“Yeah I know, she writes a column for The Messenger, something like Odd Jobs, I think.”
“Occupations around Town-it was about interesting types of work some of the locals did for a living and one of the best columns in that paper.”
“Whatever.”
“You always so chummy with the inmate’s visitors?”
The weight lifter grinned and then he said, “I’m always chummy with nice looking, single, blondes. Waste of time with her though.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Dana was all she could talk about. But what’d I expect, she used to be Dana Mathers girlfriend-who can compete with him?”
“I see what you mean.” Cyrus kept his eyes on the roster as the guard spoke. He read the names of three reporters, Dana’s lawyer, Roger Martinez, and then, at the bottom, the name Jack Tanner. He looked up from the roster at the guard and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t your security policies forbid relatives of an inmate’s victims from making visits?”
“Yes, they do.”
“Then what was Jack Tanner doing here?”
“Wasn’t my idea, my boss was with him when he came in, told me to go ahead. Anyway, Dana was the one who asked to see him, if you can believe that.”
Cyrus let out a sigh and said, “I guess when you own a lot of oil wells like Jack Tanner does, rules don’t mean much.” He put the sign in sheet back on the counter, and then said, “Can you set me up with an interview?”
“I’m sorry, Detective; I should have told you sooner. He’s gone.”
“His parents finally got down here to bail him out.”
“No, he’s been transferred.”
“Transferred, to where?”
“CMC, California Men’s Colony in Obispo.”
“Why’d they transfer him, are you overcrowded again?”
“I don’t know, no one tells me why about anything, Detective. I just signed the papers for the guy running the prison transport.”
Cyrus nodded in response and retrieved his cell phone from the pack on his belt. He dialed in Max’s number and when Max answered he said, “You find anything, Max?”
“Nothing, in fact there is no longer an operating gas station in La Conchita. All I see is a boarded up abandoned building with a big for sale sign posted on the corner.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m at the Quik Pik convenience store next door. That tow truck driver was a fraud. He was an honest fraud, though. He took Tanner’s vehicle straight to the impound lot.”
“Maybe we should take another look at Mike’s vehicle.” Cyrus wrote himself a note and then said, “Mather’s has been taken to CMC. Come get me and we’ll go back to the station and find out why.”
As he walked back down the woodened floored hallway that led to the jail’s main entry to meet Max, he recalled the remark the young Sheriff Stark had made to him - I just wanted to warn you that people might not be what they appear to be- that’s what Starling had told him. I can’t believe it, he said to himself, I’m going to need a tinfoil hat before this case is over.
Chapter 11
By the time Cyrus and Max made it back to the Station, Rudy had left early for the day. No one knew anything about Mathers leaving the city jail and being transferred to CMC. At least, if they did know anything, they weren’t telling.
Cyrus decided it was a good time for them to check out Mike’s Cooper. They left the station and in ten minutes they arrived at the impound lot- a block of parked cars and a shack near the entrance. As they passed by the officer on duty Cyrus flipped his badge. The guard nodded for them to proceed.
Max pointed to the back of the lot and said, “It’s over there, last one in the farthest row.”
“Just my luck,” Cyrus said with a huff.
Even though the evening air was cool enough for a light jacket, Cyrus was sweating by the time they reached Mike’s car. He opened the driver’s side door and ran his hands along the white leather passenger seat, “Seat reeks with the smell of bleach,” he said as he sniffed his
“You think somebody’s trying to hide blood stains?”
“Well it is a white interior and the dirt shows up easily. I guess you could use bleach to keep it clean, not necessarily to hide blood stains. But I wouldn’t. It weakens the leather.”
“If the driver let that homeless guy ride around with him, he might have used it to get his smell out.”
“That’s kind of harsh, I feel sorry for that homeless guy. He probably belongs in a mental hospital.”
“I don’t feel sorry for him, and he’s not deranged. He’s a regular con artist.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was at the Quik Pik by the abandoned gas station. I can’t believe I fell for it, but I let him rip me off.”
