The girl said, "Oh, are you thinking of arresting some of the people in the crowd?"
"Whenever somebody dies, it's important to get the exact details."
"For the reports," O'Neil added.
Trish was shaking her head. "I don't know. The last time I saw her"--she choked, then continued--"the last time I saw her, she was waving at me and then she disappeared behind the pillar, near the last exit door."
"Did you see anybody beside her, grabbing her?"
"No. I mean, it was just a big knot of people. But nobody in particular. The next thing I knew I was in the kitchen and then we were falling out onto the gravel and grass, and everybody was screaming and crying."
Tears streaked her cheeks. Dance dug into her purse and found a pack of Kleenex. "Here you go."
Trish opened the pack and pulled a few out, wiped and blew.
Dance was disappointed the girl hadn't provided anything concrete. But Dance and O'Neil had other facts to uncover--though slowly and with finesse.
"Thanks, Trish, this's been helpful."
"Sure." She sniffed.
O'Neil delivered his line, according to their script: "I don't think we have anything else."
Dance looked around the room. "When we had coffee you told me your father was moving back here. Is that right?"
"Yeah. He lives in a place in Carmel Valley now."
"Nice."
"Not really. Not his place. It's a total dive. And with me in school--Carmel High's a mile away--it made sense for him to move here. Like..." She glanced around her. "Not too shabby, huh?"
O'Neil asked, "Was this your house when your folks were married?"
Finesse...
"That's right."
Dance offered another glance to O'Neil. The cheating husband had lost it in the property settlement. Now he was back in. He couldn't take title--it would be part of the bequest to Trish from her mother. But when she came of age Martin would work on her to get it transferred back to him. Motive one for Frederick Martin to be the killer. She suspected there was another too.
"Was it a tough divorce?" O'Neil asked. Good delivery, Dance thought; they'd rehearsed the line on the drive here.
"Oh, yeah, totally. It was awful. They said really bad things about each other."
"I'm sorry," Dance offered.
"It totally sucked, yeah."
She added, "Hard about the money too, I imagine. The alimony payments?"
"Oh, yeah. I think they called it something else."
"Maintenance," O'Neil chimed in. Of the two of them, Dance and O'Neil, he was the only one with firsthand knowledge of the dissolution of a marriage.
"Oh, yeah, that's it. They don't know that I know. But I heard them talk. Really big checks. Like fifteen thousand a month."
Dance assumed that, while child support would go on as long as the girl was under eighteen, maintenance payments would terminate upon the death or remarriage of the ex-spouse. So Martin would save nearly two hundred K a year. For a man living in a small house in the valley, presumably with limited income, that could be a huge windfall.
Motive number two.
And Martin would have known Michelle would be at the club. He would have given instructions to the unsub to make sure the girl was safe.
Or would he?
Dance felt her gut flip. If the girl had died too, was her father the beneficiary of her will? Would he have gotten the entire house and estate back in that case?
Then Trish was saying, "It's, like, too bad Dad'll lose all that."
"Too bad...what?" Dance asked.
"I mean, he does okay at his job but he could really use that money. Trying to go back to school and everything."
Silence for a moment. The girl's words spun like a top through Dance's thoughts.
"Your mother was paying your father maintenance?" she asked.
"Yeah."
O'Neil asked, "Why did your parents get divorced?"
Trish looked down. "My mom kind of cheated on him. And he's such a nice guy. Really cool. But Mom, she just sort of...you know, she ran around a lot. And not just with one guy but a bunch of them. Dad worked part-time to raise me and put Mom through school. He didn't finish his degree. So when he found out she'd been cheating on him and went for the divorce, the judge made her pay maintenance. Man, I don't know what he's going to do now for money."
Dance would have TJ check out the facts but Frederick Martin's motive for killing his wife was looking pretty flimsy; any inheritance would surely be held in a trust for the girl. "Well, thanks for your help, Trish. I'll let you know if we find anything else."
"You really think somebody hurt Mom on purpose, to get out of the club?"
