“Those are small cottages, two bedroom, one bath on medium sized lots. They were built in the 1950’s.”
Mrs. Grubb passed a mug of coffee with cream to Moffat, and then poured a small amount of milk into the two remaining cups before filling them with tea from the pot. She put a spoonful of sugar in each, stirred and offered one cup to De la Peña. He placed the file on the table, accepted the cup and helped himself to a half sandwich of cheese and tomato. Moffat observed that the crusts had been removed from four of the six half sandwiches including the one De la Peña held.
“Sergeant, I want you to identify all open case files of missing women or crimes against women. Let’s go back to 1968.”
“’68? Wow.”
“Ms. Davies thought her attacker moved like an older man. If he is as old as sixty, I want to check anything going back to when he would have been about twenty-two. I’m assuming, for now, he has never been caught, so we’ll stick to open cases.”
During slow periods the previous five years, Mrs. Grubb and two other clerks had typed the handwritten crime logs from 1980 to 1993 into the computerized database the department had placed in use in 1998. Electronic logs from 1994 to 1997 had been converted to the new format when it was launched in 1998. Just two weeks earlier, De la Peña had sorted the database to show open cases of crimes against persons and missing persons for the previous ten years. These had been retrieved from archives and were in two stacks of folders on the table. While he ate, De la Peña opened the database and manipulated it to prepare a listing of the same crimes and missing persons - for female subjects only--dating back to 1980. In the meantime, Mrs. Grubb removed copies of the typewritten department logs from a folder in her desk. She selected logs from 1968 through 1980. Mrs. Grubb then removed the staples from each year’s listing, took the sheets into the break room where she photocopied the photocopies before replacing the staples and returning the original copies to her desk drawer. Next she took a pink highlighter and a ruler and began to mark case entries using the same sorting criteria the Sergeant was employing on the electronic database.
Moffat dutifully selected the two half sandwiches with the crusts and took them, his coffee and the Amy Price folder to his desk. As he ate, he studied this file and the one he and De la Peña had begun for the Nicole Davies crime.
Moffat checked the Price file for any tip coming into the police about a black van. There were some anonymous tips, all investigated with no results, but no mention of the van.
“Biscuits?” Moffat looked up to see Mrs. Grubb removing three shortbread cookies from a package and placing them on De la Peña’s plate. She offered the package to Moffat. He shook his head.
Moffat smiled. “Am I mistaken, Mrs. Grubb, or are you trying to turn Sergeant De la Peña into a proper Englishman?”
“Afternoon tea is good for the brain, Captain Moffat,” Mrs. Grubb stated with certainty then added, “Anyway, if anything I would turn him into a Scotsman."
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 14
The Land Rover descended the curving canyon road, following Bear Creek most of the way to Highway 86. Three people who comprised the entirety of Veronica Gillis’ family at the memorial service, husband Wade, mother Laraine and nephew Aaron sat silently, each with their separate thoughts. Gillis drove, Aaron sat in front and Laraine in back. Laraine was surprisingly exhilarated. She had tapered off the alcohol consumption - she had not had anything at the reception - and, without consulting her doctor, had cut back on the pills she believed made her lightheaded. She hadn’t said a word to anyone about her plans. That is what was remarkable, she thought. For the first time in years she was making plans. As Wade slowed to five miles per hour to take the sharpest curve before the road joined Highway 49, Laraine realized that, at age 77, she was ready for a new beginning.
Wade turned right at the junction so that he could drop off his nephew. He felt relief that the service was over. He looked forward to changing clothes and spending the rest of the day lifting weights and watching basketball on television. He was also looking forward with pleasure to the prospect of returning to work tomorrow at the construction site and coaching the field hockey team after work. A thought never crossed his mind about the business and what would become of it. It wasn’t that he assumed Rees or Ronnie’s attorney would handle it, he just didn’t think at all about it.
