~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 3
Thursday, May 11
Ten minutes before six a.m. Mrs. Grubb and De la Peña wheeled a portable whiteboard to the center of the office. Five minutes later, Moffat entered with a cardboard carrier holding three large coffees from the Coffee Bean Drive-Thru Kiosk. Moffat was pleased but not surprised to see Mrs. Grubb had come in an hour early and wondered how she had heard of the homicide. He and the Sergeant had agreed to meet at six this morning to plan the investigation before a 7:30 briefing for the uniformed police who would support them. Moffat sat behind his desk, leaning back with a legal pad in his lap and a pen in his right hand. De la Peña took the blue marker and wrote:
Veronica Gillis, age 52
148 Upper Bristol Road, Miner’s Flat
Occupation: Real Estate Broker, Developer
Married to Wade Gillis 45, union plumber
No children
Apparent gun shot victim
“No eyewitnesses so far,” De la Peña said. “The choir girl and the architect heard the shot. The architect figures it happened at about 6:15. He thought Gillis phoned him about 6:05. When he heard the shot, he waited about five minutes and then phoned 911. Sacramento clocked his call at exactly 6:24, so he probably isn’t far off.” De la Peña stopped. Shaking his head, he turned to Moffat. “Sir, have you ever had a victim show up at your office eight hours before she was murdered? I can’t believe it.”
Moffat nodded. Actually, while still in uniform, Moffat had seen two victims hours before their deaths. One was a teenager beaten and chased by two gang members. The kid had refused to provide any information. Four hours later, an ambulance transported him to the emergency room with a knife wound. He died ten minutes later. The second was a domestic violence victim. She refused to press charges. The next morning her boyfriend sobbed as he described their last fight. Neither of these matched the bizarre experience of meeting the energetic broker in his office in the morning and then seeing the same person’s body that evening.
De la Peña continued. “The girl Michelle wasn’t at all certain about the times. She remembers seeing a school kid bicycle by before she found the body. She phoned her father at 6:36.”
“OK. Let’s have the officers visit or re-visit every house on the block. Find out if anyone was seen in the area from the time Gillis left Franke’s house until the reserve officer arrived at the scene. Ask what time everybody got home, what they were doing, anything they may have seen from the window, driveway or yard. Sergeant, you and I will go back to Gillis’s house and speak to the rest of the family.” Moffat picked up a small black book from his desk. “We also have to check her Day Planner and her computer. But first Mrs. Grubb, what can you tell us about Veronica Gillis?”
Mrs. Evelyn Grubb had resided in Segovia County for twenty years. She had been a child in Scotland during World War II and immigrated to California in the 1950’s with her new husband William Grubb. Living in San Jose in 1964, she took a job with one of the first K-Mart stores in California. She and her husband made a point of visiting California’s Gold Country every spring when the poppies bloomed and the grass and oaks were bright green. Not long after being widowed, she bought the Segovia home in which she now lived. Moffat knew Mrs. Grubb read the Segovia Ledger Dispatch from front to back every day, made a weekly visit to the hairdresser, and participated in most of the county’s volunteer groups. She would have an insider’s knowledge of a well-known citizen like Veronica Gillis.
“Well, I think I told you yesterday, she is one of the top brokers. She’s in the Gold Circle Club every year for sales volume. Her picture is in all her newspaper ads, lawn signs and even the slides they show in the theater before the movie starts. Her business was mostly up in the northeast county around Miner’s Flat. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I heard she had a tendency to dominate the Miner’s Flat Boy’s & Girl’s Club annual auction up there as well as the their local Optimist and Rotary club meetings. She comes to Segovia for the monthly Planning Commission meetings. The Commission arranges the agenda to suit her. Well, they did before yesterday, anyway.”
Mrs. Grubb seemed to hesitate. “Anything else?” Moffat asked.
“Well, more than a few times, some of the ladies from Miner’s Flat had reason to believe Mrs. Gillis involved herself with men other than her husband.” Mrs. Grubb gave the two men a knowing nod and watched to see they were suitably impressed.
“OK, Mrs. G,” De la Peña insisted. “Who was she fooling around with?”
