by Tyan Wyss
Lea scrutinized the downloaded photo of the entire family. All had inherited Montanari Sr.’s nose and dark eyes, and while Anthony Jr. was the spitting image of his father, Randy appeared restless and wild, though handsome in the crisp uniform he’d donned before shipping off to Vietnam. Lea requested police records on the pair through the MCPD database and jerked violently when Randy’s handsome face appeared, defiant before the police camera. She scanned the charges. Driving under the influence, possession of a stolen vehicle, and worse yet, sexual assault. All the charges had been dropped just before Randy and his older brother enlisted three weeks later.
Instinctively, Lea realized this was important. She shifted through the details, but no name was given for the victim of the assault because she’d been a minor. Why had the charges been dropped? Had Anthony Montanari Sr. bought the family off? He certainly had the money and resources to do so. Still, what could this possibly have to do with Thad’s and his mistress’ murders, or the tragic death of Ashley Peebles? Lea slouched in her most comfortable armchair and pondered the facts, occasionally rubbing her always-aching leg.
Fifteen minutes later, she switched to Edith Simms’ file. Lea had learned long ago, that whenever stumped, she had to move on to another project until her ever-active subconscious could push an answer to the surface. So she read. Edith had been a widow for over thirty years and had only had one daughter, a girl named Delilah, who’d died in childbirth in the early 70s. The records revealed her newborn son hadn’t survived. No wonder Mrs. Simms knocked around that huge house growing beautiful roses and orchids and overpaying her gardener while she searched for companionship.
Lea wondered if that was how she was going to end up, perhaps widowed and alone, or worse yet, never married at all and doting on some little dog, or growing exotic orchids only she could appreciate. Edith had lived on Chester Street for over five years and before that resided in Cameron, where she’d retired as a librarian. The information on Mrs. Simms also indicated she’d been a bit of a traveler and had written several articles for her local newspaper about trips to Thailand, China, what was then the Soviet Union, and Africa. She’d even canoed down the Amazon. Mrs. Simms may have lost her husband, but not her zest for living. Nothing much else seemed interesting about Mrs. Simms. If Lea did the math correctly, Mrs. Simms was 66, though she appeared much older and feebler than that.
So, that left Philemon Jenkins. There was no question in her mind that the gardener was a retired killer. The key word was retired. And what about the child Bouncer? Lea reached over on the table where she’d set the red rubber ball earlier and rolled it between her fingers. Finally, she poured herself another cup of tea and sank down into her flowered mauve recliner, lifting the footrest so her poor throbbing leg could ease somewhat. She pressed the remote to her CD player until the strands of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major drifted through the air. Its beautiful rise and fall of music, sounding just like a waterfall, washed over her, and Lea half-shut her eyes, allowing herself to drift off into a semi-trance hoping she’d discover how the murders of Ashley Peebles, Thad Fisher, and Connie Judson were somehow connected.
Chapter 19
One of Lea’s biggest flaws, or perhaps virtues, was her tenacity and desire to figure out the truth about everything. A man now rotted in jail for a young woman’s murder of twenty-five years ago and another sat in the Monroe County jail, innocent, at least this time. Finally relaxed after thirty minutes of classical music and tea, she allowed herself to listen to Thayne’s interview with Luke Cambridge. Nick’s rich, tenor voice filled the tape, questioning the gruff convict.
“Mr. Cambridge, two years ago you sent an initial letter to Jeremy Fox regarding the Ashley Peebles murder, and I wondered if you would be willing to talk to me now about the case?”
Luke snorted. “I don’t know why I’d help you. He dumped me flat after indicating he had a lead that could probably prove my innocence. After Fox found out I didn’t have any money, he dropped my case faster than you can say new little Porsche.”
“Now, what would make you think that, Mr. Cambridge?”
“His secretary called, one Maria Jennings. I remember she had the sweetest voice in the universe, but nothing she said made me feel good. She stated her boss didn’t feel my appeal was winnable because the evidence was too circumstantial. She suggested that I might want to try Walters Investigative Services in Modesto as if I had the money to consult that pricey firm.”
