by Kit DeCanti
Ron pulled his mind back to the moment and pulled his SUV over to a wide spot off the road to jot down some notes from his conversation with John.
He was glad that John had picked a coffee shop where Ron was not known. He had driven by the place several times, because it was close to his home and had never seen a cop car in front. Even so he parked as far away as possible without being obvious and quickly glanced around nonchalantly as he walked to Lower Lake Coffee Shop.
John was waiting for him at a table in the corner. Ron was happy that he could take a seat with his back to the door, although he doubted if anyone would recognize him. “Sorry I’m late,” Ron said, smiling at John. “Hope the coffee’s good here.”
“Well it’s hot, anyway.” John smiled back, and added, “If you like good old fashioned plain strong coffee, it’s good. If you are a cappuccino, or latte freak- sorry. They have it; but I can’t vouch for it” he grinned.
Ron grinned and told the woman behind the counter, “I’ll take mine black.” Again, he couldn’t imagine this friendly self confident man ever being suicidal.
As Ron sat down, John pulled out a brochure from Cobb Mountain Retreat, and lowering his voice, said, “I don’t know how much time you have, so here’s some info about the retreat.” Reaching for the brochure, Ron said, “Thanks. Actually I have the rest of the morning free. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble to get this.” Silently, he was hoping John hadn’t gone to the retreat and mentioned his name.
John’s next statement not only brought relief but more information than Ron had dared hope for! “Nah, I keep this in my desk, I can get another one...” Then, looking like he had said more than he had meant to, “I mean... I just happened to have it… I mean, I... Okay I may as well tell you… I have a bit of a… history… err… experience with the retreat… I was one of their first patients… When my mom… my mom died when I was twelve. She… I found her. I came home from school. I was supposed to have soccer practice, but wasn’t feeling good… I was home about a half-hour before I found her. She was in the garage.” He sat frozen in the past for a moment. His eyes glazed over and became lifeless, his color grayed, his shoulders slumped and Ron got a glimpse of what last evening and a few minutes ago he couldn’t have imagined was inside John.
“The retreat helped me deal with all the pain and conflicts I had carried inside since that day.” John said as he pulled himself to the present. His eyes cleared, his color returned, he sat up straight and Ron saw a calmness come over him. He couldn’t help but marvel at the speed of the transformation -both times.
“I’d like to hear more,” Ron said almost gently. Certainly more gentle than he had meant to sound. John looked up, smiled and reassured him, “I’m okay.” He had heard the concern Ron was feeling. “I can return to the retreat when ever I want or need to. I would really recommend the retreat for your Kat.”
“You seem to have been helped, but I’d like to hear more about the treatment.” Ron said. John looked uncomfortable, as if remembering something unpleasant. Ron pressed on “I mean what techniques are used? …Chemical? Talk therapy? Groups?” He wanted to sound educated on the subject, without sounding like they had tried everything.
But John turned in his seat to get up. “Call the retreat. They have free introductory seminars you can enroll in. You’ll get your answers there. I gotta get going.” They shook hands and John was gone; leaving Ron to wonder about what had helped John so dramatically; and why was he so guarded when it came to answering questions about the retreat.
Ron pulled out his notebook and added to the notes he had been keeping over the past few days. He felt like he was getting somewhere… but where?
His cell phone rang. “Hi Ron, it’s Dad. Got your report back. Couldn’t get much off the empty bottles, the prints were pretty smudged and a screen of the inside came up with nothing suspicious, but the other bottles were very interesting...” As Ron listened he quickly scribbled in his notebook.
A cloud formation appeared to emit from Mt. Konocti causing the great mountain to look as agitated as Ron felt, as he waited for Lenny on the patio of Main Street Bar and Grill in Clearlake café. He was eager to share the report with Lenny. He had left a casual message on Lenny’s voicemail for him to meet him for lunch. He wasn’t sure if their voicemail was monitored, and since Lenny had only his work cell phone, Ron didn’t chance leaving a detailed message.
