by Janet Dawson
But if I was going to find Brian, and a reason for his disappearance, I had to intrude.
I turned my attention to the computer monitor, which offered me the opportunity to log in either as Brian or Sheila. I consulted the little book. Brian had used a password that was easy for him to remember, a combination of his children’s initials and birthdates.
The wallpaper was a picture of the two children, an outdoor shot, with Yosemite Falls in the background. It must have been taken during their camping trip earlier in the summer.
I began looking through the list of documents on the computer, in a folder labeled “Brian.” Here I found correspondence and learned that as far back as last September, my brother had been updating his résumé and applying for jobs in the Petaluma school district.
At the bottom of the computer I saw a toolbar with the logo of the Mozilla Firefox browser. I clicked on this and the browser opened to Brian’s home page, which was the Sierra Club website.
I clicked on the Bookmark tab. The drop-down menu gave me a list of folders, organized into subjects and topics of interest. One tab held financial links. Brian and Sheila had a bank account with Wells Fargo, and investments through Fidelity and Vanguard.
“How are your finances?” I asked Sheila as she returned from the kitchen.
“Okay for now. Lance is giving us a break on the rent. We need all the help we can get, financially. In addition to paying rent on this place, we’re still paying the mortgage on the house in Sonoma. That’s causing some real financial pain, I can tell you that.” Sheila pointed at the calendar. “This meeting on Thursday is with the principal at the school where Brian will be teaching. He’s supposed to start the new job next week. If he doesn’t start that job, and we don’t have his salary...oh, hell, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“We can call and reschedule the meeting, that’s all. The principal doesn’t need to know why.”
I turned back to the computer and found the link for Brian and Sheila’s Facebook page. It contained pictures of the family. Here Brian and Sheila had posted more pictures of the Yosemite camping trip, and photos of other places the family had gone. Here was a visit to Monterey, where my mother lives, and pictures of the children at the aquarium.
I looked at the photos of Brian and Sheila’s friends on the Facebook page. There were a lot of people I didn’t know, but I found a picture of Lance Coverdell. Brian’s college roommate and best man was tall and lanky, with a lean face and dark hair. In another photo, Lance was with Becca, his wife. She was nearly as tall as Lance, with long blond hair and a willowy figure.
Willowy, I thought. Willow? I peered at Becca’s face. A tenuous connection at best. Surely not. Brian wouldn’t have an affair. And certainly not with a friend’s wife. But... What if Becca had a thing for Brian? What if she was using the name Willow? I mulled this over. I didn’t know Becca at all. Come to that, how well did I know my brother? We didn’t see each other that often. He had his life and I had mine. And Sheila didn’t like Becca at all. She must have a reason for her antipathy.
I put these thoughts aside and turned my attention to the bookmarks in the browser. One caught my eye, called “Wish List.” It turned out to be a list of locations, mostly various state and national parks in California and other states. I guessed that it was a list of places Brian would like to see. I copied the bookmark list into a document and sent it to the printer. If Brian had decided to go camping on his own, maybe he’d gone to one of these places. Somewhere close to home, though. He’d left on Friday and planned to return on Sunday. That meant he’d gone somewhere within a day’s drive, probably closer. I opened another browser window and did a search on state parks in Sonoma County. I sent this to the printer as well.
Other folders in the bookmarks were labeled according to Brian’s interests. He had a bookmark called “Organizations,” which included links to a number of environmental and conservation organizations, including the Sierra Club. One of these was the Mono Lake Committee, which I also belonged to, and the Point Reyes Bird Observatory, headquartered here in Petaluma. One of the links was to the Friends of the Petaluma River. Becca belonged to the group and she’d encouraged Brian to join. According to the description on the website, the Friends was “a non-profit organization that is dedicated to celebrating and conserving the Petaluma River, its wetlands, and wildlife.”
I found a link for Gmail and logged into Brian’s email account. There was nothing here that was out of the ordinary. Nothing from anyone named Willow, or Becca for that matter. Just a message from Lance confirming the lunch date on Wednesday, tomorrow.
Brian and Sheila both had cell phones and accounts from a well-known provider. Using the password list, I logged into Brian’s account and found a list of calls for his cell phone number. But it only went up to the end of their billing period. I printed out the list of calls and asked Sheila to take a look at it, to see if she recognized—or didn’t recognize—any numbers. The area code for Sonoma County was 707. I lived in Oakland and Dad in Castro Valley, which was the 510 area code. Mother’s area code in Monterey was 831, and Sheila’s family in Fresno County was in area code 559.
I looked through the browser history on the computer, focusing on the past week. During Sheila’s absence, Brian had accessed a number of websites that told me he was planning a trip. It looked like he’d done a search on state parks in Sonoma and Mendocino counties, and used other websites that showed campsite photos, trails, and hikes. He’d also looked at the State of California’s website on state parks.
Sheila’s voice interrupted me. “Do you want something to eat, Jeri?”
I looked up and then at my watch. “No, too much to do. I’m going to talk with the police. And have a talk with Lance Coverdell.”
