The Daughters Of Alta Mira (Quill Gordon Mystery Book 4)

by Michael Wallace

  “I remember the call,” Sam said.

  “And that he’s meeting with that person today. He seemed pretty excited about it.”

  “Bob’s continually excited about life,” Gordon said.

  “In any event, maybe things are starting to break in our crime wave here. And it got me to thinking that maybe there’s a role for you to play in all this, Gordon.”

  “Um, I don’t think so. I’m just here on a fishing trip, and I’d rather not get involved in a criminal investigation.”

  “Oh, but Bob said you’ve already done that, and you have a flair for it. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

  “Almost got me killed once,” Sam nodded.

  “Besides, I think there may be something special that only you can contribute to the effort.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I want to talk to Bob after his meeting today. Can we get together for a cup of coffee tonight? I’ll fill you in then.”

  Gordon took a long swallow of his coffee, looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and exhaled.

  “You’re very persuasive, … Elizabeth.”

  She beamed. “Thank you. Thank you. I knew you would. Let’s exchange cell phone numbers, and I’ll call you this afternoon to set things up.”

  He took out his phone, and as they were entering each others’ numbers, Jenna came up to the table.

  “Ready to order?”

  “I’m just going to finish this coffee and go, Jenna. Can you ring it up at the register for me?”

  “Sure.” She looked at Sam. “How about you?”

  “Sausage and eggs,” he said.

  “How do you want the eggs done?”

  “Over easy, please.”

  “Link or patty?”

  “Links.”

  “How about toast?”

  “What are my choices?”

  “White, whole wheat, sourdough, rye, or English muffin.”

  “English muffin.”

  She turned to Gordon. “And you, sir?”

  “Same as him,” Gordon said, looking up from his phone and folding down the flip cover. “Only with the eggs scrambled, patties, and rye.”

  Elizabeth closed her phone and looked up at him.

  “Rye, Gordon? Really? I’d have guessed sourdough.”

  After she left, Gordon moved to the side of the booth where Elizabeth had been sitting. He drank his coffee pensively for several minutes before Sam finally asked what he was thinking about

  “I’ve been thinking about the latest disappearance,” Gordon said. “Did you notice there was something different about it?”

  “No.”

  “The first two times one of the students went missing, it was on a Friday afternoon. This time, it was on a Thursday. Why do you suppose that was?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Neither do I at this point. But I suspect it means something, and if we knew what, it might move things along.”

  THE THERMOMETER outside the airport administrative building read 34 degrees as Gordon and Sam pulled up at 8:30, but the sun was just beginning to provide a hint of warmth where it shone. Chris and Howard were there, waiting. The sheriff was wearing a blue down parka, jeans, and a wool watch cap pulled down over her ears. Even so, she was standing with arms crossed in front of her, pressing against her torso, and was stamping the ground to warm up her feet. Howard was wearing a heavy suede jacket with a sheepskin collar over his uniform, along with a white Stetson. He looked as if he were auditioning to be a Marlboro model. In his leather-gloved hand, he held a clipboard.

  “A great day for flying,” he said, as they came toward him.

  “It’s always a great day for flying,” Sam said. “Let me do the pre-flight check, then we’ll be good to go.” Sam started toward his plane, but Chris stopped him.

  “First, I have to make you both members of the sheriff’s posse. Howard.”

  He handed over the clipboard.

  “You’re on top, Gordon. Sign here.” He did. “Now you, Sam.”

  “Where did you get my home address?” Gordon asked.

  “I called Bob last night.” Gordon shook his head

  The other three stood and fidgeted as Sam looked over his plane. As they waited, Gordon took a closer look at the airport, such as it was. The administration building was a modular unit, 20-by-30 feet, flanked on one side by a flagpole and on the other by a pole with a wind sock at the top. It fluttered occasionally as a breeze came along. A short distance away was an area with 14 planes tied down and room for 16 more (Gordon had time, so he counted) plus Sam’s on the ground. The paved runway looked as if it could use a new seal, and the fuel pump near where the planes were tied down looked as if it had been installed a half-century ago. The sun sat low in a blue sky dotted with white clouds.