As Ron sat there, unexpectedly his thoughts drifted back to the blue eyes of the night before. “Can I take your order?” The waitress’s voice broke through his thoughts. “I’ll just have coffee while I wait for a friend,” he said, not looking up afraid of what his face might reveal of his thoughts. He pulled out his notebook and started jotting down more notes.
He needed to focus.
Ron sipped his coffee and ate the crackers from the basket on the table for a while, but Lenny never showed up, so he dropped a five-dollar bill off at the cash register on his way out.
As he was driving away his cell phone rang. “Hi Ron, sorry about lunch. I was caught up. Catch you another time.” Lenny sounded guarded, so Ron just said, “No problem. Another time.” About an hour later Lenny called his cell again-this time from a phone booth. “We need to talk… the coffee any good at the Lower Lake Coffee Shop this morning?” So now Ron knew what they needed to talk about. Someone spotted him with John this morning. “Sure. I can be there in ten minutes.” Click.
Ron was half way through his sandwich when Lenny walked through the door, “Hey Sadie, heard your old man was leaving the county today!” he joked with the waitress. As he sat down with his back to her, he locked serious eyes with Ron, “She’s married to the dispatcher.”
Enough said.
He was somewhat relieved that it wasn’t the High Sheriff, or Dr. Fleming. But the serious look remained on Lenny’s face as he slid a piece of paper with a phone number scratched on it across the table to Ron. “I picked up a TracFone and a prepaid calling card. Figured it’s the best way to talk for now.” Then he lowered his voice even more, “Don’t want to sound paranoid, but my calls at work are being monitored, and with all the CBs in this county- I don’t trust cell phones or cordless phones. So we need to figure a code and a safe place to meet.
“Hey Sadie! How ‘bout some of your famous cup o’ Joe? I’m on a break here!” Lenny called out impatiently, then he lowered his voice again, “I’m pretty sure the Sheriff heard about your meeting up with young John. Not sure where it’ll go- but we better stay low. This should be the last time we meet like this for awhile. On the back of that paper is a map to a location just out of Kelseyville. You take the Soda Bay Road route; I’ll come in from the other direction. We should only meet there at night, or early in the morning, so we can make sure we’re not followed.”
Ron looked up and smiled in the direction of the kitchen, letting Lenny know Sadie was on her way with his coffee.
“What else can I get fer ya Len?” she asked.
“How about a slice of apple pie to go with this coffee? That should do it for me.” As she walked away, he asked Ron about the report. Knowing they probably wouldn’t have time to talk much, Ron had finished jotting down the report while he was waiting, and made a copy. He slid it over to Lenny, who quickly folded it twice and stuck it in his pocket. They both displayed poker faces as they sat looking at their coffee, and talked about the weather until the pie was on the table. Lenny wolfed down his pie in three bites, gulped his coffee, and as he stood up said quietly, “I’ll call you later. In the mean time, better stay clear of John.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Report
Saturday March 31st , 2007
2 PM
As Ron drove home he called his dad, “Hi Pop?...Me. Look, this situation here looks like it’s getting a little more complicated. I am hoping to get some more info on those names that came up. I’ll have my fax machine hooked up in less than a half-hour. …Thanks.”
Ron arrived at his Clearlake waterfront ren
tal. It was a Bay Area couple’s summer home, so it came furnished. Some of his fellow workers questioned his choice of the side of the Lake; but he liked Clearlake, which was located on the south shore of Clear Lake. It was the closest point to Sacramento, plus his rental is just an hour from Santa Rosa, and only two hours from the Golden Gate Bridge; and about two and a half hours from skiing at Mt Shasta. Another plus- the house came with a boat dock and a boat.
Unfortunately, the owners only rented the house out over the winter months; so Ron needed to find another place by the end of spring. But he couldn’t think about that now. Only thing that Ron could focus on now was this case.
But always in the back of his mind were those blue eyes.
