Downfall

by J. A. Jance

  “Nate Digby and Jack Stockman,” Robin answered. “They’re both students at Buena High.”

  “See if you can line up interviews with them—and with their parents, of course,” Joanna added. “We need to know when Travis changed his mind about going to the football game. If it was Saturday during the day sometime, Nate and Jack may have been among the last people to interact with him before any of this happened. We also need to know his frame of mind that day—was he upset or angry? And did he confide in either Nate or Jack concerning his situation with Susan?”

  “How soon do you expect to speak to Jeremy and Allison?” Ernie asked.

  “Later on today. For transparency’s sake, I’ll probably have Agent Watkins accompany me on that interview.”

  “You mentioned having a confidential informant,” Jaime said. “Does the CI’s information give us enough to go for a warrant?”

  “Deb has already obtained a warrant for us to search Susan Nelson’s residence and it will be executed later today. However, I don’t think the CI’s information gives us enough to justify a warrant for obtaining Travis’s DNA. In addition, although Travis Stock may be the prime suspect in a homicide investigation, we have to remember that he’s also a victim here—a juvenile victim of statutory rape—and his ID must be protected.”

  “What about the CI?” Ian Waters asked. “Shouldn’t we have a formal sit-down with him?”

  “For right now, no,” Joanna answered. “I want to leave him as a CI. He and his mother are both worried about his being considered a snitch by his classmates and ostracized at school. If we can achieve the same ends without having to involve him further, that’s how I’d like to proceed. One thing we could do is go back to SVSSE and reinterview just the debate club students. I have a feeling that some of Susan’s sexual assignations may have occurred either on debate trips or else during her so-called one-on-one tutoring sessions.”

  “Pun intended,” Deb Howell muttered.

  “Yes,” Joanna agreed, “pun intended. Those kids aren’t stupid. I think there’s a good chance that a number of students in addition to our CI may have been aware of what was going on between Travis and Mrs. Nelson. Jaime and Ernie, once you finish up with Nate and Jack, I’d like you to go back to SVSSE. I believe Mr. McVey will be somewhat more cooperative today than he was yesterday.

  “This time around, I want you to focus on the members of the debate club in particular, and once again, bring parental units in for interviews wherever necessary. Make sure the kids feel at ease. Focus your questions strictly on Susan Nelson. How was she as a teacher and a coach? Did she apply any extra pressure to the people on the debate team? Did she play favorites? The more questions you ask about her and the fewer questions you ask about the kids, the better off we’ll be.”

  “So maybe we should offer them sodas, water, and pencils for doodling?” Jaime asked sarcastically. He was still smarting from Joanna’s earlier rebuke, and it showed.

  “If that’s what’s required,” Joanna said, “by all means break out the sodas. While you’re at it, take any and all discarded cans, bottles, or straws into evidence, properly bagged and tagged. We may not be able to demand DNA samples, but we all know there’s more than one legal way to collect them—and trash is always fair game.

  “That’s about all for now, but there’s one more thing I need to mention. I know I announced earlier that funeral services for my mother and George are going to be private. Because of crowd limitations at the mortuary chapel and at the cemetery, some of you are on the invitation list and others aren’t. Even though tomorrow’s services will of necessity be private, we’ve scheduled a barbecue at High Lonesome Ranch for later on in the afternoon. Butch and my brother tell me there’ll be plenty of food, and you’re all welcome to come to that.”

  Most of the people filed out of the room, but Agent Watkins lingered behind. “What about me?” she asked. “Do you want me to work on the SVSSE interviews?”

  Joanna shook her head. “No, for the time being, you’re with me. First off, I need someone riding shotgun when it’s time to execute the warrant at the Nelson residence.”

  “What about the interview with the Stocks?”

  Joanna nodded. “For that, too. I think that when it comes time for delivering that bad news, Jeremy and Allison will appreciate having a relative stranger in the room as opposed to someone Deputy Stock has known and worked with for years.”

