“Third cousins,” Alyssa said. “I met the man once or twice, but we were hardly close. Being an architect, I was way too bourgeois to be considered acceptable by his crowd. Anyway, that’s immaterial. The answer is no, I don’t have pictures of either Beth or Manny.”
“You don’t have any old group pictures perhaps?”
“I saved a couple of pictures of Christian Woodhouse. I’m sure you figured out that we had a thing going on. Maybe Christian has some old pictures. I’ll give you the number I have if you want, but it’s ten years old.”
“It’s a start,” Oliver told her.
She got up and told them she’d be right back. When she was out of earshot, Oliver asked Marge what she thought.
“Her account doesn’t match what Peter Devargas had to say about Manny.”
“So you think she’s more credible about Manny Hernandez than the old man?”
“Peter Devargas is hurting. He’s looking for a scapegoat. But there are the facts. We found Beth’s bones but not Manny’s. The guy is still missing and now we have a witness who says that she saw the withdrawal slip with Manny’s signature on it, proof that he did abscond with the cash. Peter Devargas’s conclusion is a logical one.”
Alyssa returned with a slip of paper. “Christian’s phone number, his cell number, and his address. Don’t call him at work. It’s a real snooty prep school and I don’t think the board would approve of his past.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Oliver said. “Anything else you’d like to tell us?”
“If you talk to Sandra Devargas, send her my best. Tell her I’m very, very sorry.”
“You know I have her phone number,” Marge said. “You can call her yourself.”
Alyssa nodded and blinked tears. “Yes, that would be the honorable thing to do. Do you have the number on you?”
“No, but she’s listed in the Santa Fe directory.” Marge gave her the street number.
Alyssa wrote it down. “No gain without pain, right?”
Marge nodded, although that was a warm crock of shit. There were some people who fell into mucho gain just by being born to filthy-rich parents. And there were others—like Sandra and Peter Devargas—who had very little gain but tons of pain.
34
BECAUSE THE COMPUTER lab was on the second floor of the morgue, Decker could digest his lunch without interference from the charnel-house smell that emanated from the bottom of the Crypt. Not knowing what traffic would be like, he had allowed himself plenty of travel time, arriving at the coroner’s complex fifteen minutes early, just as Marge and Oliver were pulling into the lot. The trio met outside and swapped notes. Oliver was finishing the last of a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich while Marge gave Decker the abridged saga of the Church of the Sunland.
“We need to talk to Christian Woodhouse, more for the sake of completeness than anything else.”
“You don’t think he was involved?” Decker asked. “He had access to the money.”
Oliver swallowed with difficulty. The sandwich was more peanut butter than jelly. “We both came away thinking that Alyssa Bright Mapplethorpe was credible. She was there when Christian tried to take out the cash and they both saw Manny’s signature on the withdrawal slip. We found her story believable.”
Decker looked at Marge. “And you also believe Alyssa’s assessment of Manny being a nice guy?”
Marge popped a mint into her mouth. “The verdict’s still out on that one.”
Oliver said, “Look, Loo. I could buy Woodhouse as a suspect if there had been remains belonging to Beth and Manny. But because we only found Beth, Marge and I feel that the main focus of the investigation should be on what happened to Manny Hernandez.”
“Agreed,” Decker said. “But give a call to Woodhouse anyway and just sound him out.” He addressed Marge. “Did you round up a picture of Belize Hernandez?”
“I did,” she said proudly. “Hold on for just a moment…” She rummaged through her purse and pulled out several black-and-white facsimiles. “Currently, Belize isn’t in the New Mexico prison system, so I don’t have any recent photographs of him.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “I did get Belize’s mug shot from 1973. He was arrested for breaking and entering and did a little time in a prison in southern New Mexico.”
Decker regarded the badly printed copy. The boy had been just a smidge over eighteen when he had been arrested for the felony. He was stocky, with round eyes and a soft round face. His hair was cut marine short but with the long sideburns that were fashionable in the seventies.
