by Mary Deal
“All,” he said, and then chuckled. “We come twice a year.”
“You win anything?”
“No,” he said. His smile faded. “Luni has the fever. I come to make sure he don't lost our house.”
“That's pretty sad, Val. You can't keep him away?”
“My family likes to play too. Two Filipinos we know won big on this game. They live like royalty in the Philippines now.”
Daphine joined them, deciding not to gamble, saying she wasn't in the mood. Fun-loving Daphine couldn't squeeze out a few bills?
They waited too long to make a dinner reservation and scoured the entire facility, but no dining tables were available on October 30th, Pierce's birthday. They settled to celebrate on the 31st.
Just as they sat for dinner, someone recognized Pierce and the acknowledgement threw him into near shock. The woman had recently seen his photo in the newspapers. That was the end of a quiet birthday celebration. Word spread and before they knew it, people came to the table to ask for Pierce's autograph. He signed show tickets, slips of paper, and even a few gambling chips. “This is so weird,” he said.
Then along came the house photographer, taking pictures when people asked to have a photo with a guy who had died and revived.
Sara leaned over and quietly said, “Not the private birthday party I had planned, but happy birthday, Pierce.”
“That's okay, Sara,” he said behind his hand. “I've never been a part of anything like this.” He autographed someone's business card and then leaned back in the padded booth and spread his arms in both directions. “We look like Hollywood types. This is a great birthday.”
Chapter 55
After the long drive home, Sara's energy was spent. For the first time in a long time, she slept the night through. Pierce spent the wee hours on the computer.
Sara drove into Walnut Grove Tuesday morning looking for a new place to have breakfast. She passed the Rasay brothers' store. Construction workers were tearing down the storefront facade, perhaps remodeling. Someone in the Rasay family must have at one time hit it big at Keno.
Just as she passed, she glimpsed a construction worker with tattoos. She knew those markings. Sara found a place to turn around. She could just as well enjoy breakfast at the counter alongside people in coveralls. They were the essence of the Delta. She still needed to find her place among them, despite an invisible expectation that dictated how a rich woman in the valley was supposed to act.
“Hi, Beni,” she said as she reached the front door. “You doing okay?”
He shrugged. “Tearing 'em down, putting 'em up.” He never complained.
#
That evening Sara picked up the dogs and kept them overnight at Clampett Tract. She left for Sacramento before the morning traffic rush. She held vague childhood memories of Sacramento being far away, with lots of flat open farm fields between the Delta and the Capitol. Urban sprawl had taken over years before and claimed the fields.
The animal training area was located in the rear of the Sheriff's Headquarters buildings. To have access to that area, a person needed to pass through the main facility.
Sara was shown through. She and the two pit bulls encountered yet another security checkpoint out back. Steel gates opened into the dogs' training area. Other dogs barked. Choco and Latte pulled against their leashes. Ears went up, noses twitched, and tails dropped, stiff with caution. Beyond the holding kennels stood another fence surrounding a large nearly empty grassy field. Two officers suited in bite-proof gear and a German Shepard in training greeted her.
“They won't test well with you around,” an officer said. “Give us until about four this afternoon.”
Sara remained in Sacramento, purchasing small pieces of furniture and putting delivery on hold. That afternoon, when she returned to retrieve Choco and Latte, an officer directed her to the Lieutenant's office. Sara found him playfully fending off the dogs and laughing. Both dogs crowded in front of him, with front paws on his thighs, licking his face like a couple of bears vying for the greater portion of a honeycomb.
“Choco,” Sara said. “Latte.” That was all that was necessary.
Lt. Quill stood and straightened his clothes. “I'll set up a delivery date. These two can begin with the next training session.”
Sara couldn't put her finger on it, but the Lieutenant again eyed her suspiciously, as if testing her somehow. Johanna must have briefed him about the events happening on her property. She shrugged it off. “Can I watch them train? Maybe, once in a while?”
Lt. Quill stared at her with a look of sympathy. “That's not wise. If they see you, they may fall back into their congenial habits. Could undo everything they're learning,” he said. “If you'd like, I can take your phone number and give you progress reports.”
Sara instinctively glanced at his hand. No wedding ring, and in great shape for his age. Hazel eyes. Had to have nice eyes. Huxley had the best. The Lieutenant looked great in his uniform, a picture of strength. Huxley was strong. She wondered what this officer would look like in street clothes. Huxley looked great with no clothes on at all. She stared at the floor and cleared her wandering thoughts before looking up. “I'm sure I can let go for their well-being,” she said.
“You probably won't be able to see them till after they're fully trained.”
“What will they be taught to do?”
“Cadaver dogs. Our tests point to these dogs having keen noses.”
“Sniffers.” She beamed her approval. Huxley and his group had used…. “I'm glad they won't be trained to be vicious in their work.”
“Sorry, though. You won't be allowed personal time with them afterwards either. They'll have a new master to obey. But there is some good news.”
“Great, let's hear it.”
“These two pups,” the Lieutenant said. He reached down a scratched both their backs. “They can keep your cute names and maybe, just maybe, they'll be able to stay together.”
“Oh, yes, please.”
