Текст книги "The Survivors Club"

Автор книги: J. Black

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

CHAPTER 6

Before heading back to the Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Office, Tess drove past the exit and turned on W. Mariposa and worked her way over to Animal Control. She badged the woman behind the glass and was buzzed in to the office.

“I’m looking for a dog named Adele,” Tess said, giving her the names of both George Hanley and Bert Scofield.

“I’m sorry, but number 014489 was adopted already.”

“She was? When was she adopted?”

“Right after she came in. We didn’t even have time to process her.”

“Who adopted her?”

“I don’t think we can give that out.”

“This is a homicide investigation,” Tess lied. “The dog is important to the case. Did the person who adopted 014489 look at any other dogs?”

Wondering why it was important to her.

“I wasn’t here. I could ask, but I don’t know if Sally would remember.”

“Sally was the one who adopted the dog out?”

“Yes.”

“Is she here now?”

“I’ll get her.”

Tess waited. The intake papers were on the desk, and Tess looked at them. Adele was five years old, an “Aussie mix.” There was a place to clip a photo, but it was blank. They didn’t even have enough time to even take a picture?

When the woman returned, another woman wearing a similar knit shirt and khakis but with considerable more girth nodded to her shyly.

Tess asked her about the person who came in.

“I barely put her in her run before someone asked about her.”

“They asked to see an Aussie mix?”

“Yes. Probably, they walked around and saw her. That’s what most people do. I was out on the floor, hosing down the runs, and the woman wanted to adopt the dog. So I took her up to do the paperwork, and then we went back and got the dog.”

Tess craned her neck to read the name. Bernadette Colvin.

“This is her address, right?”

“Uh-huh.” The woman pulled the card back, worried that there was a confidentiality issue. Tess could have pressed her to give her the card, but decided it was unnecessary.

Tess was still unclear why she had felt compelled to come here. To see the dog, or to rescue her? But now that she was here, she had more questions. The quickness with which someone adopted the dog seemed fortuitous, if not downright strange.

Maybe Colvin was a friend of Hanley’s. Maybe, since she adopted the dog, they had been close.

The address for Bernadette Colvin was nearby—just ten minutes out of her way. Tess drove to Walnut Tree Place, a uniformly beige townhome in a housing division full of them. The homes and garages presented blank faces to the street, and Ms. Colvin’s house was no different.

Tess pushed the bell. No answer. Hard to tell if anyone was there, with the drapes drawn. She remembered the phone number on the card, used her cell phone, and got voice mail. She left a message, asking for Bernadette Colvin to call her.

Tess was walking toward the homicide room when Bonny poked his head out of his office. “When you’re in, why don’t you come by.”

He sounded grim.

Tess dumped her briefcase by her desk and walked down the short hallway to Bonny’s office. She noticed his nameplate was finally up next to the door: “Thaddeus Bonneville, Undersheriff.” Bonny hadn’t made much headway in setting up his office. There were boxes and files on every chair and file cabinet. He was still moving in, having taken over as the Santa Cruz County undersheriff when his good friend of forty years died in harness two months ago.

Bonny had brought Tess with him. He looked like he was regretting it, now. “I just got a call from the sheriff,” he said.

The sheriff was on vacation, so this was a big deal.

“John’s not happy. You know what you did? You handcuffed the son of a sitting federal judge.”

Tess opened her mouth to protest. Bonny held up a hand. “Not just any judge. Geneva Rees.”

Tess had heard of Geneva Rees. She was the kind of judge who loved the spotlight, especially when it came to border issues. Tess was already acquainted with some of her virulent lectures from the bench.

Rees was also a girlhood friend of the governor.

Tess said, “Barkman presented a potential danger to me.”

“I’m sure you felt that way. But you know how Geneva Rees can hold a grudge. And see, the deal is, little Stevie Wonderboy out there is her only child.”

Tess could feel the trail narrowing, and it was lined with thorns. “He’s from Judge Rees’s first marriage.”

“Yes.”

Tess cleared her throat. “To the governor’s brother.”

“That pretty much covers it. Judge Rees and her ex are still on very friendly terms, so I hear. And you know her and the governor are like that.” He crossed his fingers. “But that’s not all. She’s a Democrat—‘big D.’ Our boss is not going to like this.”

Tess knew what he meant. The sheriff of Santa Cruz County was influential in party politics—in fact he made sure the party was run like a well-oiled machine. She said, “Her son needs to learn some manners.”

“That may be, but you got to remember we have two political parties in this state. One’s all brains and no principle, and the other is all principle and no brains. But this county is Democrat and this is how the game is played. Barkman’s got a dipshitty little job researching minor crime scenes, which makes his mama happy, and that makes all of us happy. He does the legwork they can’t afford to do, and one hand washes the other. So you see my problem. Now suppose you tell me your side of the story.”

