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

by Michael Wallace

  “Any thoughts or questions?”

  They sat in stunned silence for nearly a minute before Elizabeth spoke.

  “Wouldn’t the patrol car from this county look different enough to arouse suspicion?”

  “I thought of that, too. But they’re both a green-and-white motif, though the designs are a bit different. Your average person is probably going to see the colors, the lines of the car, the lights on top, and the guy in uniform driving it and not think twice.”

  For the next hour and a quarter, they discussed the situation. With someone to bounce her thoughts off, Chris began to develop an outline of what she needed to do. It included:

  Say nothing to Howard and look into what she could without arousing suspicion from him or anyone else in the department.

  Identify the vehicle he drove to Ponderosa for the court hearing and search it herself.

  Review Howard’s personnel records to see where he was when the three women disappeared from Homestead College.

  Review the records of the campus police officers for those dates as well.

  By the end of that discussion, she had calmed down considerably and thanked Gordon and Elizabeth for listening and for promising to say nothing to anyone else. Gordon then brought up the rape investigation and asked whether Diane Brinkley had been able to get anything from the students.

  Chris snorted.

  “A lot of attitude, mostly. They all lawyered up, but she thinks Cody Jarrett may understand he has a problem and be amenable to reason down the line. Oh, and you’ll love this. The attorney retained by Kyle Burnett’s father has filed for a temporary restraining order tomorrow. He’s going to argue that the coach shouldn’t be allowed to throw Kyle off the team without giving him a hearing and due process. Since the district attorney represents the school district, Diane’s going to have to drop everything else for a couple of hours and argue that case.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “When the parents send that kind of message, well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “I hope Diane doesn’t spend too much time on the restraining order,” Gordon said. “It really doesn’t matter, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” Chris asked.

  “I guess you’ve never played for a school team before. Even if the judge rules in Burnett’s favor, it’s still the coach’s decision who plays — even who gets in uniform for the game. If Kyle Burnett wins tomorrow morning, it just means that he might get to watch the game from the sidelines in civilian clothes. He won’t even be able to hold a football. I’d bet money on that.”

  IT WAS AFTER TEN O’CLOCK, and rain had begun falling outside when Chris finally left. Elizabeth closed the door behind her and returned, with Gordon, to the couch. For five minutes, they stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain fall.

  “What a night,” Gordon finally said. “I suppose the seminar on Antioch Rules will have to wait for another time.”

  “I don’t know. Is that what you want?”

  “Well, I suppose we could try to pick up where we left off.”

  She smiled just enough to embolden the idea.

  “But look here,” he said. “This is all really confusing. I mean, am I supposed to assume that after all this time, prior consent is still valid? Or do I have to go back and start at the beginning? How does this sort of thing work in real life?”

  She gave the impression of thinking it over for a minute.

  “Tell you what, Gordon. It’s getting late, and I have to be in the classroom at 8:30 tomorrow morning. So what if we just cut to the chase, and I say yes to everything.”

  “Works for me,” he said.

  Thursday November 13

  THE FIRST THING I DID when I woke up was to roll over and see if Gordon had come in during the night when I was asleep. His bed was still crisply made and unoccupied. Less work for the maid. The clock on the nightstand said 7:10, and I sat up. Could it really be so late?

  I’d been thinking that maybe I’d take the plane up today. When I talked to Nancy last night, and vented about Gordon (not for the first time), she suggested it might take my mind off things. With no fishing on the horizon, and being something of a fifth wheel around Gordon and Elizabeth, I could use a little something to free my spirits. Ever since I did my first takeoff in flight school, I’ve experienced a feeling of sheer joy when I leave the ground in a small plane and can see the earth growing smaller beneath me. I don’t get that on a commercial flight because I can’t see so well, and I’m not the pilot. I got out of bed, walked to the window, and drew the curtains.

  They opened to a vista of unabated gray, seen through steady rain. A red car passed below on the street, and as it moved up Chaparral Boulevard, it got darker and darker, finally fading almost to gray, except for the brake lights. Although I was in one of the highest places in Alta Mira, I couldn’t see to the edge of town, less than half a mile away. The dark gray clouds hung so low they obscured the mountains. Flying was out of the question. There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots. I am not bold enough to go up in weather like this.

  Gordon called at 7:30 to suggest meeting at Danny’s Diner in half an hour. Fifteen minutes later, I stood at the front door of the Danube, put on a cap I’d gotten from a riverfront resort Gordon and I stayed at two years earlier, pulled the hood of my parka over it, and stepped outside. It was cold — damp, East Coast cold, with a breeze that whipped you with icy lashes and sent the rain sideways into your face. The time and temperature sign on the bank said it was 43 degrees, but it felt like 23. It was a long three blocks to the diner, and my jeans were more than damp when I arrived.

  I snagged one of the few remaining tables and sat down to wait for him. With nothing else to do, I eavesdropped on the conversations around me. Most of them had to do with the football game coming up tomorrow night, and the suspension of the quarterback and star receiver. From the snatches of conversation I picked up, there seemed to be a division of opinion about whether the players should have been suspended. On another point, however, there was a strong consensus: Without Burnett and Jarrett in the game, Alta Mira would face an uphill battle against Aspen Valley.