“A lady who owned a forensic dog we usually used, well, her canine just passed away. I think she'll take both of these.”
“I thought they'd belong to the Sheriff's Department.”
“They will,” he said. “But this woman traveled the country with her dog contracting work with other law enforcement. An officer can't do that. Plus, we don't have that much work locally to keep cadaver dogs active.”
Sara nodded. The news was a great relief. “Knowing these dogs the way I do, they'll be happier if they can stay together.” As she accepted their leashes from the Lieutenant, he moved too close and his hand brushed hers in a most innocent but suggestive manner.
“Think it over,” he said. “If you're too attached, think about what you're giving up.”
“I'll do what's best for the dogs.” As she headed for the door with Choco and Latte in tow, she felt the Lieutenant's eyes following her.
“Don't forget,” he said. “I could keep you posted if you'd like to leave your phone number.”
Chapter 56
The way out was to back track through the main building. The dogs got a lot of stares from other deputies who turned and curiously watched them walk by. Sara kept them short-leashed and navigated the aisles between the desks. She caught sight of Johanna checking and then holstering her pistol. She headed in Johanna's direction.
Choco gave a low growl and pulled hard. Someone must have carried the scent of another dog. Choco growled again. A quick, light backwards and sideways kick that tapped Choco in the rib cage startled him. “S-s-st!” Sara said, looking down into Choco's eyes. He sat quickly, stared back, and maintained eye contact. They held to the stare till Choco's tail stopped moving. Then they proceeded on as Choco remembered his obedience training.
“Hey,” Johanna said as she petted both dogs. They eagerly sat at her feet as if waiting for a treat. “You gonna do it?” She sat down and continued to play with them as they panted and drooled on her uniform sleeve.
Snapshots
of both women and men hung on the wall in the row between Johanna's desk and those of other deputies. Names and dates accompanied each picture. Sara guessed they were photos of missing people, which sometimes hung in law enforcement offices as reminders never to forget. Too many photos lined the wall. Several spaces were empty, possibly representing photos removed after victims were identified. Orson could have been up there. It was a sobering thought.
“Yeah, but I don't know how I'll tell Esmerelda,” Sara said. “She's more attached than I am and won't admit it.”
“Truth is, we'd really like these dogs.”
“Say, Johanna, is there any way you can check out this guy for me? If you can't, I'll understand.” She laid a piece of paper on the desktop on which she had neatly spelled out Beni's full name.
Johanna glanced at it. “Huh? What kind of language is that?”
“Hawaiian. It's Beni Noa,” Sara said. “Do you know him?”
“That's his real name?”
“He was one of the construction guys who boarded in my house. I'd like to get him back, but only one guy in the house this time? I'd trust him again, Johanna, but I'd like him checked out.”
“What can I tell you?” she asked. “Works construction, Volunteer Courtland Firefighter.”
“He's a firefighter?” So that's what the extra phone was that he carried on his hip. Bigger than a cell phone. It was his radio. “He never took time off from working on my house.”
“Haven't been any fires down there this summer,” she said. “He's a pretty upstanding citizen, helped the locals down there on a couple of lost kid searches.”
“Are you saying he's okay to let back in and be alone with?”
“I don't know what to tell you, Sara. If I say he's okay and he turns out to be the person we're looking for, well, I don't wanna be the one to put you in harm's way.”
“Okay, I'm glad you could tell me that much.”
“He doesn't have a rap sheet that I know of.”
“Can you find out more? Please?”
“No promises,” Johanna said and stood. “Here, let me show these cuties around real quick before I leave.” She grabbed up the leashes and walked the dogs to the far end of the room. Deputies crowded around and everyone made a fuss over two unpretentiously lovable pit bulls that sniffed everywhere and especially embarrassed the burly guys.
Sara glanced across Johanna's desk and what she saw sent a charge through her nervous system. Glossy photos lay in a haphazard pile. On top was an area shot with the back end of her house on the left, the garage on the right, and in the middle, the workshop floor area of her property.
Sara couldn't stifle her curiosity and helped herself to the photos and thumbed through them. Some were labeled with Orson's name and showed his remains lying in a morgue bag after being dug up from the workshop. Many more were taken of Orson, including the hole he laid in, the fool's gold rocks, and the plastic wrapped around him, with other shots of his rotted clothing. Another photo different from the rest, marked as from the Coroner's office, showed a small, broken, horseshoe-shaped bone. More photos showed remains of victims at other sites, along with the bones of animals. Then more shots of the empty graves after the bones were removed. Each scene had been photographed down to its most miniscule detail, with more Coroners' photos of small broken bones. Hyoid bones. Snapped in two. Sara felt sick to her stomach.
She continued looking at the photos. A few showed only skulls, femurs, or pelvis bone fragments, and some vertebrae. The scenes disgusting her, but she couldn't stop examining them even as her hands shook. Some photos contained only minute fragments of bone lying in the dirt. She laid out a photo of each victim in a row, then a scene of the grave in which each had lain. She studied them closely. Her heart beat wildly. Her hands trembled almost violently when she realized all the burials had something in common. If investigators could have known what she had seen months before, they would have solved the crimes by now.
