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

by Michael Wallace

“You think he isn’t?” Gordon said.

  “Oh, he’s plenty guilty all right. Just not of kidnapping and murdering Jessica or any of the other women. He simply hasn’t got the temperament. Arthur is a — oh, what’s the Yiddish word I’m looking for?”

  “Mensch?” Gordon suggested.

  “Yes. Thank you. He’s thoroughly disreputable, but he has no mean streak and no nerve. Over the years, he’s hit on any number of female students. But the thing is, he always backs off when they say no. I think he’s secretly grateful that they do. He’s kind of like the dog that chases the car but wouldn’t know what to do with it if he caught it.”

  “I’m surprised that, as a feminist, you’re taking his behavior so lightly.”

  “I don’t take it lightly. It’s inappropriate and unacceptable. But I don’t see it changing, and, unfortunately, I don’t see the college doing anything about it. The administration is as uninterested in pursuing sexual harassment claims as it is in getting a shuttle bus running to town so the female students don’t have to hitch rides from serial killers. But at least there’s hope for getting the shuttle bus some day, so that’s where I’m going to spend my energy.”

  “Maybe you could use Arthur as a teaching lesson,” I said.

  “Actually, I do. Not by name, of course — that would be bad form. But when I do the lesson on sexual harassment, I do try to drive home the lesson that a woman can’t count on help from the institution where the harassment is taking place. So I tell the women in my class that they have to be ready to stand up for themselves, and that if they do, a lot of the time the men will back down. They’re bullies, after all, and bullies rarely keep going when they’re called on it.”

  “So do you tell your students how to get a man to back off?” said Gordon.

  “Do I ever. I’ve been compiling a notebook of rebukes and put-downs for over ten years now. Would you like to hear some of them?”

  I swallowed fast, to get the words out quickly.

  “Maybe some other time.”

  Gordon jumped in.

  “Do you talk about drugs and alcohol at parties?”

  “Absolutely. It’s a fact of life these days. And even if you’re ready to stand up for yourself, you can’t do it if you’re impaired.”

  She took the last bite of her croissant, chewed it slowly, and washed it down with coffee before continuing.

  “And I’ll never be able to do that lesson again without thinking of Alicia. In the last couple of weeks, I’ve talked to her enough to form an opinion, and I think she’s got a good enough head on her shoulders that Kyle Burnett or Cody Jarrett never would have gotten anywhere with her if she was sober. No, let me put it another way. Maybe they could have if they’d been willing to put out a real effort to show her that they were the kind of man a woman could get serious about. But they weren’t serious about her and never would have made the effort.”

  She drained the last of her coffee.

  “And Alicia, as we’re all aware, never got the chance to say no.”

  THE SHERIFF AND HOWARD knocked on the door of the DeShayne residence at exactly 9:01 a.m. A flustered Mildred DeShayne — her wet hair and bathrobe suggested she’d just gotten out of the shower — opened the door. Having brought up to respect the law, she admitted them to the house when they presented the warrant. And having learned to fear and obey her husband, she immediately picked up the phone and called him. He was several miles away, and by the time he got to his house, it was all over.

  They went straight into Caitlin DeShayne’s bedroom, which, being occupied by a 15-year-old girl, would not have passed an Army inspection. There were several posters on the walls of rock stars Chris and Howard had never heard of. He looked at the posters with disgust; she with a certain wistfulness. The clutter in the room was impressive, but seemed navigable.

  “Where do we start?” he asked.

  “When I was her age,” Chris said after surveying the room carefully, “I had a diary I didn’t want anybody to see, and I do mean anybody. I kept it in a box under the bed.” She dropped to her knees and looked under the bed.

  “Bingo!” she said, pulling out a shoebox.

  She set it on the bed and took off the lid. Inside, they found a brand-name camcorder, three film cassettes, and two boxes of condoms — one with the seal broken. Lifting the camera out, she set it on its side and opened it. Another cassette was inside. She closed the camera, handed it and the three cassettes to Howard, replaced the shoebox lid, and put the box back under the bed, where it had been.

