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

by Michael Wallace

  Gordon and Sam took the hint and rose to leave. They closed the door behind them, then Gordon quickly opened it again and ducked his head in.

  “One last thought,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to tell you how to do your job, but if the Highway Patrol commander’s a good friend of Howard’s, maybe it’s time to bring Howard into the loop. Just saying.”

  “Oh, God,” Chris said. “Is this what it’s come to?”

  GORDON AND SAM whiled away the morning driving around town for an hour before lunch. A banner announcing the football game that night had appeared over Chaparral Boulevard, and several storefronts had signs urging the Eagles on to victory. The football reminders gave a disquieting sense of normalcy to a town that was anything but.

  After lunch, Gordon dropped Sam off at the hotel for a nap and paid a call on Brenda. She was with a friend when Gordon arrived, and the friend quickly scampered into the kitchen to make coffee, leaving Gordon and Brenda to talk.

  “How are you doing?” Gordon opened.

  “Horrible. I mean, let’s be honest about it. But not as bad as it could be. I’ve been amazed by how kind and helpful people have been. I’d kind of known that happens in a small town, but this is the first time I’ve been on the receiving end.”

  Gordon nodded, and she continued.

  “The sheriff’s been by every day since Bob was shot. That means a lot. It would mean more if she could tell me she’s close to catching his killer, but I’m sure she’s trying.”

  “Very hard,” Gordon said.

  “Are you picking up on anything? Are there any leads at all?”

  He chose his words carefully. “They have some ideas, but it’s hard to say how they’ll pan out. And Bob left a couple of clues behind, but they’re tantalizingly vague.”

  “Like Wheaties. Ever since you told me about it, I’ve been racking my brain trying to think what he might have meant. I still have no idea. Does anybody?”

  “The sheriff’s looking into one possibility that I know of, but it’s still early days. It’s probably best not to hope for too much just yet.”

  The friend returned with two cups of coffee. “I’m heating up some cinnamon rolls,” she said. “Back with those in a couple of minutes.”

  She ducked back into the kitchen, and Gordon leaned forward.

  “How are Eileen and Sarah doing?”

  “I don’t know. They’re in shock and trying not to show it — each in her own way. They’re holding together on the outside, but I really don’t know what’s going on inside. And I’m not in the best shape myself, so I haven’t been pressing.”

  “Understandable.”

  “But now that I mention it, could I ask you something?”

  He nodded.

  “When you were here last Saturday, Sarah asked if she could stay at your place in San Francisco. Good heavens. Saturday seems like five years ago now. Anyway, we didn’t take it too seriously at the time, but now … Do you think I could bring the girls down next summer?”

  “Absolutely. Or if you’d like, come down for Christmas or spring break. I’d love to have them, and you, around, and I’ve got a spare bedroom. I’d do everything I could to make it a trip to remember for them.”

  “You’re too sweet. But it could be good for them. Bob didn’t like big cities, so we’ve never been to San Francisco as a family. Reno once or twice a year is about the most we’ve done.”

  “It might not just be good for them; it could be good for you, too. When you’re ready. But take what I said as an absolute yes.”

  The friend returned with cinnamon rolls on three small plates, handed a plate to Brenda and Gordon, and sat on the couch next to Gordon. He could hear the radio going in the kitchen and was grateful that it had added an extra measure of privacy to his conversation with Brenda.

  She looked at the cinnamon roll on her plate.

  “I really shouldn’t.” she said. “I’m going to get so fat.”

  “I don’t see how,” the friend said. “You’ve hardly touched any food in five days. Now eat.”

  Brenda took a small bite of the roll and set the plate on a table at her side.

  “They’re talking about the big game on the radio,” the friend said. “I don’t follow it as much as the men do around here, but I guess the coach took our star player out of the game. Why would he do such a thing?”

  “I think he had his reasons,” Gordon said.