Of the three, Aaron was the one trying not to think. He listened to The Fray’s How To Save A Life, then played it a second time. He saw nothing of the passing stores, restaurants and trees but subconsciously knew to reach into his jeans’ front pocket for his house key when the Land Rover neared the gas station. Aaron’s level of awareness of the pain in the center of his stomach was roughly the same as his knowledge of the Land Rover’s location. He turned away from any thought of the pain, which itself was unrelated to Scott’s punch from earlier in the day but had in fact been with him since the age of twelve.
Wade drove through the asphalt parking lot past the gas station and pulled into a slot near the stairs. Aaron had unbuckled his seat belt. He whispered “see ya” and jumped out of the car without looking at either his uncle or his grandmother. Laraine watched Aaron walk up the few feet to the stairs, then slowly ascend, his shoulders slumped. Laraine felt a pang of sadness and some regret watching him drag himself, carrying an invisible burden.
Aaron slid the key into the lock of the front door of the apartment. His mother’s bedroom door was open a few inches. The room was darkened by the pulled blinds and closed curtains. He heard her breathing heavily as she slept. Aaron entered the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. He carefully avoided eye contact with his mirror image as he opened his mother’s prescription temazepam pill container. There were five pills left. He emptied the container into his hand, tossed all five into his mouth, then filled a glass with three ounces of water and washed the pills down.
Aaron closed and locked his bedroom door. He kicked off his shoes and took off his outer shirt. He lay on the bed, on top of the blankets and bedspread. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid down the zipper but left them on. He briefly wondered what it would feel like, then decided he didn’t care. Stretched out, slightly on the diagonal, Aaron turned up the volume on his iPod.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 15
De la Peña collected the dishes, cups and teapot and placed them in the sink of the break room. He had completed the database sort requested by the Captain and had printed three copies of the seven page table. Mrs. Grubb continued the same task on the non-computerized records. Using very hot water and dishwashing soap, with the obsessiveness of a young man new to domestic chores, he scrubbed the dishes, cups and utensils, rinsed them twice, and placed them to air dry in the plastic drainer. He wrung the dishcloth and wiped down the granite counter top.
In the office, Moffat spoke by phone with the Chief. The detectives would form a task force staffed with six officers to be loaned from other divisions. They would operate out of the Team Center, the largest of three multi-purpose/conference rooms in the Police Department’s wing of the County Administration building. The Chief told Moffat the room and the team would be ready by 7:00 AM the next day.
De la Peña reentered the office. He slipped behind Mrs. Grubb, seated at her desk, to collect the reports from the printer. Unaware of his presence, she continued her work with the ruler and highlighter.
Of the file storage boxes of case files already in their possession from the ongoing open case review, De la Peña selected less than a quarter. These he placed on Moffat’s desk while the Captain completed his phone conversation with the Chief then made a short call to his wife.
The office was silent now except for the hum of the computers and turning of pages. De la Peña emptied a box for the files he had given Moffat and consolidated the remaining ones in three boxes. He replaced their cardboard lids and stacked them by the office door. He took his keys and jacket from his desk then, holding the office door open with his hip, lifted one of the b
oxes by the cutouts on each side, and carried it through the hall, and down the outside wooden stairway, where he set it on the sidewalk. De la Peña walked to the end of the parking lot, got in his car and backed it to the bottom of the stairway. He opened the trunk and slid the file box to the back. De la Peña ran back up the stairs and arrived at the office as the other two were collecting their things. He and Moffat carried the remaining boxes to De la Peña’s car. The three then drove separately around the block to the Administration building.
Taking just seconds to drop off her sweater and large bag, Mrs. Grubb showed De la Peña to the Records room. He began calling out the dates and case numbers listed on his print out and her mark up. Her head bobbed up and down rapidly as she located the years with the upper part of her bifocals then searched for the case number with the lower lens. The Sergeant placed a check next to each line of the list as she pulled each folder and placed it in an empty file box in order by date.
