“Have Mrs. Grubb talk to the Chief. He can pick out the right kind of volunteers. No one too excitable.”
“And I think we’ll send McLean alone to a movie tomorrow night. That should make her look lonely enough.”
“Good idea.”
“We’ll send Fat in behind her. He’ll need a date.”
Moffat smiled. “If he can’t manage that, Mrs. Grubb can help there, too.”
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 38
Leaving De la Peña to complete his planning, Moffat sat at one of the empty desks and opened his file folder and notes of the Gillis case. He stared at the file contents for a few seconds allowing his mind to adjust to the quick change from one absorbing case to the other. Now, Moffat thought, the origin of the murder weapon was the only path that currently showed any promise. His first question: Was Veronica Gillis killed by her own revolver? It seemed plausible. She had a history of carrying a gun, none was found in her purse or car after her death and she had given a newer version of the same model to her sister-in-law as a Christmas gift. Moffat would have liked to speak to Wade Gillis but he knew he was in Tahoe working on the installation of plumbing on a casino expansion and would not return until Sunday. Gillis had contacted Mrs. Grubb about leaving town and she had relayed Moffat’s answer that it would be all right. Instead, Moffat phoned Gillis’s home and had Aaron write a note for his uncle to phone him.
Aaron seemed in excellent spirits. Moffat asked how he was doing. The boy replied he was fine and added he would return to school on Monday. “I’ll bet they’ll all be glad to see me,” he said with a slight chuckle.
Courageous kid, Moffat thought. Moffat wished Aaron well and reminded him to call if he had any problems. What kind of problems was left unsaid.
Moffat turned to Mrs. Grubb. He told her the story of Veronica Gillis’ ten-year-old abortive concealed weapons charge - the one mentioned by Donna Ferguson - and asked her to see if she could track down the officer in the story. This would have occurred a few years before her arrival in the county, but Mrs. Grubb thought the suggestion of high level pressure to drop the charges might make it stand out in people’s memories. She promised to find the man.
Moffat then turned his attention to the Pane/Franke tangent of the Gillis investigation. He smiled to himself, feeling a little guilty for going deeper into the minor mystery of Franke’s last minute change of beneficiaries. The Panes and Franke were all interviewed as part of the Gillis investigation, but there was no indication that the relationship between them had anything to do with Gillis. Still, he might be surprised and he did want to be able to tell Franke’s niece he had checked into it.
Moffat always found it remarkable how a look into just about anyone’s life could turn up fascinating bits of drama and mystery. Reverend and Mrs. Pane’s sudden legacy seemed to be made of equal parts greed, faith and probably undue influence of a caregiver over a drugged, dying man, but there was something more, his intuition told him. Moffat had before him on the desk a background check on all three, the Ledger Dispatch 1974 article on Franke when he campaigned for the state legislature and his recent obituary in that newspaper. Moffat wondered how De la Peña had managed to gather this information, given his activity on the Davies/Price task force. Then he noticed a scrawl of purple ink on the bottom corner of some of the pages in the folder, an indication of Mrs. Grubb’s work.
Mrs. Pane was eight years older than her husband, Moffat observed. He looked at least ten years older. He served in Vietnam before Bible college and was a army combat veteran. They had three grown children. They had moved from church to church for some years then arrived at the historic Miner’s Flat church in 1992. Neither had a record with law-enforcement agencies.
Franke’s birth date, according to the background check, was May 8, 1930, the same that his niece’s husband had read to her over the phone, the one she had given to the obituary writer. In the 1974 article Franke was described as a highly decorated World War II veteran and was said to be fifty-two. His military record was incomplete. It had been impossible for the researcher to determine his induction date. He had multiple decorations and commendations during active service and reserve duty but, contrary to the assertion in 1974 article repeated in the obituary, there was no evidence he had ever earned a Purple Heart or a Bronze Star. The 1930 birth date effectively ruled out service in World War II. Tellingly, his social security benefits had been based on the later date.
Gradually, Moffat formed a theory to explain Franke’s bequest. He phoned Martha Pane, reaching her at home in her kitchen.
“Are you free this afternoon, Mrs. Pane? About 1:30? I’d like to meet you at the coffee shop.”
Mrs. Pane seemed pleased by the prospect of seeing Moffat again. Interesting, Moffat thought. I wonder if she’ll be disappointed when the Sergeant doesn’t show up with me.
“Oh, Captain,” Mrs. Pane said. “I’m not sure if my husband can make it. I won’t see him at lunch. I’ll have to call. Can I tell you after I get a hold of him?”
“Actually, Mrs. Pane, I would prefer to speak to you alone.”
“Well…I’m not sure.”
“Is there any reason you would not want to talk to me without your husband present?”
“No, not really.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you there at 1:30.”
“OK. Yes, I’ll see you.”
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 39
“Twelve more schnauzers in two hours. Not bad.”
Duncan and Fat’s morning interviews brought them in the vicinity of a small business park ten minutes north of Segovia. Fat turned onto the road leading to the back row of a network of small single story buildings, parking in front of the lobby of DoggieAncestry.com.
