“Greetings, gringo,” Ted said as he pulled off his jacket. The aroma of roasting chiles and garlic reminded him of Mama’s kitchen. “What’s the happs?”
Chris shoved a chip in his mouth. “New case. You’re going to love this one.”
“Me too. We got a lulu today.”
Ted waved to his sister near the bar, “Cerveza, por favor.”
“Certamente, hermano,” Hope shouted over the crowded bar.
Ted seated himself and grabbed a chip. “So, what’re you working on?”
Hope brought Ted a Corona and slid in next to Chris.
“I got a junk case handed to me by old man Johnson.” Chris wrapped an arm around Hope. “Seems his wife’s cousin has a problem-child son.”
“Um-hm.” Ted took a sip of his beer.
“The kid’s been living in the woods on Camano Island, breaking into peoples’ houses and stealing food, blankets, that kind of stuff.”
“Doesn’t sound like headline news.” Ted looked up to see a vision in green sweep through the door.
Maria hung her trench coat on the rack in the entrance way and flowed into the bar. She was dressed in a tight-fitting sea-foam green dress that complemented her eyes and showed off her trim figure.
“Mama, mia,” Ted said. “Look what Santa brought ol’ Teddy.”
“Hi, guys.” Maria slid into the booth next to Ted. “What’re you up to?”
“Chris is just filling us in on his new case,” Hope said. “He’s a grown-up lawyer now.” She tugged at the shoulder of his charcoal gray suit. “With his first real case.”
“Cool. Don’t let me stop you.” Maria pointed to Ted’s beer. “I’ll have one of those.”
“Juanita, una mas Corona, por favor,” Hope ordered for Maria. “Y un orden de carnitas, también.”
“I hate to sound racist, but can we keep it to English?” Chris asked. “I guess I’m the only one here who doesn’t speak Spanish.”
“Well, you better get to learnin’, bro,” Ted said. “If you’re gonna hang with my fam, you’re gonna need it.”
“So tell us more about your case.” Hope bumped into Chris’s shoulder.
Chris explained his new client. “This boy’s got serious attitude problems. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone else and rules don’t apply to him. He thinks following them is for suckers and doesn’t want to comply. I want to slap some sense into him.”
Juanita showed up with a platter full of carnitas and side dishes with lime wedges, shredded cabbage, pickled red onions, roasted jalapeño chiles and a basket of tortillas. The fragrance of deep-fried meat almost drove Ted out of his mind.
“Mmmm,” Maria said. “Looks like home. Smells like it too.”
“So how about your new case?” Chris reached for a tortilla and started scooping up pieces of the pork into it. “What’s it all about?”
“Missing husband,” Ted said between bites. “This dude disappeared in the middle of the desert. The cops found his truck burned out alongside the highway. They think it’s murder and suspect his wife, but she says he faked his death to get out of a jail sentence.”
“You guys work with the nicest people,” Hope said.
“It sounds to me like you both have anti-social clients,” Maria said, delicately picking up a chip with her long thin fingers and dipping it in salsa. “They’re both outlaws who can’t live within the constraints of the law.”
“This is the college professor talking,” Ted said.
“No, seriously,” Maria said. “Ted’s client is a huckster who’ll do anything to keep from having to earn an honest living. Chris’s client is an anti-social kid who can’t play by the rules. I think they’re both cut from the same material. If Chris can’t straighten his kid out, he’ll grow up to be Ted’s buddy.”
They all laughed.
“You know,” Hope said. “You guys are the anchors.”
“Huh?” Ted stopped with the beer bottle halfway to his lips. “Anchors?”
“Yeah, you guys are the rocks that need to hold steady, to bring these guys back into compliance with society’s expectations.”
****
The lonely stretch of Highway 395 north of Victorville, California, was hot and dry. Dust swirled in the wind and tumble-weeds bounced across the road.
Catrina was not a desert person. Born and raised in the lush Pacific Northwest, the California high desert looked to her like the far side of the moon.