Lea’s finger slammed down the stop button. Secretary? The only secretary her father had ever possessed was first her mother, and later, her. Her dad had hated secretaries, convinced they messed with his things and broke confidences. So who in the hell was this Maria Jennings? She steadied herself and pressed the button again
“I’m sorry to hear that,” soothed Nick’s voice. Of course, he couldn’t know the secretary was bogus.
“Then I heard that him and his son were murdered not three weeks after I contacted them.”
“Their murderers were never apprehended, and it was believed they were wiped out by the mob,” verified Nick.
“Oh well,” snorted Luke. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer pair.”
Lea winced. She’d had her own personal grievances with her family, but it still hurt to hear others berate them.
“So, why are you here?”
“I’m reopening your case, because the ex-mayor of Monroe and his mistress were killed in a manner similar to Ashley Peebles.”
“The ex-mayor? You mean Thad Fisher?”
“You knew him?”
“Sure. We all knew him.”
“And just what do you mean by that?”
“Thad Fisher really liked the girls, particularly the young, eager Hispanic ones who were looking out for a handout or an easy ride. He used to visit the encampment near Pike’s Creek to see a couple of the girls. They were only teens, most of them, some as young as fifteen, but for him the younger the better. I heard he bought them some real fancy stuff if they pleased him. Pig.” Luke spat distinctly enough for Lea to imagine the splat.
“Now, this would be ten years before he was mayor. He was elected nearly thirteen years after the Ashley Peebles murder,” stated Nick, his voice giving no indication how he felt about Luke’s information.
“Yeah, but he got elected anyway, didn’t he.” Luke didn’t bother to hide his disdain. “Guess his wife never found out or just didn’t care.”
Lea remembered the venom in Mrs. Fisher’s voice and understood it better. Fifteen-year-old girls. How pathetic.
“And what about your boss, Mr. Montanari? Did he know about Mr. Fisher’s conquests?” asked Nick.
“Of course he did. In fact, he encouraged the girls. Said everyone had to look after themselves and find their own way; that they had a right to make money any way they chose. He was suspected of visiting a couple of girls himself.” That interesting tidbit of information made Lea want to dance a jig. Too bad her leg was killing her.
“Was Ashley Peebles a regular at Pike’s and perhaps a special friend of the ex-mayor’s?”
There was a long pause until Luke said tersely. “Maybe. Ashley itched to get away from her fundamentalist parents; said they were stifling her. She wanted things. You know . . . like pretty trinkets, the kind her parents wouldn’t allow her. I was going to marry her when I got some cash, and I would have, too, if Deke hadn’t gotten in the way.”
“You’re suggesting that Deke ruined her plans?”
“And mine as well. Deke kind of . . . Well, he pandered some of the girls and recruited them for Thad Fisher and a couple of head honchos; you know, the well-respected men of the community with money. When Ashley started coming to the camp to seek a piece of the action, well . . .”
“Well what?”
“She swore to me she didn’t, that the baby was mine, but Deke, he said she’d slept with that jerk. He was soft and flabby like a baby, always flashing his money around because he had a rich wife. Thought he had a right to prow
l the camp because he and the Montanari boys had been friends.”
“Thad was friends with the Montanari boys?”
“Yeah, but I guess even their dad couldn’t buy them out of Nam, and like so many others, fifty thousand, I guess, they kicked the bucket. Their old man must have liked Thad Fisher real well because he treated him like some kind of royalty. I always thought that it was strange, the way he would drive him around, showing Fisher the fields and calling the girls over to the car.”
“Most of the people who lived in the Pike’s Creek camp were Hispanic, weren’t they?”
“Of course. Most migrant workers are.”
“So, why were you and Deke there? Neither of you were Hispanic.”
“I was an artist, still am, for that matter, but it’s hard to get anyone to show your work in this area. I was just doing some summer work to help pay the bills. Anthony Montanari didn’t pay well, but he paid regular.”
“So, why do you think the court found you guilty of murder?”