  It was clear that Chris and Howard were uncomfortable in the presence of each other, and the sense of that tension, along with the cold and the wait, was getting on Gordon’s nerves. Finally, he turned to Chris and said:

  “So what, exactly, are we looking for anyway?”

  “Short answer,” Howard said, before Chris could speak, “is something different or suspicious. If the victim was abducted …”

  “Her name is Jessica,” snapped Chris.

  “ … chances are, she was taken somewhere remote, at least at first. It’d be pretty risky bringing a kidnap victim, even a dead one, into town where people might notice something suspicious. Our perp — if there is one, and she’s not a runaway — might have taken her to a place where he’d be less likely to be noticed. So maybe we see a summer cabin with smoke in the fireplace when it shouldn’t be in use, or an outbuilding on a large lot that looks like it’s just been put to use. You’re not likely to see those things from ground level and public roads, but maybe we see something that calls for ground follow-up. And maybe we get lucky.”

  “Thank you for speaking up, Howard,” said Chris. “Saved me the trouble of asking for your opinion.”

  “No problem.”

  “But it sounds as if you’re looking for a needle in a haystack,” Gordon said. “Realistically, what’s the chance of finding something?”

  “Realistically?” said Chris. “Not very good. But as long as there’s a chance, it’s worth a try.”

  Howard nodded. “That’s about right.”

  They lapsed into silence until Sam returned several minutes later.

  “Good to go,” he said.

  “All right,” Chris said. She turned to Howard. “Who’s putting together the posse?”

  “Joe Dawson. They’ll be ready to roll the minute we need ‘em.”

  He turned to Sam, and continued.

  “I’ve never flown with you before, Akers, so let me lay down a couple of ground rules. I like cautious pilots. The more cautious the better. Just do what I tell you, and concentrate on making it a safe flight. If you’re flying alongside a mountain, give it plenty of room. And don’t feel like you have to get too close to the ground for us to see anything.”

  “That’s right,” Chris said. “I have binoculars.”

  “And I,” Howard said, “have eyes like a hawk.”

  THERE’S A MOMENT, shortly after takeoff, when you can hear the passengers — if there are any — collectively draw in their breaths. It happens a few seconds after the plane’s off the ground. Although the plane is going up and forward, to the uninitiated, it seems as if it might not have the oomph to keep doing so. The pilot, if he’s any good, knows better. I’d checked everything before takeoff and knew we were all right. The only question even close was weight, and we made it with a bit to spare, no thanks to Gordon. He’s the biggest of us, and while he’s hardly fat, it’s true that some of his belts show a sign of being buckled one notch further out than before. He probably thinks no one notices, but I do.

  Anyway, when the plane kept going up and forward for a few more seconds, I could hear everyone exhale, and we settled down to the task at hand. It wasn’t made any easier
by the tension between the sheriff and Howard, who were like an old married couple that can’t stand each other anymore. Whenever they bickered, Gordon kept quiet and tried to ignore it, which is his way of dealing with unpleasantness.

  Using my outdoor voice to be heard above the engine, I bellowed, “When I gain a bit more altitude, I’m going to loop back over Homestead College and fly over as if we’re about to leave, just like Jessica was when she was last seen. Tell me what to do next.”

  Howard, unsurprisingly, got in the first word. “The logical thing would have been for her abductor to turn right toward town. If she was hitching a ride, it’s what she’d be expecting, and he wouldn’t want her to get the game up right away.”

  Chris was sitting behind him in the right rear passenger seat, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see her shaking her head.

  “I disagree. If you’re abducting someone, the last thing you want to do is drive toward a populated area. Plus, she’s from Big Piney, and may have been asking for a ride there.”

