“We’re having Weird Wine Friday. We put the bottles in brown bags then try to identify the grape and the vintner.” Seeing Tashara’s condition she added, “We have cheese, sandwiches and soft drinks too.”
“Why not?” McLean said. “We can finish this afterwards. I’m not going anywhere. Maybe I’ll have a glass of wine with my lunch.”
“You’re lucky.” Tashara said. “Can we drag this out until I deliver little Petunia here?” She patted her abdomen. “Then we’ll both have a few glasses and Jason can drive us home.”
* * *
The winery employees were curious about Tashara and McLean but accepted the vague explanation that they were county employees involved in a tourism development project. Sandwiches had been delivered on a wide stainless steel tray, but the cheeses were specially selected and were being cut into cubes by two employees in spotless aprons while the oenologist, by himself in the corner, opened six bottles of wine and slid them into brown bags.
Along with the employees, McLean sampled each of the wines during the next forty-five minutes. Though unknown to her at the time, she started with Sauvignon Blanc followed with Semillon and two Zinfandels, sampling the wines with a cheese, fruit or cracker recommended by the winemaker. To go with McLean’s sliced turkey and smoked Gouda on a seven grain sourdough roll, the winemaker suggested a Riesling would taste best and poured her a large glass. Whether it was the power of suggestion or real science, McLean agreed with his choice. She finished her meal with a tiny sample of port and dark chocolate. Tashara ate the cheese and a serving of pasta salad with bottled water and also enjoyed sampling the aroma of each wine her fellow officer tasted.
“That was very nice, thank you,” McLean said to the others. She stood and asked Tashara if she was up for a stroll before they returned to their work. They walked out the opposite door of the kitchen, intending to exit the building through the tasting room in front. As they proceeded through the far side of the office area, Tashara grabbed McLean’s arm and pointed to the window. A small brown subcompact passed slowly by the side of the building on the way to the back.
“Kim, run out and see if you can get a number,” Tashara shouted. “Don’t let him see you.”
McLean ran down the hall, pushed through the door to the production area and made it to the open loading dock in time to see a Nissan identical to the one that had been behind her on the way to work. The driver had apparently turned in the front row of parked cars, ignoring the painted arrow on the asphalt pointing the opposite direction. When she saw him he was moving quickly through the second, mostly empty, row back to the driveway. She could not see the plate. Seconds later, the car drove by the side window again, where Tashara glimpsed the plate and read the letters “P”, “O”, and “K”. She could not see the driver.
McLean ran back to the office. Tashara looked at her with an odd expression that combined excitement and unease. “I think we can believe he knows where you work now.”
“It was the same car, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. I caught a partial on the plate. It was the same car. Did you see the driver’s face?”
“No. He was away from me when he drove by.”
McLean was breathing heavily and her face flushed from the rush from and to the office. Tashara found her own heart was racing from the excitement of seeing the car.
“Whew,” she said, fanning her face. “I got myself worked up.” McLean took her arm by the elbow and the two women returned to the empty office and videos.
McLean and Tashara made a second discovery of possible importance that day. Soon after they returned to the task of studying the surveillance tapes, after they phoned Peake with the news about the Sentra, Tashara pointed to an image of the television screen of a tall man with broad shoulders and gray hair. The tape counter corresponded with four o’clock, Thursday, nearly an hour before McLean’s arrival.
“That man stands out, Kim. Other than those three guys in the morning who look like day laborers, he’s the only man we’ve seen and he’s the only older person who’s been there.”