Tess told him.

“Can’t blame you, considering where you were. Hell, just going out there you should get combat pay. I have no problem with what you did, but the sheriff thinks you should send Barkman a written apology.”

Tess felt her stubborn coming on. For a moment she thought about digging her toes in, but in the scheme of things—considering what they were faced with—it wasn’t worth it. “Sure, I’ll send him a note.”

“I’m gonna want to see it when you’re done.”

“Fine.”

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair and started swiveling—something he’d always done when he had something hard to think about. “So what’s your take on this? On Hanley?”

“I’m not sure.”

He rested a cowboy-booted foot over the other knee, clasped his hands over his stomach. Bonny had a bad back, and liked to keep at least one leg up high for relief to his lower spine.

He turned his pale blue eyes on her. “Your theory?”

“I don’t have one yet.”

“You don’t have one yet.”

She cleared her throat. “It has all the earmarks of an execution. Like they made an example of him.”

“They.”

“‘They’ or ‘he’ or ‘it.’ I don’t know what else to call them.”

“So your suspects are everybody and nobody.”

“That sums it up.”

“You think they’re in Mexico?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“They could be in Mexico. They could be here in the state. I read the report, but I want to hear it in your own words. Tell me what you’ve got.”

Tess went over it for him. Her theory that Hanley was meeting someone. “I doubt someone could sneak up on an ex-cop like that. Plus, the time of day. So late.”

“Doing something illegal,” murmured Bonny.

“Could be.”

A sixty-eight-year-old man who came down here to be near his daughter. A guy who had a dog and liked fishing and kept to himself and was civic-minded enough to belong to a buffelgrass eradication group.

But you never knew about people.

Bonny scratched his head. Dandruff ensued. “You’re telling me that he was, what? Running drugs? Guiding crossers? Gunrunning?”

“His death fits with any of that.”

“But?”

“I can’t see it. At least, it’s hard for me to see it. I suppose the money…I guess anyone can fall prey to that.”

Bonny said nothing.

“Another thing. He had a dog. The same day the dog went to the pound—yesterday—a woman adopted her. Snapped her up. It might not mean anything, but—”

“You can’t be saying you think the dog was evidence in some way? Like he was smuggling drugs in the dog?”

“It’s happened.”

“You believe that’s the case here?”

Tess thought about the man’s credit cards, paid in full every month. His monastic lifestyle. The fact that he gave a large portion of his lottery check to the Humane Society. She thought about the pet products—dog shampoo, doggie treats, prescription diet food, grooming brushes, toys, matching leash and collar.

“No.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know. But it looks like somebodywanted to make an example of him.”

Silence.

When Tess was in her late teens, she’d go with her friends to a city park in Albuquerque at night. They’d done the usual things, including ride a teeter-totter in the dark, hang out on the picnic tables, sometimes there were makeout sessions, and once or twice, more than that. Some of them smoking and some of them drinking. Kids at a loose end. They were the only ones in the small park.

And then she’d felt it. Just sitting there on the aluminum seat of the picnic table. She’d felt something dark and menacing brush past them. There was no cold air, but Tess had felt cold inside. It was there. Evil.

She’d looked at the kids she was with. She didn’t know some of them that well. Three males and another female.

But it hadn’t been coming from them. At least she didn’t think so.

It was as if a door had opened and something bad had come through and passed them by.

Tess felt that way now.

“The way things are going, what’s happening these days, is too much,” Bonny said into the silence. “Sometimes I wonder why we bother. Why the Border Patrol keeps rolling that rock uphill. The people in Mexico and the people here—we’re outnumbered and outgunned. Look at Mexico—even the good guys have to become bad guys just to survive. Shit, that’s the norm for down here.”

They sat there, the feeling that they had been enveloped by something bigger than both of them: an evil that was palpable. It was a sunny day outside. Blue sky. Cars in the parking lot, sunlight bouncing off chrome. Heartbreakingly beautiful blue mountains in the distance, blond grassland rising up to them like pale surf.

But they were underwater. They were sinking under a deluge that seemed to spread. The killings. The torture. The burnings. Beheadings.

Obscene.

Tess rubbed her arms, feeling the air conditioning cold on them.

It was just like the park.

Tess typed up what she had and added it to the murder book. She copied the new information to the report that would circulate to her superiors.

She left early. It was time to find out about the rest of George Hanley’s life—the one that seemed so normal. She would start by going over to interview the head of SABEL, a woman named Jaimie Wolfe. Jaimie’s place was on State Route 82 outside Patagonia, where Tess lived.

She stopped at the Circle K on her way out of Nogales, bought an energy bar, and roamed the tabloid racks. This time she saw something new—Max Conroy sharing a split page with an actress in a bikini, the droplets from her dip in the ocean accentuating her beautiful body. One hand held back the dark tangle of her hair and water beaded on her perfect breasts. She had exotic eyes.