“How’s that?”
“He said he might know where I could find the tow truck driver. He calls him Mr. Pony Tail. And he said he’d be willing to help me if I helped him. So I gave him a twenty and he took off.”
“Why didn’t you follow him and get it back?”
“I tried. He’s fast for an old bum. Anyway he ditched me, literally. Turns out there’s a large drainage ditch running under the 101 to the beach on the other side of the freeway. It’s just a couple hundred feet up the road from the convenience store. It’s like a small tunnel, just high and wide enough to walk through if you crouch down. He scooted through it to the other side fast as a cat. By the time I got to the beach, he was gone.”
Cyrus laughed and then he said, “You been watching too many reruns of Rockford Files. But thanks for trying.”
“That bum didn’t know anything anyway. Probably he was just hitching a ride from Mr. Pony Tail.”
“Maybe,” Cyrus said. Cyrus closed the passenger side door of the Cooper and walked around to the driver’s side. He bent down and ran his hand over the carpet. “This car is spotless; hard to tell it had been at the beach all day.” After putting on a pair of sheer rubber gloves, he ran his hand under the car seat and felt around. After a moment or two, he pulled his hand back out holding a piece of clear package tape.
“Interesting. I guess the forensics boys haven’t had a chance to look at the car yet.”
Max reached down and taking the piece of tape from him said, “Looks like there are a few blonde hairs sticking to it.”
“I’ll give this to Bernie to check out.” Cyrus said as he pulled a baggie from his pocket. As he stood up, he slammed the door shut, and leaned against the Cooper.
“ As clean as this car is there’s not much point in having a forensics team go over it anyway,” he said, “the only thing left to do is to check all the car washes between here and the impound lot and hope somebody saw them there. What time did the guard sign it in?”
“About an hour and a half after they left Rincon Beach.”
Max went to his truck, got out his laptop and checked out car washes on the way to the lot. “The Car Detox, Cyrus, gotta be,” he said, “You get off exit south Carpentaria exit and get back on the 101 a few miles north, the next exit up is the impound lot. That’s the only way they could have made it in that short of time and still cleaned out this car.”
They checked Car Detox, and two or three other car washes, but they could not find anyone who had seen anybody matching the description of the tow truck, the pony tailed truck driver, or the homeless man. As they drove back to Santa Barbara, Cyrus let out a deep sigh of frustration. “All we can do now is put out an APB on Mr. Pony Tail and hope someone recognizes him.”
The next day Cyrus sat at his desk and stared at the front page headline of the morning edition of the Santa Barbara Independent. It read the following: Mathers Pleads Guilty to MAN II.
He lowered his newspaper and looking at Max sitting across from him he said, “There isn’t a leak in the DA’s office, there’s an express pipeline to the Independent Editor’s office. They must have one of the Assistant DAs on the payroll.”
Max shrugged his shou
lders and continued typing. Cyrus read the article aloud. “Dana Mathers accepted a plea bargain agreement with the Santa Barbara District Attorney. Mathers pled guilty to second degree manslaughter and was sentenced to six years to be served at the California Men’s Colony near San Luis Obispo. He will be eligible for parole in two years…”
The article went on to describe the shock and disbelief of Dana’s parents and supporters. He continued reading the article silently, twiddling a yellow pencil between his thumb and forefinger. He took a sip of coffee and when he realized it was cold he grimaced disapprovingly and set it back down hard, making a loud clack. Before he could finish reading the rest of the news article, he raised his eyes at the sight of Rudy entering the office area.
“Congratulations, both of you. That was some fine police work.” Rudy stopped in the aisle between Max and Cyrus’s desk and held out his arms. “You know this takes away a lot of the sting from losing that Nichols case.” Rudy raised his clenched fists over his head as he spoke. “This case is closed.”
Cyrus frowned and then he said, “What about the girl?”