Marge noticed the intense look on Decker’s face. “What is it, Pete?”
“He looks really familiar, but I can’t place him.”
“He looks familiar because he looks a lot like Manny Hernandez.” Marge handed him the other copies. “These are high-school yearbook photos of both boys.”
Decker compared the high-school pictures. They did look similar, but Decker couldn’t shake the feeling that he had met this guy before. He gave the copies back to Marge. “I got a call from forensics about an hour ago. We have a positive ID on Beth Hernandez from her dental records. God bless Fred Bradley.”
“The forensic computer tech is in the process of buttressing up the ID by superimposing the Jane Doe skeleton onto Beth’s wedding picture, but the dental is a sure thing.”
Marge said, “Did you call the parents yet?”
“Yes, I did. You can imagine how pleasant that was. Right now they’re focusing their attention on getting the remains back for a proper burial.” His emotions seeped in for just a moment, then he went back to work, skimming through the faxes. “These pictures will help us in the age progression of Manny. Let’s go see what the wonders of modern technology can do for the science of criminology.”
NORTON SALVO WAS in his late twenties, a soft and pinkish-white man with small, hooded eyes, resembling a Darwinian creature that had lost its sense of sight by living in perpetual darkness. He blinked often and Decker surmised that Norton either had dry eyes or a nervous tic. He wore a white shirt—no pocket pencil liner—black pants, and sneakers with white socks. The computer tech was congenial, though, offering a firm, dry handshake to each of the detectives. He spoke with the eagerness of an 1849 prospector, delighted to share his understanding of the newest in forensic software.
The computer lab was compact, but since it was almost devoid of furniture, it could hold the group of five just as long as everyone didn’t mind the closeness of a crowded elevator. The space had two desks and two chairs and nothing else. Perched on a desktop were four computer monitors as well as other machinery that Decker couldn’t identify. Norton used the scanner to input the facsimiles given to him by Marge Dunn. When he had finished, he gave the faxes to Lauren Decanter. The forensic artist was excited to be part of the group and studied the photographs with great intensity.
Salvo said, “The first thing the program needs to do is measure the cranial and facial dimensions from the photographs. While that’s booting up, you want to see the superimposition of Beth Hernandez with the skull?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He clicked his mouse, and within a few seconds Beth’s high-school photograph appeared on the biggest of the monitors. “Okay, here we have Beth Hernandez. And over here…”
Another click of the mouse produced a split screen—Beth on one side, the skeleton on the other.
“Here is an angle match radiograph of your Jane Doe. Now, if we superimpose one on top of the other…”
The matches of the landmarks said it all, from the orbits of the eyes to the deteriorated bridge of the nose. These images together with the dental X-rays were proof enough for even the biggest skeptics.
“If there’s a trial, I’m sure you’ll be asked to testify,” Decker said.
“Not a problem. The only thing that doesn’t line up nearly perfectly is the indentation around the periphery of the skull where her head was bashed in.”
A beep sounded. “All right, here we go,” Salvo said. “We’v
e got our two-dimensional faces and the computer is adding an underlying skeleton. In age progression, the computer essentially does the same thing that Lauren does. It pinpoints anatomical landmarks and then goes from there. The computer doesn’t take into consideration anything intuitive. That’s why Lauren’s input is so valuable.”
“You make me blush,” Lauren said.
Norton smiled. It was shy and boyish. “So I’m going to ask the program to age the soft tissue for thirty years.”
“Adding in the wrinkles and the bags and the lines,” Lauren said. “As you get older, the collagen breaks down.”
“Here we go.” Salvo clicked the mouse and the computer spat back an image. Manny was now fifty-five with a full face that had been incised with wrinkles. His nose had broadened, his eyes were underlined with bags, and his mouth had widened, his lips thin, the corners of his mouth turned down. His once-dark hair was streaked with gray.
Lauren asked. “What did this guy do for a living before he disappeared?”
“He was a janitor,” Decker said.
