“So where was Lester getting all this extra cash?” Joanna asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Ernie agreed. “Whatever it was, LaVerne claimed that she had no knowledge of anything out of line. He claimed the Savages had given him a raise.”
“Not according to Margie Savage,” Joanna put in.
Ernie nodded. “That didn’t seem too likely to me, either. As for Jaime, he was good enough to tell me what was on the security tapes. Too bad we didn’t get better visuals, but what about this for an idea? What if drug traffickers were routinely using Action Trail Adventures as a rendezvous point? And what if Lester was in on it?”
“Good point,” Joanna said thoughtfully. “Action Trails is a long way from anywhere, but it comes with a clear reason to have traffic coming and going on a regular basis. It would give dealers a relatively private place to make their load transfers without anyone being the wiser. Lester probably saw the wisdom of letting them do it. All he had to do was keep quiet to earn a little extra cash on the side. Everything was peachy-keen until the Savage brothers came up with the bright idea of installing video surveillance.”
“Right. And if the traffickers were about to be caught, so was Lester,” Ernie said. “I think that’s what happened the night of the murder. Lester went out to warn them. First they took him out, and then they came back to do away with the recording equipment without realizing that the Savages had a backup system running somewhere off site.”
“There were ATVs on two of the trucks in the video,” Joanna said. “Dave’s analysis suggests that there were three vehicles used in the attack on Lester. If they’re using the ATVs as camouflage-as a ticket to come and go from out-of-the-way places with no questions asked-what are the chances that they’ve pulled the same stunt at other spots as well-other places where ATV enthusiasts hang out? We need to find a way to enhance those videos.”
Ernie nodded and stood up to go. “Jaime told me he was working on the enhancement situation. In the meantime, I’ll start checking to see if I can find any other locations they might have used. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find someone who bought better surveillance equipment.”
Ernie left then, and Joanna went back to work. She had promised Butch that she’d leave by three to help out with party preparations.
Debra Howell came by just as Joanna was clearing her desk. She was furious. “Machett turned us down,” she said. “He says that Inez Fletcher’s son refuses to allow her remains to be exhumed regardless of what his sister says.”
“Did you get a look at the death certificate?”
“Better yet, I have a copy of it.”
“Who signed it?”
“Someone named Dr. Clay Forrest.”
“Never heard of him,” Joanna said.
“He’s from Tucson,” Debra replied.
“Which means he’s probably a close personal friend of Alma DeLong,” Joanna said. “See what you can find out about him.”
Debra nodded and headed for the door. “By the way, have fun at the party tonight,” she added on her way out.
“I don’t understand why I couldn’t invite everyone,” Joanna said. “I mean, we’ve all worked together for years.”
She had been upset when she had learned that Dr. LuAnn Marcowitz’s bridal shower was scheduled for the same evening and time as the bachelor party.
“Don’t give it another thought,” Deb said. “I spend more than enough time with these clowns. I’m happy to be going to a ladies-only event.”
“I’d be glad to trade places.”
“Too bad, boss.” Deb Howell grinned. “No way. Hosting the bachelor party goes with the best-man territory. I hear you’re playing poker?”
“That’s right,” Joanna said. “Texas Hold’Em.”
“Is Dr. Machett coming?”
“He may,” Joanna said. “We invited him because we pretty much had to, since George Winfield will be there, too. After all, Machett will be working with Frank’s department as well as ours. I don’t know for sure if he sent back an RSVP.”
“If he shows up, then,” Deb Howell said, “do me a favor and clean his clock.”
Joanna nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
When I returned from my musings, Mel was still on the phone. She had dragged her notebook out of her purse and was taking notes with a kind of indecipherable shorthand that is beyond my capability.
“Okay,” she said finally to Barbara. “Thanks for the good news. Sounds like we’re making progress.”
“What progress?” I asked when she closed her phone.
With any other woman, it would have been different, but Mel doesn’t carry a grudge. We may have spats from time to time, but when the fight is over, it’s really over, as this latest one evidently was.
“Brad may have found Marina’s vehicle,” she said.
Brad was Brad Norton, one of our colleagues and a fellow investigator for S.H.I.T.’s Squad B.
“Stolen?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” Mel said. “Brad was checking statewide for any 4-Runners that showed up in police reports around the time Marina disappeared. He found one with Arizona plates that had been parked with the hazard lights on and the keys still inside at an abandoned weigh station on I-90 east of Issaquah.”
That sounded about right to me. “When was it found?” I asked.
“In the early morning hours of November 9.”
“That would fit,” I said. “That’s right in line with the time Marina disappeared.”
Mel nodded in agreement. “When the vehicle was found it was in good running order,” she continued. “The keys were in it and it still had gas in the tank. When a Washington State Patrol officer ran the plates, he found out that the registered owner was a woman named Frances Dennison, who lives in Tucson. She told him that the previous summer she had decided that the 4-Runner was getting to be too much for her. She wanted something smaller, but since the dealer wouldn’t give her what she thought her vehicle was worth in trade, she had sold it herself.”
“When was this?”
“Back in July. She listed it in something called the Nifty Nickel and sold it to a young woman-a young Hispanic woman-who paid her thirty-five hundred in cash and promised that she would go straight to the vehicle licensing office to change the title.”
“Which, of course, she didn’t do.”
“Right.”
“Does the woman in Tucson have a bill of sale?”
“Yes,” Mel answered. “Brad asked her to look at it, and she did. Evidently the buyer’s signature is an illegible scribble.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I asked. “What happened to the car?”
“Brad says there was no sign of foul play in the car. No blood; no nothing, including no fingerprints. The steering wheel and door handles had all been wiped clean, which was suspicious, but since Frances was still the registered owner of the vehicle, they returned it to her. Her grandson flew up, paid the impound fees, and drove it back to Tucson.”
“Is the grandson still driving it?” I asked.
“As far as we know.”
“There might still be forensic evidence inside,” I said.
“Right,” Mel said. “Brad’s already working on that.”
That’s one of the good things about working for S.H.I.T. We’re all on the same team and usually on the same page, and we all pull in the same direction. I don’t get the feeling that there’s someone waiting in the woods to undermine me. Ross Connors is the state attorney general, but he’s someone who engenders a lot of personal loyalty. Yes, he’s a politician who has a bit of a problem with demon rum, but he’s also the best boss I’ve ever had. He’s a straight shooter who doesn’t stand on ceremony. He always backs up his people, and he gets as good as he gives.
Nursing a case of pre-party jitters, Joanna came home to find what they had come to call the “Gang of Four”-Jenny and Dennis and Carol Sunderson’s two grandsons, Rick and Danny-playing in the side yard, where she and Butch had installed a redwood kiddie gym set, complete with a minifort, slide, teeter-totter, and swing.