by Mary Feliz
I winced when Forrest used the word “inmate” to describe Tess and was glad Teddy wasn’t listening in on the call. But rather than mentioning my discomfort to the lawyer, I thanked him for the update, ended the call, and turned to Max.
“I heard,” he said. “Do you want to tell Teddy or should I?”
I sighed, feeling as deflated as the boys had moments earlier. “And we thought putting the kibosh on their backpacking plans would burst their bubble.”
We talked it out with the boys, encouraged them to think positively, assured them that Forrest was working hard and that Tess was hanging tough. She would not linger in jail any longer than any of us could help it. We applied liberal amounts of ice cream and cookies to the problem, after which, the boys began to droop. Whether it was due to adrenaline withdrawal following the dreadful news, the cumulative effects of grief, lack of sleep, Max’s concerted efforts to keep them active, or an extra helping of carbs, the biological imperative had caught up with them. When we followed them up the stairs twenty minutes later, they were sound asleep.
I’d feared my wide-ranging thoughts and worry over Tess’s predicament would rob me of sleep, and I was right. Within seconds of my head hitting the pillow, my brain accessed and downloaded a giant file containing new threads to pursue. Max must have experienced a similar phenomenon. “I forgot to tell you about the chains,” he said. “They were cut.”
“Chains?” I sat up, turned on my bedside lamp, and squinted at him. His eyes were closed, and it took me a moment to verify that he wasn’t talking in his sleep.
“Sorry. The chains on the gates at the entrance to the PG&E trail. They were cut. Anyone could have driven a car up there. Or a truck, anyway. A car would probably bottom out on the ruts. But a truck could do it. The rangers’ trucks do.”
“Did Kon tell you that?”
“Yup. I wouldn’t have noticed, otherwise. Hikers, mountain bikers, and horses can bypass the gates.” Max was speaking more clearly and was fully awake now.
“Could firefighters have cut the chains when they came in to strengthen the firebreak? They wouldn’t have wanted to wait for a ranger.”
Max shook his head. “I asked. Law enforcement, firefighters, and rangers all have keys. Unfortunately, so do a number of the volunteer groups who help maintain the trails. An astronomy group unlocks the gates when they hold observing parties for the public. I suggested Kon get a list to Sergeant Nguyen of everyone who had access. None of them would have needed to cut the chain, so we can rule them out.”
I bit my lip. “That’s an awful lot of keys floating around, most of which probably aren’t secured. And as you say, anyone could get up there by going around the gate, as long as they didn’t need a car up there. So, who would have needed to cut the chain?”
“Someone who wanted to get away in a hurry? Someone who was hauling supplies into the growing areas?”
“But wouldn’t they have been afraid of being heard or seen?”
“That’s just it. Kon heard a truck. At about three thirty in the morning, shortly after he was awakened by a gunshot.”
I shook my head as I tried to make sense of the ideas bouncing around my brain like the marbles in a pinball machine.
“Never mind that, though. I gave some more thought to your idea about corporate espionage. The way to make it pay off in a hurry is through insider trading. Personnel responsible for setting release dates for products are prohibited from benefiting from that knowledge. But someone outside the company could make a fortune on publicly traded stocks by stealing a laptop that contained information about product release dates.”
“Afterward, they could toss the computer or surreptitiously return it, with no one knowing what they’d done.”
“Exactly.”
“Do we know whether Patrick had that sort of a job?”
“No, but the fact that we didn’t know actually tells us something. In my experience, any techie who routinely avoids talking about work is either unemployed or sworn to secrecy.”
“You think he was a spy?”
“No. Well, yes. Maybe. I’m saying that neither one of us knows anything about what Patrick did, beyond that he was some kind of engineer. Maybe there was a reason for that.”
“He was kind of nerdy, worked long hours that were extraordinarily flexible, didn’t wear a tie, and knew his way around a computer. But did he or Tess ever actually tell me he was an engineer? I don’t think so. Maybe.” My sleep-robbed brain refused to grab hold of any reliable memories.
Max turned and patted his bedside table, searching for something. He stopped, let out a sigh, and turned back, his face flushed.
“What?”
“I was hunting for my phone. I was going to check with Patrick so we could set the record straight. And then I remembered.”
I wrapped my arms around him and hung on tight.
Hours later, I still couldn’t sleep for thinking about our theories. Theories that were leading nowhere. I slipped into my Ugg boots, pulled a sweatshirt on over my pajamas, and checked on the kids. Belle looked up when I peeked in David’s room. I left the door partway open so she could nose her way out without waking him if she decided to follow me. Holmes was camped out at the foot of Brian’s bed. She stretched and tried to follow me downstairs to the kitchen without appearing to be the slightest bit interested in my activities.
I made chamomile tea with honey to reduce my caffeine load, but quickly gave up and started the coffeemaker. I defrosted a tray of cinnamon rolls for breakfast. There was nothing quite so comforting, in my opinion, as waking up to the smell of cinnamon and melted sugar.
But then I got to work. I use lists for organizational purposes, but writing tasks down also helps me organize my thoughts. If what I’d learned from Katherine and Robert yesterday was going to help Tess, I needed to make notes in a format that would be legible to other people. I made a note to ask David to help me set up a Google document or other online tool that each of us could add to as we learned more.
