Disorderly Conduct

by Mary Feliz

  “Fingerprints?” asked Jason.

  Paolo shook his head. “Nothing visible. Wiped clean. It’s going to the lab. Their best guy will bring up latent prints if there are any. Rushed it.”

  Jason put down his coffee mug and leaned forward with his elbow on his knees. “Let’s get back to the story I was telling before we took this break. Martín saw a muzzle flash and watched Patrick collapse. He was running toward him to help when the driver got out of the van and approached Patrick unsteadily, carrying something like a truncheon. He—”

  Martín interrupted. “O ella.”

  “—or she raised it overhead and slammed it down. The killer pulled back on the tool, and nudged Patrick with a foot. He or she opened the back door of the van, threw the tool inside, climbed into the driver’s seat, and turned around at the next wide point in the road.”

  Martín made a noise that sounded like an engine laboring.

  “For a moment, Martín thought the truck had become stuck in the soft shale at the side of the road, but that todo terrano option helped the murderer out. The driver switched into four-wheel drive and took off down the hill in a spray of pebbles. Martín just had time to jot down the license plate. He checked on Patrick, saw there was nothing he could do to help, and took off. He knew, with the fire coming, it was his best chance to escape the cartel. He also wasn’t sure whether the murderer had spotted him, but he knew it wouldn’t be safe to stay, either way.”

  Martín hung his head. Paolo patted his arm and whispered to him quietly in Spanish, then turned to translate for the rest of us. “Martín feels bad that he wasn’t able to protect Patrick and stop his murder. I assured him that he did everything he could. And that Patrick would be glad to know Martín helped the boys and wants to stop the cartel from poisoning the land.”

  A murmur of agreement developed like a fresh breeze. Martín looked up, blinked, and nodded, but then moved into the kitchen. Paolo followed him.

  “So, are we thinking it was the killer who put Patrick’s gun on the workbench in Tess’s garage? And who hid the pickax? Only the murderer could have known what type of weapon he used. And none of us knew about the tool. Not even the medical examiner, right? Last I heard, the report said he’d been hit with something that damaged his skull. Or was that left deliberately vague? Do the police hold back details the way you see on television?”

  “We do,” said Jason. “But I expect you’re right on all counts.”

  “So, that narrows it down to Katherine, Fiona, and Sean? Is that enough to release Tess? Is there enough evidence to rule out the gun the sheriff found at her house and the pickax that hurt Teddy’s foot? Do they need to know who did it before they’ll give up on Tess? Should we call Forrest? How much time will they need? Can we pick her up today?”

  Jason blinked under my barrage of questions. Paolo came through the dining room from the kitchen, walking while shifting his gaze between his phone and tablet, both of which were chiming continuously with dueling alert tones. Martín held out an arm to guide him away from a collision with the archway and the back of the sofa.

  “Forrest is already on it,” Paolo said. “He has spies everywhere, as far as I can tell.”

  Paolo’s tablet blurted another signal, and Paolo scrolled through the screen. “Nguyen says he’ll call when Tess can be picked up. He’s not sure whether it will be today or first thing in the morning.” He scrolled more and laughed. “Forrest says it will be today. He put ‘WILL’ in caps. He never uses all caps like that.”

  A cheer from the rest of us drowned out Paolo’s words, and Elaine ran to the stairs to share the great news with Teddy.

  Chapter 33

  The National Park Service estimates that humans are responsible for 90 percent of wildfires, including those sparked by unattended campfires, burning debris, cigarettes, or arson. Increasingly, Cal Fire traces the source of devastating blazes to illegal marijuana growing areas. Whenever you are in an undeveloped area, follow fire safety guidelines. Remember that if a fire is too hot to touch, it is too hot to leave unattended.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Friday, August 11, Early morning

  Ultimately, Forrest was wrong. Santa Clara County released Tess at 12:15 a.m. Friday morning. Forty-five minutes later, Forrest’s car pulled up to our front porch, and Tess was nearly bowled over by Teddy’s enthusiastic hug and the attention of the three dogs. Mozart plopped his paws on Tess’s chest and gave her an exuberant kiss. She tilted her head to examine his still swollen snout and asked if he’d been in a bar fight.