McLean stared at the image on the screen. She resumed the fast-forwarding of the tape at a slower speed. He had a small load of laundry but didn’t immediately place it in a washer. He remained seated with a magazine for a half hour. A few minutes later, they saw McLean’s entrance. It was not possible to determine if the man paid any undue attention. Then, at the point when McLean moved her clothes out of the dryer, the tape showed this man walk behind her, follow her to the counter and look over her shoulder. He put a second coin in a dryer with his own clothes then returned to his seat. Later, when McLean loaded her laundry basket into her car in front of the shop, the man appeared to be watching her. He left about five minutes later.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 42
At 1:33, Moffat pushed open the glass door and walked into the Miner’s Flat Coffee Shop. Martha Pane was waiting for him, seated on a red vinyl covered bench in the small entryway, her hands folded in her lap. Seeing Moffat, her face lit up with a warm smile and her eyes fixed upon him excitedly.
“Hello, Mrs. Pane. Thank you for meeting me.”
Before she could reply, Donna Ferguson greeted Moffat and moving from behind him, wrapped her arm around his. She led Moffat to the empty room of tables on the left. Mrs. Pane followed them to a booth on the far wall; close enough to the front window to be well illuminated in the otherwise darkened room.
“I’ll be right back with two coffees and cream.”
Mrs. Pane wore a white dress with a pattern of bright bouquets of maroon flowers and green leaves. A string of large, imitation pearls decorated her neck. Moffat could smell perfume and noticed that she wore a small amount of make up.
“How is your investigation coming along, Captain? You have no idea how upsetting this is for the whole town. I can’t imagine who could have done it. Such evil. And then…” Her voice trailed off when Donna neared the booth with the coffee. Mrs. Pane smiled sweetly at Moffat and then Donna. “Thanks Mrs. Ferguson, this smells delicious.”
Donna acknowledged Mrs. Pane then moved her head in Moffat’s direction saying, “This should be a nice quiet spot for you two to talk, Captain. I’ll keep this section closed until five. No one will bother you.”
With Donna’s steps moving away, Pane resumed talking. “And then with the terrible trouble at the high school just four days later…we can barely think straight. How could that boy be released after what he tried to do? It’s a miracle children weren’t killed. It’s no surprise, though. From what I hear, that family hasn’t stepped into a church in thirty years. The boy’s mother running wild. I don’t know the boy but I hear he was quite strange. The people that need church the most are the hardest to reach.”
She smiled at Moffat again, brought her cup to her lips with both hands and took a sip.
“I have arrested plenty of people who went to church, Mrs. Pane.”
“True. True. Christians aren’t perfect. We never forget that and we don’t judge others. I just wish we could reach more people. Anyway, Captain Moffat, it’s hard to believe the trouble at school wasn’t related to the murder, him being her nephew and all.”
“Well, I have to keep an open mind.”
“Yes. I would think so. And now people say that her husband has left town. I heard he left with a woman. I wouldn’t know, myself.” She nodded to Moffat, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t the police tell the suspects not to leave town?”
“We’re aware of Mr. Gillis’ whereabouts.”
“That’s good.” She laughed and said, “You don’t need this old busybody to help solve your case.”
“No, we appreciate the cooperation of the public. It’s the most important factor in controlling crime. I do have a few questions for you today, Mrs. Pane.”
“Well…Yes, I’ll be happy to answer anything I can. I don’t know what more I can tell you.”
She doesn’t have any idea what I’m about to ask, Moffat thought. Good, tha
t’s the way I prefer it, he said to himself, then thought he shouldn’t be so smug.
“Did Mr. Franke talk much in the weeks before he died?”
Mrs. Pane looked confused. “No. Not really. He was in a lot of pain and he was medicated. He would tell you what he needed. I wouldn’t say he talked much, no.”
“What did he talk about during those times?”
She was at a loss for words. “Umm…well, as I said, he would ask for food or drink. Sometimes he would ask for the newspaper or the television remote.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Mrs. Pane, I want you to think carefully. This could be important. Did Major Franke talk about his military record at any time?” Moffat looked directly into Mrs. Pane’s eyes. She froze, holding his gaze, then her shoulders relaxed.
“Yes. I didn’t want to betray a confidence. He did talk about it. He had some regrets.”
“Did Franke lie about having served in combat in World War II?”