“It was mostly on his word.”
“You mean Anthony Montanari or Thad Fisher’s?”
“It was Montanari Sr., that bastard. Said that Deke and I killed her after she ran off and had some wetback’s baby. That was ridiculous. Everyone knew I loved her even though Deke said the baby was Thad Fisher’s. And then . . . “he snorted. “And then Deke said he’d slept with her, too!”
“And you attacked him in court?”
“Yeah. Cooked my own goose.”
“Did Jeremy Fox know all this information you’re relaying to me now?”
Lea tensed.
“Why, sure. I mailed him all the stuff and told him to contact the authorities regarding the car.”
“The Buick near the murder scene?”
“That’s right. I’d told the police, but they brushed it off. I saw Montanari’s car on that gravel road, not a quarter of a mile from where my Ashley was killed.”
“So Ashley had her baby?”
Luke’s voice noticeably changed. “Yeah, but it died. She said the poor little guy was premature.
She still had about six weeks to go, and at the very end of her pregnancy, was acting awful strange. Ashley said she had to provide for the future and figured she knew how. I swore I’d take care of her and offered to marry her. I wanted to take her to Seattle. I had a lead at a graphic art firm where my second cousin was employed, but Ashley wanted everything right away. She laughed and said she figured I couldn’t even take care of myself. I never killed her, Mr. Thayne. I loved her and still miss her.”
A long silence ensued. Finally, Luke asked, in a voice not much louder than a whisper. “You believe me?”
“Yes.”
The tape ended abruptly, and Lea had to agree with Nick. She believed him. So, Thad Fisher had been friends with both the Montanari boys and their dad. Very interesting. She glanced at the flowerpot clock hanging beside her refrigerator. 9:25 p.m. Not too late to pay a visit to the grieving widow, was it?
The visits of the ex-mayor to the Pike’s Creek Camp and the fact that Mayor Fisher had been friends with the Montanari boys filled her mind as she drove cautiously through the well-lit streets to Trish Fisher’s house. It seemed strange to her that Anthony Montanari had remained such close friends with Thad after his own children were deceased. Anthony Montanari must be at least 15 years Thad Fisher’s senior, so what was the basis of their friendship? Using her cell, she dialed the expensive residence. A crisp male voice answered the phone, and Lea paused momentarily, taken back.
“I’d like to speak with Mrs. Fisher, please.”
“May I say who is calling?”
Lea made a sincere effort to rein in her abrupt and impulsive nature and began as pleasantly as she could. “This is Lea Fox. Inspector Nick Thayne and I are currently working on her late husband’s case, and I was wondering if I could speak to her.”
“I see,” the voice somehow sounded vaguely familiar but Lea couldn’t place it. A muffled sound indicated the man had placed his hand over the receiver to shield his conversation though Lea could vaguely decipher the higher tones of a woman and his garbled response. The connection cleared, and Mrs. Fisher’s carefully modulated voice answered.
“Ah, Ms. Fox, how good of you to call. I’ve been expecting you’d have more questions for me about now.”
“I’m not sure how appropriate it is to speak over the phone, Mrs. Fisher, and wondered if I could drop by?”
Lea peered out her windshield. A breeze lifted the high eucalyptus tree branches to her left. She’d parked no more than a block from the widow’s house.
“It’s quite late. But, of course, Ms. Fox. Come right over.”
An unfamiliar sports car squatted before Thad Fisher’s spacious and elegant home, a sleek Mercedes convertible. Lea automatically memorized the unusual license plate—RRM DOLL. She knocked on the wide door, and the same placid maid answered, her face a model of discretion as Lea was lead into the library.
Trish Fisher rose, rustling in black mourning silk, her blonde hair smoothed perfectly above pearl teardrop studs. A matching coil of lustrous pearls surrounded her pale neck, and her hand, extended to take Lea’s small one, felt stiff and cold.
“That was quick. So, where’s your counterpart?” she asked, a touch of venom in her voice. If Lea didn’t know any better, she’d think the lady resented Thayne’s absence. Nick had that effect on women.