“Not too impressive,” Duncan commented. “You think this is the place that’s going to solve our missing persons cases?”
“It would be something if we could identify the dogs whose DNA was on the envelope and the hair at the crime scene.”
Duncan tilted her head at her partner with a look that said she thought he was dreaming.
“I know,” he said. “But we’ve gone this far. We might as well finish.”
Fat opened the trunk. He pulled out a large cardboard box half full of plastic bags, tagged with identification and containing swab sticks with the saliva samples they had taken yesterday. Duncan dumped the twelve they had collected this morning into the box, then held the glass entry door for Fat as he walked into the empty reception area with the samples. Fat nodded to the inner door. Duncan opened it and followed Fat into a large, modern and clean laboratory.
A fit-looking man in his late thirties greeted them. “Welcome, Officer Fat. It’s good to see you again. You’ve brought me more samples to test. Let’s hope we find the perp before I go bankrupt.” He laughed, his gaze fixed on Jane Duncan.
Fat introduced Duncan to Jake Amladi, the company founder.
“Do you have time to watch us test one of your samples?” Amladi said, looking at Duncan, who made no indication she would reply.
Fat answered. “Oh, man, I wish we could. We have to get back on the road. Promise me you’ll show me around when we finish the search, OK?”
“You got it, Brandon.”
Fat stood, staring longingly at the equipment and two white-coated technicians, both Asian, a young man and a young woman. Duncan gripped his upper arm and pulled him gently to the exit.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 40
It was the first event of it’s kind in Miner’s Flat High School’s fourteen-year history. The student body, faculty and administrative staff filled the stands of the gymnasium for a mandatory assembly. On a portable wooden stage extending from just under the scoreboard and basketball hoop to the free throw line the new vice principal, current and past presidents of the PTA, and faculty department chairs were seated.
The Principal, County Executive George Doyle and Police Chief Dennis Halvorsen (in dress uniform) stood, looking out at
the students, searching their faces, making eye contact and attempting to establish a connection with the audience they would soon address. The three men wore grave expressions that showed the seriousness of their subject. The pep band filled three rows of five folding chairs just below the stage. Incongruously, the band played the school’s fight song, although at a slower pace than that used at sporting events. The band director signaled an end just as the last students took their places.
Julie Chancellor - undercover police officer Cristina Melanakos - sat at mid court to the left of a group of twenty students who made up the highest status members of the junior and senior classes - status conferred on them by looks, athletic ability and/or parental finances. Scott Conti qualified on all three criteria. He greeted Julie with a warm smile then took a seat on the courtside bench. He nodded without smiling at the male members of the clique. Then, looking convincingly like a model student leader, he turned his attention to the speakers.
The principal, a tall, large man with a fringe of black hair around a bald top, would speak first. He felt a mixture of emotions, not visible outwardly. He tried to ignore the band but it was loud and irritating. Eric Whyte, age 41, had served three years at the head of the newest and fastest growing high school in the district but this week he feared his career might be coming to a sudden, humiliating end. He felt like he had been manhandled by events…people in power…the system in general. Whyte was uncomfortable with the strangeness of this assembly and the suddenness with which it had been forced upon him. A few conversations among an eighty-year old judge, the district attorney, the senior member of the school board and a consensus was reached. He was part of it but felt no control over it. Strings had been pulled, subtly, almost imperceptibly and he didn’t really know who was responsible. Now he felt like a puppet up on the stage this morning. He was sick in the pit of his stomach, thinking about the liability, his own and the school’s. What happened Monday could have sent him on a path to a middle school vice principalship. Maybe it still would. Scapegoats had been chosen, he told himself. They had deserved the blame for letting this get out of control. He was irritated with them for that. He was annoyed that the perpetrator was getting away without punishment. We’ll see about that. Fear for his career prompted him to recognize that letting Jamison off the hook, downplaying the significance of the event, was the best strategy. Well, no one was hurt. There was no media attention, just a brief two paragraphs in the local paper. He had quashed the plans for a story in the student newspaper. The faculty advisor didn’t argue much. She was quick to understand what was better for herself and the school. After being pushed around for three days, Whyte had enjoyed that small exercise of power.
This was so typical of this place, Principal Whyte thought. Of course, it was all for the greater good, I guess. The music came to an end. Whyte looked out again upon his assembled students. As he walked to the microphone, the negative feeling drained away. He was about to deliver the “party line” but, in the end, he did agree with it. He had reached acceptance and was feeling upbeat and energetic when he began speaking to “his kids.”
This school-wide assembly was being held to address the serious problem of bullying and harassment, Whyte announced. Miner’s Flat High School was having an intervention. These distinguished visitors are here to help us address our problem. To Officer Melanakos’ surprise, he made only passing reference to the “unfortunate incident” of Monday. The young audience seemed to accept that as appropriate and listened intently.
Lowering the pitch of his voice for added effect, the principal said “Students, bullying of any kind and in particular harassment based on race, religion, disability, gender or sexual orientation is so last millennium.” Whyte’s use of an outdated expression provoked groans from the stands followed by a growing wave of laughter. After a momentary flash of confusion and embarrassment, the principal, with the improvisation skills of an experienced educator, smiled, gave a salute then held up his hands, palms out and signaled for quiet.