  Five minutes after I arrived, Gordon came in. He’d pulled into the parking lot just as someone parked near the front door was leaving. He was barely wet and sat down after removing his jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair.

  “Nice weather for ducks,” I said conversationally.

  He grunted. It was going to be that kind of morning. He improved slightly after a cup of coffee, but for someone who presumably had a good time last night, he was awfully taciturn. At least I’ve known him long enough not to take offense.

  Just as the waitress was setting down his plate of sausage and eggs, Gordon’s phone rang.

  “It’s the sheriff,” he said. “Hello.”

  A pause and a change of expression. Pretty dramatic for Gordon.

  “No, I wasn’t expecting it to be you, but no problem. What can I do?”

  Pause.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Will he be OK?”

  Pause.

  “Well, I don’t know. I’ve never done that before.”

  Pause.

  “Well, I suppose I could. I’m flattered that you thought of me.”

  Pause.

  “All right. I’ll give it a try. What time?”

  Pause.

  “OK. See you then. Thanks for asking.”

  Pause.

  “No problem. Bye.”

  He turned the phone off, set it on the table and stared at it. After a minute passed without his saying anything or starting to eat, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

  “What was that all about, Gordon? You look like a felon who just got a call from his parole officer.”

  He jerked his head slightly and his thoughts returned to the table. “No. It was just — that was Howard. It turns out Jed Clampett, one of his spotters, fell down his back stairs las
t night and broke a leg. No way he can get up to the press box tomorrow. Howard wanted to know if I could fill in as a spotter at the big game.”

  “And that shook you up this badly? I sense something’s going on, Gordon. Why aren’t you telling me about it?”

  He looked around the café. “Not here,” he finally mumbled. “Too crowded.”

  He dug into his sausage and eggs and ate for three minutes without saying a word. He finished his coffee, the waitress materialized out of nowhere to refill his cup, and he held it up but stopped before taking a sip.

  “Save some room for a piece of pie, Sam. We’re going for a drive after breakfast.”

  AT 9:15 A.M. — AFTER ARRAIGNING two drunk drivers, a shoplifter, and a litterbug — the Honorable Susan Jackson heard the petition for a temporary restraining order allowing Kyle Burnett and Cody Jarrett to be reinstated to the football team pending a formal hearing. A jury trial in a domestic violence case was resuming at 10 a.m., and the judge wanted the restraining order to be decided one way or another by then.

  By agreement of all parties, only the attorneys were present. Deputy District Attorney Diane Brinkley represented the school district. Owen Waterman, partner in one of the largest law firms in Redding, nearly 150 miles away, represented both students, with the stipulation that he did so only on the matter of the restraining order; Jarrett had separate counsel for the investigation against him. The judge glumly calculated that Waterman was probably charging his clients more for the drive to Alta Mira than she earned in two days.

  Waterman argued that the district was required to provide a formal hearing for the students before taking them off the team. Brinkley argued that playing for the football team was a voluntary, elective activity that was governed by a contract between the players and coach, giving the coach sole discretion in disciplinary matters. Both attorneys cited sections of the state’s voluminous education code to support their positions, and after 35 minutes of argument, Judge Jackson told them to make their final summaries in three minutes or less.

  They did, and finished at 9:58. Two minutes until the jury trial was to resume. The judge, who had to stand for election in June, realized she was in a no-win situation. Both sides had constituencies, and however she ruled, one side would be angry with her. With 30 seconds left, she remembered the advice of her favorite law professor: When in doubt, simplify. The judge lowered her eyes from the ceiling, at which she had been staring, and looked at the two attorneys.

  “A contract is a contract. Motion for the restraining order is denied.”

  GORDON AND SAM DROVE WEST out of town. As the miles added up, the scenery changed — encompassing meadow, forest, riverside, and the occasional small town, desolate in the rain — but the skyline remained the same: a monotonous mélange of grays. The rain never achieved downpour status, but it never let up, either, falling steadily at light to moderate levels. In the 40-mile drive to the town of Piper Creek, Gordon’s windshield wipers and headlights were never off.

  Once Alta Mira was well behind them, Gordon began to relax and open up. He enjoyed driving, and even in the rain, an open road with almost no traffic was a tonic to his soul.

  “I wanted to drive for two reasons,” he said, as much to himself as to Sam. “I want to put that town behind me for a while, and I wanted to tell you a couple of things I couldn’t in the restaurant.”

  Sam, looking out the window, nodded. Gordon continued:

  “An idea occurred to me yesterday. I’ve been trying to think who a student at the college would trust enough to ride with, and it flashed into my brain that a law enforcement officer would be high on the list. When I was alone with Chris yesterday, after we were watching the video, I suggested the idea to her.”

  “And how did that go over?”

  “Actually, she was pretty responsive. I guess she learned from her ex-husband that not every law enforcement officer is a wonderful human being. She was going to check her staffing records to see if any of the deputies who work on campus were off the day the student went missing in Ponderosa last month. She found more than she bargained for.