The headline said, “Max’s Mermaid?”

The woman’s full name was Suri Riya, but she was one of those stars who went by one name: Suri. Her bikini wouldn’t cover a teacup Chihuahua. Make that two teacup Chihuahuas.

Tess opened the back door to the SUV and dumped the tabloid on top of the others—the Globe, Starmagazine, Celebrity NOW—all of them thrown into a cardboard box. One of these days maybe, she’d get around to looking at them.

She drove out onto the highway headed in the direction of Jaimie Wolfe’s place.

CHAPTER 7

The sign out front said WOLFE MANOR PERFORMANCE HORSES and featured the silhouettes of a prancing horse and a jumper with the words ENGLISH – WESTERN – PERFORMANCE HORSES FOR SALE underneath. The property was in a natural bowl of land surrounded by the Patagonia foothills, not ten miles from where Tess lived.

Tess parked near a riding ring with low jumps. Three girls that Tess pegged to be between the ages of twelve and eighteen were riding around the edge of the ring, posting up and down in their English saddles. The horses were massive and obviously pricey—muscular animals that seemed much too large for the girls riding them. A woman stood in the center of the ring. She was as thin and breedy as a whippet. She wore vanilla-colored breeches and a black tank top that showed off her dark tan. Her long sun-bronzed hair was pulled back into a ponytail that poked through the back of a blinding white visor. Riding boots finished the ensemble—casual, elegant, and expensive.

Money.

The woman glanced in her direction, sun bouncing off her dark glasses, then turned away and yelled something to one of the girls. The girl sat up straighter and tilted her chin up. She seemed self-conscious.

The woman called out instructions for another fifteen minutes, ignoring Tess. Finally, she told them to cool down their horses and walked toward the fence. A pack of dogs materialized from the stable area—mutts and purebreds. The dogs joined up with the woman in the ring and accompanied her to where Tess stood.

“If you’re looking for the riding stable, it’s back off Highway 83,” the woman said. Tess knew Jaimie Wolfe was thirty-four years old, but she looked older. The sun had already done its damage.

“Jaimie Wolfe?”

She woman turned to look at her. “Is this about George’s death?” She pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “I wondered when you’d get around to me. You want some iced tea?”

Tails wagging, the dogs trotted along beside them en masseas they walked to the house. Jaimie talked as they walked. “I can’t believe what happened. He was such a nice man. Absolutely dedicated to ridding this part of Santa Cruz County of buffelgrass, and even put a lot of his own money into it. He worked like a longshoreman.”

“You mean digging out the grass?”

“Yeah, but also getting the news out. He’d give talks, he did the newsletter. Never missed a meeting, and I guess that’s why I wondered if something was wrong…”

“That would be, when?”

“Day before yesterday? Yeah, we were going to touch base. It all seems so unreal.” They stepped up onto the porch. Latticework corralled the porch and yellow jasmine gave off a heavenly scent.

“You go ahead and sit down and I’ll get us some iced tea.” She slipped through the screen door and was gone.

Tess watched the girls at the stable. One had her giant steed in a wash rack and was spraying him with a hose.

Jaimie Wolfe came back out with the iced tea, handed one to Tess, and sat down, tipping back and resting her booted feet up on the railing. “So what else do you want to know? I’ll do what I can to help.”

Tess said, “Did he talk about anything besides buffelgrass eradication?”

Jaimie cocked her head. “For instance?”

“For instance, if anything was bothering him?”

“Bothering him?” She seemed confused. “I don’t think so.”

“He didn’t have anything on his mind? Anything that might have been weighing on him?”

“No. But really, I didn’t spend that much time with him. Just the SABEL stuff.”

“By the way, do you have a list of SABEL members?”

Jaimie said, “Yes, but it’s on my computer. Give me your e-mail address and I’ll send it to you.”

“Did he get along well with everybody on the SABEL board?”

“From what I could tell, yes.”

Tess looked into Jaimie Wolfe’s eyes. “You know how he was killed?”

Jaimie looked away. “I saw it in the paper today—I can read between the lines. Awful.” She shuddered. “I can’t imagine who would do something like that. Nobody I’dknow.” Abruptly, she stood up and yelled at one of the girls. “Don’t let him do that! If you’re not careful, he’s going to step right on your foot. Put your boots back on until you’re done with him. Flip-flops, for fuck sake!” Turned back to Tess. “You’re asking if he had any enemies? Let me think. He took the spread of buffelgrass very seriously.” She launched into a description of how the invasive, flammable African species came to the country, leaving the Sonoran Desert susceptible to wildfires. “Everything could go up, and fast,” she said, waving at the golden hills around them. “He was a true believer. He was also worried about his daughter and his son-in-law. He thinks—thought—they’re headed for divorce.”

