The Daughters Of Alta Mira (Quill Gordon Mystery Book 4)

by Michael Wallace

  “A felony? But she was drunk and flirting with them. If they fooled around later, how would that be a felony?”

  Gordon turned to Elizabeth, and it seemed as if the room stopped moving. She finally took a deep breath and leaned forward slightly.

  “Let me ask you a question, Harry. Do you have a sister?”

  “No. Just a little brother.”

  “If you had a sister, would it have bothered you to see her acting the way Alicia was acting that night — drinking and flirting?

  “Yeah. I guess so. I don’t know.”

  “You’re a decent guy, Harry, so I’m pretty sure it would have. You’d have understood that she was maybe getting herself into a situation she wouldn’t be able to control. Too many women have to learn that lesson the hard way, and when they do, they have to live with the horror of it for the rest of their lives. Alicia will. Just because a woman is drinking and flirting with someone doesn’t mean she’s agreeing to what happens next — or if she’s had too much to drink, that she even has the ability to deal with it. And too often, the men who take advantage of women in those circumstances get away with it because no one is willing to step forward.”

  “Do you really think it would help to report the video? When I don’t even know what’s on it?”

  “Let me answer that,” Gordon said. “Granted that we don’t know what the video will show, telling the sheriff about it breaks the investigation open. Maybe the video doesn’t show anything conclusive, but it can still provide background information, raise questions. And there’s even a chance it could exonerate your friends. Until it’s looked at by the proper authorities, nothing happens and everyone is under a cloud of rumor and suspicion.

  “That’s why it matters, so I’m going to stop talking and just repeat what Bob said on Sunday. It’s up to you now.”

  It seemed to me that the silence that followed those words lasted five minutes, though it was probably more like 15 seconds. When Hooper finally spoke, he sounded utterly drained.

  “All right. I’ll tell the sheriff.”

  The rest of us exhaled.

  “When should I do it?”

  “No time like now,” Gordon said. “Do you really want to be worrying it any longer?” Hooper shook his head. “Did you drive over here?”

  “I got a lift from a friend.”

  “Then I’ll drive us back to town.”

  “Is that your Cherokee parked outside?”

  “It sure is.”

  “Well, at least I’ll get a good ride.”

  That broke the ice a bit, and as we stood to go, Elizabeth picked up the paper with Bob’s list on it.”

  “Gordon,” she said. “I think I know what one of the other items on this means.”

  “Spill.”

  “DS – Gurgle. DeShayne Plumbing is one of Bob’s big advertisers, and Bob was always trying to find new plumbing noises for the commercials. It was part of his gross-out sense of humor. I think he was just reminding himself to find a flushing noise or something for DeShayne’s next ad. Do you think that could be right?”

  “Yes, and no comment,” Gordon said as he turned toward the door.

  THREE AND A HALF HOURS LATER, Gordon and Elizabeth were with the sheriff in her office. Sam had borrowed the Cherokee to drive Hooper home, and Diane Brinkley, having called in a secretary on overtime to take down what Hooper said, was en route to Judge Jackson’s house with the deposition and a search warrant for the judge’s signature.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” asked Elizabeth.

  “I hope not,” Chris said. “All we’re asking for is permission to search for the video camera and videotape. The judge is pretty supportive of law enforcement, but judges have to stand for election, and the DeShaynes are a prominent family. So we’ll wait to hear.”

  “Assuming you get the warrant,” Gordon said, “when would you serve it?”

  “Nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Why not tonight?”

  “No sense upsetting the DeShaynes any more than we have to. Tomorrow morning, the girls’ll be in school, and Norv will be off to work. With any luck, we just have to search Caitlin’s room, and we’re done in ten to 15 minutes.”

  “How big an operation will it be?” Elizabeth said.

  “Just Howard and me, and I’m not telling Howard about it until he comes in tomorrow morning.”

  “What do you expect to find?” Gordon asked.

  “I’m not expecting anything. Expectations are disappointments waiting to happen. We’ll find what we find and move on from there.”

  “Let me put it another way. What do you think is the likelihood that this could be a breakthrough in the case?”

  “A breakthrough? Pretty small. It would be too much to hope for indisputable evidence of a crime.”

  “But we’re talking about teenagers,” Elizabeth said. “Anything can happen.”

  “Granted. But it’s a long way from can to will. There’s a fair chance that any video that was shot that night has been erased or discarded. And even if it’s not, what it does show is likely to be blurry and inconclusive.”

  “So you’re saying this might be a wild goose chase?” Gordon asked.

  “Not at all. It could tell us who was there; it could open up lines of questioning that might lead somewhere; it might suggest an approach we hadn’t considered. And if it does nothing else, this sends a message.”

  Elizabeth and Gordon waited for her to continue. The phone rang, and Chris picked it up.

  “Sheriff Huntley.”

  She listened to the voice on the other end for several seconds, then said one word:

  “Good.” And she hung up. Gordon and Elizabeth were leaning forward in their chairs.

  “Relax,” she said. “That was Howard. He said he hasn’t arrested any of the faculty, though some of them richly deserve it, and he’ll be here with a full report in half an hour.”