Just under an hour later, the two had collected 124 case files and brought them to the conference room. Working from oldest forward, Moffat, De la Peña, and Mrs. Grubb took a quick look at each file to determine if it was in fact an open case. As they had expected, many were actually closed. A perpetrator had been identified, apprehended and charged or, in the case of missing persons, the woman or girl had been accounted for. Department summary records had not been updated.
“No wonder Chief Halvorsen’s predecessor had such lousy crime stats,” De la Peña observed. “His department never closed out the paperwork.”
“Things were different in those days, Jason,” Mrs. Grubb said. “They didn’t use to analyze everything the department did. We didn’t get funding other than from the county so there weren’t so many reports to provide the state and federal bureaucrats. Of course, our population was much smaller, as well. Chief Andrews tracked everything in his head. He managed from gut feel. He was very popular in the county until…well, his third visit to rehab.”
The initial check of the folders eliminated nearly half of the cases. Satisfied that Moffat had what he needed for now, Mrs. Grubb announced she would be going home. She never missed the Sunday night widowed persons dance at the Segovia Ranch House Inn and had just enough time to bathe, dress and collect girlfriends Iris and Isobel and arrive at seven.
Moffat and De la Peña decided to review the remaining files beginning with the most recent and working backwards through the four decades of cases. Each detective would pull a folder, examine the facts of the case and, if he believed it could be eliminated from consideration, would present a summary and confirm with the other that it could be returned to Records without further attention. Periods of silence as they each read a file would give way to brief discussions and quick resolution. De la Peña occasionally asked for help deciphering an officer’s handwritten notes. They agreed to eliminate the case of a missing teenage girl with a drug history. Next, Moffat presented the case of a middle-aged homicide victim whose husband was the prime suspect. He had shot himself without a note before arrest. De la Peña concurred that this one would be added to the return stack. The stack of folders for further investigation grew more slowly but steadily. The detectives agreed to eliminate more than a few cases of battery in which the woman refused to cooperate. They assumed a person known to the victim--a boyfriend or husband-- was responsible for the crime. In a 1984 case that struck both Moffat and De la Peña as unusual but unrelated to their current search, two unrelated women ages 47 and 49, living together in a large trailer twelve miles from Segovia and three miles from the nearest residence, were killed by a propane gas tank explosion and fire that was determined not to be accidental. Many cases of teenage runaways and missing adult women were eliminated from consideration when the file revealed they had some later contact with the family, usually a phone call from a large city, following their disappearance.
Two more hours passed in this way. When they finished, Moffat and De la Peña were left with two dozen cases for further investigation. These included:
two bodies, no sign of sexual assault
two bodies with evidence of sexual assault
fifteen missing persons
three rape cases, unidentified attacker
one unidentified stalker
one exhibitionist.
Satisfied, Moffat aligned the folders in a neat stack in the center of the table. He was eager to study these twenty-five crimes---including Nicole Davies--with a mixture of curiosity and cautious optimism that there was a puzzle and it could be solved with the help of this information. Aware of the time, he decided to postpone this particular pleasure. “Shall we take a dinner break?”
--------------
Whelan’s Irish Pub, a twenty-year old establishment just off Main Street, half a block from the County Administration Building, had great crowds at weekday lunchtime and happy hour from government workers. On weekends and evenings it was popular with the more recent transplants to Segovia County. Moffat and De la Peña fit both customer profiles. The pub, like all businesses in California, was smoke-free. The detectives were greeted with the enticing smell of fried potatoes, beer and wood polish as they entered just as the sun had set. From behind the bar, Jack Whelan greeted Moffat by name. Tall slim, silver-haired with a face that looked at least three decades younger than his 70 years, he moved gracefully among the patrons, always with a pint glass to pick up or deliver.
De la Peña followed Moffat to a booth on the wall opposite the entrance. Whelan met them, dropping a cardboard Smithwick’s coaster in front of each.
“Welcome. How are you, Captain? Where are Mrs. Moffat and your daughter tonight?”