Mrs. Patterson, the School Board President, had thought the event strange but Whyte’s calm approach made her think that this is the way it should be handled. Speaking next, she described the California Student Safety and Violence Prevention Act of 2000 and quoted California Board of Education policies defining bullying. Directing her comments forcefully to the faculty, she underscored the responsibility of teachers in reporting bullying and harassment. She mentioned unfortunate but necessary personnel actions for failure to comply with the regulations. (Word that Mrs. McKeon and a counselor had been fired and the assistant principal demoted had raced through the campus two hours earlier.)
County Executive George Doyle spoke next, focusing on diversity.
“When the parents of my friend Chief Halvorsen were married in the state of Virginia in 1940, their marriage was in fact illegal because a black person and a white person were prohibited from marrying. This confirmed what I have always believed through years of close personal association that the Chief is in fact, uh…well, now that’s inappropriate, now that I think of it. Anyway, every young person deserves to be able to get an education in an environment free of harassment and bullying. It is the law and it’s the right thing. We want for each other what we want for ourselves - the opportunity to get the most out of life, to thrive, that is. None of us can truly do our best while any of us is being held down by intolerance.”
The students, prodded by the teachers began to applaud, at first timidly and then boisterously with shouts of agreement. Doyle had planned to say more but decided to quit on a high note and handed the microphone to Chief Halvorsen.
The policeman explained to the students that while name-calling and other verbal harassment were violations of the state education code, physical contact, threats and any kind of violence were misdemeanors or felonies. Any reports coming to the police would be investigated and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Halvorsen’s jurisdiction would have zero tolerance for these kinds of behaviors.
The principal thanked Halvorsen, then introduced the school’s head coach. Swept up in the mood of the moment, the coach announced that bullying would not be tolerated on any of the school’s athletic teams and in physical education classes.
“We’re up against bigger schools in our league, kids. We need to get the best out of each and every one to succeed. Some of our best players may be…um…different in sexual orientation. We couldn’t have won the division championship without one of them.”
There was a collective gasp in the gymnasium. The coach had inadvertently outed last year’s star forward of the basketball team. It was the only championship-winning team in years and there was only one star. He had carried the team to the title and earned a full scholarship to Brigham Young University.
The principal took this moment to slap the coach on the back and take the microphone. He asked for quiet and then said “That’s the message we have for you to take today. We’re counting on all of you to dedicate yourselves to creating the kind of school we can be proud of, where we celebrate our diversity and support each other without regard to our race, religion, orientation or any other human characteristic.”
He thanked the students. They applauded and the band began to play the MFHS alma mater, a rather Latin version of Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique.
Thank god that’s over. This was the feeling shared by the presenters at the assembly as the music started. Each one would identify a different, most “cringe-inducing” moment, rating the others’ gaffes much higher than their own, but each was surprised that they had been able to carry it off. Somehow the school and the school board were going to get away with it. No lawsuits, firings - other than the scapegoats - or interference from the outside.
Officer Melanakos, looking around at the students gathering their possessions and moving slowly to the exits, would agree with them. In spite of the fact that these older people were completely out of touch, they seemed to have put the issue to bed. Julie Chancellor heard S
cott Conti call her name. He pushed his way through the crowd and then, attempting to sound casual, suggested she join his group for lunch.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 41
Tashara arrived at the winery at eleven thirty. Parking in the back, she pulled a large canvas bag over her shoulder and walked in through the loading dock. At this stage of pregnancy, she drew a lot of attention and smiles from the eight workers scattered among the vats, barrels and bottling equipment. She pushed through an inner door, walked past a glass-walled room resembling a small college chemistry lab then another room that was, in fact, a kitchen before entering an open office area. Kim McLean sat at a desk empty except for a computer monitor.
“How’s the accountant? Tashara whispered as she reached McLean’s workspace.
“Hi, I’m glad to see you. I was getting bored. McLean led Tashara to a private, windowless office at the far wall. She pointed to the nameplate.
“VP’s on vacation. We can use his office. She flipped on the light and closed the door behind Tashara. The women sat at a round office table. A combination television/video cassette recorder was on the table, plugged in, the screen a uniform blue with white letters showing the time of day and a counter reading “00:00.”
Tashara removed two cassettes from her bag and placed one in the machine. She looked around for the remote then passed it to McLean.
“There are a eight hours to watch before you show up. Let’s see who comes and goes.”
They watched an empty shop for half a minute. McLean pushed the fast forward button and they watched the view of the shop at eight times normal speed. Several customers appeared on the screen. All were women, some with children. None were of interest to the two officers.
About twelve thirty there were three gentle taps on the door. McLean stood, stopped the tape and opened the door. She was surprised at the interruption. A young woman, in turn surprised by McLean’s and Tashara’s reaction, stuttered briefly then invited them to join the employees at lunch.
Nothing Done in Secret Page 21