The fax came through about five minutes after Ron got it hooked up. The full bottles all had two sets of prints- one set on all belonged to Fleming. Out of the fourteen other bottles, not counting the one found next to the Williams girl, four sets of prints were in the system. He looked over the names. None were reported as missing, or involved in any incidents related to Boggs Mountain. However, one was very familiar- John Buchanan.
Ron wondered when John had dropped the bottle on the trail. He remembered that when they were running, he wasn’t carrying anything. Of course when the heat set in, in the summer, it could be a different story. But that bottle wasn’t that old.
Even though a wide scope was searched nothing came up on the other prints.
Ron took the sheet of paper with the four names and their addresses and stared at them. He crossed Johns name out- having established an alibi for the time of Williams’ death. He looked at the other names. They were all Lake County addresses, so it shouldn’t be hard to run them down. As he looked over the names again, a second name looked a bit familiar. Timothy Robins. He had a drunk driving record, which put him in the system.
Ron pulled the morning newspaper out of the recycle bin. He scanned the community calendar, and sure enough Robins ran a food kitchen in Lucerne. That looks like a good place to start, Ron thought, and dialed the number listed in the paper. There was a recording giving the days, times and location for free meals. There was another number for anyone interested in donating or volunteering.
Ron headed for the north side of the Lake. “Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do with my mornings off.”
Ron took his time filling out the volunteer intake form, all the while observing Timothy Robins entertaining a group of people. The center was getting ready to close for the day, and the group seemed to be made up of a wide variety of people from professionals, volunteers to the homeless. They all seemed to enjoy Timothy, who was a jovial, short, bald, older man. A widower, Ron learned later. He had the kind of eyes that seemed to see beneath the surface of people- seeing the person, not their status in life.
Timothy also seemed to have a never-ending supply of energy and humor that he bestowed freely and equally. Later when he conducted an informal interview with Ron, he had a joke for every situation; and seemed to automatically see a solution rather than a problem.
Ron left looking forward to his next day off, when he could spend more time at the center and with Timothy; not only to try and learn about Timothy’s connection with the retreat- but also just because he enjoyed the time he spent there.
Ron had signed up for the early prep work, hoping to have some ‘one on one’ time with Timothy. He was anxious to find out about how Robin’s fingerprints ended up on a water bottle along with Dr. Fleming’s, not to mention how the water bottle ended up off the trail in Boggs Mountain Hiking Trails.
One thing Ron already came away with, was that Timothy was in Bakersfield picking up produce at the time of Heather Williams’ death. So whenever it was that he dropped that bottle, it didn’t have anything to do with Heather’s death. This brought a sense of relief to Ron. But he still wondered about the connection with Dr. Fleming and the retreat.
As Ron got in his SUV, he reached in his pocket for his notes, and crossed Robins’ name off the list, and looked at the remaining two names. He looked at his watch. He was glad he had the early morning run, so he wouldn’t feel bad foregoing his usual afternoon workout. He wished he could take advantage of the beautiful afternoon, and take the boat out for an hour or so, but he thought he had better just go home and wait for Lenny’s call.
Later that night, Ron pulled off Soda Bay Road onto Gaddy Lane, and after about a mile down the road, he pulled off the road onto a dirt road that led into the orchard and turned off his lights and waited, as instructed. After about ten minutes, he saw lights blink off and on twice, and he slowly drove towards them, with his lights off. As he got closer to where the lights were, Lenny appeared. Ron stopped and Lenny got in his car. As he slipped a copy of the faxed report to Lenny, who already had his pen-light out, Ron had to resist the urge to laugh, and pushed the thought of spy versus spy out of his mind.
But as soon as he saw Lenny’s face looking at the list, all humor left him. Lenny motioned to a shed off to the right, “Pull in there,” he said. When they were inside and as Ron turned the motor off, Lenny said, “I know each of the people on your list. None of them are missing. Some of these people have had problems; but they are all squared away now, and I don’t see any point of disrupting their lives unnecessarily.”
