Nothing Done in Secret

by Scott Edwards

  Moffat nodded.

  Moffat left Duncan and De la Peña in the barn and walked back to the cluster of parked vehicles near the garage. Channel 11’s camerapersons had collected the footage their editor would need for the story and now the reporter required a few words from Moffat.

  “Yes, Constance. This site has been linked to some of the crimes we believe were committed by the fugitive. We do not yet have a name. The police appreciate your cooperation in informing the public and again we ask anyone who recognizes the man in the video or this ranch to phone our hotline immediately.”

  The morning’s search yielded no identification, no documents, nothing that would give them a name. After Moffat finished his interview, De la Peña told Fat to remain while the forensic investigators dusted the house for fingerprints and to greet the Animal Control Officers who would take charge of the hungry dogs. He, Moffat and Duncan returned to the police station.

  * * *

  Sergeant Clark sent Duncan out on patrol in the west county with barely a five-minute bathroom break. Moffat met Mrs. Grubb at the Communication Center and asked her to go to the Forensics Lab where she would phone him as soon as there were any results. Standing in the Center amidst the conversations of manhunt operations management, Moffat and De la Peña briefly considered working on the Gillis investigation but admitted their minds would be on the hunt for the fugitive and the DNA testing of the toiletries from the farmhouse. De la Peña caught up with Sergeant Clark and volunteered to help. Clark assigned him to coordinate reporting from the Forest Service and the Highway Patrol. This kept De la Peña fully occupied so that when Fat called he was unable to answer. Moffat took the call. The Forensics investigators at the site had failed to locate even a single clear fingerprint in the house and were now moving on to the garage, then barn and kennels. Fat told Moffat that two uniformed officers would be guarding the site through tomorrow at least and asked if he could leave to join the manhunt. Moffat agreed and notified Clark that Fat was free for an assignment.

  For himself, Moffat decided to remain at the station rather than return to his office a block away. He walked to the desk in the corner of the empty Team Center, sat down, opened his notebook and, with his pen in his right hand and chin in his left, stared off into space. With results now in from both the schnauzer and the decoy operations, Moffat realized that his involvement in the cases grouped together under the name Davies/Price ought now to be coming to an end. He hoped the police would soon identify and apprehend the suspect but he didn’t think he had more to offer in that effort. With that, Moffat determined he would turn his attention firmly to the Gillis case. Later in the day he would pull De la Peña back to work it with him. He had just begun to reacquaint himself with facts of that case when the call came from Mrs. Grubb.

  “Come to the Communication Center in fifteen minutes. Lisa has the results. She’s just finishing her report. She says she has something.”

  ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER 60

  Word of news reached the Chief as well. He rejoined Moffat and Captain Hughes at 1:30 to wait for Medical Examiner and Director of Forensics Services Lisa McDonald in the conference room where the morning briefing had been held. De la Peña turned his headphones over to another officer just in time to walk with Mrs. Grubb and Dr. McDonald through the Center to the doorway of the conference room.

  “Gentlemen and lady,” Dr. McDonald began, sounding like a good-natured college professor, “I have some interesting information for you. We collected excellent samples from the toothbrush, hairbrush and razor. All belonged to a Caucasian male and just as you suspected, Alex, he is the same person who left his blood in the Sentra yesterday.”

  De la Peña exhaled with force. “That’s it then.”

  “Good work.” The Chief slapped Moffat on the back.

  Moffat pulled his copy of De la Peña’s spread sheet from his notebook. He moved his finger down the last column on the right where he had penned notes in blue ink. “We now have a clear path linking the 1975 rape, 1989 missing person, 1998 missing person and Price, the missing person from 2003. By the suspect’s description we can add the 1973 indecent exposure and the 1982 stalking. And I am very confident that most if not all of four other missing persons as well as the attack on Nicole Davies were committed by this man.”