  “Yes,” Robin agreed. “In a case like this, having a stranger present might well be the lesser of two evils.”

  CHAPTER 23

  THE TWO WOMEN HEADED TOWARD SIERRA VISTA IN JOANNA’S YUKON. The desert on either side of the highway was lush and green, especially when they dropped down toward the San Pedro River.

  “This was all rich grassland once,” Joanna explained. “Then two things happened. The Sonora earthquake of 1887 sent most of the river underground. Then Anglo ranchers overgrazed the land so much that the cattle ended up having to eat mesquite, leaving behind cow plops brimming with mesquite beans. Mesquite beans plus fertilizer worked their magic, and mesquite trees grew like crazy. When their root systems grabbed all the water, the grass went away. There’s grass here now, but only because of the monsoons.”

  “I didn’t know they had earthquakes here.”

  “That one was seven-point-six. The epicenter was across the line in Mexico. The only reason there weren’t more casualties is that there weren’t many people living here at the time.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” Robin asked.

  “My dad was a history buff, and he passed along what he learned to me.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He died when I was fifteen, wiped out while he was being a Good Samaritan and changing a tire for a stranded motorist.”

  “And now you’ve lost your mother, too,” Robin mused quietly. “It must be hard.”

  “It is hard,” Joanna admitted, “even though Mom and I were never close. My dad was another story. He and I were great pals, and Mom was always left on the outside looking in. After Dad died, things between my mother and me got worse and worse. There were times I wondered why it couldn’t have been her who died instead of him. But then it never would have happened that way, would it? I don’t believe Eleanor Lathrop Winfield ever changed a tire in her life.”

  “But wait,” Robin said. “Didn’t you tell me the other day that the two of you were growing closer?”

  “That’s true,” Joanna answered. “Recently, things had been getting better. I guess that’s why losing her now is hitting me so hard. We had reached a point where we were starting to see and accept one another’s point of view. Given enough time, we might have been able to put the past behind us. The problem is we ran out of time.”

  “It’s the same situation with my dad and me,” Robin said regretfully. “Except we’re still not ready to see the other’s point of view, much less accept it.”

  “Well, then,” Joanna told her with a half laugh. “I guess we’ll both just have to soldier on, won’t we?”

  They rode on in silence for some time after that, each lost in her own thoughts. When Robin spoke again, it was on a different topic entirely. “Other than executing the search warrant, is there any other reason we’re going back to see Reverend Nelson this morning?”

  “We’re doing the ME a favor. Remember that old song from Oklahoma! ‘Pore Jud Is Daid’? It’s the same thing here. Dr. Baldwin isn’t running out of ice, but she is running out of space in her cooler.”

  “But yesterday Reverend Nelson told us that he had no interest in claiming his wife’s body.”

  “That’s correct,” Joanna said, “and it’s our job to make him change his mind.”

  When Joanna turned into the parking lot at Holy Redeemer Chapel, a single vehicle was parked next to the church—a blue Ford Focus.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, pulling up behind it. “Isn’t this the car we saw leaving Reverend Nelson’s house yesterday morning?
”

  “I believe it is.”

  Joanna was already on her radio. “I need you to run a plate for me,” she told Larry Kendrick back at Dispatch. Once she gave him the number, it took only a matter of seconds for him to reply.

  “The vehicle is registered to one Virginia Dycus with an address on Calle Veranda.”

  “Do we know anything about her?” Joanna asked.

  “Running the name,” Larry said. “Nothing. One traffic stop two years ago for going twenty-five in a school zone. Other than that, zip.”

  “I’ve got something,” Robin said, consulting her iPad. “Ginny Dycus’s LinkedIn page says she’s the secretary at Holy Redeemer Chapel.”

  Joanna sighed. “Well, I’ll be. If that isn’t just a little too convenient! Susan Nelson is preying on kids at school while her husband is getting it on with the church secretary.”

  “Sounds like the Reverend and Susan Nelson were a matched set of cheaters who each deserved the other,” Robin observed.