“Yes. He told me that the war was nearly over before he was old enough to enlist and he never left the United States.”
“And so he lied about the Bronze Medal and the Purple Heart?”
“Yes. That bothered him most of all. He said he had begun to exaggerate and it took on a life of its own. His marriage and his business career were tied to this picture of him as a hero and he felt he couldn’t put an end to it.”
“You felt sympathy for him?”
“Yes. I’d known him many years. He was a member of the church. I know it was very painful for him and he regretted it.”
“Did you tell your husband about Franke’s admission?”
Her mouth dropped slightly. Moffat sensed the desire to mislead seize his subject. She said nothing for several seconds then said, “Yes. I did mention it.”
“Did your husband talk to Mr. Franke after that?”
“He might have. I’m not sure.”
“Did Reverend Pane visit Mr. Franke after you told him about the lies about his military record?”
“Yes.”
“But you say he and Franke didn’t talk about this subject?”
“You would have to ask my husband.” Mrs. Pane was flustered now, and clearly unhappy.
“It was after that that Mr. Franke changed his insurance beneficiary form, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Moffat watched Mrs. Pane. She didn’t move, staring at him with a pained expression. “Your husband really was a combat veteran. His military record is one of great courage. He earned his medals. It must have galled him to contemplate Franke’s lifetime of lies. Did he demand that Franke do this, to make up for stealing the admiration and respect due to real heroes? Did your husband use this to get Franke to give you the money?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she said with emotion but without tears. “We needed that money to save our home. We prayed and prayed and this was the answer.” She seemed to regain some confidence. “Besides, it seemed to do him good. For a few days after my husband spoke to him, he seemed at peace. I think it healed his heart to confess this and then find a way to make amends.”
“Why did Franke name your husband as the beneficiary rather than the church?”
“If it had gone to the church, we couldn’t have kept it…what with the jury’s award on the lawsuit. We’d never have seen any of that money.”
Moffat nodded. Then he thought to follow up on something Pane had said.
“You mentioned Mr. Franke seemed at peace for just ‘a few days’ after you and your husband spoke with him. What happened after that?”
“I don’t know but he became very agitated suddenly, even fearful. He was like that until a few days before he died.” Mrs. Pane dropped her head and said in a soft voice “Maybe it didn’t really bring him peace of mind after all. But we really need that money and God wants us to have it.”
Moffat said nothing for several seconds.
“Captain Moffat, if you don’t have any other questions, I do have to get back to my work. Thank you for the coffee.”
She stood, smoothed her dress with both hands and walked to the exit, making a visible effort to hold her head up.
Moffat stared at the empty bench across the table for several minutes, in deep concentration. Interesting, he thought, that even with the financial windfall, the Panes’ would still have lost their home and their church if Veronica Gillis pursued her plans to develop the property to which she held title. What will happen now?
“Any more coffee, Captain?” Donna had appeared next to him.
“No thank you. Could I have my check please?”
“It’s on the house. We like having you here. Tall, distinguished, nice suits. You dress up the place.”
Moffat laughed. “Thank you.”
“Where was your young Sergeant today. He promised to come in days ago for some butterscotch pie.”
Moffat held his smile. “He’s on another assignment. But I’ll tell him about the pie.” Yesterday blackberry, today butterscotch…poor De la Pena, Moffat thought. Then another thought occurred to him. “Donna, what are the rumors in town about Wade Gillis?”
“Nothing really. He stopped for coffee the other day on his way to Tahoe. He has a job up there.”
“No rumors about him leaving with someone else? A woman maybe?”
“Nobody has said anything like that. Captain, if people are talking about something in Miner’s Flat, I hear about it. We get more news here than the Ledger Dispatch ever hopes to. Gillis is a big tough guy, but he’s suffering for the loss of his wife. He won’t be ready to see another woman for a long time.”