  “Very impressive, Captain,” Hughes told Moffat, smiling. “Now, if I can just manage to catch this guy, we’ll have Segovia P.D.’s most productive week ever.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s right,” Chief Halvorsen said, his mood suddenly shifting. “Let’s get back to work. Somebody out there has to see this guy soon.”

  * * *

  Moffat and De la Peña walked out together.

  “Is there anything you have for me the rest of the day, Captain?”

  A quick glance at his Sergeant’s face told Moffat that De la Peña had something he wanted to do.

  “I’m going back on the Gillis case. I can get by without you today if you have something else.”

  “They need someone on the helicopter search until sunset. I thought it would give me a chance to learn the terrain and roads here.”

  Moffat nodded, a slight smile modifying his otherwise serious expression.

  De la Peña laughed. “Oh, yeah. We are talking about riding in a helicopter.”

  “All right. See you in our office tomorrow morning at eight.”

  ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER 61

  Forty minutes later Moffat was alone at his desk in the Brannan building, a chicken salad sandwich on a piece of waxed paper and a paper cup of coffee on his left, his open notebook in front of him. He was determined to finally turn his attention back to the Gillis investigation. He took his pen, placed its point on the blank page, then remained frozen for several minutes. In the privacy of the empty office, Moffat’s face began to reflect his changing thoughts - doubt, uncertainty, suspicion, disbelief and confusion. These thoughts found their way to the paper, unedited, flowing freely in a solitary brainstorming session.

  * * *

  What was I planning yesterday before Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride? Investigate Franke’s love life. Get gossip from Donna. Where are we with case? Two homicides - one in Miner’s Flat, one in Segovia - separated by 36 years but linked by murder weapon and name Lewis Franke. In recent case, Frank seemed to have most peripheral of roles, dying man, house happened to overlook murder scene. In 1970, though, was in the prime of life. Employed the victim and, when her body discovered, reported as missing several items he had apparently removed from site, and, at some point, stored in his home. Lied to his friends and neighbors about his war record. Lied to the police about murder, very effectively creating false motive for crime, sending investigators in wrong direction. Last days of life, told at least two people of remorse about falsified war record. Shared another secret before he died, but, because of clergyman’s privilege, we can’t find out what it is. Possible other route to this secret? Still, hard to imagine knowing will lead to killer of Veronica Gillis.

  Moffat paused to re-read the last six sentences. He considered an option.

  Could ask Catherine Martius if Franke said anything to her about phony war record or 1970 murder. Of course, after grilling I gave her daughter about her phone call, couldn’t expect much cooperation. Plus, Franke was her friend. She might not want to say anything that would harm his reputation.

  What about Catherine’s daughter? Cheryl was teenager in 1970, involved in some kind of competition to be cheerleader according to Donna. Probably many other important teenage issues. Can’t see connecting her to the 1970 murder. She’s still in the picture for Veronica Gillis, though. GSR of suit she wore day of the murder turned up negative as did orange sweater Fat brought from her closet. She could have washed them before we picked them up. Of all people interviewed, she’s the one who acts guilty. Acting guilty - that’s a subjective assessment. She did lie though.

  Can’t rule out victim’s mother Lorraine Jamison. Didn’t seem broken up about
her daughter’s death. Not the frail elderly woman I thought she was at first interview. Maybe Lady Smith was hers in 1970. Note: talk to James Rees to see if there is any connection between Mrs. Jamison and Franke.

  Not much else. Last person in contact with Gillis was her architect, by phone. Other than murderer, last persons to see Gillis alive were Mrs. Martius and Mrs. Pane. No, not necessarily true. Believe a four-year old boy saw Gillis on her way to church grounds. Not much help there. Should have interviewed child soon after murder. Of course, considering the last two weeks, can’t blame myself too much for not getting to it. Note: talk to the boy tomorrow.

  * * *

  “All right,” Moffat whispered in the empty room. He examined the pages he had just filled. Good handwriting, he thought. Not much in the way of detective work. He decided to phone Donna Ferguson then head home for the day.

  Donna sounded in a good mood. “How can I help you, Captain?”