Eight
Before leaving the house, I jotted down the name of the Petaluma detective who had talked with Sheila when my sister-in-law had reported Brian missing. Then I drove to the police department on North Petaluma Boulevard. The department’s Investigations Unit handled missing persons cases. Inside, I asked for Detective Marcy Colman. A few minutes later, she walked into the lobby and introduced herself.
She was a short, wiry woman about my age, mid-thirties, with a head of unruly dark curls. She had a slight frown on her face as she examined my business card, and I got the distinct impression she’d rather not have a nosy private investigator interfering in her case, even though the PI was the missing man’s sister.
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I spoke with Ms. Howard,” Colman said, fingering the business card. “I’ve set the wheels in motion, but I have nothing to report so far.”
“I’ve handled a few missing persons cases, so I know it takes time. Any luck with finding his Jeep? Or getting something from his cell phone records?”
She looked annoyed, as though she thought I was butting in and getting ahead of myself. “I don’t have anything on the vehicle, not yet anyway. Someone is bound to spot it. I’ve contacted his phone provider as well. They may be able to locate the phone, if he still has it. Too early for any results, but I hope to have something later today, or tomorrow.” She paused and gave me a measuring look. “It’s possible your brother took off on his own, for reasons of his own. Your sister-in-law told me they’d had an argument on the phone last week.”
I shook my head, disagreeing with her. “The body on the boat and the MedicAlert bracelet put a different spin on that theory. As well as some urgency.”
“I talked with the Sonoma County detectives this morning. They filled me in about the body on the boat.” Colman reached up and pushed some of her curls off her forehead. “You know your brother’s a person of interest in that homicide.”
Yes. And I was determined to find him before the police did, so I could get the full story.
“All the more reason to find him as soon as possible and clear this up,” I said. “I’ll check in with you later. And of course I’ll let you know if I find out anything
in my investigation.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said.
When she’d left the lobby, I headed back out to my car. Working with Colman, and with Griffin and Harris, the Sonoma County detectives, was something of a balancing act. I had to tread carefully and not step on any toes in my eagerness to find Brian. However, they wouldn’t share everything with me, so I wasn’t inclined to share everything either.
I thought about Brian’s phone. It could be at the bottom of the Petaluma River. And if the phone wasn’t in the water, and the battery was dead, calls to Brian’s number would go straight to voice mail, as was happening now. I’d already accessed Brian’s cell phone records on his computer. But the records I’d found didn’t tell the whole story. They ended with his last bill cycle. I needed to know if he’d used that phone since Friday, the day he left home.
——
Before shutting down the computer at Brian and Sheila’s house, I’d done an Internet search for Lance Coverdell’s real estate company. It was located in downtown Petaluma on Second Street between B and C Streets. I found a parking spot on Second and crossed to the opposite sidewalk. The real estate office was in the middle of the block. On either side of the center door, large glass windows were decorated with photos of houses for sale. I opened the door and stepped inside. At the front counter a twenty-something receptionist was talking on the phone, a headset over her short black hair. Behind her, the room had been partitioned into spacious cubicles, some empty, others with agents working at computers or talking on phones.
The receptionist disconnected the phone and smiled up at me. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Coverdell,” I said.
“Is he expecting you?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“He’s not in the office right now. I expect him back at three, or a little after. Can someone else help you?”
“I do need to speak with Mr. Coverdell.” I looked at my watch. Twenty after two. My stomach rumbled, telling me I should have taken Sheila up on her offer of lunch. It had been a long time since breakfast and I was hungry. “I’ll be back at three.”
I left the office and walked down Second Street, to the Great Petaluma Mill, an old feed mill that had been converted into a shopping center. I found a place called the Wild Goat Bistro, with a vacant table near a window. I scanned the menu, ordered a chicken club sandwich and iced tea, and made short work of both.
After I finished my lunch and located a rest room, I went outside. The Petaluma River ran through town. It was navigable from this location, known as the Turning Basin, all the way to the river’s mouth, emptying into San Pablo Bay, near the Marin County town of Novato. Here at the Basin, people launched kayaks, canoes and paddleboards. Farther downstream there were marinas. Where I stood, I saw public docks, and plenty of restaurants with outdoor tables on both shores. It was a pleasant location to have a glass of wine and a good meal. But I had other priorities on this warm August afternoon.
I retraced my steps to the real estate office. A silver Toyota Prius, this year’s plug-in hybrid, backed into a parking space a few yards in front of me. A man in gray slacks and an open-collared blue shirt got out of the car and locked it with a beep from his key ring remote. I recognized him from the photo on the Facebook page, though that picture hadn’t caught the threads of gray in his dark hair.
“Lance Coverdell,” I said.
“Yes?” He looked at me without recognition.
“Jeri Howard, Brian Howard’s sister.”
“Oh, yeah.” He smiled. “The private eye. Brian’s mentioned you. Plus, we met at the wedding. Of course, you weren’t a private eye then. That was a long time ago.”
“Ten years. When was the last time you saw or talked with Brian?” I asked.
His smile dimmed, as though he was taken aback by my question. He responded with one of his own. “Why do you ask?”
“Brian is missing.”
Lance stared at me, the expression on his face one of consternation. Then he shook himself and gestured at the front door of his office. “I think you’d better come in and give me the details.”