Marge said, “Alyssa Bright Mapplethorpe told us that he was a very talented carpenter.”
Lauren said, “Do you think this guy would have had a desk job?”
“With a father and a brother in prison, not too likely,” Marge said. “I’m still wondering if he’s in the prison system somewhere.”
“So if he were alive today, what would he do to support himself?”
“Probably what all the cons do,” Oliver said. “A roofer.”
“Maybe a framer, since he has carpentry experience,” Decker said.
Salvo said, “In either case, that’s sun exposure.”
Lauren said, “And viewing the occupation and family history, he probably also smokes.”
“A good bet,” Decker said. “From the two pictures, his eyes look brown, but his brother has dark blue eyes. So he could be fairer than he looks.”
“That would mean lots of liver and sun spots,” Salvo made some modifications and the face returned, but this time leaner, older, and more desiccated. His hairline had receded, exposing a lined forehead and sparse tresses. “What about the teeth? If he smokes and drinks, chances are he’s lost a couple of teeth in the process.” Another click and the front part of his mouth caved in. “What do you think?”
Decker stared at the image. With his eyes still on the monitor, he said, “What do you think, Lauren?”
She regarded the computer image. “You’re not happy with it.”
“How can you tell?”
“I’m a professional face reader. What don’t you like, Lieutenant?”
Decker finally took his eyes off the screen. “Let me see the faxes again.”
Lauren handed them to him. “I know what’s probably bothering you. Both Manny and his brother have round faces. Your image of Manny doesn’t conform to the computer image because it looks way too lean.”
“You nailed it,” Decker told her. “If Manny were alive today, I think he’d be heavier.”
“A football player gone to seed,” Lauren remarked.
“You’ve got it,” Decker said. “Even Manny’s father, who started out being thin and wiry, put on weight.”
“Prison food is high in fat, sugar, and carbohydrates,” Marge said.
“Aren’t meals supposed to be nutritionally balanced?” Lauren asked.
“I’m sure there’s protein somewhere on the menu,” Marge said, “but you don’t keep the groundlings quiet by feeding them salad.”
Salvo said, “If I plump up the face, I’m going to have to take away some of the wrinkles.”
“Fat is a great filler,” Lauren said. “Cosmetic surgeons use it all the time to smooth out wrinkles.”
Salvo clicked some buttons on the computer and the next face that appeared was fuller and less wrinkled.
But Decker still wasn’t satisfied.
“The old man gained a lot of weight in prison. This guy started out stockier. To me, he still looks too thin.”
Oliver said, “Loo, if he worked construction, maybe he did more exercise and was thinner than his old man, who has been sitting on his ass in prison for the last fifty years.”
Decker shook his head. “Logically, you’re right, Oliver, but I just have an image of this guy as someone I’ve seen before. Indulge me. Put some more fat on his face.”
Salvo complied. The next image showed a clearly rotund man with a smooth face.
Lauren said, “You know, heavier older men, more often than not, have more head hair than lean men their age. I don’t know why that is, but it’s true. Maybe it has to do with hormone levels. In any case, give him a little more hair, Norton.”
“Will do.” Again he played with the mouse. “What do you think?”
Again, Decker looked at the picture of Manny’s father, Martin. “Cave in his chin a little…like his dad has.”
Salvo complied and the five of them stared at the image. Marge scratched her head and turned to Decker. “You’re right about one thing, Pete. This guy looks familiar.”
“He does?” Oliver said.
“Yes, he does…” Decker’s heart started racing, but he shook his head in disbelief. There were coincidences and there were coincidences.
Rina’s words: What goes around comes around. Middah keneged middah.
The aphorism was nothing more than a cliché, but sometimes adages became clichés because they were true.
“Give the guy some half-glasses.”
“Why?”
“A gut feeling. Please?”
“Sure.” A minute later the revised image appeared on the monitor.
“Holy shit!” Marge slapped her forehead. “That’s Raymond Holmes!”