  “Shouldn’t we take the condoms, too?” Howard asked.

  “The search warrant specifies only video and photographic cameras and film. We’ve invaded her privacy enough as it is, and if the video in this camera,” she tapped it, “shows what we think it’s going to show, the condom stash is the least of her problems.”

  A DENSE CLOUD COVER had moved into the area overnight, offering a foretaste of the winter to come. The clouds were in various gradations of gray, and nothing about them signaled that they were bringing rain or snow; rather, they blocked out the sunlight, muted the colors of the autumn landscape, and imparted a dampness to the morning cold that hadn’t been there before.

  Under these conditions, it was a generally quiet group that Elizabeth drove from Alta Mira to Big Piney, some 30 miles away. The route led north from Alta Mira, then east over the Wikiup Mountain Range to Serendipity Valley. At the foot of the east slope of the mountains sat Big Piney, overlooking the valley and its two dry lake beds. The town had attained a population of a thousand around 1900, and the number had been slowly declining since.

  They turned right off the highway onto the main street, driving three blocks past a grocery store, a gas station, a coffee shop, a real estate office, and a hardware and feed store, as well as a number of houses. Many of the buildings were at least a half-century old, but were still well maintained. Elizabeth turned left onto C Street and drove two blocks to where it ended at the top of a short dropoff, overlooking the dry lake beds and the York Mountains on its east side, just across the Nevada border. She stopped in front of a house that looked to have been built in the 1920s or 30s, with a large porch, small front yard, and two tall oak trees providing shade. With no sunlight breaking through the clouds, the house looked dark and gloomy, as if it knew there had been a death in the family.

  “Let me do all the talking for the first five minutes,” Elizabeth said after she turned off the engine. “Then, if you have a question, you can jump in. But try to wait until they’re at ease.”

  The door was answered quickly by a young, clean-cut man with brown eyes and brown, short-cropped hair, who looked as if he might be on leave from the military.

  “I’m Michael,” he said, extending his hand, “Jessica’s brother. Come on in.”

  “Elizabeth Macondray, Jessica’s English teacher this semester,” she said. “And this is Professor Gordon and Mr. Akers, the deputy dean of admissions.”

  They stepped into a living room that was well lit, with furniture that was old but comfortable, rather than threadbare. A pungent bouquet of cooked bacon, lavender air freshener, and something sweet, baking or freshly baked, permeated the room.

  “Mom’s making cinnamon rolls,” he said. “She’ll be right in. And coffee’s almost ready.”

  They took a seat on a large couch, Elizabeth sitting between the two men. Michael looked at them in a way that was intent and a bit unsettling, then lowered his voice to keep his mother from hearing.

  “So, is the college sending you over to talk us out of suing?”

  Elizabeth was stunned by the question and showed it, but she recovered quickly.

  “Not at all. I’m sorry if you think that, but we have nothing to do with the college’s legal issues. I’ve been deeply involved with a faculty/administration committee looking at women’s safety issues on campus, and that’s why I asked if your mother could talk to us.” She paused and took a deep breath. “If you don’t think that’
s a good idea, we can try another time or forget about it, whichever the family thinks is better.”

  “I guess I believe you,” he said after a long pause. “Being a county employee, I’m used to being around people who think about lawsuits all the time.”

  “This county?” Gordon asked.

  “No. Yolo County Sheriff’s Department. I just got through my probationary period.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  They sat silently for a minute.

  “Mom’s been spending a lot of time in the kitchen,” he finally said. “Keeping herself busy in there takes her mind off what happened. At least for a little bit. It never goes away for long.”

  “Michael! Coffee’s ready,” came a voice from the kitchen.

  He excused himself and returned a minute later with a coffee pot, four cups, milk and sugar on a tray. By the time coffee was poured, mixed and sampled, Anita Milland had come in with a large plate of cinnamon rolls. Short and stout, she had a spring in her step that was at odds with the look of defeat and confusion on her face.