  “We’ll give you all the details later,” I said, nudging the dogs aside so I could hug her. “When you’ve had a shower, put on real clothes, and polished off some fresh fruit, coffee, and croissants, we’ll fill you in on everything.”

  As a group, we wanted to protect Tess from nosy neighbors and journalists as she adjusted to life without Patrick. For the first day at least, and then for as long as she and Teddy needed, they’d make their home with Mozart in our attic guest suite. Later, almost certainly before school started, I’d help her organize the piles of paperwork that follow any death. We’d sort out Patrick’s belongings, hanging on to anything that warranted saving, and discarding or donating the rest. And I’d urge her to take her decisions one at a time.

  Earlier, Elaine and I had taken Teddy back to his house to pick up a few things he needed, along with Tess’s favorite clothes and toiletry items. We stopped at the store and bakery on the way home, while Teddy cleaned them out of his mom’s favorite foods.

  Keeping Teddy sane and busy while we’d waited for Tess’s release had been a full-time job for all concerned. He’d played video games with David, walked the dogs with Brian and Max, patrolled the neighborhoods with Paolo, and had a not-strictly-legal driving lesson in Foothill College’s parking lot with Jason.

  Max and Brian had ordered pizzas and salads for dinner and downloaded a long series of cartoons the boys hadn’t watched since their tween years. We wallowed in a love fest of calories, comedy, and nostalgia.

  By unspoken agreement, we dropped our manic pursuit of the details of Patrick’s murder. Tess was coming home, and that was enough for now. Later, we’d debrief everyone we needed to until we all understood exactly what had happened. Going over the facts of the case would be particularly important to Tess, who’d been almost entirely out of the loop while the rest of us had tracked down answers and hunted suspects.

  Martín joined us for the cartoons and might have laughed louder than anyone else. In many ways, his situation was similar to Tess’s. After the cartel had kidnapped and enslaved him, possibly murdering his family, he needed to rebuild his life on his own terms. Forrest and Jason were working with an alphabet soup of government agencies to get the answers Martín needed. For now, he was working with both national and international groups to take down the cartel.

  Could he stay in Orchard View? We hoped so. But much depended upon how long he could be kept safe here, and how hard the cartel and their affiliated gangs were looking for him. U.S. marshals from the Witness Protection Program were in charge of those assessments, thank goodness. I was grateful for their expertise and for their willingness to shoulder the responsibility for his safety.

  For now, he’d become one of us. The kids’ Spanish, and even my rusty high school skills, were improving. So was Martín’s English, which was far more extensive than I’d first thought. As long as we spoke slowly, and simply, without idioms, he understood most of what we had to say.

  According to Jason, when they’d talked about where to house him, Martín asked if it would be possible to stay with us. With Tess and Teddy in the attic suite, my first thought was that there was no room for Martín. But he suggested taking possession of an air mattress and a sleeping bag, and helping us to remodel the basement, creating a bedroom for Martín, a small
den, and offices for Max and me.

  Housing strangers who’d become friends was becoming a habit with us. Max believed it was the influence of the house and the will of whatever remained of the spirit of his great-aunt, Kay, the previous owner of the home. Widowed at a young age, Kay was a Stanford professor who frequently took in students, visiting professors, those in town for a lecture series, and an ever-changing cast of interesting characters from around the world. We, and the house, were continuing her legacy.

  While short-lived lightning storms developed later in August and threatened to revive the ridge blaze, Cal Fire maintained control. David had set up a motion-activated camera hoping to spot a mountain lion crossing our yard in an effort to find a safe haven, but he was ultimately disappointed. In the process, though, he realized that the nighttime wildlife in our backyard was far more diverse and active than he’d ever realized. He hoped to convert his impromptu study to a report and extra credit in his AP Biology class.