  “Hardly matters anyway. It won’t be the same without Bob announcing it on the radio. I always used to clean the kitchen Friday nights with the game on the radio. Not so much to follow the game as to listen to Bob and to feel that most of the town was gathered in one place to support our sons. It made me feel like part of the community.”

  Brenda picked up the coffee cup, her hand visibly shaking.

  “Tonight’s going to be hard,” she said. “I always listened to the games, too, and I’d pretend that Bob was just talking to me. It made me feel closer to him. Jud Diamond, who owns the radio station, was by yesterday, and he let it drop that he’d be announcing the game on KNEP tonight. He did it for years before he hired Bob.

  “So I have a decision to make in a few hours. Do I turn on the radio at seven o’clock and listen to the game, being aware every second that in a fair world, Bob would be calling it? Or do I leave the radio off and sit here in silence for two hours, thinking about how I would have been listening to Bob calling the game and having a great time tonight? What do you say, Gordon? What do you think I should do?”

  This time, Gordon had no answer. When he left, a few minutes later, Brenda’s plate was still sitting on the table next to her, the cinnamon roll still with just one small bite taken from it.

  THE PHONE RANG as Gordon was climbing into the Cherokee and a light shower was beginning to fall. It was the sheriff.

  “You may have put us onto something,” she said. “Can you meet me in my office at three o’clock?”

  He looked at his watch and saw that he had 20 minutes to make the three-minute drive to the courthouse.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Good,” she said, and rang off.

  All business, he thought. The phone rang again when he reached the next stop sign.

  “It’s your little passion flower,” Elizabeth said. “How did it go with the sheriff?”

  “She didn’t laugh out loud, if that’s what you mean. I’m meeting her again in a few minutes for a briefing.”

  “Do you have any plans for dinner?”

  “I was hoping you’d be available.”

  “I suppose I could make time for you. Can I bring Sandy along?”

  “Can I bring Sam?”

  “Table for four at Elizalde’s at six?”

  “Better make it five o’clock. I have to make it to the stadium by six thirty to be a spotter at the game, remember?”

  “I don’t know. Five o’clock is when old people eat. But if you have to work …”

  “I have to work. But I really want to have dinner with you.”

  “And Sandy and Sam. We’ll be well chaperoned. Five o’clock, then, and I’ll have some news, too.”

  “We both will. I can hardly wait to hear yours.”

  “I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU DID IT,” Chris said, “but the lead on Armstrong is starting to hold out a glimmer of hope. Much as I didn’t want to, I talked to Howard.”

  “Yes,” Gordon said.

  “So I started out by asking him if anyone else from law enforcement in this county went down to Ponderosa last month for that preliminary hearing. Would you care to hazard a guess as to who chased the suspect across the field, wrestled with him, and was needed in court to testify that the suspect resisted arrest and assaulted a peace officer?”

  “Armstrong?”

  “Armstrong, all right. Howard said they went down separately and he didn’t recall whether Armstrong took an official car or not. But he said he could find out if it was important. And you could tell that he was beginning to figure it was.
So I made an executive decision to bring him up to speed on your theory of Wheaties.”

  “He probably got a big belly laugh out of that.”

  “That’s what I would have expected, too. But the man surprises me sometimes. He did a little bit of a double take and said, ‘You know what: that sounds just like Bob. He’s been calling me Joe Friday behind my back for years, but I haven’t let on that I know.’ So the upshot of all this was that he went over and had a private cup of coffee with the CHP area commander.”

  She looked at Gordon.

  “The commander said he’d check the vehicle records for that day. He called Howard back right before I called you. Armstrong took a patrol car to Ponderosa.”

  Gordon whistled. “Now what?”

  “One of the officers has it out today, but it’s due back at four o’clock. It’ll be taken out of commission, then, and when the coast is clear, brought over to the fleet area behind the courthouse, where our forensic officer will give it an extremely close examination.”

  “But do you think he’ll find anything? I mean, a month has passed, right?”