And then I wrote out a script to help me tackle one of my toughest jobs yet. I wondered if come morning, I’d be brave enough to venture into enemy territory. I gave myself a fifty-fifty chance, but I wanted to be ready for anything.
Chapter 21
Hiking safety means having the clothing, footwear, and supplies you’ll need for your entire venture, which may mean packing or wearing a range of layers in areas or seasons prone to inhospitable or fluctuating conditions. It’s surprising how often that same level of organization and preparation pays off in the life of a suburban Silicon Valley mom.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Wednesday, August 9, Morning
In the morning, I e-mailed copies of my notes to Paolo and Forrest, saying I’d phone them later. Max poured himself a cup of coffee, wrapped a cinnamon roll in a napkin, and took off for work. He hoped to stay for a meeting and then work the rest of the week from home.
I waited for the kids to get up, but then decided that sleep was the best thing for them. I left a note saying they could reach me by cell phone, then took off to run a few errands before meeting with Debra Mah for lunch. I stuffed my script in my pocket, scolding myself for not tackling the hardest project first. I’d get to it, I reassured my inner critic, after I was sure my target was awake.
I met Debra at the same outdoor eating area where I’d met Katherine. I scanned the crowd as I approached the café. Debra stood, waved me over, and introduced herself.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered lunch for both of us,” she said. “It will be here soon. I didn’t know what you liked, so I got you the same thing I ordered for myself. Low carb. High protein. Everyone wants to be healthy. I’d like to make this quick so I can still get in a Pilates session before I get sucked back into my project. I hope you don’t mind.”
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I shook my head, smiled, and sat down at a table that, unlike yesterday, was fully set with plates, utensils, and ice water. Though she’d repeated her apology, I had the sense that Debra didn’t care what I thought. And I was annoyed. With little sleep and too much caffeine, I was looking for a comfort meal. Either a repeat of the zesty fish tacos from the day before, or one of the bubbling pizzas with fresh herbs cut to order that I’d spotted yesterday. And maybe a dark chocolate dessert followed by a quick catch-up nap. My inner toddler threatened to throw a tantrum. I marshaled my more grown-up resources and tried to focus on the reason I was meeting Debra: solving Patrick’s murder and setting Tess free.
“That’s efficient, Debra. Thank you. I know your time is precious, and I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me.” I cringed inwardly. I sounded like I was reading from a customer service training manual.
Debra took a long swig of her ice water. “Where would you like to begin? Katherine said you wanted to know more about Patrick.”
“I do. Maybe you could tell me first how your job connects to his?” I was hoping she might accidentally reveal some information that would answer the questions Max and I had tossed around the night before and determine, once and for all, whether he might have owned a computer with information worth killing for.
Either Debra was on to me, or the company had trained its employees well. “I can’t talk about that. I thought you wanted to know more about Patrick outside of work.”
“Did you spend a lot of time with him? Or with Patrick and Tess? Were you friends as well as colleagues?”
Debra bit her lip. “I was friends with Patrick, but I didn’t know Tess. I never saw her with the team. That’s how I knew Patrick—through the Road Runners. We tried to run together as much as possible. I was a top runner in college, and I want to get back to it. Patrick had been working with Katherine a lot, but she hadn’t made a commitment to her running or training. She wasn’t a Road Runner, but that didn’t stop her from putting demands on our coach. It wasn’t right. I’m committed to my running, and I should have priority over her. I teach martial arts classes and self-defense, so I’m not like those simpering women who match their Lycra shorts to their socks and sneakers. I don’t see running as a fashion show.”
Debra folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, looking smug.
“You and Patrick saw a lot of each other...” I said, hoping she’d fill in the blank so I wouldn’t have to. I feared she’d balk if I asked directly about whether she had a romantic interest in Patrick.
She waited me out, and I caved. This interview stuff was harder than it looked in the movies. “It sounds as though you relied on Patrick.”
“I did. Well, as much as he relied on me. It’s hard for him to find running partners who are up to his level.” Our food arrived. Debra dug in, but I poked my fork at the lumps on my plate. While yesterday’s fish taco had been fresh and worthy of a four-star restaurant, today’s “spinach egg-white omelet” resembled nothing so much as a small green hockey puck. A pile of steamed vegetables added color and real texture, but the presentation didn’t do nearly enough to overpower the image of the hockey puck. I picked up a steamed green bean in my fingers and chewed, thinking about how to wring more information from Debra.
“Do you know what he was doing up on that ridge at night?” I asked, opting for a more direct approach. “Or who might have wanted him dead?”
“Well, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble...” Debra began. I perked up and leaned forward. I’d found that when people used that particular phrasing, they usually meant the exact opposite of what they were saying.
“But Katherine...” Debra tried to make a show of hesitating to rat out her coworker, but her body language told me she was eager to dish.
“Yes?” I smiled and raised my eyebrows, hoping to encourage Debra by mirroring her expression.