  “How many people would be going to Big Piney that time of day?” Howard asked. “Not many. She’d be suspicious if someone was willing to drive her there.”

  “If she was picked up by a serial killer, he’d have said yes to taking her to Boise, if that’s what it took to get her in the car.” We were over the campus now. “Turn left, Sam, and follow the state highway north.”

  Howard audibly sucked in his breath, and I did what she said. It was a clear direction, anyway.

  I held it at 1,500 feet above the ground, 100 yards to the right of the highway, between the road and the mountain range. There wasn’t much there but ranches and some isolated homes. I wouldn’t even have known where to look. Chris kept her binoculars trained on the ground.

  “Down there!” she said at one point. “There’s a little cottage about a hundred yards from the main house, with smoke coming from the chimney. Is that unusual?”

  Howard yawned, a bit theatrically, I thought.

  “That’s the Driscoll place. His mother in law is arriving early for Thanksgiving.” He paused for effect. “Everybody who was at Elizalde’s Wednesday night knows he’s not too happy about it.”

  She set her binoculars on her lap.

  “I guess that’s what he gets for giving her grandchildren,” she said.

  Not long afterward, we came to the road that headed east toward Big Piney. I angled the plane to the right and began climbing so we’d clear the mountains by plenty. The sun was far enough to the south that it wasn’t directly in my eyes. It was utterly clear, and the air was bracing — the kind of day where I could fly for hours. It occurred to me that we might do just that without ever finding anything.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Howard asked.

  “Do you need my permission?” Chris said.

  “On the other side of the summit, there’s a tract of about 20 summer cabins. It’s late enough in the season that if anyone’s there now, it might be a good idea to have a deputy pay them a call.”

  “Worth a look, I suppose,” Chris said.

  I followed his direction and flew over the cabins. One of them had smoke coming from the chimney and a fairly late-model SUV parked outside. Howard radioed the information and was told that a deputy was near Big Piney and would check it out promptly.

  On the other side of the mountain was Serendipity Valley, and I was surprised by how big it was, with cattle grazing in fields dotted with rolled up hay, ready to get them through the winter. The fields sloped down to a large, dry lake bed, then to another range of mountains in the distance. Big Piney, which can’t have more than three hundred people, was about in the center of it, and there didn’t appear to be much of interest there.

  “We may as well fly up and down the valley and give it a look,” Chris said. I immediately turned right, with a definite purpose. By flying south first, we’d end up at the north end after doubling back. When we headed west, then, back over the mountains, I’d be able to get us over the area where Gordon and I were fishing on Thursday.

  Serendipity Valley was as boring as it was beautiful. Outside of Big Piney, there weren’t many dwellings, and the ones we saw didn’t look suspicious at all, though I’m not even sure what suspicious would look like. The only excitement came as we were nearing the north end of the valley, and the deputy who had been sent to check on the cabin called in.

  “Unit Four to Honig.”

  “Honig here.”

  “I called at the cabin. It appears to be a gentleman from Sacramento, mid-forties, who was up here for some deer hunting.”

  “Doesn’t he know the season ended last weekend?”

  “I think he does, sir, but that’s probably just what he told his wife. It looks to me like this buck brought his doe with him, and she was quite a bit younger, if you catch my drift.”

  The deputy and Howard both laughed heartily. Chris leaned forward and shouted toward the radio.

  “Deputy!” she snapped.

  “Sheriff?”

  “Can we show some professionalism? Please.”

  A slight pause, followed by a chastened, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you check the young woman’s ID to make sure she wasn’t Jessica?”

  “Different name on her driver’s license, and a Sacramento address, ma’am.”

  She leaned back in her seat and shook her head. I took advantage of the diversion to angle west and start back over the mountain range. As we crossed the summit, Chris said:

  “My way didn’t turn up anything, so let’s try yours, Howard. Head south along the highway when you get there, Sam.”

  “Right,” I said. But instead, I kept going about three miles west after crossing the highway before turning south on a path that would take us right over Powder Creek. It was a few minutes before anyone noticed, and Howard spoke first.