“Jean is home, entertaining her aunt and uncle. Allison is back at her apartment in Sacramento. Mr. Whelan, this is Sergeant De la Peña. He has just moved here from Los Angeles.”
Whelan’s eyes widened. “Ah, Los Angeles. It’s a wonderful town. I have a granddaughter studying at UCLA. We’ve just been to see her last month. She’s quite happy there. She wants to be a teacher. Did you live near there, Sergeant?”
“Not far. I grew up in the San Fernando Valley.”
“Very nice. What can I serve you gentlemen tonight?”
Moffat ordered a pint of Guinness, the dark liquid brewed in Dublin tasting of oatmeal and molasses and served in Irish Pubs around the world. De la Peña glanced down the drink menu and quickly selected Magner’s Irish Cider. Both choices met with Whelan’s approval. He returned to the bar to begin the five- minute process of drawing the Guinness.
“Before Whelan gets back and asks it, let me. How did you happen to choose to leave your hometown and the LAPD to come up here, Sergeant?”
De la Peña had been interviewed by three high-ranking officers including Deputy Chief Weber but had not met Moffat until several days after starting the job, when the Deputy Chief told him he had decided to assign him to the Crimes against Persons department. It was quite unexpected but some quick research about his new boss, within the force and via the Internet, convinced De la Peña that this was a lucky turn. His first two weeks had been uneventful, but De la Peña had seen the statistics and trends and was grateful for the extra time to settle in to his new home and job. During his interviews, De la Peña had expressed interest in the career opportunities afforded by Segovia’s rapidly growing police force. De la Peña had an outstanding record with the LAPD and would be offered a promotion to Sergeant by Weber to entice him to move. De la Peña gave these reasons to Moffat.
“Still, it’s a big change to leave your hometown, friends and family. But kind of exciting I would guess. No steady relationship to impact the decision, Sergeant?”
A waitress brought two full pint glasses. De la Peña tasted his drink. He was relieved to discover it was hard cider and that he had not inadvertently ordered a soft drink. He waited a few extra seconds to resume the conversation.
“No. No girlfriend, no attachments. That was one reason why I thought it was a good time to make a move.”
&nbs
p; Moffat nodded and took a big drink through an inch of foam in his glass.
“What other reasons?”
“Well, I wanted a change. I went to school within ten miles of my parents’ house. I’d worked for five years and still hadn’t left the part of town I was born in. Plus this was a chance to move up faster than I could have with the LAPD.”
Nodding again, Moffat asked to hear about the Sergeant’s family. De la Peña described a big family, two older brothers, two younger sisters and a third brother, the youngest. His father worked as a machinist for a rocket engine manufacturer. His mother had only worked outside the home temporarily at various retail and clerical jobs. The parents had insisted that education came before sports, social activities and part-time jobs. As a result, the oldest three had all earned college degrees and the youngest three were enrolled and doing well.
“What do your brothers do for a living?” Moffat asked.
De la Peña attempted to sound casual in his reply. “They are LAPD also. They joined the force three years before I did.”
“Interesting. I’m the only policeman in the extended family. How was your relationship with your brothers?”
De la Peña realized that Moffat was zeroing in on his primary reason for leaving Los Angeles. None of the interviewers, his friends or his family had drawn this out of him. De la Peña was impressed that the Captain had so quickly arrived at this point. He wondered if this was a skill acquired through twenty-five years of interviewing witnesses and suspects. He guessed it might be a natural talent, the product of intelligence and personality.
“Actually, we aren’t all that close. I decided to become a cop when I was still in high school. My oldest brother was a year out of college, working in a bank, bored, when he decided to apply. My other brother was finishing school the same year and just followed him.”
“So you didn’t think they were serious enough about law enforcement as a career.”
De la Peña thought to himself, Yeah, among other things. He realized that Moffat would have the whole story. Perhaps the cider was taking affect. Whatever the cause, De la Peña felt like talking.
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