  After Kemper’s, the cinnamon rolls were wretched excess, but the three visitors each took one and ate it all. They made small talk for several minutes before Elizabeth turned the conversation to the matter at hand. Luckily for them, Anita Milland was one of those people who work through a difficult time by talking.

  “I’m wondering,” Elizabeth said, “if Jessica ever said anything to you about anyone or anything suspicious on campus.”

  “Well, like I told the detective the other day, she was aware of the fact that two other girls had gone missing. She didn’t seem to be particularly worried about herself, though. I asked about it, and she said she usually got a ride to town with someone, and that if she had to hitchhike, she only took rides from women or men she knew really well.”

  “Jessica was a mature and poised young woman, more so than most of the women in my classes,” Elizabeth said. “It’s hard to believe she’d just get into a car with a total stranger.”

  “I’m certain she wouldn’t have,” Michael said. “When I was in training, we had a case of a hitchhiker who was raped. Jessica and I had a couple of long conversations about that. She had a whole protocol about who she’d ride with, and it even extended to who she’d let drive her home from a party. That’s why I think whoever killed her had to be someone she knew. Do you know if the sheriff’s office is investigating that angle?”

  Gordon looked at Elizabeth and she nodded.

  “I can’t speak for the sheriff’s department, of course,” Gordon said, but they’ve had a detective on campus interviewing people, and especially faculty members. From what the people being interviewed are saying, that seems to be the thrust of the questioning.” He paused. “Is there any question you’d be asking?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not my case and not my job. I came here as soon as mom got the news, but mostly to be with her.”

  Anita put her hand on his arm. “He’s such a good son. But I don’t think he’s been eating right. I’m making sure he gets a good breakfast.”

  Gordon took another breath, inhaling the mixed scents of bacon and lavender.

  “Did Jessica say anything,” Elizabeth asked, “about things that were going on at the college in the last few weeks? Did she have any complaints?”

  “She didn’t talk about that very much,” Anita said. “Mostly she said school was going well, and I think things were all right with her boyfriend. She seemed to be in good spirits.”

  “Nothing at all that indicated she was worried or suspicious about anything?” Elizabeth pressed.

  Anita shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The detective went over all that, and I couldn’t help him much.”

  Gordon looked at Michael.

  “Did she say anything to you?”

  “Not like that. The last time we talked, she was in a good mood. A bit exasperated by her boyfriend for going out with his buddies instead of her, but not like she was going to break up with him or anything. We talked a bit about the missing students, and she promised me she wouldn’t take a ride from someone she didn’t know. That was about it.”

  “And when did you have that conversation?”

  “Saturday night, five days before she disappeared.”

  They continued talking until 9:45, which got them through a cinnamon roll and coffee, but came up with nothing of any substance. Taking their leave, they stepped outside into the overcast day. It felt as if the temperature had dropped a degree or two since they went into the house.”

  “Well,” said Sam, as they settled into the Subaru, “that didn’t get us very far.”

  “Mmm,” Elizabeth said.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Gordon said. “If nothing else it cleared up one point for me. Not about Jessica, but about Bob and his list.”

  Elizabeth turned toward him in the front passenger seat, and Sam leaned forward in the back seat.

  “I’ve been thinking all along,” Gordon continued, “that there was something off about Bob’s list, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. That family dynamic in there,” he head-gestured toward the house, “ not to mention the smell of bacon and lavender, helped me see it.

  “One of Bob’s little quirks, for as long as I’ve known him, is that he couldn’t stand cold cereal. His mother always cooked him a hot breakfast, he told me in college, and that’s what he was used to. That’s why Wheaties on his list didn’t seem right. I’m almost certain now that we should be looking at Wheaties not as food, but as something else.”

  Elizabeth started the engine.

  “And there was something else, too,” he continued. “An idea that was starting to come to me, but then I had to pay attention to the conversation and it slipped away. No, we didn’t get any concrete leads on Jessica, but the trip out here is turning my thinking a bit. It may lead to something yet.”