“She was so jealous of my work with Patrick, both here and on the trail. I mean, she was married, but you wouldn’t know it by the way she flirted with him and monopolized his time. He’s supposed to be supporting members of the club, but he spends more time with Katherine and the high school track team than he does with us.” Debra’s words took on an increasingly whiny tone, and her face grew pinched.
“Is he compensated for his time with the team? I mean, is there fraud involved in the fact that he’s officially your coach, but you can’t get the training hours you need?” Debra’s description of the purpose of the Road Runners differed from what Katherine had told me. She’d described it as an informal group of people who loved running and occasionally competed. Debra made it sound more cutthroat than an Olympic ice-skating qualifying round. I couldn’t reconcile what she said about Katherine “not being serious” about her running with her assertion that Katherine monopolized Patrick’s time. But I was learning a lot, so I didn’t call her on the contradiction.
“It sounds like you and Katherine were the last people who might have wanted Patrick out of the way.”
Debra tilted her head from one shoulder to the other, as if weighing the truth of what I’d said. “I certainly didn’t kill him. I can’t speak for Katherine.” She sniffed.
“So, you must have an alibi for Saturday night.”
“I called Katherine during the day, but her husband said she wasn’t at home. He told me that she was indulging in spa time with her sister-in-law. But she’d told me earlier in the week that she was taking a personal day on Friday for that, so one of them was lying. Katherine does stuff like that.”
“She’s a habitual liar?”
“Maybe, but in this case I meant that she enjoys expensive, self-indulgent jaunts. Maybe her husband feels guilty since he’s in a wheelchair or something, but he sends her to Palm Springs and has large flower arrangements sent to her work. He even took her to Paris for a weekend last year.”
“What’s their story?”
Debra looked around as if trying to determine whether anyone was close enough to eavesdrop. “Sean works off-site as a marketing engineer. Visiting customers. I’ve heard people here complain about his work ethic, but he wins all these awards from the company and the community. Raises money for kids sports, mostly. He was a member of the 1980 Olympic team—the one that didn’t go to Russia.”
“So he’s a lot older than Katherine.”
Debra stabbed at the last piece of broccoli on her plate.
“I’d guess maybe fifteen years, at least. Sean tried out for the 1984 team, but tripped near the finish and didn’t qualify. I think that’s when he messed up his legs. Or maybe there was already something wrong, and that’s what caused the fall. I don’t know the whole story. You’d have to ask him, or Katherine.”
I pulled a pad of paper out of my backpack and made a note on it. I shivered as a gust of wind came up off the San Francisco Bay. I should have brought a sweatshirt. I noticed that, unlike Katherine, Debra hadn’t brought an extra jacket for her unprepared guest. “Why were you trying to reach Katherine on Saturday?”
“I wanted her to give up her spot on the Road Runners. Like I said, she wasn’t serious, but she was taking up too much of Patrick’s time. Patrick wasn’t that serious about his running, either, to tell you the truth, but he was the best coach the Road Runners had, and I wanted the best.”
Something about Debra’s statement didn’t ring true. Hadn’t she just said that Katherine wasn’t part of the official Road Runner group? It wasn’t worth the effort to untangle her statements now. I forced myself to focus on clarifying whether Debra had an alibi. “But you couldn’t reach her.”
“Right. After that, I went for a run on the high school track to blow off some steam. I guess we’ll both have to look for another trainer now.” Debra sighed heavily, as if she thought someone had killed Patrick solely to inconvenience her. “I ran into some of the other Road Runners there. When it got too dark to see, we went out for a beer.
Well, they each had a beer. I had water. We talked about needing more coaches for the Road Runners.”
“Would any of those other runners have wanted Patrick gone?”
“I don’t think so. As I said, we had a severe shortage of coaches.”
“Can you think of anyone who’d benefit from his death?”
She shook her head and began to gather up her belongings. A cafeteria attendant collected our plates. Thankfully, Debra didn’t seem to notice that I hadn’t touched the green hockey puck.
“Sorry,” she said, without sounding the slightest bit contrite. “I have to get to that Pilates class. The teacher’s good, but she’s a bit of a flake. If she doesn’t show up, I’ll have to teach it myself.”
I shrugged myself into my backpack, frustrated by my failure to glean any information from Debra aside from my conviction that I’d like to avoid her company in the future. I thanked her for her time and started toward my car when she called my name. I turned and saw her running toward me. She took a moment to catch her breath. “You might want to look at Sean, Katherine’s husband. After all, Katherine spent a lot of time with Patrick—another man. Sean could have been jealous. Maybe those lavish trips were an attempt to woo her back? Maybe he envied Patrick’s mobility? Could he have been overcompensating because he was in a wheelchair? I think he was looking for another coach for her too. I overheard something like that at one of the Road Runner get-togethers.”
I thanked her again, and watched as she took off at a sprint. I shook my head. I was no expert, but I was a track mom and Debra didn’t seem to have the athletic form I’d expect from an elite runner. And she’d been out of breath when she’d mentioned Sean. Surely someone who was training for long distance races would have more stamina after jogging only a few yards. I was missing something. But was it important? Debra hadn’t provided much of an alibi for the time of the murder. That could mean she was guilty, or that she didn’t know when Patrick had been killed.
