He made a note to question them about the ring. “Who else?”
“Rita Welsh, my mother’s friend, the librarian. A few others, names I don’t even know.”
He closed his notebook. “I’m done for now. Are you going to be okay?”
“No problems.”
“Do you need me to call someone to sit with you?”
“Of course not.” She jammed her hands into her pockets. “I’ll be fine.”
As she turned to go, he caught her arm. She looked at him. The naked vulnerability in her gaze blew her tough girl act to smithereens. In the next moment, it was gone.
“What?” she asked.
“Call me if you need anything. Okay?”
She said she would and climbed into her car. He watched her drive off, then headed back into the scene. Ware was examining the body.
“What do you think, Bobby?”
“I think you nailed it. Suicide. Poor old bastard.”
“What about TOD?”
The man sent him an irritated glance. “Can’t give you a time yet. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know. I still want it.”
The man began to hum the Rolling Stones classic “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” At the appropriate moment the CSI team sang out, “But sometimes, you get what you need!”
Reed bit back a guffaw, glared at the three, then pointed at the Coroner’s detective. “Call me, Ware. I need that TOD.”
Moments later, he slid behind the wheel of his Tahoe. He dialed Tanner. “Where are you?”
“Barn. What’s up?”
“You have the Schwann autopsy photos?”
“Nope. But the Coroner’s Office uploaded them, along with Kath’s report.”
“Great. I’m on my way in. I need to get a look at the tattoo on the bottom of Schwann’s foot.”
“I’m not even going to ask. See you in a few.”
A short time later, Reed gazed at the computer image of Schwann’s tattoo. The design was a mirror image of the ring’s-grapevines and a snake.
“Want to tell me what you’ve got?” Tanner asked.
“Better than that, I’ll show you.” He handed her the ring.
She studied it, then swore softly. “Where’d you get this?”
“Alex. It was her mother’s. She found it in the same trunk she found Dylan’s pacifier.”
“BOV. What does it stand for?”
“She didn’t know. She thought they might be her father’s initials.” He explained about Max Cragan, how Alex had found him and why.
“What I find interesting is that once again, Alexandra Clarkson’s at the center of trouble.”
“It does seem to be following her.”
“And her reaction this time?”
“Shook up. Very.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop. “The question is, why Tom Schwann and Patsy Sommer would both be in possession of the same, rather unusual image.”
“Coincidence?” she offered. “It’s unusual but not so off the charts it couldn’t happen. This is wine country, and the image reflects that.”
He agreed. “Dylan disappeared in ’85. Schwann would have been seventeen at the time. Alex five.”
“That eliminates the possibility of his being her father.”
“But their families would have traveled in the same circles.” Reed grabbed his jacket and stood. “This just got a bit more interesting. I’m going to pay a visit to Schwann’s wife, see what she knows about the tatt, then maybe a few of his friends.”
After speaking to Jill Schwann, who knew nothing about the tattoo except that it was something he’d done when young and that she’d found it hideous, Reed paid a visit to his brothers.
He made his way into the winery’s offices. “Hey, Eve,” he called to the receptionist. “Either of my brothers in?”
The woman, who had been with the winery since Reed was a toddler, smiled. She used to keep a jar of candy on her desk just for when he, Joe and Ferris came around. Which had been often.
“They’re together. In Joe’s office.”
“Double trouble,” he said. She returned his grin and he headed down the hall, passing his father’s closed office door, stopping at Joe’s.
He heard them arguing. Not a big surprise. This time about the replanting of a vineyard from cabernet grapes to pinot noir.
“You’re so full of shit!” Ferris exclaimed. “The fact is that vineyard produces inferior cab grapes; its northern exposure is perfect for pinots. You know it and I know it.”
“The cost of ripping up and replanting is too great for the return we’ll see. Plus, we’re known for our cabs.”
“Good cabs! Not the blended crap those grapes-”
Reed tapped on the partially open door, then stuck his head in. “Wow, what a touching moment. I ask myself, why didn’t I go into the family business?”
“Kiss my ass, Dan,” Joe said, coming around his desk to greet him. He clapped him on the back. “This is a surprise. How the hell are you?”
Ferris didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Talk some sense into this low-rent, penny-pinching jackass, would ya?”
“Impossible. I’ve tried before.” He hugged his younger brother. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to ask you a couple of questions about Tom.”
“Fire away,” Joe said, returning to his chair.
“What do you know about the tattoo on Tom’s foot?”
“Tom had a tattoo?” Ferris made a face. “Mr. Conservative?”
“From the old days,” Joe said. “He and Carter got a wild hair one summer. Got matching tatts.”
Reed turned toward Joe. “You know where they had ’em done?”
“Local place, I think. Ask Carter.”
“I will. You know anything else about it?”
“Sorry, Bro.” He folded his hands on the desk. “Why the interest?”
“Following up every lead, that’s all.”
“How’s Alex doing?” Ferris asked. “I heard she found old Max Cragan dead.”
“News travels fast.”
“Small town.”
Ferris shrugged; Joe stepped in. “She’s a little nuts. Like her mother.”
It shouldn’t have, but the comment got Reed’s back up. “How do you figure?”
“You saw her the other night. Hearing voices, screaming. Nuts.”
“Cut her some slack,” Ferris said. “She’d been drinking and got turned around. It happens.”
Joe rolled his eyes. “Not to me.”
“Of course not,” Ferris shot back. “Because you’re perfect.”
“That’s right, little brother. And don’t forget it.”
Reed decided it was time to exit. Middleman in one of his brothers’ arguments was a thankless place to be. Been there, done that. Besides, if he was lucky he could catch Carter before lunch.
He said his goodbyes and left Red Crest, thoughts already on the interview ahead. Carter Townsend had also left the wine industry, though he hadn’t strayed far. He’d earned a law degree, specializing in corporate law, then settled right back here in Sonoma County. Carter represented a number of wineries, including the Reed and Sommer outfits.
Walton, Townsend Johnson & Associates law firm was located in Santa Rosa, not far from the county courthouse. As Reed stepped off the elevator and crossed to the firm’s double glass doors, he decided that Carter must be doing well. Beyond the doors he could see gleaming dark wood and shiny brass fixtures.
He crossed to the reception area and the perky blonde sitting there. In Reed’s experience, every law office was a cookie-cutter version of every other law office. Not in size or furnishings. In atmosphere. Hushed, like a library, with a certain “tiptoe” quality.
Law offices, even when luxuriously outfitted, were not warm, fuzzy places.
“Good morning,” the woman said, smiling. “How can I help you?”
“Is Carter Townsend in?”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Detective Reed.” He held up his shield. “Is he in?”
She looked startled. “He may have left for… lunch. Let me see.”
He hadn’t. Several moments later, the man crossed the reception area to greet him. “Dan, what the hell? Scared my girl here to death with all that official badge crap.” He shook his hand. “Next time, just tell her Danny Reed needs a moment.”