well, Mr. Pane, you can be called into court and asked for evidence in a criminal case. You could make your claim to privilege then but it might not turn out the way you expect. A judge might determine that your solicitation of the insurance bequest eliminates the privilege in this case. You could be compelled to testify after the revelation of some embarrassing facts.”
Pane’s eyes had never moved from Moffat’s. “As I said, the bequest was completely Mr. Franke’s idea.”
“You’re not going to turn it down, are you?” De la Peña said, his tone an accusation.
Pane turned his stare to De la Peña but with no expression.
“We’ve taken down your responses, Mr. Pane. Some of them are helpful to our investigation.” Moffat showed the faintest smile. Pane’s face displayed puzzlement briefly then returned to a stony deadpan. “I have one last question. Where were you in 1970?”
Pane smiled. “I had recently returned from Vietnam. I would have thought you knew that.”
“When did you return?”
“October 30, 1969.”
“And was that to Miner’s Flat?”
Pane smiled, acting like he had won a slight victory. “No, I’m sorry. I resided in Miner’s Flat from 1977 to 1979 and now, since 1992.”
“So where were you in January 1970?”
“I was in Segovia.”
“Thank you.”
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 56
Wednesday was day thirty-four of Jerry Green’s new found sobriety. The sole attendant of the only gas station in the mountain village of Torre de Oro, the fifty-year-old former accountant spent most of his time behind the cash register in the gas station’s glassed in office. He did not see the Gold Country’s most wanted man until he crossed the threshold, but Green recognized him from the morning news show’s report on the manhunt. Green glanced at the surveillance camera image of the pumps. His pulse accelerated when he saw a brown Nissan Sentra.
“Good morning,” Green said as calmly as he could manage.
“Number 3,” the tall, gray-haired man said, referring to the pump he had used to refuel his car.
“Nine point five gallons, $35.50,” Green read from the pump monitor display. How can I stall him, so I can call the police, Green considered.
The man handed Green a $50 bill.
“Wait just a minute, I’m short on change. I’ll be right back.” Green started toward the back room, really no more than a broom closet, thinking he could call the police on his cell phone.
“Never mind. Here.” The man placed three bills--a twenty, a ten and a five--and two quarters on the counter.
“Oh, ok,” Green said, handing the fifty back. Green watched the man return to his car and pull out toward the street. He moved from behind the counter to the far end of the office in order to see which way the Sentra turned. It went west on County Road 192.
* * *
Back in Segovia, Green’s report created a dilemma for Captain Hughes and Sergeant Clark. Torre de Oro was outside the circle of roadblocks they had set up around the part of the national forest the suspect had entered late yesterday afternoon. If the report was true, he had circumvented the roadblock on 192 east of the village. It also could mean that most of their assets were deployed north, south and east of the suspect’s last reported route. Hughes ordered the police helicopter to turn around and fly immediately to the area of the sighting. Until there was confirmation, the current roadblocks would be maintained.
This was the situation relayed on police radio when Moffat and De la Peña returned to the Charger after the Pane interview. As De la Peña pulled onto the road - Miner’s Flat’s Main Street, Moffat grasped the microphone and radioed Sergeant Clark that they were available to participate in the new search and were proceeding south on State Route 84.
“Good,” Clark replied. “There’s a road two miles south of Miner’s Flat. Turn right there and head to County Road 163, turn left and wait for instructions.”
Moving his finger slowly over the map, Moffat found an unidentified road connecting 84 with the county road. “It’s about another mile,” he told De la Peña.
Moments later they heard a report from the helicopter. A vehicle believed to belong to the suspect had been sighted.
The helicopter followed the Nissan for several minutes. Hughes and Clark scrambled to move four vehicles (including Moffat’s) to cut off the Nissan’s most likely escape routes, while they pulled personnel and vehicles from the northern check points toward the southwest, hoping to deploy them in time to prevent an escape beyond Highway 49. At 10:15, an officer in the helicopter reported a new challenge. The observers from the air would soon lose visual contact with the Nissan. The suspect’s vehicle was approaching a large, mixed stand of evergreens, poplars and oaks that would shield it at the intersection of three roads with five possible paths: County Route 163 heading northeast and southwest, the end of County Road 192 heading west from Torre de Oro and the boundary of the National Forest and a dirt road that, to the southeast intersected State Route 84 and to the northwest crossed State Route 86 and Highway 49 before climbing through the foothills on its way to the great Central Valley of California. The helicopter circled the wooded area but was unable to find the Nissan.