She and Ted flew into Ontario International Airport, thirty-seven miles east of Los Angeles, and rented a Ford Explorer similar to her specially-built Explorer that Ted liked to call the Bat mobile. This was a common garden variety Explorer. Catrina’s had a huge V-8 engine and armor plating.
The hour drive from the airport to the site where Randall’s pickup was discovered could have been boring, but Ted was in one of his wacky moods. Catrina appreciated her handsome young companion’s humor and they laughed all the way to the site.
“This is it,” Catrina said, as she pulled off the road. “Five point one miles north of Highway 18.”
“Nothin’ here,” Ted said.
They climbed out of the SUV and looked around. The highway disappeared to the north and south; a few brown hummocks with the occasional creosote bush surrounded them. Little tuffs of grass fought their way through the rocky soil. There was no sign of civilization, other than a few plastic bags that had blown against a fence.
“You’re sure this is it?” Ted asked. The burned-out truck had long since been towed away.
“Yep.” Catrina kicked at the black ash alongside the road. “I wanted to get a sense of the place.” She slowly turned, scanning the horizon in all directions. “If you were going to disappear, how would you get away from your truck?”
“Hmmm...” Ted put his hand above his eyes and did a search in the distance. “You’re sure as hell not going to walk out of here. If you went cross country, you’d leave some kind of trail. The sheriff’s posse, the search and rescue team, found nothing. That leaves by car or air. I suppose someone could fly out in a chopper. Even a small plane could land on the highway.”
“But both of those ideas need an accomplice. Unless... I guess he could have left a vehicle parked here, at the side the of the road, or maybe stashed back in the hills a bit.”
“That don’t work.” Ted kicked at the dirt. “Remember, the posse searched the hills. No sign of anything. The deputy said there weren’t any other tire tracks.” He knelt down and picked up a handful of gravel. “If he parked a car by the road, the Highway Patrol would’ve noticed it and tagged it. No record of that. No tire tracks to indicate one had been parked here.”
Catrina leaned back against the hood of the Explorer. “Okay, that leaves two possibilities. One: he had an accomplice. Someone had a car waiting for him. When they got here, he torched his truck and they drove off. The other car never left the road. Two: the sheriff’s right, someone killed him and made off with his body.”
Ted reached back into the SUV for a bottle of water. “I don’t like door number two. What’s the motive? Do you think Karen is capable of murder?”
“I don’t see her getting her fingernails dirty,” Catrina said, “but she could have hired someone.”
“If she did, why? If she wanted to just get rid of him, she could file for divorce. As a matter of fact, she did file for divorce. If she was after the insurance money, she wouldn’t have gotten rid of the body. The insurance company isn’t going to pay off without it.”
“She could want his businesses,” Catrina said, staring into space. “Maybe she wanted to take over his coffee stands.”
“Do you think that’s really likely?” Ted asked. “She doesn’t seem like the ambitious businesswoman type to me, at least not from what you’ve told me. Besides, who would kill for a coffee stand?”
“Okay, so what was Randall doing in Cali?” Catrina asked. “He was supposed to be taking an espresso machine from Vegas to Seattle. He was on the highway from Ve
gas to LA. Why was he headed to LA?
“You know.” Ted opened the Explorer’s passenger door. “He had an ex-wife in LA. It seems like he had an ex-wife everywhere.”
“You need to look into that. Find out all you can about her. Are they still in contact? What does she do? Is she still at her address? Does she still show up at work?”
“Now that I think about it, that is a possibility,” Ted said. “He re-married Karen. He might be on good terms with his ex.”
“Check it out. Meanwhile, let’s get into Victorville and talk to the deputy sheriff.”
****
A short half hour’s drive had them pulling up to the San Bernardino Sheriff’s office in Victorville.
Ted held the door for Catrina as they entered the office. He couldn’t help thinking she must make an imposing figure for the local bubbas.
With her tight-fitting jeans, pull over T-shirt with a low-cut neckline and ever present boots, she’d get their attention. Her blonde hair and blue eyes and the steel-melting smile that she could turn on when she wanted sealed the deal.
She wouldn’t have any trouble getting them to cooperate.