Mrs. Grubb gave the Sergeant a reproachful look and folded her arms.
Moffat intervened. “He’s right, Mrs. Grubb, we need to know.”
“Well, ask me with whom she wasn’t fooling around. You didn’t hear this from me but both the Chief and County Exec Doyle have been mentioned…. also, one of those corporate big wigs from San Jose and that lawyer who is president of the Rotary Club. Of course, this was over quite a few years. Otherwise, goodness, how could she get any work done?” Mrs. Grubb was winding down then “Oh, I think a landscaper was talked of one time as well.”
During Mrs. Grubb’s description of the Gillis’ professional and other activities, De la Peña had started up the victim’s computer. He clicked the financial software icon. “Wow. I’m looking at her personal checking account. Gillis was hauling in a lot of cash. She’s got 60K in the account. Somebody will have to spend some time on this. Let me get into her email.”
De la Peña opened her mailbox. “This could be promising. There are hundreds of messages in both the inbox and sent folders. Maybe we should have an officer spend a few hours on these.”
Moffat thought not. “Just check the last few days and then Mrs. Grubb will read through the rest. If there is any information there that might embarrass the innocent, we’ll keep it just among ourselves.”
Moffat opened Gillis’s day planner. Her morning visit to the detectives’ office was inscribed. There were three other notations: “call architect”, “SC - 3:00” and “visit church.” No other appointments were recorded for yesterday. Checking the back pocket Moffat found a receipt with yesterday’s date from the Miner’s Flat Café for $11. Written across the back in red ink, in a feminine hand, were the words “business exp. prospective client.”
“Let’s add a visit to this café to today’s schedule, Sergeant,” Moffat told De la Peña.
* * *
De la Peña thought the morning briefing went quite well. First, Moffat explained that this would be a challenging investigation. Looking at the three officers before him he acknowledged that they had limited resources. The police had yet to determine a motive. There were no witnesses. “The victim was a high profile individual. There may be a lot of curiosity from the media. “Please do not give out any information. If we ever get to court, we don’t want to compromise any evidence or witness testimony by excessive public discussion of the facts of the case. The murderer is at large. We don’t want him or her to know what we know.”
Which isn’t much, De la Peña told himself.
The Sergeant conducted the remainder of the briefing. Two uniformed officers, Brandon Fat and Melissa Peake, both 26, Fat with five years experience and Peake with four, would finish questioning the residents of every home on the streets around the church. An officer who was restricted to desk duty in the weeks prior to her maternity leave had already been assigned to assist the detectives on their open case review. Now Tashara Travis - called, for reasons unknown to Moffat - Officer Tashara by police and civilians alike would study the victim’s Quicken accounts and Excel files. De la Peña had downloaded these and Gillis’ Outlook mailboxes and Word documents onto separate flash drives. Mrs. Grubb took possession of the second drive.
* * *
The phone rang at 6:30 am in the apartment Aaron shared with his mother just off the road leading into Miner’s Flat from the north. Theirs was one of twelve units on the ground floor of a building behind a gas station, drugstore and the Forty-niners Market. Aaron
had dressed for school and was preparing his lunch when Wade Gillis called to tell him about his aunt’s death and that the police wanted the family at the house for questions. Aaron said he would wake his mother to tell her. He did not. He wrote a note instead believing that his mother, who worked from 11:30 am to 11:00 pm and often got home after 2:00 am, could use the sleep. Dawn Miller never changed her last name during the five years from her marriage to Paul Jamison through the date he abandoned his wife and child for good. She was now 33, worked as a waitress serving food and drinks at the Pick & Shovel Tavern on Highway 49. She was very fond of her son. She thought he was adorable--with his dark eyes and long lashes--but she was looking forward to his 18th birthday when the men she dated would no longer see her as being tied down with a child. As it was, Dawn had begun to spend the occasional night away from home. Aaron did his own laundry and would ask her for money for groceries only about every eight or nine days. There hadn’t been any child support the past ten years but these days money wasn’t much of a problem. Dawn earned about $750 per week, mostly from tips. After Paul left, Ronnie provided a house, duplex or apartment at low rent. Usually the premises would be undergoing repairs, remodeling or repainting. They had to move often but as they had few pieces of furniture and Wade and some of Ronnie’s regular day laborers would move them in half a day using Wade’s pickup, it was not inconvenient. Dawn loved to move anyway.