"It doesn't seem likely, what we're learning," O'Neil said.
"If they did," the girl said, "I don't really blame them. What happened that night, the panic and everything. It wasn't human beings doing that. Like you can't blame a tornado or an earthquake. They don't think, they don't plan on doing anything bad. They just happen."
Chapter 69
At her desk, O'Neil beside her, Dance answered the phone. "'Lo?"
"Boss."
"TJ. On speaker with Michael," Dance told him.
"Hey, Michael. I love it when people say they're on speaker. Think of all the juicy things they were about to say but can't."
"TJ?" Dance cleared her throat.
"I pulled strings and got into the courthouse. Yes, on Sunday. The girl's story checks out. Trish. It's confirmed. I read the settlement agreement and court documents, talked to the lawyers. Frederick Martin had zero to gain if his ex was gone. He had negative to gain--except it's not like you gain anything negative. You know. Anyway, it's going to cost him a lot now that she's dead. Michelle didn't leave much to her daughter either. The house, in trust, is hers but it's mortgaged to the throat. Trish gets a small stipend. Somebody named Juan got the rest but it's only fifty K. Not worth killing for. Yep, I said, Juan. I'm betting the pool boy."
Dance sighed.
"Good theory, though, boss. You've got two more fatalities at Solitude Creek. Maybe they were the intended victims."
O'Neil said, "We thought of that and I looked at them, TJ. One was a college student, one was a woman in her twenties--there with a bachelorette party. No motive that we could find."
"Back to Square A. You need me in the office, boss?"
"No. Just track down that company in Nevada, the one doing the surveying work at Solitude Creek. Give me an update in the morning."
"Will do, boss." He disconnected.
O'Neil seemed preoccupied.
Dance looked at the time. She said, "Oh, wanted to ask. You do any more thinking about Maggie's talent show? Tonight at seven?"
We might have plans. I'll let you know. Bring a friend?
"Oh, I should've mentioned. Can't make it. Tell her I'm sorry."
"Sure. No worries."
Together they walked out of the office and made their way to the exit. Dance noticed the Guzman Connection task force conference room was dark, Foster, Steve Two, Allerton and Gomez gone for the night.
In the parking lot O'Neil and Dance walked to their cars, parked beside each other.
"What a case, hmm?"
"Yep," he replied. They stood together for a moment. Then he said, "'Night."
That was all. She nodded. They got into the cruiser and the Pathfinder, respectively, and without another look they drove to the highway and turned in different directions.
A half hour later she was home.
"Mom!" Maggie was waiting on the front porch.
Dance had called and told her daughter she was on the way. But the girl looked agitated. Had she been concerned that Dance was going to be late? Or was she troubled that her mother had shown up on time and there was no excuse to miss the show? Even though Maggie'd changed her mind about singing at the show Dance knew she wasn't looking forward to it.
"Give me a few minutes and then we'll be on our way. Go get dressed."
Her daughter had a special costume for the event.
Together they walked inside and the girl disappeared into her room. Dance kissed Boling.
He whispered, "How're you feeling?" Touching her face gently.
"Fine. You?"
"My bandage's bigger than your bandage."
She laughed and kissed him again. "We'll compare bruises later." She saw Wes and Donnie on the back porch. They weren't playing their game but intently looking over a Japanese comic. "Hi, boys!"
"Hi, Mrs. Dance."
"Hey, Mom."
"We leave in fifteen. Donnie, you want to come to Maggie's class's show? At the grade school. It's at seven. We can have you home by nine."
"No, that's okay. I've gotta get home."
Wes slipped the comic into his book bag.
Dance had a sip of the wine Boling had ready for her and then headed upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes.
She stripped off her outfit, which she now detected smelled of smoke, sour--oil and rubber smoke. Might be destined for the trash. She ran the shower and stepped under the stream of hot water, feeling a one-two stab of pain: the right side of her torso from the pulled muscle and her cut cheek. She let the water pound her for five full minutes then stepped out and toweled off.