Decker said, “I.e., Manny Hernandez, whose given name was Ramon Hernandez.”
Oliver was confused. “Are you talking about the Raymond Holmes as in Roseanne Dresden’s boyfriend?”
“Lightning does strike twice,” Decker said. “Two missing women and one guy. Of course Marge and I could be wrong and the Raymond Holmes that we interviewed in San Jose could just be a guy who owns a construction business who happens to be a twin for that computer image.”
“Do you have a picture of Raymond Holmes?” Salvo said. “We could superimpose one image on top of another.”
“No, I don’t,” Decker said.
Lauren said, “Norton, why don’t you go on Google-face and see if the site has a picture of him.”
“An excellent idea, Lauren.” Clicks of the keyboard combined with clicks of the mouse. Within a minute, they were looking at a tiny group picture from four years ago that included Raymond Holmes. He had been one of five recipients of the Golden Heart Award for builders who had participated in low-income housing construction.
Marge said, “You can barely see his face, let alone get any idea of his bone structure.”
“I have to agree with you on that one,” Salvo concurred. “Let me Google him and see if he’s been mentioned in any other capacity.” The site pulled up eight hundred references to Raymond Holmes, including a doctor, a minister, a poet, an educator, a writer, and loads of other occupations. “It’s going to take up a lot of time to go through each of these references. Why don’t you fly up to San Jose and take a picture of the guy with a zoom lens.”
“This is the guy that passed the lie-detector test,” Oliver said.
Marge said, “The very one.”
“If I were Manny Hernandez, as soon as that plane crashed into that apartment and I knew I’d hidden a body there, I would have rabbited.”
“Well, he didn’t rabbit then, but I’m sure he’s rabbited by now,” Decker said. “When we talked to him, I, being an idiot, told him that the body we found in the apartment wasn’t Roseanne Dresden. I think in the back of his mind, Raymond Holmes was hoping that we’d mistake Beth’s body for Roseanne.”
Oliver made a face. “You would think that he’s seen enough bad TV to know how identifications are made.”
&nb
sp; Marge said, “Since the body was badly burned, I’m sure he thought it wouldn’t be so easy to identify, that we didn’t have enough biological material to identify the remains as Beth Hernandez. And after passing the lie-detector test, he was feeling secure.”
“Can someone fill me in, just because I’m here?” Salvo asked.
Marge said, “Raymond Holmes was Roseanne Dresden’s lover. She supposedly died in the crash of 1324, but we never found her body. We went up north and gave Raymond a lie-detector test about murdering Roseanne Dresden. He passed. Either he’s a stone-cold psycho or he didn’t murder her.”
Decker held up a finger. “Even if Holmes was feeling secure about Roseanne, once we put a face on the Jane Doe, he has to feel nervous.”
“What if he didn’t know that we put a face on Jane Doe?” Salvo asked.
Marge said, “It was on the front page of the L.A. Times.”
“He doesn’t live in L.A.,” Salvo said. “Maybe he doesn’t read the L.A. Times. I don’t.”
“What do you read?” Marge asked.
“I’m a computer guy,” Salvo said. “I get all my news online. If you had a good, current photograph of him, I could maybe superimpose the two images.”
Marge said, “We could go up to San Jose with a camera and hope for the best.”
Decker said, “Let me regroup for a moment.” He tapped his toe. “Okay. Looks can be deceiving, so let’s go back to basic police work. We need to find out everything we can about Raymond Holmes. And that means another trip back up to San Jose. We go to the hall of records and pull everything we can on this guy. In the meantime, he sells renovated houses for a living. Oliver, he doesn’t know you. If Holmes is still around, you figure out how to approach the guy and take pictures of him.”
“Cakewalk. I’ll be a prospective buyer.”
Decker said, “We should check the visitation logs of Santa Fe Correctional and find out if Raymond Holmes has ever visited Martin Hernandez. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Where does that leave Roseanne Dresden?” Oliver asked. “Do you think this guy killed both women?”
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