Moffat thanked her and left. As he traced the steps to his car, he heard Mrs. Pane’s words: “I can’t imagine who could have done it.” Right, Mrs. Pane. That’s why you were so determined to suggest it might have been Wade Gillis or Aaron. I think you’ve imagined that your husband killed Veronica Gillis.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 43
“Well, I’m expecting a police captain but that can’t be you. Too skinny to be an old cop.” A tall, large middle-aged man laughed; turning from the horse whose saddle he was adjusting to shake Moffat’s hand.
“I’m an old cop all right - Alexander Moffat. I’m glad to meet you Sergeant Grant. My administrative assistant Mrs. Grubb said you might have some information for me. ”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll continue my work while we talk, Captain. I have to catch up with them in a few minutes.” He pointed to a train of riders on horses on a trail through the two-foot tall grass toward hills beyond.
“I don’t want to hold you up Sergeant. I can talk to you later if this is a bad time.”
“No, don’t worry. My nephew is leading that group. At the pace he’s taking them, I’ll catch up in no time. A bunch of computer people on a corporate team-building retreat. We take it slow with them. Can’t take any chances. They’re the ones who make the computer toys your grandkids will ask for next Christmas.” He laughed adding, “They’re half drunk already.”
Moffat took in the sprawling ranch house, new barn and stable with fenced pasture beyond. “It’s a beautiful place. How big is it?”
“Just what you see here by the road. A perfect set up. Our land ends where the trail leads off to the hills. That’s national forest land. You can ride for twenty miles, clear up into the pines without seeing a house or a road. It’s perfect for a horseback riding business.”
The smell of the horses and saddle leather took Moffat back to family camping trips in the Sierra Nevada. Every summer his parents, siblings, aunt, uncle and cousins camped for days of hiking, swimming and horseback riding.
“What can I help you with, Captain?”
“The Veronica Gillis case. We don’t have a lot to go on. I heard you had an encounter with her about ten years ago. I’m hoping you can tell me about the gun she had in her car.”
“What a shock that was. Local businesswoman shot just as she
was about to dig up half of Old Town. You must have about eleven hundred suspects. Two blocks from the town square and not a single witness, isn’t that true?”
“Fairly close. Sergeant, I heard that you picked up Gillis on a concealed weapons violation.”
“No record is there?”
“None.”
“It was more than ten years ago. I think closer to twenty.”
Moffat nodded, taking notes. “Is there any way you can narrow down the timing?”
Grant rubbed his chin, the white stubble creating a rasping sound. “Let me think.” He was silent for about twenty seconds then clapped his hands once. “Yes, I can. I bought a house a year later. Ronnie sold it to me. That was in the summer of 1990. So I met her the first time in ’89.”
“Would you tell me everything you can remember?”
“Sure. I have a good recollection of the whole fiasco. I was patrolling one of the old neighborhoods in Segovia. I was on the police force, that was before we merged with the Sheriff’s Department. Of all things, she was parked in front of a fire hydrant. It was a warm afternoon and that was the shadiest place. I pulled up behind her. She was driving a white convertible Lincoln. I got out just to tell her to move the car. As I walked up I could see she was going through her purse looking for something. While she was digging around, she pulled a handgun out, set it on the dash then kept searching. I couldn’t ignore that. She smarted off some. I brought her into the station. Then all Hell broke loose. The Chief of Police suggested I should find better things to do than harass one of the county’s most prominent citizens from one of it’s wealthiest families. I ended up driving her back to her car and apologizing. The whole thing was over three hours after it started.”
“That doesn’t seem right. Weren’t you just a bit annoyed?”
“Only at first. It was embarrassing to have to apologize but then she cut it short and wanted to talk about real estate. A few months later, she and my wife were out house hunting. She got us a great deal. Then, a few years before I retired, she found this ranch for us and helped us get the financing. That was the most rewarding apology I ever had to make. When we started up the stables, Ronnie even managed to steer a lot of corporate business our way.”
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