“Good mornin’, ma’am, can I help you?” the pudgy deputy behind the desk asked. Apparently, he didn’t know that Ted existed.
“Yes, I’m looking for Detective Wainwright. I’m Catrina Flaherty. I made an appointment to see him.”
“Just a minute, please.” The middle-aged deputy picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Wainwright. You got visitors.” He turned back to Catrina. “He’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Flaherty,” the good-looking detective said as he entered the waiting area. He wore cowboy boots, jeans, a blue oxford shirt and a brown corduroy jacket. He was eye to eye with Catrina, so he was probably a shade under six feet. His neatly cut brown hair and blue eyes certainly didn’t hurt the overall package.
“Pleased to meet you.” Wainwright extended his hand.
Catrina reached for his hand and felt his firm grip. “I’m Catrina Flaherty. This is my associate, Ted Higuera.”
“Mr. Higuera.” The detective shook Ted’s hand.
“Let’s step into my office.” Wainwright held the swinging door in the counter for Catrina and Ted. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“Like I told you on the phone,” Catrina said, as they entered the small office. “We’ve been hired by Mr. Randall’s wife to find out what happened to him. We would appreciate anything you could tell us.”
Wainwright’s office was neat as a pin. Not a paper out of place, pictures hung precisely on the walls. Not a speck of dust in a dusty environment.
“I don’t know who you know, but the sheriff asked me to cooperate with you. I normally wouldn’t share any information in an on-going investigation.”
“Let’s just say I have friends in low places.” Catrina turned on her one hundred watt smile.
“Okay, here’s what we know.” Wainwright opened up the file folder on his desk. “Mr. Randall’s truck was found Monday morning at 0700. We got a report of a vehicle fire from a passing motorist. Normally, that would be a California Highway Patrol call, but all of their officers were busy.
“Deputy Ortega took the call. By the time he got there, the fire was burned out. There was no one in the vehicle and no trace of anyone anywhere near it.
“Deputy Ortega felt that it was a little suspicious, so he requested our forensics team. We have a pretty sophisticated crime lab in San Bernardino. Anyway, they found a blood-stain under the truck. As a matter of fact, they say it was a substantial amount of blood, probably a pint or two. They also found a bullet hole in the driver’s seat and the slug embedded in the back seat. From the angle of the hole and the slug, they determined that the shooter was standing outside the driver’s door. The window was rolled down, so we assume that Mr. Randall knew the shooter. The shooter was probably about six feet tall.”
“That sounds pretty thorough,” Ted said. “Any signs of a body?”
“No. We’ve searched the area. If he was shot, they took the body elsewhere.”
“If he was shot…?” Catrina asked.
“Yes, ma’am. We can’t prove that a crime occurred. We have forensic evidence, but without a body, I couldn’t go into court and say Mr. Randall was killed.”
“I see.” Catrina glanced at the pictures on Wainwright’s desk: a wedding photo with a pretty blonde and the same woman holding a baby wrapped in blue blanket. “How are you proceeding with this case?”
“Ma’am, it’s a tough one. With no body we can’t rule it a homicide, but I’m investigating it as if it were. Personally, in my experience, I always look at the spouse first. I’m kind of liking Mrs. Randall. No alibi, big insurance policy, marital troubles, financial troubles. It all fits. All I need to do is find the body.”
“What makes you think..?.” Ted was interrupted by a kick under the table by Catrina.
“Thank you, detective. You’ve been very helpful. “Catrina handed Wainwright a business card. “You’ll keep us informed, won’t you? Let us know of any new developments?”
“Of course, ma’am. It’ll be my pleasure.”
After Catrina and Ted left his office, Wainwright tossed her card in the trash can.
****
The next stop on Catrina and Ted’s itinerary was Las Vegas. Ted hated Vegas. He had been there for DefCon, the international underground hacker’s convention, several years ago and developed an intense dislike for the city.
It was all so plastic, so fake. This coming from a guy that grew up in L.A. Everything was loud, and cigarette smoke seemed to fill the casinos. The only good thing he ever got out of Vegas was himself.