  “It seems that Howard was in Ponderosa that day, testifying at a hearing on a high-speed chase that began there and ended up in this county. He was in court that morning, and would have been starting back to Plateau County about the time the student was last seen.”

  Sam whistled. “Does she think he’s a suspect?”

  “She was pretty agitated about it. She came over to Elizabeth’s last night …”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Came over to tell us about it. It’s a tough position for her. The guy who’s been in the sheriff’s department longer than just about everybody, and who’s going to run for her job in June, is suddenly in a place where there’s a suspicion against him, but no real evidence that he’s the guy who’s been making off with the students. She has to go real slow with that one.”

  They drove on for a minute without saying anything.

  “Well,” Sam said, “that explains your reaction when Howard asked you to help with the football game.”

  “If you have to be with a serial killer, that press box during a game is probably as safe a place as any. But his call shook me up, knowing what I know.”

  “Can I ask a question, Gordon? You said the guy who was making off with the students. Is there any way they know for sure it was a man, and not a woman?”

  “Good question. Did you have a suspect in mind?”

  “No, just asking. I mean if a female student would feel safe getting into a car with a male police officer, wouldn’t she feel safer, if anything, getting into a car with another female student?” He paused for effect. “Or a female faculty member?”

  Gordon shot him a dirty look.

  “The part about getting into the car makes sense,” Gordon said, “but the abductions and the taking a woman out to that lonely logging road — just doesn’t feel like a woman’s work to me.”

  “Maybe you need to examine your cultural assumptions.”

  “Maybe.”

  They drove in silence for another two minutes before Gordon continued:

  “Speaking of things that don’t feel right, I don’t entirely like Howard as a suspect. I’m no FBI profiler, but from everything I’ve read and heard, serial killing is a young man’s work — or, to keep your theory in play, Sam, a young person’s work. Howard has to be, what, 55? That’s pretty old to be running around, disposing of bodies.”

  “That’s the problem with this case, Gordon. There’s something wrong with every theory, but one of them is probably right. We just don’t know which one.”

  It was a bit after ten when they rolled into Piper Creek, a depressed town of 500 souls that looked even more depressed on this rainy day. The lumber mill had closed in 1981, and when they drove over the railroad track that used to serve it, weeds several feet high were growing between the rails. In the center of the town’s commercial area, such as it was, stood a long, one-story building with four storefronts. Three of them had “For Rent” signs in the windows, and the fourth housed the Piper Creek Café and Bakery, which had four pickups parked in front and a neon “Open” sign glowing in the window.

  “Still here,” Gordon said as he parked. “The last time I drove back from visiting Bob, I stopped here during an afternoon thunderstorm. A good place to have pie and coffee when it’s raining.”

  The first thing they saw, coming through the door, was the counter, with a long refrigerated rack of pies behind it. Three men in jeans and Stetsons were sitting at a corner table on the left, and a fourth man was slowly chewing a solitary breakfast at the counter. Gordon and Sam took the table in the far right corner, as far from the other customers as possible. They were quickly approached by a very young, red-headed waitress, who flirted with them a bit for want of anything better to do. Sam ordered apple pie and coffee; Gordon coconut cream and coffee. Before getting their order, the waitress took the coffee pot to the table of three and flirted
with the men there as she refilled their cups. Gordon and Sam’s table was next to a large window, and they stared out at the rain falling on the parking lot as they waited for pie.

  The pies were excellent, and their moods improved as they ate and drank coffee. It was comforting to be in a warm, clean place, eating dessert in the middle of the morning with the rain falling outside. Sam was down to his last bite of pie when his cell phone rang. As he fumbled for it, Gordon’s phone rang as well. They answered, and carried on overlapping, parallel conversations.

  “Sam Akers.”

  “This is Gordon.”

  “Oh, hi. I wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

  “Good morning, sheriff. What’s up?”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that. Yes, I knew it was coming, but …”

  “You don’t say. I guess that rules out one possibility.”

  “No, no. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “You’d like to what?”

  “Yes, I’ll be sure to tell him.”

  “I suppose we could do that. It’s not exactly like we had other plans.”

  “I’ll definitely give him your regards and ask.”

  “All right. See you then.”

  “Bye now.”

  They ended their calls and set their phones on the table in an almost synchronous motion. Then they looked at each other.

  “You first,” Sam said.

  “It was the sheriff. Two things. She was being a bit vague — probably because she’s afraid of being overheard — but it sounds as if Howard is off the hook.”

  “Now you can enjoy the game tomorrow.”

  “And she wants to meet us in our hotel room this afternoon. I said yes.” He looked at his watch. “We agreed on two o’clock, which is in about three hours, so we can have another cup of coffee and enjoy the scenery before we head back. Now what was your call about?”

  “It was Sheriff Mike in Summit County. Kitty died this morning.”

  Gordon closed his eyes and said nothing for a full minute.

  “Too bad,” he finally replied, taking a sip of coffee. “She was a hell of a woman and ran a great café. Kind of appropriate, isn’t it, that we were in a café when we got the news.”