Tess said, “Have you met them?”

“A couple times. That was enough for me.”

“What do you think of Bert Scofield?”

“What I knowabout Bert Scofield is that he came on to me. It was at one of our get-togethers we had here at the ranch about three months ago. I was in the kitchen and he kind of had me trapped between the door and the kitchen table.”

“What did you do?”

“I stomped on his instep. And I told him if he pulled that crap again, I would tell his wife.”

“What was his response?”

She shrugged. “He said he was gonna leave her anyway. He also said she didn’t care.”

“How would you characterize his relationship with his father-in-law?”

“I only met them socially, they weren’t the least bit interested in SABEL or anything that didn’t include eating—the two of them really put it away, a pair of greedy-guts—and I noticed she was sneaking leftovers from the spread into her purse. I didn’t say anything, because I loved George. I felt so sorry for him.”

“Why?”

“He pulled up stakes to come here to be near her. But she always seemed like a sour old ingrate, to me. Hate to say it, but sometimes I think the wrong daughter died.”

“You’re talking about her sister? Karen?” Tess asked. In Tess’s research, she’d learned that Pat wasn’t George Hanley’s only daughter. Years ago, his other daughter had been shot and killed during a holdup at a convenience store.

“Yeah, that was a long time ago, apparently.” Jaimie stood up and bracketed her mouth with her hands. “Alison,” she shouted. “Is your mom coming soon?”

One of the girls looked up from where she’d been sitting on a chair outside the barn and yelled, “After she gets off work!”

“I want to talk to her, so don’t sneak off, okay?” Jaimie said to Tess, “That woman owes me for two months board, plus lessons. I know it’s hard times for everybody, but she should pay at least something. I try hard to keep these kids going, but this is an expensive business.”

“Riding lessons?”

“Oh, it’s much more than that. Showing. Big money, you wouldn’t believe how much those warmbloods cost. Alison’s mom has a good job, but she doesn’t have anywhere near the money she needs for them to compete on the highest level. The sad thing is, Alison has the talent. She could go all the way.”

“I got the impression it was George’s daughter who wanted him to come out here.”

“You got that right. But then he did and she ignored him. She’s a cold one. Don’t get me wrong. She’s needy, and kind of weak, but it’s all about her. She wanted her dad to come down here but once he was here, it was like, she had thatbox checked. Pat’s such an insecure person. She knows down deep what a disgusting creep her husband is, but she wants to hold on to him. Why, I don’t know. She’s the type that only grabs on if she thinks she’s going to lose you. You could tell George thought he’d made a mistake coming down here, but that only made her tighten her grip. And when he did come over to her place, she just got in arguments with him.”

“You seem to know them pretty well.”

“Don’t forget—I saw them in action. George asked me to go with him on more than a few occasions, kind of as backup. I knew he was unhappy. Pulling up stakes like that and coming all the way here. I’m divorced myself, and I know what a drain the wrong kind of person can be. Now I’m free as a lark, and doing what I love to do.”

“But it’s an expensive hobby.”

“Oh, yeah. But I come from money, and even though I have a lot less than I used to, I’m doing all right.”

“Was anything bothering George Hanley, besides his family situation? Anything you saw?”

“I dunno. He was such a gracious man. Old-fashioned that way. I guess you could say he was a gentleman.”

“Did he ever mention planning a trip to LA?”

“I don’t think so.” Jaimie stood up, her eyes on the barn. “There’s Alison’s mom. I’ve got to talk to her. Anything else?”

“Did he talk much about the tours he led in Credo?”

“I have to talk to her,” Jaimie said, starting down the steps.

Tess moved fast to catch up with her. “Did he? Talk about the tours in Credo?”

“He mentioned how much he enjoyed them. He was worried about illegals, all the drug running, stuff like that, but who isn’t, around here? It was such a remote place.” Her pace quickened. “Janine!” she called to the mother, who was just getting out of her Cadillac. Jaimie Wolfe darted a glance back at Tess. “Look, I’ve got to get this straightened out. I’m paying fricking alimony to my ex, if you can believe it, the bastard thinks because I’m a DeKoven I’m rolling in it. Which is notthe case at all. Plus, it’s the principle of the thing. I’m one of the best there is in this business.”

“Anything,” Tess said, “that could shine a light on who might have wanted to kill him?”

“I’d start with Bert,” she said. “He really didn’t like having George around. Selfish bastard.”

She walked away.

DeKoven. It didn’t occur to Tess what that meant until she’d driven off the property. She was new to Santa Cruz County. But Tess had been living in Arizona long enough to have heard the name.

Jaimie Wolfe was a DeKoven?