  Gordon and Elizabeth leaned back in their chairs.

  “You were talking about sending a message,” Gordon said after several seconds.

  “Right. What I mean by that is that when the top two officers in the sheriff’s department show up at the home of a prominent family to serve a search warrant, the word’s going to get out pretty fast. It’ll show that we’re taking this seriously and no one’s above suspicion. That might cause a parent or student to come to Jesus and step forward. We can hope, anyway.”

  They sat silently for a minute and a half. The phone rang, and in the silence, it sounded like the bell announcing the end of school. The sheriff answered, then listened, nodding, for a quarter of a minute.

  “Good,” she said, and hung up. She turned to Gordon and Elizabeth, who were leaning forward again.

  “That was Diane. No problem with Judge Jackson. She signed the warrant.”

  ELIZABETH AND GORDON met Sam for dinner at Elizalde’s. It seemed as if half the town was there, and they had to be careful about being overheard. But the air at their table was charged with a barely suppressed excitement.

  The waitress arrived with drinks — red wine for Elizabeth and Gordon and a beer for Sam — and Elizabeth lifted her glass in a toast.

  “To our investigation. May justice be done.”

  They touched glasses and bottle.

  “That’s a lot to ask for,” Gordon said. “But at least this is a beginning.”

  “I’m glad you were there this afternoon, Gordon.” She looked around and lowered her voice slightly. “I don’t know if I could have gotten him to go to the sheriff.”

  “I think he’s basically a good kid,” Gordon answered. “Once he was led to where he could see the right thing to do, and could take ownership of the decision, he went ahead and did it.”

  “But the right thing was easier to see when the direction was coming from someone who spoke his language.”

  “Maybe. I still believe he’d have come around eventually.”

  Sam raised his beer bottle.

&
nbsp; “I think we should have a toast to Bob. If he hadn’t talked to Harry in the first place, we wouldn’t have had anything to go on.

  Gordon and Elizabeth lifted their glasses and said simultaneously, “To Bob.”

  They fell silent for a minute, remembering. Gordon finally spoke.

  “That reminds me,” he said. “I was going to stop by to see Brenda this afternoon, but this whole business took so long, I clean forgot.”

  Soup arrived, a hearty blend of ham, beans and noodles, and they dug in. After a couple of swallows, Gordon set his spoon down and opened his notebook to Bob’s list.

  “I’ll be sure to see her tomorrow,” he said. “And one thing I want to ask her about is this list.” He looked at Elizabeth. “What you said about ‘DS – Gurgle’ being a sound effect for a DeShayne ad rings true, and if it is, we’ve accounted for three of the five things on this list. That still leaves us scratching our heads over ‘SBYM – TW’ and ‘Wheaties.’ And there’s still something about this list that bothers me, though I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Let me see that,” she said, taking the list from Gordon. “I’m wondering if the first item isn’t the important one. “If Bob had something on his mind, wouldn’t it be the first thing he wrote down in the morning that was important.”

  “That makes sense,” Gordon said, taking the list back. “So does the idea that the last thing he wrote was the most important. I don’t know.”

  They finished their soup, and the salad arrived. As they were eating, Elizabeth sat bolt upright.

  “I almost forgot. Tomorrow morning. What are you guys doing tomorrow morning?”

  “What did you have in mind?” Gordon said.

  “Monday night I got hold of Jessica Milland’s mother in Big Piney. I set up an interview for nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Don’t you have to be at work then?” Sam asked.

  “On what grounds?” Gordon asked.

  “To answer Sam first, on Mondays and Wednesdays, I only teach the Women’s Studies class at one o’clock. I asked to meet with her as a representative of the campus safety committee …”

  “Is there actually such a thing?” said Sam.

  “Yes, and I’m actually on it. But I’m also hoping that I might be able to get some piece of information out of her that the sheriff’s department didn’t get. They sent a male detective to talk to her. Would you guys like to come along?”

  “But we’re male, too,” Sam said.

  “That’s all right as long as you don’t talk. It’ll look more impressive if a couple of people from the committee are there, which is how I’ll introduce you. And I’ll ask all the questions.”

  “We’d have to leave by eight to be at Big Piney by nine,” Gordon said.

  “You’d get up that early to go fishing, wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose. What do you say, Sam?”

  “Sure. Why not?” he replied after a pause.

  “Great. Shall we meet at Kemper’s at 7:15 for breakfast and go from there?”

  Gordon and Sam nodded.

  “I’ll drive,” Gordon said.

  “Not so fast, Flyboy. You need to learn how to let the woman do some things. I’ll do the driving and you can sit in the passenger seat and not comment on it.”

  “Whatever you say,” he said after a pause. They finished their salads without further conversation. When Gordon was done, he stood up.

  “If we’re going to be out all of tomorrow morning, I’m going to excuse myself and give Brenda a call right now. I need to let her know I haven’t forgotten about her. If dinner comes while I’m out, go ahead and start without me.”

  He headed for the front door.

  AS SOON AS GORDON was out of earshot, Elizabeth turned toward me and flashed a smile that might even have been sincere.

  “Now that we’re alone,” she said in a confidential tone, “can I ask you a question, Sam?”