  For right now, our primary concern was Tess. She showered for an hour, then dressed in her most comforting clothing: oversized sweats and worn sheepskin boots. She trudged down the stairs, toweling her hair dry, and occasionally sniffing the towel, her clothes, and her hair, to verify that a scent none of the rest of us could detect no longer clung to her skin, hair, or clothing. She called it “Eau de l’incarcération,” shuddering when she said it. She jumped at every loud noise and grew edgy and distracted when doors were closed. Upon entering any room, her first task was to locate the exits. A counselor Forrest had recommended later told us the bulk of those habits would fade away, while some might be with her for the rest of her life, or grow worse in times of stress. It didn’t matter. She was home.

  She plopped on the couch with a contented sigh. The boys bustled to bring her food and coffee, which she savored. Tess made eye contact with each of us, including Martín, whom she’d never met. “I’m assuming you had a key role,” she told him. “Thank you. Now, who is going to tell me what’s been going on while I’ve been locked up? That was the worst—knowing that I was missing out and that there was nothing I could do to help.”

  “Can we start with the parts that even we don’t know, and then back up?” Teddy asked. “Like who killed my dad and why? How they did it and how they framed my mom? And how Jason and Forrest convinced Nguyen to let her go? Have they charged someone else? Will he get the death penalty? How long until the trial?”

  I glanced at Tess. She winked and then laughed. “One question at a time, Teddy. You’re already adopting Maggie’s speech patterns.”

  Forrest, who was nearly as quiet as Martín, cleared his throat. “I like Teddy’s idea,” he said. “I know everyone here is starving for news, but I wasn’t sure where to begin.” He removed his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief he’d pulled from the pocket of his gray suit pants. He’d shed the jacket and loosened his tie, but he was still a dapper dude. “If we get the rest of you up to speed, you can fill Tess in on the other details she missed over the next few days...or months. This case was complicated, that’s for sure.” He sighed and I was glad he didn’t have far to go to reach his own bed.

  Forrest turned to Jason. “You want to do the honors? You know what evidence was most pertinent.” Jason shook his head and sneezed. Stephen handed him a large mug of tea with lemon, honey, and the shot of brandy that he’d requested moments earlier. He cradled the mug. “I’m coming down with a cold, and my throat is killing me.” His voice, rasping out the words, was barely recognizable. “Paolo?”

  Paolo, who’d been hanging back, was seated on a window seat flanked by thick red drapes. He blinked, then pulled his tablet from his bag as the rest of us shifted to face him. He flushed and stammered out the next few words. “Ask questions as they occur to you, everyone. And if I get it wrong, jump in. I’m still organizing my notes and my thoughts. I’m meeting with Sergeant Nguyen and the district attorney tomorrow”—he checked his watch—“later today, to figure out what other information we need, if any, to prosecute the case.”

  “Who did it?” asked Elaine. “We’d narrowed it down to three: Katherine, Fiona and Sean.”

  “Right,” Paolo drew the word out and paused, heightening the tension as we waited for him to finger the culprit who’d killed Patrick, destroyed Tess and Teddy’s world, and frayed the fabric of our entire community.

  Chapter 34

  Professional organizers are all about, well, organization and efficiency. That process goes far beyond decluttering. Being prepared for a variety of emergency scenarios saves time and money. Our “What would you do?” approach to planning includes protecting yourself and your family when you’re on the road. And that means protecting yourself from drunk drivers. According to the Centers for Disease Control, an average drunk driver has driven under the influence eighty times before his or her first arrest. You can help lower that number and decrease traffic fatalities by reporting suspected drunk drivers and stopping friends and family members from driving under the influence.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Friday, August 11, Early morning

  “Out with it,” urged Elaine. Munchkin woofed softly, backing her up.

  “Okay,” Paolo took a deep breath, and the rest of us groaned in frustration, thinking he was stalling for time and dragging out the suspense. “Fine. Fine. We think it was Fiona.”

  “Fiona? Fiona?” said Tess. “Who’s Fiona? And why?”