  “Here’s what we’re up against, at least the way Howard tells it,” Chris said. “The cars all get washed at least once a week, and that includes a vacuuming of the interior. On some occasions, more than once a week.”

  “Like what occasions?” Gordon asked.

  “Like if a drunk throws up all over the upholstery and they have to give it a really thorough cleaning.”

  “Sorry I asked.”

  “That’s the glory and prestige of law enforcement. But there are a few ways something could still be there. The interior cleaning’s done pretty fast, and there’s always a chance a hair could remain in the car through a few cleanings. And they don’t generally look at everything in the car, so a really thorough search could turn something up that wasn’t found in routine cleaning. Plus, Howard says they don’t always get around to doing the trunk, though I wouldn’t dwell on that image too much if I were you.”

  “So now we’re waiting for the car.”

  “Waiting, waiting. ‘A policeman’s lot is not a happy one.’ ”

  “I didn’t know you were a Gilbert and Sullivan fan.”

  “I’m not, but I’ve picked up a lot of cop quotes along the way.”

  They sat with their thoughts for a minute before Gordon turned to Diane.

  “And the rape case? How’s that going?”

  “Slow and frustrating. The guys are hanging together like the French Resistance, and the young women are hesitant to step forward. Diane’s been leaning on them about how what happened to Alicia could happen to them. I think a couple of them are going to crack eventually, but I can’t tell you when, and I don’t know what they’ll be able to give her when they do.”

  “Do you think he might get away with it?”

  “He might. The standard of evidence for conviction is high, and rightfully so. I hate to say it, but there’s always a chance this could be one of those cases where we know what happened but can’t prove it. At least, not in court.”

  Gordon shook his head. “So one case is stalled for now, and the other case is waiting for the surreptitious arrival of a vehicle and a forensic inspection. At least you’ll know the results of that tonight.”

  Chris laughed.

  “No such luck, I’m afraid. Our forensic expert’s son is the starting middle linebacker for Alta Mira High, so he has to be at the game tonight. He’ll be coming in at 7:30 tomorrow morning to check the car. There are priorities that have to be weighed. On the one hand, there’s catching a serial killer. On the other hand, there’s football. Tonight, football wins.

  “Welcome to Alta Mira.”

  IN AN ODD WAY, I’m looking forward to the game tonight. Going to a high school football game wasn’t what I figured I was signing up for on this fishing trip with Gordon. If he and I had come here in the ordinary way — put in a few hours of fishing every day, done a little driving around, socialized with Bob — it would have been a very pleasant little end-of-season holiday in the mountains, and we would have innocently enjoyed all the charms Alta Mira has to offer.

  Instead, we got a serial killer, Gordon’s friend being murdered, and a teenage girl getting raped at a party. If this town were an apple, we’ve certainly come across every worm in it. So a high school football game is looking like good, clean fun — even if it can’t help reminding us of the rape.

  There’s no getting away from that feeling anywhere around here. Take Elizalde’s, where Gordon and I are now waiting for the ladies. If this were a normal fishing trip, I’d be singing its praises to everyone who would listen, telling them if they ever got up to these parts, they should check it out — that it’s a great Basque restaurant. And maybe I will, and maybe they’ll see it that way. For me, however, it will always be associated with discussions of vicious felonies, and watching a woman try — with a bit of result, if I’m not mistaken — to steal my buddy’s heart.

  Speaking of which, here come the ladies now. Gordon and I rise to greet them. Elizabeth comes up to him and gives him a nice warm hug that goes on long enough to tell anyone who’s watching that they’re more than just friends. I, on the other hand, get a brisk, professional handshake from Sandy, who sits next to me as Elizabeth sits next to Gordon.

  “I have some news,” Elizabeth said.

  “So do we,” Gordon said. “But you go first.”

  “Let’s start with the meeting with Alicia,” Elizabeth said. “Sandy, why don’t you tell them.”

  Sandy nodded.