  “I was wondering if you could tell me: Did you ever hear of Lewis Franke being involved with other women?”

  Coming from the serious, soft-spoken policeman, it caught Donna by surprise. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Why would you ever need to ask a question like that? Are you starting up a gossip column in the local paper?”

  “I know, it does sound like an odd question to ask about an elderly man right after his death but it may help me understand the background of some matters I’m investigating. I wouldn’t ask anyone close to him but I thought you might have heard something and wouldn’t mind telling me.”

  “Strictly professional interest then?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Well, don’t even think there was anything between him and Ronnie. She went after a lot of men but he wasn’t one.” She paused. When Moffat said nothing she added in a more serious tone, “No, Captain, I never heard anything about Major Franke. He was a big wheel around here before he retired. Belonged to every volunteer organization, on every committee. His picture was in the paper all the time. His wife was always with him. She worked in his office even.”

  “Would you say they seemed to have a happy marriage?”

  “Yes, as far as I ever knew. One thing, she never seemed as impressed with him as the rest of the town was…well, people my parents’ age. They always acted like he was a VIP, calling him Major. Not her, though. I guess you can’t be a hero to someone who lives with you. You never really know about someone else’s marriage, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Captain?”

  “Yes?”

  “Maybe if you told me what you’re investigating, I could be of more help. That and the fact I’m dying to know.”

  “Are you free tomorrow morning, about seven-thirty?”

  “I’ll be right here,” she said cheerily.

  “We’ll see you then.”

  Moffat left a voice message for De la Peña saying he would pick him up at seven and they would have breakfast at the Miner’s Flat Café. He recorded a second voice message for Mrs. Grubb to tell her of his plans and ask her to go to the Ledger Dispatch building in the morning. She should speak directly to Raymond Sato and ask for access to papers from July 1969 to June, 1970. She would copy stories on the robbery, the victim’s funeral and obituary, the Selective Service office in Segovia and local antiwar demonstrations.

  ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER 62

  Friday, May 26

  “I’d like to speak to Captain Moffat.” A man in his late fifties with reddish blonde and gray hair combed straight back presented himself to the desk sergeant at Segovia Police Headquarters at 6:00 a.m. “I have information about the man he’s searching for. I saw Captain Moffat on TV yesterday and I drove all night to get here.”

  The Sergeant looked him over. The first glance answered the most important question. This was not the suspect. He was the right age but wrong height and hair color. The man had excellent posture and an air of authority but also seemed to be genuinely good-natured and sociable. The Sergeant glanced at the electronic display of the Brannan Building’s security monitors. Someone had deactivated the alarms at the front door and the Crimes Against Persons Office. “The Captain may be in his office already; if not he’ll be in soon. I’ll have an officer take you there.”

  Melissa Peake was the first to answer the phone so she drew the task of escorting retired United States Air Force Master Sergeant Dale Buck to Moffat’s office. She drove a black and white to the front of the station, turned off the engine and jogged up the steps to Reception. Moments later, she walked with the citizen - as she would think of him - back to the car and when she opened the passenger door for him was greeted with a chuckle and a cheery “Thank you, Officer Peake.” Peake became the second member of the Police Department to quickly form a favorable opinion of Dale Buck that day. Back behind the wheel of the police car, she made a quick 180-degree turn and drove the 150 yards to Moffat’s building, parking at the bottom of the wooden stairs.

  They found Moffat alone at his desk; all but two of the office lights were still off. Peake introduced Mr. Buck then, removing her notebook and pen from a soft plastic brief case, she sat beside him across from Moffat and began taking notes.

  “I recognized the farmhouse on cable news last night. It belonged to my grandparents. I used to visit there as a child. Now it belongs to my cousin Wyman Buck, age, uh, fifty four, it would be.” Dale Buck sighed. Beyond his genial disposition, Moffat could see it was painful for him to have this interview about his cousin.

  “When did you last see Wyman, Mr. Buck?”