At 7:15, Aaron left for his aunt’s house. He bicycled the six miles in thirty minutes. (There was a 2000 feet elevation climb so the trip took ten minutes longer than the return trip.) He came in the house through the back door, into the kitchen. Wade offered him breakfast. He declined. He watched TV for a while then went out to the home gym in the pool house where Wade was lifting weights. He tried a few machines while listening to Wade’s music then wandered out. He did not see his grandmother until after the police arrived.
* * *
De la Peña parked an unmarked, Segovia P.D. white Chevy Tahoe SUV at the top of the driveway, avoiding the bicycle lying on its side. Aaron was on his knees on the lawn throwing a ball to the delight of a somewhat uncoordinated poodle. Moffat asked that the Sergeant interview the nephew outside. Moffat would speak with the mother in the house.
De la Peña approached Aaron showing his badge.
“Are you the nephew of Veronica Gillis?”
“Yes.” Aaron spoke softly, his eyes cast downward.
“I’m Sergeant De la Peña. I need to ask you some questions about your aunt. Did Mr. Gillis tell you what happened?”
“Yes.”
“I need your name, age and the address where you live.”
Aaron told him. De la Peña recognized the first name from Michelle’s statement. He moved closer to the teenager and watched him intently. “When did you last see your aunt?”
“Yesterday afternoon. She came home while I was mowing the lawn. She left about an hour later.” In response to De la Peña’s questions, Aaron said they hadn’t spoken, he didn’t know what she did while she was there, she was driving her Land Rover and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“What did you do the rest of the day after you saw your aunt leave?”
“I finished the yard work, studied for a test”…here the boy stopped. Aaron realized he would miss an algebra exam this morning and feared repercussions with Mr. Rowell. “Then I rode my bike home.”
“What time was that?”
“About six, I think.”
The Sergeant glanced at Aaron’s wrist to see if he wore a watch.
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“No.”
“How did you go home?”
Aaron described a route that took him past the church.
“OK. Thanks. Wait out here. My boss may have some more questions.” De la Peña closed his notebook and walked to the door.
* * *
Gillis tapped on the bedroom door. “Laraine, the police are here.” Gillis quickly introduced them then left Captain Moffat with Laraine Jamison, Veronica Gillis’ mother.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Jamison.”
“Thank you,” she said coolly. In her mid to late 70’s about 5’5” and thin, Jamison wore a considerable amount of makeup with thin eyebrows and a neatly styled gray wig. She had the fine wrinkles and low voice of a long-time smoker although Moffat noticed no signs of a current habit. There was a scent of powder and perfume about her. Her room was spotless with a rose carpet, flower patterned bed cover and two high-backed chairs with upholstery of the same material. Laraine was seated; Moffat took the chair next to her. A bureau of highly polished cherry wood filled half of one wall. It and the headboard of the bed and side table were of the same set. There was a wicker basket on the bureau lined with cloth of the same pattern as the bedspread. It was filled with seven prescription bottles of varying sizes.
“Are you a widow, Mrs. Jamison?”
“I was divorced from my third husband fifteen years ago. He moved to San Diego and died three years in 2003.
“And your daughter Veronica’s father?”
“We were married from 1953 until 1965. He died in 1981.”
Moffat took down the details of the three marriages. Laraine provided the information calmly and efficiently, never taking her eyes off of Moffat.
“When do you think we will be able to have a burial, Captain?
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“Could you tell me about your other children?”
“My son Gregory from my first marriage was killed in 1973…in an automobile accident. He was a college student at the California Institute of the Arts.”
For the first time, Moffat detected a hint of emotion.
She continued. “My youngest, Paul, doesn’t keep in touch. I’ve had just a single letter in the last five years. He changes jobs and moves often. He involves himself with a lot of women.” Once again, Laraine was completely controlled.