“I gave him the night off.” Her snippy answer obviously perturbed the lady, but she had the good manners not to retort. Lea, in her typical manner, took that opportunity to jump right in. She removed her F & H and launched her attack.
“I ran into Anthony Montanari Sr. at the mortuary. He apparently wanted to say goodbye to your husband before the funeral next week.”
Trish blanched, her ramrod straight back jerking. “Indeed. He’s no friend of ours.”
“Oh, really? I’m positive I heard otherwise, since he financed your husband’s bid for mayor years ago.”
Trish swallowed painfully and sank down on the expensive black leather couch that matched the Japanese end tables perfectly. She retorted stiffly.
“Let me put it another way. He’s no friend of mine. The man’s crude, uncultured, and totally lacking in scruples. He might be the wealthiest man in Monroe, but certainly lacks class. He remains on the outer fringe of our social group, his money always welcome, his obnoxious behavior not.”
“Was your husband viewed in the same way?”
“Believe it or not, Ms. Fox, my husband was a graduate of UCLA with a degree in business administration. Thad actually had a fine brain until he let his dick determine his destiny. You’ve heard of sexual addicts, of course. My textbook-case husband couldn’t get enough variety or satisfaction.”
Lea led her back to the subject of the Montanari’s. “And are Anthony Montanari’s wife and family considered on the ‘fringe’ of the upper strata?”
Trish’s aristocratic face softened. “No. Ruth Montanari is a fine woman; her charitable works are not only well known in Monroe but throughout the Big Valley.”
“So, you work with her?”
“We both belong to the Monroe Assistance League. She spearheaded a fundraiser that clothed over two hundred migrant workers’ children. I believe that achievement is exceptional in itself. Her kind, generous nature is the sort that rubs off on you. I know it certainly has on me.”
“But you have no sympathy or liking for her husband?” Mrs. Fisher’s exquisite dress had probably cost her more than Lea’s monthly house payment.
“Even a woman such as you knows that women of our class are often forced to marry men our fathers choose. Ruth was no exception. She was beautiful and intelligent, but had no control over her own destiny. Obediently, she married the man her father chose for her, and in turn, gave him six children in nineteen years. She unfortunately seems committed to staying with a man who blames her because he has no grandsons at the present time.” Again, that disturbing, reoccur
ring theme regarding the importance of carrying on the male line reared its head.
“Couldn’t Anthony possible obtain some of those precious grandsons from his remaining son or daughters?”
“That is highly doubtful. In fact,” she mocked, “it’s inconceivable.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“Let’s just say that Anthony’s children dislike him so much that they all refuse to grant him what he desires most—a grandson. You reap what you sow.”
“Just what is it about Anthony, besides his bad manners, you dislike so much?”
“How much time do you have, Ms. Fox? To start with he is a bore, a womanizer, and a child and wife abuser. He’s never given a cent to anyone in need even though he has money coming out of his ears. He needs Ruth to soften his rough edges, but abuses her because of her generous nature. No wonder every one of his daughters ran away from him and his sons joined the military to escape.”
“They weren’t drafted?”
“No, both boys joined the military though certain they’d be sent to Vietnam.”
“You knew his older sons?”
“By reputation only. They were wild and uncouth—just like their father. The daughters and youngest boy took more after their mother. I believe Anthony luckily neglected them except for his routine verbal and physical abuse.”
“His abuse caused the three sisters to leave town?” asked Lea.
“The town? You mean the state! They moved as far away as they could to get out of his control. One even became a nun to prevent him controlling her unborn children. He’s a tyrant, Ms. Fox, and that’s why I despise him as well as my husband, who, while a man of many faults, knew just what kind of man he was dealing with.”
“So, you’re saying Thad snapped at the hand that fed him?”
Trish Fisher bristled. “I beg your pardon! My husband accepted donations for his campaigns, but Anthony Montanari never controlled him or influenced any of his decisions. In fact, I believe it was more the other way around, like Thad held some sort of sway over Anthony. ”