  “Please call me Dale. I’m not going to want to hear my last name after all this, I bet. It was three weeks ago. We hadn’t been in contact for nearly thirty years but I was passing through here on the way to San Diego at the end of a long road trip in my camper.”

  “So you think your cousin is the man we’re looking for?”

  “Yes, it’s him. I’ve got a picture I took three weeks ago here on my digital camera.” Dale retrieved a small red camera from his pocket. He flipped up the display screen, pressed a button several times then handed it to Moffat “It doesn’t surprise me, that Wyman could be a… oh, man.” Dale paused and rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. “A serial killer. You see, he was really odd starting about when he was a teen-ager. His mother was very strange as well. She had her own bizarre religion. Wyman was home-schooled. He’s been by himself the last thirty years, I guess, out on that ranch. I couldn’t tell that he’d ever had anyone with him since his parents died.”

  Dale Buck described happy childhood memories staying at the farm on summers and holidays. He and his cousin had been close growing up.

  Moffat listened patiently, making occasional notes. When Buck finished Moffat moved quickly to get information he hoped this witness could provide.

  “Dale, thinking back on the time you spent with your cousin as children, did you or he have any places you might hide things?”

  Dale laughed. “You mean like cigarettes and girlie magazines?”

  “Maybe. Anything boys might want to keep out of sight of adults. Or maybe just things for fun and games. Hidden treasure, maybe.”

  “Treasure,” Buck said tentatively. “Yes, we did. We used to read Hardy Boys mysteries. We buried some toy doubloons near a big granite boulder we used to climb on. Then we moved the treasure to a burned out hollow in the roots of an old oak. I haven’t thought about that in years. Do you think he’s hidden something at the farm?”

  “So far, we haven’t found a single document that would show his identity. We’re hoping to find bank statements, vehicle registration records, property tax bills - that sort of thing. Would you come out there and show us any place where you think he might have hidden his personal papers?”

  “Sure. I’ll do anything I can to help, Captain.”

  “Officer Peake,” Moffat said, “Please phone Sergeant De la Peña and tell him there’s been a change in plans. Ask him to come here as soon as he can.”

  * * *r />
  Moffat, De la Peña and Dale Buck climbed into a black and white Chevy Tahoe SUV. Moffat radioed ahead, directing that Wyman Buck’s security gate be unlocked. (The police had padlocked it to prevent access to the farm by sightseers and other non-authorized persons.) De la Peña drove up the road, passing the open gate and came to a stop in the open area between the house and the garage.

  * * *

  At the side of the farmhouse, standing in the shade of a fifty year old Modesto ash, Dale Buck peered toward the edge of the flat area beyond the fenced field around the chicken coops. He moved his eyes slowly along the base of the foothill.

  “Uh, hmm,” were his only sounds. Moffat and De la Peña followed him along the fence. Midway from the buildings to the hill he stopped. “Looks like the old oak tree is long gone, guys. The ground where it was has been plowed and leveled off.”

  “What about the granite boulder?” De la Peña asked.

  Buck looked bewildered. “Maybe one of those is the one I was talking about,” he said pointing beyond the pond. “They all look too small, though.” Then he chuckled. “Of course, I was a lot smaller when we were climbing around up there. But it does all look different.”

  Shielding his eyes from the sun, De la Peña scanned the view. “I guess there have been some changes in thirty years.”

  “Oh, yes. Some obvious ones. The orchard has been shifted some. We were always replacing the older trees with young ones. It looks like he’s cut back some of the orchard to make room for that kennel on the left. Overall, it’s smaller but there seem to be more young trees than they used to have. And the pond has been moved. It used to be in that hollow near the right side of the orchard. Now it’s on the other side of the ridge. It looks like Wyman must have moved a lot of earth to create a mound that holds back the water at the edge of the slope.”

  De la Peña grasped Moffat’s elbow and pulled him gently so that both their backs were turned toward Buck. “Captain, we’ve got seven or more bodies to find. I can’t think of a better place to hide them than buried under an orchard or a pond. What do you think?”