Examining the facial injury, she noted that the cut would leave a scar and that the bruise was striving to conquer more of her face. Probably should have had it looked at in the ER, after all.
She thought wryly of the curious dynamics of her life. Caught in a stampeding herd of theme park patrons, squeezed into an elevator car to rescue a pregnant woman and a choking victim...and now off to a ten-year-old's talent show.
Then she was dressed--black blouse, fancy jeans and navy jacket. Gold Aldos with exotic heels. A look in the mirror. She let her hair hang loose, better to conceal the banged-up jaw and cheek.
Downstairs she called, "Donnie. Did you bike over? I didn't see it."
The boy stared at her for a moment.
Wes said, "No, we left them at his house. Still need to get mine fixed."
Something odd about his delivery. Had the bike been stolen and he didn't want to say anything? Well, she'd worry about it later.
"You want a ride home? It's on the way to Maggie's school."
Donnie glanced at Wes and then he turned back. "No, thanks, Mrs. Dance. I'll walk. I feel like it."
"Okay. Come on, Wes, we have to go."
He and Donnie bumped fists and then her son joined her in the front entryway.
"Maggie!" Dance called.
The girl appeared.
Boling said, "Well, look at you."
She gave a shy smile.
Dance said, "Beautiful, Mags."
"Thank you." In a stilted tone. Formality is a form of deflection.
"Really."
The girl was looking pretty. Her outfit was a white sequined dress that Dance had snagged at Macy's. It was the perfect outfit for singing a song by an ice queen or princess or whatever Elsa was. Light blue leggings too and white shoes.
They walked to the car, Boling slightly limpier than Dance, climbed in and belted up. Dance was behind the wheel. Into the street. She honked and Donnie Verso turned and waved. Then Dance hit the CD player and they listened to the infectious "Happy," by Pharrell Williams. Boling tried to sing along.
"Hopeless," he said.
It was.
"I'll work on it."
"I wouldn't really worry about it," Wes said. Everyone laughed. Dance changed the song to a Broken Bells tune.
In ten minutes they were at Maggie's grade school. The lot was full. Dance parked near the gym and they got out. She locked the vehicle. "Let's go to the green room."
"What's that?" Maggie asked.
"It's the place backstage where they have the snacks."
"Let's go!" Wes said.
Dance put her arm around Maggie. "Come on, Elsa. Time to wow the audience."
The girl said nothing.
Chapter 70
Working late, sir? And on Sunday."
O'Neil looked up at Gabriel Rivera. The junior deputy, in uniform as always, stood in the doorway of O'Neil's small office in the Sheriff's Office building in Salinas. The senior deputy discouraged the "sir" but the young man was unshakable in his respect. "Looks like you are too?"
"Well, we get triple time, right?"
O'Neil smiled. "What's up?"
"They got an ID on the body in Santa Cruz. You were right. Homeless guy living off and on in a shelter. Blood workup, he was way drunk." The big man shook his head. "As for Grant? Nothing, sir. Just no sign at all. Any other ideas? I'm at a loss."
With the Solitude Creek unsub on the loose, O'Neil had had to delegate much of the Otto Grant disappearance to others. There'd been no sightings of the farmer who'd lost his property.
"You've expanded to surrounding counties?"
"All through the Central Valley. Zip."
"And nothing online since his last post?"
"Nothing after five days ago."
That was when the farmer had written another diatribe against the state.
You STOLE my property thru the travasty called eminent domain!
"You run his posts by Dr. Shepherd?"
"I did," Rivera said. "He agrees that the comments could support a suicidal act but there weren't any other indications I could find. He didn't put his affairs in order. Didn't take out any life insurance. No good-bye calls to neighbors or army buddies or relatives."
"And any place he'd run to?"
"Checked the lakes he likes to fish at, where he's rented cabins. A casino in Nevada he went to some. Nothing."
O'Neil didn't bother to ask about credit card or mobile phone tracing. Rivera had checked all that first.