  MOST OF THE DRIVE over the mountains took place in silence. On the way back down to the north-south state highway, they came around a curve to a relatively straight stretch of road with a dirt turnout on either side. On the side heading toward Big Piney was a Nissan of 1980s vintage with its hood up, and behind it a Highway Patrol car.

  “Oh, look. That’s Sandy,” Elizabeth said, skidding across the deserted highway and coming to a stop behind the patrol car. They got out and walked toward the Nissan, where Sandy was talking to a woman of about 20.

  “Radiator warning light came on going up the hill,” Sandy said. “Her phone can’t get a signal, so I’ve radioed for a tow truck from Alta Mira. They’re saying 45 minutes.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Elizabeth asked. “We can give you a ride back to the college or Alta Mira,” she said to the young woman.

  “No, thanks. I need to go home to Big Piney. The tow truck will take it to the garage there. They’ve fixed it before. And they said I could ride with them.”

  “All right then,” Elizabeth said. Then, looking at Sandy, “Are you … ?”

  Sandy took a couple of steps forward and pulled Elizabeth aside. Gordon, jacketless and shivering in the cold, could barely hear her saying:

  “Don’t worry. I’m staying with her until the tow truck arrives. I think, given what’s going on around here, that’s more important than patrolling the road and seeing if I can write another speeding ticket.”

  Elizabeth nodded. They returned to the car and got back on the road.

  “This is how our community has been poisoned,” Elizabeth said. “That young woman had to be terrified when her car broke down around here. She fits the demographic for our serial killer, and what’s to say he wouldn’t be above scooping up another victim this way?”

  “Uh huh,” Gordon said. He’d taken her point, but another idea was forming inside his head, and he was wondering whether it was well enough developed to take to the sheriff.

  GORDON HAD LEFT THE CHEROKEE at the college, in the event that Elizabeth might be in a hurry to get
back for her class. It was 11:35 when she stopped behind it and Gordon’s phone rang simultaneously.

  “I think it’s the sheriff,” he said, and answered.

  “I wanted to give you an update,” Chris said. “Howard and I served the warrant this morning and struck pay dirt. Her video from the party was still in the camera.”

  “What was in it?”

  “No definitive proof, but enough to make the horses nervous and maybe shake some more information out of someone. Anyway, we’re going to have a select screening by invitation only at 1:30, and I wanted to be sure you, Elizabeth and Sam were invited. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have gotten our hands on this.”

  Gordon checked quickly with the others.

  “Sam and I will be there, but Elizabeth has to be in class.”

  “All right, and I should warn you. It’s pretty disgusting, so I wouldn’t eat a heavy lunch beforehand, if I were you.”

  “I hear you.”

  “What I don’t understand,” she continued, “is why she held on to the video at all. People knew we were looking into that party. Why wouldn’t she have destroyed or erased the tape?”

  Gordon laughed.

  “What’s so funny, Gordon?”

  “I was just thinking about what Bob said when he told us about this last week.”

  “Spit it out. I don’t have a lot of time today.”

  “He said, ‘If brains were dynamite, Caitlin DeShayne wouldn’t be able to blow her nose.’ ”

  She laughed as well. “Maybe not, but going from the other videos in her possession, she seems to be a young lady of advanced talents her parents probably don’t recognize. However, as those videos are not germane to the case at hand, no one will ever see them. See you at 1:30.”

  GORDON AND SAM ARRIVED a few minutes early, and Chris escorted them to a conference room where Howard Honig and Diane Brinkley were waiting. The blinds to the room’s windows were drawn, and a 28-inch television set and video player stood in front of a wall at one end.

  At 1:05, two men entered together. One was Duane Raymond, the high school principal, with a tired, stooped look about him; the other was in his late thirties with thinning hair and a muscular, athletic build. Chris introduced him as Lloyd Geiser, the football coach.