“Would you describe your relationship with your daughter, Mrs. Jamison?”
“She was very thoughtful. She insisted I move in here with them after my stroke. We worked together in the realty until then. That was 1995. She would make sure somebody would drive me to my doctor’s appointments, the hairdresser or the veterinarian.”
“Can you think of any reason someone would want to harm your daughter?”
“No, none at all.”
At Moffat’s request, Mrs. Jamison described her only contact with her daughter on the day she died. After the boy in the sports car left Gillis had prepared a sandwich that she shared with her mother. She left soon afterwards.
“Thank you for the information, Mrs. Jamison. One more subject…your daughter-in-law isn’t here this morning?”
“No, I haven’t heard from her.”
“Do you have grandchildren other than Mrs. Gillis’ nephew?”
“No, just Aaron.” For a second time, Moffat sensed some emotion, this time it was affection, he guessed. It faded. “Gregory was only 23 when he died. Ronnie was too busy for children.”
* * *
Moffat left Laraine Jamison in her bedroom. He came into the glassed-in patio to confer with Sergeant De la Peña.
“The mother said she only saw Mrs. Gillis yesterday when her daughter came home sometime mid-afternoon. Gillis arrived in her Land Rover followed by a sports car driven by a tall, dark-haired young man. The mother says Gillis gave him some money. They spoke briefly, laughed about something and then the man left carrying a case of beer. Their meeting took less than ten minutes. The mother doesn’t know when Mrs. Gillis left. She said she didn’t see Mr. Gillis that night. She offered no reason anyone would harm her daughter.
Learning of the visitor in the sports car, De la Peña grew angry. “The kid lied to me. He said she was alone when she came here.” De la Peña watched the teenager on the lawn with the dog.
“What did he say about his ride home last night?”
De la Peña realized that Moffat had guessed the bicy
clist Michelle saw was the victim’s nephew.
“He confirmed it. We have him at the crime scene at the time of the murder.”
Moffat wondered why Aaron had lied about the visitor. “We have his initials from Gillis’s day planner.” Moffat was thinking aloud. “Sorry, I was talking about her notation for ‘S.C.’ at 3:00. Mr. Gillis had no idea who it could have been.”
De la Peña was still fuming about Aaron. “I’ve got him on false statements and obstruction. I’d like to bring him in. A few hours in the interview room should get the whole story from him.”
Moffat considered this. “See if he’ll come voluntarily. Unless there’s more to this, I don’t want to create trouble for him.”
De la Peña walked across the driveway and lawn. Aaron stood as the Sergeant approached. He blushed. In a low, stern voice, De la Peña told Aaron there were discrepancies in his statement. Aaron’s eyes widened. The Sergeant suggested Aaron come to the station to clear everything up.
“Are you willing to do that?”
“Yes.”
The detectives informed Wade Gillis that Aaron had agreed to go with them and asked if he had any objections. He had none. They asked him to notify Aaron’s mother.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 4
At the corner of Miner’s Flat town square Moffat stepped out of the S.U.V leaving De la Peña with a seriously scared Aaron in the backseat. On this sunny spring day, Miner’s Flat was beautiful. It was surrounded on three sides by dark green pine covered mountains. Nineteenth century wooden buildings, low walls made of granite boulders and mortar and turn of the century two-story Victorian homes covered the flat spreading out to the southwest. The town square covered a rectangle measuring one by two city blocks. Oak trees two or three hundred years old had their spring growth. Their leaves would be a lighter, brighter shade of green for the next several weeks. Traffic, both automobile and pedestrian, was light but steady all around the square.
Moffat walked on leaving the square behind and approached the church and crime scene. Two uniformed officers and the photographer from last night were guiding a fire truck as it backed over the curb and sidewalk and neared the long building. Moffat told one of the policemen that he would like a ride back to the station in about a half hour. Then he set out on a walk among the buildings of the church compound. Five minutes later, following a path up the slope, Moffat arrived at the historical marker outside the original church structure where services had been conducted continuously since 1858. It had been built of stone with a pine roof, beginning its existence as an Episcopalian church.
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