But here they were, sitting in a Denny’s, sipping bad coffee, waiting for the insurance investigator.
“Tell me again, why do we care about this insurance investigator?” Ted asked.
Catrina put down her cup. “The police think Randall’s life insurance policy is motive for Karen to kill him. Or have him killed. We need to understand what the policy was about and if it will pay out for her.”
“Ms. Flaherty? Mr. Higuera?” A slightly plump woman with mousy brown hair approached their table. She wore a flowery dress topped with a navy blazer and carried an oversized blue handbag. “I’m Joyce Lovejoy, investigator for American Life.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Catrina rose from the table and extended her hand. Ted was stuck inside the booth. “I’m Catrina Flaherty; this is my associate, Ted Higuera. Please, sit down.”
Joyce sat at the large round booth and shook Ted’s hand.
“Mrs. Lovejoy. It’s a pleasure,” Ted said.
“Joyce, please. Everyone calls me Joyce.”
“I suppose you know why we wanted to meet with you?” Catrina asked.
The waitress approached the table. “Would you like a menu?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” Joyce said. “Just coffee.” She turned back to Catrina. “I presume you’re interested in whether or not Mr. Randall’s life policy will pay out?”
“Yes, basically that’s it.” Catrina pulled a notepad and pen from her purse. “Our client, Mrs. Randall, doesn’t believe that her husband is dead, but the police are treating his disappearance as a homicide. They’re looking at her as a person of interest. If he is dead, she has quite a large sum of money coming to her. If he isn’t dead then she wants us to find him.”
“I’m not sure I should be talking to you about this,” Joyce said. “After all, you aren’t the insured party. I should ask to see your IDs too.”
“Here’s my ID,” Catrina said. She handed Joyce her badge and ID card. Ted reached in his pocket for his. “I have a letter from Mrs. Randall authorizing you to release personal information to us.” Catrina dug inside her light brown shoulder bag and produced a file folder. From inside the folder, she took the letter and handed it to the insurance investigator.
“Hmmm...” Joyce studied the letter. “I guess this is all
in order.”
Joyce reached in her purse and withdrew a manila file folder which she placed on the table and opened. “Mrs. Randall only has a large sum coming to her if she didn’t have anything to do with Mr. Randall’s death. The San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department contacted us and asked about the policy. The fact that they are investigating Mr. Randall’s disappearance as a homicide caused us to open a case. I was assigned the case to decide if there are sufficient grounds to determine that Mr. Randall is, indeed, deceased.”
“Um-hmm,” Ted said.
“Mr. Randall’s policy is over two years old, so it’s beyond the contestability period, not that this looks like a suicide anyway. With a suicide, you usually have a body.
“Anyway, the next step is to determine if Mr. Randall is deceased. The problem is that, as a result of the fire in the vehicle, we can’t clearly establish if it was a crime scene. The fire destroyed most of the evidence. With the absence of a body, we can’t rule Mr. Randall deceased yet.”
“Okay,” Catrina said. “What happens in a case like this, where the body’s never recovered?”
“We’ve had a few similar cases,” Joyce replied. "If there is compelling evidence that the subject could not have survived, such as copious quantities of his or her blood at the scene, or if there are witnesses, we can go ahead and make the ruling.” Joyce took a sip of her coffee.
“I had a case where a person fell off a cruise ship. There were witnesses who saw him fall and the ship’s crew and the Coast Guard were not able to retrieve the body. They were too far from shore to reasonably expect that he could swim ashore, so we went ahead and ruled him dead.”
“Was there enough blood in this case?” Ted asked. He was furiously taking notes on his Surface tablet.
“It’s hard to tell. The blood drained out into the sand. The police estimate that there was at least two pints, a third of his blood volume, but they can’t say that with any certainty. A person might survive losing two pints, if they got immediate medical attention.”
“But there’s no report of any 911 calls for assistance,” Catrina said. “There’s no indication that Randall got any medical treatment.”
Bikini Baristas: Ted Higuera Series Book 4 Page 10