  No way to get out of that, so I told her to go ahead.

  “I’ve been wondering, and Bob wasn’t much help on this point, but I’m curious.” She took a deep breath. “What, exactly, does Gordon do for a living?”

  “You know, my wife asks that question all the time.”

  “That’s all right,” she purred. “You don’t have to give me the same answer you give her.”

  There was nothing left to do but play it straight, so I did the best I could.

  “I don’t know all the details, but he worked for a dozen years at Howell, Burns & Bledsoe, an old-line San Francisco brokerage. He brought in some clients who were pro athletes, and I gather generally did pretty well for them. In addition to that, he began investing his own money and did really well at it. Well enough that he quit the brokerage a few years back.”

  “And what’s he been doing since?”

  “I think he’s still managing a few portfolios for clients he knows pretty well. And of course he’s managing his own investments, which I expect takes some time. And he occasionally does some consulting for nonprofit groups about managing their finances, though I don’t think he makes much money off that.”

  “In other words, he’s essentially at loose ends.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. But he certainly seems to be able to go fishing whenever he wants.”

  “What you’re saying is very interesting, Sam, because in the short time I’ve known him, I’ve gotten the impression of a very sharp but also restless man who’s searching for himself in some way. And maybe trying to come to terms with a void in his life. Tell me, Sam, was there a tragic love affair in his past?”

  I squirmed. This was getting a bit uncomfortable.

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “He’s almost 40 years old, and he let it drop when we were having dinner the other night that he’s never been married. I kind of think that any man who wants to be married is going to be by that point in his life. Unless there’s something that’s blocking him emotionally. That’s why I suspect a tragic love affair. What about it?”

  “It wasn’t really tragic,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “I mean, nobody died. Well, actually, some people did, but it wasn’t Gordon or her. Anyway, I think he thought she was The One, and so did I for a while. They were together for about six months, and then all of a sudden, it was over.”

  I stopped and took a pull of my beer. She had me off balance, and I wanted to right things.

  “Did he ever say why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why they broke up?”

  “No, he didn’t, and whenever I asked, he just said, ‘I’d rather not talk about it, Sam.’ And when Gordon says that, you don’t argue with him.”

  “Maybe you need to take the circular route.”

  “You can try if you want. Good luck.”

  “And so do you know what happened to The One?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. It turns out she’s now engaged to be married. To an undertaker.”

  “An undertaker. How interesting. That’s not exactly where I’d start looking for Mr. Right, but then you never know.”

  “You never know,” I said. “I just found out about it last week. In fact, I had to break the news to Gordon when I got here.”

  “And how did he take it?”

  “You can’t always tell with him, but I think he was a bit disturbed.”

  “You think he wants her back?”

  “I think some small part of him does, but he knows it’s not going to happen.”

  “So why do you think he was disturbed?”

  “My best guess? I think he wanted to hold on to that little bit of hope. And now he can’t.”

  “On the other hand, maybe that finally frees him.”

  That’s what you’re hoping, I thought. What’s taking Gordon so long, anyway?

  “Could I ask one more thing, Sam?”

  “We’ve gone this far.”

  “How did he meet The One?”

  I realized the answer wa
s dynamite, but I couldn’t come up with any other way of putting it, so I finally said:

  “He met her on a fishing trip.”

  “Oh. So he has a history of this.” She took another sip of her wine. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, let’s be real, Sam. He does come across as a man who knows his way around a woman.”

  I’d just taken another swallow of beer when she said that, and I aspirated, sending carbonated alcoholic liquid simultaneously down my throat and up my nose. As I sat there, helplessly gasping, coughing and wheezing, dinner and Gordon arrived at the table simultaneously. He gave me a queer look but was either too smart or too much of a gentleman to say anything.

  Wednesday November 12

  SHE MET US AT KEMPER’S Bakery shortly after 7 a.m. The place was about three-quarters full and noisy, but we grabbed the only remaining table for four. She had a croissant, Gordon had a bear claw and I got a lemon Danish. They sent me to get the pastries and coffee while they talked. Not that it matters. We head home on Sunday, and after that, she will gradually begin to fade from memory.

  When I got back with the goodies, she was filling him in on the investigation at the college. She paused long enough to thank me and kept going.

  “After I got back last night, the phone was ringing pretty much nonstop until I finally unplugged it at 10 so I could get some sleep. No one can remember having a detective on campus interviewing people all day, so it was quite the deal.”

  “How did people react?” Gordon asked.

  “From what I’m hearing, Howard picked up a lot of votes for when he runs for sheriff in June. Unfortunately for him, he picked them up for Chris. People didn’t care much for his old-school lawman approach, and the faculty in particular were aware of the fact that he didn’t seem to like them.”

  “Did anyone think he got anywhere?” I asked.

  “They seemed to feel he was spinning his wheels and wasting a lot of time looking in the wrong places. For instance, he seemed to really get his back up when he talked to Arthur Melton. Arthur’s been in the English Department since before dirt, and he has tenure, so getting rid of him is out of the question. Everyone in the office seemed to think it was funny that Howard thought Arthur was guilty.”