"Probably not much else to do until some campers find the body. Or fishermen."
Worse ways to die than going to sleep in the bay...
"And on our Jane Doe?"
O'Neil looked at the picture of the woman who was possibly a victim of the Solitude Creek unsub. Lying on her back, face up under the light in the cheap motel room.
"I've heard back from Nevada, Oregon, Arizona, Colorado. No matches in driver's license photo databases. But facial recognition equipment..." He shrugged. "You know. Can be hit or miss. The pix're on the missing-persons wires, state and fed. She's young, has to have family're worried about her and have been calling police and hospitals."
"Not much more we can do."
"You staying?" Gabe asked.
"Awhile."
"'Night, then."
"You too, Gabe."
O'Neil stretched. He glanced down at a pink phone message slip, a call he'd returned earlier that day.
Anne called.
He thought about his ex. Then about Maggie's recital, soon to get under way. He was sorry to be absent. He hoped the girl wouldn't be disappointed.
Jon will be there...
Though her boyfriend's presence wasn't the reason he couldn't attend. Not at all. He did have plans this evening. Just curious that Dance would mention Boling. O'Neil assumed that he'd be in attendance.
Jon will be there...
Enough. Let it go...
Back to work.
The preliminary crime scene report from the hospital was open on his desk and Michael O'Neil was reading through it. Eighty percent of a cop's job is paper or bytes.
He took notes from the new report, then opened some of the earlier ones to compare data: from the Solitude Creek incident, the Bay View Center and Orange County too.
...footprint seventeen inches from driver door of suspect's vehicle revealed one partial three-quarter-inch front tread mark, not identifiable...
Reading, reading, reading.
And thinking: There probably was a time when it might've worked between us, Kathryn and me. But that's over. Circumstances have changed.
Wait. No. That wasn't right.
There'd been a time when it would have worked out. Not might.
Circumstances. Changed.
That was life. Look at Anne, his ex. She'd definitely changed. He'd been surprised, nearly shocked, to get that phone call from her last week. She sounded like she was the person he remembered from when they met, years ago. She'd been reasonable and funny and generous.
He then reminded himself sternly he was not supposed to be thinking about Kathryn Dance anymore.
Get. Back. To. It.
...accelerant was diethyl ether, approximately 600 ml, ignited by a Diamond Strike Anywhere match, recovered from the site of the burn. Not traceable. Generic...
Kathryn was with Jon Boling.
And so O'Neil would go in a different direction too.
Best for everybody. For his children, for Dance, for Boling. He was convinced this was the right thing to do.
...Statement by witness 43 at Bay View Center crime scene, James Kellogg: "I was, what it was I was standing near the street, the one that goes through Cannery Row. I'm not from here, so I don't remember what it was. And I'm like what's all this, all the police stuff going on? Was it terrorists? I'd heard shots or firecrackers earlier, like five minutes earlier but I didn't know. I didn't see anything--I looked around--but I didn't see anything weird, you know. I mean, I did. But I thought it was a crime, not like the attack at the club.
"Anyway, this guy, he was tall, over six feet, wearing shorts, sunglasses and a hat--I think he was blond though, you could see that. He was looking around and he went to a car, this SUV and looked in and opened the door. And I could see he was looking through a woman's purse. I thought he was going to steal something. But he just put it back. So he wasn't a thief."
"What kind of SUV was it?"
"Oh, it was a Nissan Pathfinder. Gray. And I think the reason he didn't steal anything was that it had to be a police car. It had flashing blue lights on the dashboard."
O'Neil froze. He scooted back in his chair. No! Oh, hell. The unsub had been through Dance's car. He'd gotten her ID, knew where she lived. Had followed her. And had seen her and Jon Boling together. That's how he'd known to target Boling, tamper with his bike. And--
Another thought hit him. Had he seen the flyer for Maggie's event tonight? Dance had told him she had a hundred of them in her vehicle.
A school auditorium. A perfect venue for an attack.
Solitude Creek Page 29