“They couldn't have known,” she said, mumbling, lost in thought. “The missing link is not in these pictures. Only I know where it is!”
Sara brought her elbows to the desktop and held her head as she hunched over the photos, absorbed, compelled to be certain of what she had discovered.
She asked herself if she was making too much of nothing, simply because her home and property were involved. Was she acting in desperation, trying to play heroine to bring some kind of closure? Was she trying to compensate her ego after losing Huxley? Question after question, the answer was no. The proof right in front of her was something only she and the killer knew.
“I'm right!” she said, jumping up quickly. To make sure, she looked at all the photos again, becoming more excited and yet scared. “I'm right!” she said again, only this time louder. She couldn't stop shaking and held to the edge of the desk “We've got to stop him!”
“Hey, Sara, what's up?” Johanna asked, coming back with the pups. “You missing them already?”
Sara turned to Johanna. “I know,” she said.
“Know what?” Johanna asked. Then she saw the photos laying spread out. “Hey, you shouldn't be….” She cocked her head as she shifted into her investigative mode. “What do you know?”
Sara gestured to the photos. “Johanna,” she said quietly. “I know who the killer is.”
Chapter 57
The circumstantial evidence Sara disclosed proved insufficient to obtain an indictment. They needed to validate her clues. The suspect didn't have so much as a speeding ticket, let alone a rap sheet. They put electronic sensors on the man's vehicle, tailed him, and tapped his telephone for more than a week. He did nothing suspicious. Almost as last resort, law enforcement requested Sara's participation in a full sting operation.
“You're the perfect candidate,” a Lieutenant had said. “You'll be covered every step of the way.”
Sara spent many hours at Sheriff's Headquarters attending numerous orientation meetings to assure that she understood what was involved. She would be allowed to back out at any time if she felt she couldn't pull it off. Law enforcement could as well cancel the whole operation if they thought the risk to her too great.
Sara wasn't experienced at pretension. Now she had to discipline her mind not to make a slip of the tongue during conversations. They said it would be a long shot, but agreed she might be the only person to get him to talk freely. They warned that she could end up in a very dangerous situation.
Her intuition goaded. Don't think about it. Just do it. This guy must be stopped. Her intuition was usually always right.
#
Sara and Esmerelda walked through Talbot House so that Esmerelda could finally view the extensive makeover.
“You haven't tried to move back in?”
“I'm staying at Pierce's till I get my furniture. I'm so tired of the sleeping around like I've had to do.”
Esmerelda's head bobbed again and again in approval of the renovations. She walked through the enlarged master suite and viewed the new dressing room leading to the private bathroom. “I love what you've done here,” she said. Then her expression changed “You said the Sheriff's Department would take the dogs. When will that be?” Her voice had a ring of relief in it, and a wish that it might be soon.
“Not till the next training session. Weeks, maybe months.”
Sara's thoughts focused on the sting. She hoped Esmerelda couldn't read anxiety in her manner. The detectives would fit her with a wire. A surveillance van would be near the house. Johanna had said their state-of-the-art equipment picked up transmissions up to a mile away. Sara wanted the van closer than that. A dozen or so officers would surround the house though remain out of sight. But where, considering the empty fields all around? Sara couldn't allow her courage to wane. The psychopath had taken many lives, ruined others, and disrupted hers. He caused enduring pain for Esmerelda in cutting Orson's life short. Sara felt a lot of anger and had to be careful not to let Esmerelda see her hands shake.
“You mean may
be not till after the holidays?” Esmerelda's smile had faded. Surely, she was tired of the dogs.
“I'll take the pups more often. Give you a break. With the house done, I have more free time.”
“And you love them, don't you?” she asked. Then she smiled again. “Let's go shopping. You need furniture so you can get those boxes out of the basement.”
#
The following Monday Sara stopped on the levee to retrieve her mail before heading back to Clampett Tract. She sat in her SUV, crosswise atop the driveway ramp, and opened two large white envelopes. The foundation documents from both the State and the Internal Revenue Service, stamped approved and filed, had arrived. She held them in her hands and felt muted elation. Great disappointment in herself over Huxley, and the extremely dangerous liaison planned with law enforcement, took the excitement out of the foundation's approval.
Esmerelda needed to get out of her house and completely away from the hospice more often. Demetrio could take care of the dogs. Sara convinced her to come help mail out the foundation's invitations.
“I had planned to set the party for January,” Sara said. “But let's move it back to December.” She studied her calendar. “You available on the eleventh?”
Esmerelda produced her appointment book and studied it. “Can't see why not. We'll have a Christmas party.” She puckered her lips, onto something.
“Don't even think about it,” Sara said. “You're not slaving in the kitchen for my party. Period.”
“Can't I help?”
“I've already hired a caterer named Zoki Yoshi—”
“Zoki? I know Zoki. We can exchange some recipes.”
“He's a former classmate. Great guy.”
Sara, with Huxley's help during that one glorious all-too-short period, created the invitations on her publishing software. Now Sara kept her emotions to herself as she changed the date to December 11th. “One more thing,” she said. “Do you think it's okay to say 'casual attire'?”