Rudy approached the front of Cyrus’s desk, put his hands on its edges, leaned over, and said, “What girl?”
Cyrus tossed the paper onto his desk and sat up, “Kelsey Tanner, she was supposed to be a material witness and possibly a co-defendant. We haven’t interrogated her yet.”
“That may be hard to do, since her father had her transferred to another hospital in Hawaii.”
Cyrus bit his lip to keep from shouting. “So you let a material witness leave the State in the middle of an investigation and don’t tell me?”
“I would have told you, but the DA didn’t even tell me she was gone until yesterday. Senator Dunbar was the one who asked the Governor to authorize her departure-imagine that, Senator Dunbar.”
“It must be nice to have friends up that high,” Max said.
“Anyway,” Rudy continued, “before I could inform you of Kelsey Tanner’s departure, Mathers took the plea bargain, and so it didn’t matter. Dana confessed to causing Tanner’s death in self defense-just like you said it was, Cyrus. The force used by Mathers in his defense was deemed excessive, and therefore the charge is second degree manslaughter.”
“Yeah, I know I read it all in the paper. Evidently reporters from the Independent have more access to the DA that we do.”
Rudy nodded, and then after a moment of awkward silence said. “Well, listen, you and Max have been through a lot the last couple of days, so I am giving you two the rest of the day off. How’s that?”
“Rudy,” Cyrus said, “how did you get Mathers to take a plea? It really doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“I didn’t get him to do anything. The DA hadn’t even interrogated him before he accepted the deal. That was a lucky break. He sure would have had a good chance of getting off without spending another day in prison if he had taken his chances with a jury. I can’t explain it either; maybe the guy has a conscience-it happens.”
Cyrus pointed the newspaper at Max. “What about our investigation?” Cyrus said. “We’re supposed to find the man who caused our squad car to flip over and killed that truck driver, remember?”
Rudy shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself, but I really think you two need to go home.” he said as he walked away toward his office.
Max stopped studying his computer screen and looked over toward Cyrus, “Boy, that’s a twist.” His voice reeked with sarcasm.
“What do you mean a twist?”
“I think you’re actually upset Mathers pled guilty. I thought you said you wanted to nail this surf bum?”
“He saved our lives, Max, I feel as bad as you do that he’s going to jail. But don’t you see what just happen?”
“Yeah, we got a good collar and a conviction against a really nice guy who also saved our lives. I am not happy about it, like you say. But he confessed.”
“He sure did. Right after talking to his fiancée’s rich and powerful father.”
Max sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “I thought you didn’t like all those conspiracy theories.”
“I don’t, but there’s nothing theoretical about this conspiracy. Daddy Tanner figures out his daughter is involved somehow with murder of his son. He flies her to Hawaii, gets our superhero Dana to go to jail for her, and makes the whole case disappear. He probably offered Dana a nice job with his company when he gets out.”
“That’s Southern Cal for you-all the justice one man can afford. So there’s nothing we can do,” Max said as he sat up and then shut down his PC. “And I put out an APB on Mr. Pony Tail -I mean the tow truck driver. He’s the only suspect we have in the sabotage case.”
Cyrus wheeled around in his chair and rubbed the sides of his face with both hands.
Max persisted. “Let’s go get a beer down at Bombay’s. I can give you a chance to get even at pool too.”
“I thought you Christians didn’t drink?”
“Some don’t. I just make sure I never get drunk.”
“I don’t like to drink either. I don’t have enough brains cells as it is. Besides, my body hurts too much to play pool. You go ahead.” Cyrus said.
“A couple of beers will fix that, Cyrus. Having a beer or two after what we’ve been through-I think anyone would honestly count it as purely medicinal.”
Cyrus opened up the paper and pretended to be reading, hiding the grin on his face. “You should have been a lawyer or a car salesman. All right, the sabotage case is cold now, anyway. I guess I could play you right-handed this time Max.”
“What do you mean? You’re left handed aren’t you?”