  “She’s wobbling. It happens in rape cases sometimes. As the crime fades into the past and it begins to look as if no one will be caught and prosecuted, it’s not unusual to see a woman want to just forget it and move on. Elizabeth and I were trying to give her the courage to hang in there.”

  “It’s hardly over yet, though,” I said. “Chris and Diane are going after it pretty hard, and they both seem pretty competent.”

  “They are,” Sandy said. “But rape is so hard to prove. There are a lot of cases where you know it was rape and you know who did it, and you still can’t make it stand up in court.”

  “What’s breaking my heart,” Elizabeth said, “is that Alicia is starting to blame herself. This morning she was saying she shouldn’t have gone to the party; she shouldn’t have had a drink, and, unbelievably, she feels sorry that she was responsible for Kyle not playing in the game tonight.”

  “Sorry,” Gordon said, “but Kyle’s responsible for the fact he isn’t playing. It’s not on anyone else.”

  “That’s what I told her, and I think it helped her buck up a bit. But it’s hard for her. She feels most of the kids are blaming her. And she even said that Kyle may have suffered enough, just from missing tonight’s game.”

  “Rape is different from almost every other crime,” Sandy said. “If someone sticks a gun in your ribs and takes your wallet, you don’t generally waste a lot of time wondering what you could have done different. You’re pissed off at the bandit. But in a rape, the woman often wonders if she could have dressed differently, shouldn’t have been drinking, whatever.”

  “Our job right now,” Elizabeth said, “is to keep Alicia focused on the fact that whatever she might wish she had done differently, she did nothing to deserve what happened to her. Kyle Burnett, and maybe Cody Jarrett, too, crossed a line, and she needs to stand up for herself and see that they’re held accountable for it. Sandy was really persuasive on that point.”

  “I had my reasons,” Sandy said. “I went through that myself.”

  The table fell silent, and so, it seemed to me, did the entire room, but it was probably a figment of my imagination.

  She continued, “It was at a dorm party my freshman year in college. I drank more than I should have, and if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t have worn my shortest skirt. But, by God, I did not consent, though that’s what the bastard told the police.” She looked around the table. “I’ve never told
anyone in Alta Mira about this, but listening to Alicia this morning brought it back, and I decided I needed to talk about it. I hope you all don’t mind.”

  After a brief silence, Gordon said, “What happened to the rapist?”

  “He was real smooth, and the police and the DA could never see it as more of a he-said-she-said story. After a three-week investigation, they decided not to prosecute, even though I was sober enough to remember it pretty well and testify against him if it came to that.”

  “How do you feel about it now?” Gordon said quietly.

  “Well, I’m over blaming myself anyway. And I know the great spiritual leaders would tell me I should forgive him and move on, but I can’t do that yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. But over the years, I’ve developed a nice little fantasy that keeps me going some dark winter nights. It’s that I pull a car over on one of our lonely roads, and it’s him — driving all alone. And he doesn’t recognize me, with the uniform and all. Then when I ask him for his ID, it looks to me like he’s reaching for a gun, and I let him have it.”

  She looked around the table and saw that we were all listening raptly.

  “I’d never actually do it,” she said, “but it’s the least he deserves.”

  THEY ORDERED DINNER, and after the waitress left, Gordon, speaking in a low voice, filled them in on the Armstrong investigation.

  “That’s very interesting,” Sandy said, after he had explained about the patrol car being brought in for a forensic examination. “It’s not likely they’ll turn up anything after all this time, but it’s fascinating for two reasons.

  “The first is that I’ve always thought Johnny Armstrong was a bit of a queer duck. I mean, in some ways, he’s too good to be true. Young, handsome, self-effacing, coaches youth sports, always goes by the book at work. Actually, if you ask me, he’s a little too gung-ho about the job, which put me off him a bit. But I can’t get over the feeling that there’s some backstory there that’s more than a little bit interesting.”

  “And the second reason?”