  “Aren’t you a bit off the highway, Akers?”

  “As long as we’re doubling back,” I said, “I figured we might as well fly over some country we haven’t seen before. Humor me.”

  As if they had a choice.

  GORDON SAW THE BUZZARDS FIRST. He was looking ahead to find the campground where they had parked while fishing, when he spotted the four birds circling lazily ahead and slightly to the left of the plane.

  “Could be a dead cow,” Howard said, when Gordon pointed to the birds.

  “We might as well look,” Chris said. “Not much else to see here.”

  Sam was keeping the plane 1,500 feet above the ground, but dropped to 1,000 feet as they approached the area the birds were circling. A minute or two later, Gordon saw the campground where they had parked Thursday night. A lone pickup truck was parked at the entrance, but its occupants were nowhere in sight.

  “We’re awful close to the mountainside,” Sam said. “I’d like to go south a bit and loop back from the other side. I could get a bit lower, then.” Hearing no objection, he set about to do so. As he began to climb and turn east, Gordon, looking down to the left of the plane, saw something in the tree branches below, then it was gone as Sam pulled away. It could have been a human form or an optical illusion. He decided to wait for a second look.

  Gordon noted the location as being near a rocky slope with a dirt road carved into it, and as the plane looped back several minutes later, he told the sheriff and Howard.

  “I see something!” Howard said a few seconds later. “Can’t tell what it is. Can you get us a bit lower, Akers?”

  “How many lives have you got?” asked Sam.

  “No need,” Chris said, looking through the binoculars. “I can see it. It’s a partially nude body, probably female. We may have found Jessica.”

  Several seconds of silence ensued as the reality sunk in. Howard finally radioed the information to the posse and told Sam to head back to the airport. As they were passing over the scene on the way back, Honig looked down again and shook his head.

  “How the hell did she end up halfway up a tree?” he said.

  IT
WAS JUST PAST NOON when the four of them rolled up to the crime scene in one of the Sheriff’s Department’s 1992 Blazers. Howard was driving. Yellow tape had been strung across the road, and three dozen people were milling about behind it. Five were uniformed sheriff’s deputies, three were highway patrol officers (including Sandy Steadman and John Armstrong), and the rest were citizen members of the posse, excited about having finally been called out on a case.

  “Find Dawson and see how badly the scene’s been compromised,” Chris said to Howard. He nodded and left the car. She shook her head.

  “Something wrong?” Gordon asked.

  “I’d have wanted this sealed off farther back, but it’s too late now. Let’s hope everybody at least stayed behind the tape.” She sighed. “One more lesson for the posse training course.”

  “How often do they have something like this?” Sam said.

  “Not very often, which is why they don’t know what to do. The last murder in this county was in 1990. Two guys in a bar got into an argument, and a dozen witnesses in various stages of inebriation were willing to testify that the guy standing over the body with the knife in his hand was the killer. In that case, the state of the crime scene didn’t affect the outcome. Here, it’s going to matter more that the protocols are followed.”

  They got out of the vehicle. The temperature was in the low 50s, but it was pleasant in the sun. Just behind the tape, Howard was talking with a silver-haired deputy with a thick, drooping mustache. They nodded at each other, and Howard returned.

  “Not too bad,” he said. “One of the volunteers got about ten feet past where the tape is before Dawson called him back. Otherwise, it’s clean from the tape onward.”

  “As much as you could hope for, I guess,” Chris said. “Do we have a photographer?”

  “Bob Lovejoy.”

  “Probably our best. Tell Dawson we’re coming through in a minute.”

  Howard started back toward the tape. Chris turned to Gordon and Sam.

  “I need two witnesses who can swear we’re doing this right, and I don’t know who I can trust in the posse. So you’re it. Stay ten feet behind me, watch where you’re going, and don’t speak unless spoken to. And try to remember everything you see. Can you do that?”