He held the door open for me, then followed me inside, where he greeted the receptionist and collected a handful of pink message slips. He glanced at them and told the receptionist he didn’t want to be disturbed. Then he led the way past several cubicles to a small kitchen, offering me water. I accepted. He poured two glasses from a pitcher in the refrigerator and handed one to me. Then I followed him to his own office. He shut the door and motioned me toward a chair in front of his sleek wooden desk. As he settled into his own office chair, I saw two photographs in silver frames, angled on one corner of the desk. One showed Lance with Becca. The other picture showed Lance, Becca, and a little girl who looked like both of them.
He saw me examining the photos. “That’s Becca. We got married a year after Brian and Sheila. And that’s our daughter, Lucy. She’s eight.” He took a sip from his glass, then set it on the desk and laced his fingers together. “So what’s the story about Brian?”
I gave him an edited version, leaving out the body on the boat. “It looks like Brian left on Friday. Sheila got home on Sunday and found a note from him, saying he was going away for a few days and would be back Sunday. He never showed up. Sheila filed a missing persons report on Monday and I came up here today to see what I could find out. When did you last see him, or talk with him?”
“Last week. Brian called me on... I think it was Tuesday. He asked if we could get together for lunch. He suggested Thursday, but I was busy all day. We finally agreed on tomorrow, Wednesday.” Lance reached for his desk calendar and pointed at the notation.
“And before that?”
Lance flipped the pages of the calendar. “We talked on the phone the last week in July. Brian said he was planning to go birding with his dad, over at Point Reyes. And that Sheila and the kids were going to Firebaugh.”
“Did he say that there was any specific reason for having lunch?”
Lance hesitated. Then he sighed. “Brian and Sheila are having some problems. I guess he wanted to talk about that. He and I had talked about it before.”
“What has he told you?” I asked.
He took his time answering, choosing his words. “This business with Sheila’s father being sick. I know on one level Brian understands Sheila being focused on her dad, because of the cancer. But on the other hand, he feels neglected, shut out.”
“In what way?”
Lance took a sip from his glass. “Sheila has been back and forth to Firebaugh at least a couple of weekends a month, ever since the first of the year. She takes the kids with her, and Brian’s left alone. That puts a strain on a marriage. He feels like he can’t talk to her, so he talks to me.”
“What else does he talk about, besides his marriage?”
“The job.” Lance shook his head. “The past eighteen months, he’s really hated that job in Sonoma. There was some major bad stuff going on in that school district where he was teaching. He felt like he had to get out, so he started applying over here. I know someone in the Petaluma school administration, so I put in a good word for him. I’m glad it worked out. He’ll be much happier here, clean slate and all.”
I took a sip of water and set down the glass. “Why would Brian need a clean slate? Sheila told me he didn’t get along with his principal. What else was going on in Sonoma?”
Lance picked up a letter opener, playing with the blunted blade. “Last spring there was an incident involving a student. It hit Brian hard.”
I frowned. “Incident” could mean a lot of things. I considered, then rejected, the possibility of any inappropriate contact between student and teacher. Brian wouldn’t do that, I told myself. Not my kid brother. Maybe he’d had a physical confrontation with a junior high kid. I could see that happening.
“What kind of incident?” I asked.
“One of his students attempted suicide,” Lance said. “I don’t
know the details. But Brian was really upset about it. Can’t blame him. He kept saying he should have seen the signs, should have been able to prevent it. But sometimes you miss things. You can’t be the hero all the time.”
Yes, I could understand Brian’s reaction to a suicide attempt by one of his students. He taught junior high. The thought of a kid that age trying to commit suicide...
But Sheila hadn’t mentioned it. Did she know?
Or was Lance’s story about the student’s suicide attempt true? It was hearsay, his version of a conversation with Brian. I would have to double-check and verify that Lance was telling me the truth. If he was, it wasn’t like Brian to make up such a tale. Such an incident involving one of his students would have bothered him a great deal. And normally he would have discussed something that serious with his wife. If he hadn’t, that indicated a major rift in their marriage.
Suddenly the door opened. Lance looked up, annoyed at having been interrupted when he’d told the receptionist he didn’t want to be disturbed. Then his face changed. He smiled at the woman who’d entered the office.
She was tall and slender, and her blond hair was piled into an untidy knot atop her head, skewered there with a pair of chopsticks. She wore a mauve T-shirt decorated with flowers over gauzy capri pants a shade darker, and a pair of sandals. Amethysts set in gold dangled from her earlobes, swaying as she walked into the office. Slung over one shoulder was an oversized handbag made of white straw, with a pair of sunglasses tucked into a side flap.
Becca ignored me and focused on Lance. “Did you hear about the fire out at Newman’s Marina? One of the boats blew up and burned. I’m not surprised.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
Becca turned and surveyed me with hazel eyes, as though it had just registered that there was someone else in the room with Lance. “Who’s this?”
Lance rose from his chair, leaned forward, and kissed her on the cheek. “Becca, this is Jeri Howard, Brian’s sister. Jeri’s a private investigator. She’s here because Brian’s disappeared.”