Cyrus, tossed the newspaper back down, picked up a sheet of the prisoner out processing report he had filed earlier and began writing, right handed, of course. Max stared at him and made a frown.
“What an observant detective you are,” Cyrus said. “You’ve known me five years now and never knew I was right handed.”
“I am still going to run the table on you, let’s go.”
That evening, after their celebration at Bombay’s, Cyrus took a cab home. Max wanted him to stay and he put up a friendly protest over Cyrus’s departure, however he was intent on getting home before the start of a TV special which held for him a special interest.
The subject of the program covered the WTO riots in Seattle in 1999. Cyrus had volunteered to assist the beleaguered Seattle Police chief during that riot and he wanted to see what it looked like on the tube. Winning the majority of the pool games he played against Max put him in a good mood. The alcohol numbed the aches and pains in his back and neck, and took his mind off Dana Mathers.
It was around 5:30pm and still bright enough to see. The cab pulled over to let him out in front of his townhouse on Main St. As he reached over to pay the cabbie, he spotted through the driver’s front windshield a slim figure coming his way. He handed the driver the fare, got out and then walked toward his townhouse. The cabbie drove off cursing something in a foreign language and shaking his fist as he went.
Oblivious to the rants of the taxi driver, Cyrus headed for the walk way leading to his front porch. The slim, red-headed female called out, “Detective Fleming!” She staggered towards him, waving her hand in a frantic motion. She wore only shower shoes and a white, one-piece, uniform. For a moment Cyrus thought she may have been an escaped mental patient. When the young woman finally arrived a few feet in front of Cyrus, she stopped and then wobbled unsteadily. Cyrus recognized her. It was Kelsey Tanner.
As she was about to speak, she passed out. Cyrus caught her before she hit the pavement. He surveyed the area for anyone watching him. It would not do to have this scene plastered all over the morning papers tomorrow. With an easy, swift motion, he picked Kelsey up on his broad shoulder and toted her into his small townhouse.
An hour later, after Kelsey Tanner awoke, Cyrus got up from his easy chair and walked over to her, “It’s all right now,” he said, “This is Mrs.
Leighton, my mother’s nurse.”
The short, plump, grey headed woman, who was kneeling beside the sofa next to her, placed a cold towel across her forehead and gave her a kindly, cragged, smile. Mrs. Leighton raised her bulging frame with some difficulty until she was upright. She made a soft grunt and went into the kitchen. After a moment, she came back and put a large glass of cold water on the table next to the couch. She said goodbye to Cyrus, nodded to Kelsey, and started to leave the room.
Before she made it to his door, Cyrus caught up to her and with a quiet voice said, “Mrs. Leighton, if it’s all right with you, I wish you would stay.”
“Oh yes, Cyrus, I don’t mind. I admire a man who considers appearances and protects the reputation of a lady. Your mother would be proud.” She walked over to the other side of the living room, next to Cyrus’s library shelves, and pulled out a small paperback, The Private Patient, a PD James Mystery novel. Sitting down in a small chair next to a small inn table, she opened the tattered volume and began reading.
Reaching up to her forehead, Kelsey removed the cold compress and sat up. Cyrus sat down next to her on the couch.
“My father kidnapped me and brought me to Hawaii against my will,” Kelsey said. She paused to catch her breath, and then she put her hand to her chest, “I don’t have any heart condition. He paid a doctor to keep me sedated. I have been on and off some kind of sedative for the last two days.”
“How do you know you don’t have a heart condition? The last time I saw you, you were stretched out flat on a gurney. You looked like you had something wrong with you then.”
“I had an anxiety attack, not a heart attack. I just fainted. Anyway I know there was nothing wrong with me because they weren’t treating me the way they treat heart patients. I’m an RN at Memorial and I often work in ICU, so I know what they usually do. I had no X-rays, no heart monitoring equipment-nothing. My Dad paid off the doctor to keep me away from Dana.”
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