  Everyone began talking at once, trying to explain Fiona’s multiple connections to the case. After my initial shock, I began to replay Fiona’s actions and comments in my head, and it all started to make sense.

  “She took Katherine to the hospital,” I said. “But then, if their experience was anything like ours, they spent lots of time waiting around for tests. Orderlies would have whisked Katherine off, giving Fiona the unsupervised freedom she needed to head up to the ridge and take out Patrick. But why?”

  Paolo’s head bobbed. “Exactly. One of our officers timed it. In the middle of the night, with no traffic, it takes fifteen minutes, considerably less if you’re bent on murder and not too concerned with speed limits, to drive between El Camino Hospital and the ridge where Martín saw the green van.”

  “But what happened?” Tess asked. “Why did Fiona want Patrick dead? Did she know him?”

  “Now you’re doing it, Mom,” Teddy said, nudging his mother with his elbow. “One question at a time.”

  “There’s a fine line between a smart kid and a smart-ass,” Tess responded. “Mind you’re on the right side of that line.”

  Paolo smiled. “There was a whole lot of convoluted thinking involved, but it turns out that Fiona knew Patrick all too well.” He cleared his throat. “Let me get this part out. It’s complicated, and I don’t want to lose my train of thought.”

  We sat up a little straighter, like schoolkids on our best behavior.

  “So, Fiona is Katherine McNamara’s sister-in-law. Fiona’s brother, Sean Philips, is Katherine’s husband. Sean’s much older than Katherine, fifty-six to her thirty-two. He’s a marketing engineer, the kind that travels to customer sites, customizes products, troubleshoots bugs, and tries to convince them to stay with his company’s products instead of jumping ship and going with someone new. Katherine, Sean, and Patrick all worked for that same company. At one time, Sean had been successful. He was in charge of the largest accounts, and racked up a slew of industry awards and community recognition for his contributions to kids’ sports. But he had his demons and they were getting the better of him. He’d lost a number of important clients in the past few years.”

  Paolo had been reading off of his tablet, but now looked up and blinked as if he was having trouble seeing. “Now, I need to back up a bit. Sean was a member of the 1980 Summer Olympics team. The one that didn’t compete because Russia invaded Afghanistan. He r
an the 5,000 meters. He qualified for the 1984 team, but an alternate took his spot after he got caught up in a tight grouping of runners and fell, messing up both knees. His rehab went well, but after that he avoided the inside track and suffered from panic attacks that kept him from perfecting his timing, breathing, and other technical racing details I’m not sure I completely understand. In short, he was no longer competitive. There were rumors that he’d actually caused the accident in an attempt to trip another runner and gain the lead, but no charges were filed.”

  “But what do the Olympics thirty-five years ago have to do with Patrick’s death?” asked Tess, sounding impatient and exasperated.

  “Sean went back to his engineering career full-time after that, but he missed sports. He was instrumental in helping Patrick launch the Orchard View Road Runners, and he did some coaching. He was good, and got a number of kids to the Olympics. He trained Katherine. That’s how they met. But then, in a recreational race that Patrick took part in, Sean crashed again, doing even more damage to his knees. That led to a double knee replacement. During his stint in rehab, Katherine trained with Patrick.” Paolo paused, took a sip from his water bottle, scrolled frantically, and then stopped. “Never mind. The timing doesn’t really matter. At some point, he developed an infection. They had to remove the manufactured parts of the knee, along with a considerable amount of bone. Sean’s been wheelchair-bound ever since.”

  “So he blamed Patrick?” Tess said. “But where does Fiona come in? It looks like Sean had more motive than she did.”

  “Right,” Paolo said. “But there’s more to the story. Sean became addicted to painkillers and was indulging in other self-medicating substances, none of which combines well with opiates. He’d always had an anger problem, but it grew worse until he was routinely beating Katherine. At some point, and I’m not sure of the exact order of events, Fiona came to live with them and help with Sean’s care. He’s pretty self-sufficient, and the couple uses caregivers for personal hygiene matters Sean can’t handle on his own, but Katherine still had her hands full.”