  “Yes,” Joanna agreed. “And poor Travis Stock got caught in the cross fire.”

  With that, she put the Yukon back in gear, drove as far as the Nelson house, and parked. “This should be fun,” she said, unfastening her belt and climbing out of the SUV. “We weren’t welcome yesterday, and I think we’ll be even less so today.”

  Joanna knocked on the door. When it swung open, Drexel Nelson surged out onto the porch and into Joanna’s space. “Why are you here again?” he demanded, leering down at her with eyes filled with cold fury. “I told you yesterday that you aren’t welcome. I want you off my property, now!”

  Tall people seldom take into consideration how the world appears when viewed by someone who happens to be relatively short. Without ceding any ground, Joanna stared up at Nelson’s full crop of bristling nose hairs. Under other circumstances, it might have been funny, but in this case she worried that Drexel Nelson’s short fuse made him an explosion waiting to happen.

  “Actually, we happen to have a search warrant,” Joanna said, retrieving the document from her purse and handing it to him.

  Rather than looking at the paper, Nelson glowered at Joanna. “A search warrant? Why?”

  “The reason for the warrant is one of the things we need to discuss with you, Reverend Nelson,” she said reasonably.

  “Oh, wait,” he said, sounding sarcastic but nonetheless taking a step back. “Now I get it. You’re back to thinking I killed Susan. If that’s the case, I shouldn’t let you anywhere near me without my having an attorney present.”

  “At this point, Reverend Nelson, I can assure you that we have no reason to believe you had anything to do with your wife’s death, but we do have reason to search through Susan’s belongings.”

  “Why?”

  “As I said, let’s go inside, sit down, and discuss it,” Joanna suggested. “Agent Watkins here can conduct the search while you and I have a civilized conversation about what was going on in your late wife’s life.”

  Shaking his head, Nelson backed into the house, allowing Joanna and Robin to enter rather than inviting them inside. He ambled across the room and sank down into the same chair where he’d sat on their previous visits. A nod in Robin’s direction from Joanna sent the FBI agent off to conduct the search while Joanna took a seat on the sofa, putting an expanse of glass-topped coffee table between her and Nelson.

  “All right, then,” he said. “Tell me. What’s going on?”

  Joanna took a deep breath. “It has come to our attention that your late wife may have been a sexual predator who was preying on at least one of her students and possibly more.”

  Reverend Drexel Nelson looked both shocked and utterly horrified. “Susan involved with one of her students? No,” he declared, shaking his head. “That’s just not possible.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s all too possible,” Joanna insisted. “We have DNA evidence that we expect will prove that she was sexually involved with at least one member of the SVSSE debate team.”

  For a long time Drexel Nelson simply stared at Joanna without speaking. “Is that why she died?” he asked finally. “As you said, it’s usually either the husband or the boyfriend. Since I know I didn’t do it, the boyfriend must be it.”

  “Perhaps,” Joanna answered.

  “Who all knows about this? I suppose it’ll be in the paper or on TV and be all over town in a matter of minutes.”

  “It shouldn’t be,” Joanna replied. “The student involved happens to be a juvenile, so we’ll do our best to keep his name out of the press.”

  “His name but not Susan’s.”

  “I’m afraid she was well beyond the age of consent. The boy wasn’t. At this point, Agent Watkins and I both know about it, as does the ME. Other members of my investigative team are aware of it as well, and now so are you.”

  “But it’s going to become public knowledge eventually, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Possibly,” Joanna answered. “Especially if Susan’s involvement with the boy turns out to be part of the motivation behind her murder. In that case, everything that happened between them will most likely have to come to light and may even end up being discussed in open court.”

  Before Reverend Nelson could respond, Agent Watkins entered the room with a look of utter triumph on her face. She was lugging what appeared to be a drawer of some kind. “Got it,” she said. “I found what we needed in the second place I looked.”

  “Hey,” Nelson objected. “Wait a minute. That’s part of the linen closet. You can’t take that.”