Sergeant Clark called Moffat “Captain, the suspect may turn north on County Road 163. Please proceed south and prepare to intercept him.”
De la Peña accelerated to eighty through a relatively straight section of the road leading to the northern part of the woods that now hid the fugitive’s vehicle. According to the radio reports, a police car approaching the intersection from County Road 192 had seen nothing so far. There were no police vehicles yet on either branch of the dirt road. The reports from the north revealed the possibility they would not be able to intercept him from that direction. The helicopter still had not regained visual contact.
Now in the woods, De la Peña rounded a sharp curve to the right and saw the Sentra two hundred yards ahead approaching at high speed.
“He’s turning,” De la Peña shouted. Moffat reported the turn and that they would follow. De la Peña braked the Charger sharply and turned right onto a single lane road overgrown with grass, the pavement revealed only where wheels of occasional vehicles kept down the vegetation. Though obviously little used, the road was fairly smooth. Moffat noted the skill with which De la Peña guided the Charger, gaining steadily on the Sentra.
This road was not on Moffat’s map. Back at the station Sergeant Clark identified it as an old logging road on a satellite photo of the area. He radioed the car on State Route 86 to turn around, find the intersection with the logging road and cut off the fugitive’s escape from that route. The helicopter was also redirected with the expectation that its pilot and observer would soon locate the Nissan and the Charger.
“He can’t outrun us in this,” De la Peña shouted to Moffat Push
ing gently on the gas pedal, he closed within two car lengths of the Sentra and prepared to follow it to a roadblock soon to be established on the road a few miles ahead. With both vehicles entering a straight segment of about 50 yards, Moffat saw a puff of blue smoke escape from the tailpipe of the Sentra as it’s driver pushed it as hard as he could. For a moment, he managed to pull away from the police car. De la Peña applied slightly more pressure to the accelerator and the Charger again closed the distance. He and the suspect slowed their vehicles into a turn. Then, without warning, Moffat saw the Sentra’s brake lights glow bright and its back end grew larger. The driver had slammed on his brakes seconds before striking a large object in the center of the road. Whatever he hit flew up and over the Sentra. De la Peña’s right foot was on the Charger’s brake pedal instantly. He maneuvered to avoid the sliding Sentra now entering a 360-degree spin. The object with which the Nissan had collided - in a fraction of a second Moffat identified it as a large male deer moving through the air - struck the center of the Charger’s windshield, shattering it and covering both men with small pieces of glass. De la Peña’s attempt to avoid the deer sent the Charger into a skid. It rotated counter clockwise into a sideways slide. Moffat felt the change in momentum destabilize the police car. His view now rotated on the vertical axis. Through the space of the missing windshield, Moffat watched the trees on the side of the road turn over twice. The second flip left the Charger on its roof sliding slowly toward the Sentra. A final partial rotation left the upended police car facing the left rear side of the vehicle it had been pursuing.
This was the scene as Moffat regained his senses after the collision and deployment of the Charger’s airbags. Moffat was suspended by his seatbelt with a limited view of the Sentra twenty yards ahead. There was no sound from De la Peña. Moffat saw the driver slowly exit the Nissan and walk to the trunk. He opened it and leaned into the left side, Moffat’s view blocked now by the left fender. The man pulled back and Moffat saw he held a very large handgun. Leaving the trunk open, the suspect turned to face the Charger. He began walking toward the police car with the gun pointed ahead. Moffat struggled to free his right arm, pinned between his body and the seatbelt, so that he could reach for the weapon in the holster at his lower back. As he worked to release his arm, Moffat watched the gunman approach the police car. At that moment it seemed that’s Moffat’s sense of hearing suddenly returned. He heard the blades of a helicopter above them, and a police siren growing steadily louder. The gunman stopped. He hesitated briefly then turned completely around and ran back to the trunk of the Nissan. Moffat watched him reach in once again. This time he pulled out a large, full backpack, obviously quite heavy. The man slung the backpack onto his shoulders, snapped together two straps around his waist and began to jog up a slope rising from the left side of the road. He was quickly out of Moffat’s view.
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