Ron definitely detected a change of attitude towards this case. One of the names must have struck a nerve with him.
Sure enough, when Ron questioned him, turned out Lenny’s niece, Angela, was on the list.
To make matters worse, Lenny had no idea that his niece had been arrested. She had been picked up for possession in Southern California the previous summer. Lenny didn’t know what made him madder- the fact that she was stupid enough to do drugs, or that she didn’t call him for help. She was Lenny’s sister’s youngest child. Angela’s father had been killed in an agriculture accident when she was a baby, and Lenny had always tried to be a father figure for her and her older sister. The last thing he wanted to hear was that she was somehow connected to the dead girl found in Boggs Mountain Hiking Trails.
“First of all, your niece was probably no where near the park when Heather Williams died. I was already able to determine that two other people on the list were not there at the time of her death. John Buchanan was coaching soccer that afternoon, and Timothy Robbins was in Southern California. It should be easy enough for you to find out where your niece was last Tuesday,” Ron reasoned.
Lenny relaxed a bit. Then he said that he didn’t know until today that his niece had tried to kill herself last summer as well. His sister wanted it kept a secret, but had confided in Lenny’s wife. The fact that his own wife knew, and didn’t tell him infuriated Lenny. He felt betrayed on several levels.
Ron knew that Lenny was feeling that he had somehow failed his niece and his sister, but resisted the impulse to try and think of words to ease his guilt.
He also knew that he and Lenny both saw the connection with the retreat. “How’s your niece doing now?”
“She’s doing great, now. She has lots of friends. Her grades are up. She graduates high school this year, and is planning on going to the local college a couple years while deciding the future. She works part time waiting tables and rides her horse almost everyday. Even finds time to give riding lessons to some underprivileged kids.” As he spoke of his niece a proud grin started spreading across his face and lit it up. He pulled out his wallet and opened to a picture of a cute preteen on a horse holding up a blue ribbon. She looked vaguely familiar, but Ron couldn’t think of whom she reminded him.
“Angela’s cute,” he said to Lenny. “Angel,” Lenny corrected him. Her name’s Angela, but her big sister always called her Angel and it stuck.”
They sat quiet for awhile, and then Lenny spoke up, as if coming to terms with a problem. “She’s been trying to get into the Big Sibling’s program, but I guess this thing last summer what’s been holding it up. She’ll work it out,” Lenny said, closing the wallet and putting it back in hi
s pocket. After a moment he added, “I knew she was giving her mom trouble last summer. Thought it was just growing pains. But I didn’t know it got so out of control. I wish she felt like she could have come to me.”
Ron just sat quietly listening. He continued to resist the impulse to try and take the feelings of guilt away. He knew that Lenny needed to feel it all, to be able to work through it and to be able to come to terms with it; and to forgive himself for not being perfect. And to forgive his niece, for not being perfect, as well.
He did say, “Trying to be perfect takes its toll.” Lenny gave him a quick look. “You’re smarter that you look, Rookie,” trying to make it a joke. Then he asked for the details of what he came up with so far.
Ron told him of his morning with John and the afternoon with Timothy. Lenny agreed that they got all they were going to get from John, and avoiding him was the smart thing to do. Lenny also thought volunteering at Timothy’s food kitchen was a great way to find out more. He added that he would get details about his niece -leaving only one more name on the list.
“The last one is going to be touchy,” Lenny said, “ she is married to a sitting judge. We better give it some thought, before we approach her. She used to be a teacher, so that’s probably how her name came up in the system. Don’t know what her connection to Fleming could be.”
Lenny looked over the report and was quiet for a moment, then murmured as if thinking aloud, “The water contained a mild sedative. Wouldn’t have done much more than cause a short nap. Still- it’s a controlled substance and would have needed a prescription. This must be how the doc’s prints got on the bottle. But why? And why were all of the opened bottles full?”