  “You’re right,” Robin replied. “This drawer is part of the linen closet, but we can take it. Have you ever bothered looking inside it?”

  Drexel Nelson answered with a shrug. “Me? Why would I? Washing clothes and making beds aren’t my responsibility around here.”

  They will be now, buddy boy, Joanna thought. “What did you find, Agent Watkins?” she asked aloud.

  “The top couple of layers in the drawer contained exactly what you’d expect in a linen closet—sheets and pillowcases—but underneath those is a gold mine of material: handwritten letters and notes from what looks like a whole flock of lovesick boys. At least that’s what the ones on the top of the stack appear to be.”

  “Letters?” Joanna asked. “As in snail mail letters?”

  “Not exactly,” Robin replied. “I think it’s more likely that the notes were cloak-and-dagger stuff, dropped off somewhere and collected by hand rather than sent through USPS. But now we know why nothing incriminating showed on Susan’s phone or computer. She must have known that was the first place someone would go looking for evidence—on her electronic devices. I’m guessing she carried on her romantic correspondence with these kids the old-fashioned way—using pen and paper. There are names, dates, and lots of envelopes, all of which should come complete with DNA.”

  “So not just one boy, then?” Nelson asked faintly.

  “No,” Robin answered. “From what I’m seeing here, I’d have to say there were several more than that.”

  A seemingly stunned Reverend Nelson buried his face in both hands. “The chapel will never survive this kind of scandal,” he mumbled. “This will be the end of it. How could Susan do something so wicked? How could she?”

  “Because she was too caught up in what she was doing to give any thought to how it might affect other people—you included,” Joanna said. “But if you’re worried about keeping Holy Redeemer Chapel afloat, I have a suggestion.”

  “What kind of suggestion?”

  “Your church is supposed to be all about redemption, right? What does that mean exactly?”

  “Being redeemed means being freed from sin.”

  “And presumably that freedom usually comes through some kind of forgiveness, correct?” Joanna asked.

  Nelson looked utterly mystified. “I suppose,” he said. “But what are you saying?”

  “Yesterday morning when we came to tell you about your wife’s unborn child, you told us that you w
ere washing your hands of her—that, as far as you were concerned she could just as well be dropped off at the nearest landfill. Remember?”

  Nelson nodded. “That’s what I said, that’s what I meant, and I still do.”

  “Maybe you should rethink that decision,” Joanna suggested. “Maybe you should retrieve Susan’s remains from the morgue and give her a proper funeral service right here at the chapel. Once what she did becomes public knowledge, I doubt the court of public opinion will ever forgive her, but I believe people will think more highly of you and your church if you make it clear that whatever sins Susan may have committed, you personally have forgiven her.”

  “You think I should forgive her? Why?”

  “Because that’s the only thing that will keep Holy Redeemer Chapel from folding—if you can convince people that you not only talk the talk, you also walk the walk. And by the way,” Joanna added as she stood to go, “it might be a good idea for you and Ginny Dycus to cool it for a while. Let some time pass before the two of you become more deeply involved.”

  Drexel’s ruddy face paled. “Wait,” he said. “You know about Ginny and me? But it’s nothing really. We’re just friends.”

  “Sure you are,” Joanna said. “But it turns out that if you’re a man of a certain age, dealing with certain potency issues, however those symptoms can, as you mentioned earlier, be lessened with the aid of certain pharmaceuticals. You may claim the relationship between you and Ginny is strictly platonic, that may be true for no other reason than your inability to get it up. Platonic or not, whatever the two of you are doing or not doing certainly predates your wife’s death.

  “Once your relationship comes to light, as it’s bound to, I doubt members of your congregation will believe your ‘just friends’ version of the story. Come to think of it, I’ll bet you lied when you told us you didn’t have an alibi for the night of Susan’s murder. Supposing we checked security cameras and traffic cams between here and Ginny Dycus’s place on Calle Veranda. What are the chances we’d find you motoring back and forth from her place to yours during the hours in question?”