“I did some checking on you,” he said. “You’ve got a rep for honesty, so I’m assuming everything you told me yesterday is factual. The story Erskine handed you, the nature and substance of your investigation.”
“It’s factual. I wouldn’t have any reason to lie or withhold information.”
“But evidently Erskine did.”
“You mean he lied to me?”
“That’s right.”
“For instance?”
“The terminally ill son back in Santa Fe.”
“...The boy’s not dying of leukemia?”
“There is no boy,” Battle said. “No son, no living children. His only child was a little girl and she died in infancy five years ago. Crib death, age five months.”
I sat there with my mouth hanging open a little. “His ex-wife?”
“She’s real enough. The mother of the baby that died. But if she was ever a drug addict, the Santa Fe police have no record of any arrests, and a woman at the Salishan Gallery who knew her disputes it. She was never in a rehab center in New Mexico.”
“The disappearance three years ago...?”
“Oh, she left Santa Fe after a divorce and settlement, but it was four years ago, not three. From there she went to Taos for a while, not Albuquerque. Then she moved back to Chicago, where she was born, and then to St. Louis, Phoenix, and finally out here about three years ago. In St. Louis she had her name legally changed to Sondra Nelson.”
“She tell you all that?”
“Yesterday afternoon, at James Woolfox’s ranch. Funny thing is, I could’ve saved myself the trip. She was right here at the courthouse until one-thirty. Jury duty. So she couldn’t have had any direct involvement in the shooting. Erskine died at approximately 7:40 A.M., and she was already in the jury room by then. Jury Commissioner’s office verified it.”
I was silent for a little time, working to sort out and reslot all the new information he was feeding me. “Before she settled in the Alexander Valley, why did she move around so much?”
“Same reason she changed her name. To keep Erskine from finding her.”
“Afraid of him?”
“Scared to death.”
“Jesus, don’t tell me he was a wife-stalker?”
“Just what he was, according to her. Abused her before the baby’s death, even more afterward. She tried to leave him a couple of times; he dragged her back. Love-hate thing on his part, and violent both ways. Last time he beat her up she had to be hospitalized and that’s when she filed for divorce. He kept after her, she got a restraining order and moved to Taos. He went up there and threatened to kill her. The old story — ‘If I can’t have you, nobody can.’ That was when she started running in earnest.”
“And I found her for him. Bought that sob story of his without checking any damn part of it.” I smacked the heels of my palms together, hard enough to hurt. “Stupid. Stupid! There were signs... I should’ve recognized them for what they were.”
“What signs?”
“He was so intense. Obsessive. And the way he reacted when I found her, some things he said that I ignored or misinterpreted — Christ. It never even occurred to me he might be stalking her.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Battle said. “Everybody makes mistakes in judgment. Besides, he’s the one who’s dead, not her.”
“He must’ve seen her, talked to her. What happened?”
“Showed up at the winery Friday morning. She nearly had a hemorrhage. After four years she figured she was safe.”
“Yeah.”
“No threats then. Charm and pleas — told her how good she looked, how much he still loved her and wanted her back. He wouldn’t leave. Then Woolfox got into it.”
“And?”
“Some harsh words between the two men, that’s all. Erskine left, but an hour later he started calling up the winery. She wouldn’t talk to him. So that night he began pestering Gail Kendall, the winery chemist. Found out somehow she was his ex’s best friend and the two of them had roomed together until six weeks ago, when Nelson moved out to Woolfox’s ranch. Erskine got wind of that, too. On Saturday afternoon he showed up at the ranch.”
“With or without the Police Special?”
“If he had it with him, he didn’t flash it,” Battle said. “Verbal threats only, but pretty strong ones. He wouldn’t leave until Woolfox told his housekeeper to phone us. But he was back again on Sunday, at the ranch and winery both — not that it did him any good. Woolfox and Nelson spent Saturday night and Sunday with a friend in the Napa Valley. Kendall was invited along because they were afraid Erskine would continue to harass her.”
“And Monday morning Erskine turns up dead of a gunshot wound. End of threat. Convenient.”
“Coincidences happen. And disturbed people do foolish things.”
“So you’re satisfied the shooting was accidental?”
“Satisfied? No, not yet. That’s one of the reasons you’re here. It could’ve been suicide; stalkers are prone to taking that way out. But seldom until they’ve killed the woman first. That’s their whole focus, either getting her to come back to them or killing her if she refuses. Why go to all the trouble to track her down and then take no for a quick answer and blow himself away? Doesn’t fit the psychological profile.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed.
“Homicide’s more likely, but the circumstances seem to rule it out. He was alone in the room, the door and windows all locked tight. Mexican maid and two guests heard the shot, and the male guest, a man named Doyle, convinced the maid to use her passkey. He swears they were inside Erskine’s room within five minutes. And that he didn’t hear anything inside after the shot, or see anything suspicious in the vicinity.”
“Pretty convincing, all right.”
“And that’s not all,” Battle said. “The locals who had reason to want Erskine dead all have solid alibis. Sondra Nelson was here at the courthouse on jury duty, like I said. Woolfox was still in the Napa Valley; not only his friend but the friend’s wife and a grown daughter verify it. Gail Kendall went back home Sunday night — she lives in the hills near Geyserville — and her car had a dead battery when she got up Monday morning. She called Triple A to come out and jump it for her. The tow-truck driver confirms time and place.”
“One of the three could’ve hired it done,” I said.
“Anything’s possible. But where would respectable citizens find a paid assassin on short notice? And even if one could be found, why would he go to a lot of trouble to arrange a fake shooting accident in a motel room? There are a few hundred better, safer ways and places.”
I nodded. “Yet you’re still not quite ready to close it out as accidental. How come?”
“You’ve cleared up some of the inconsistencies, but there’re still loose ends. And the fact of Erskine turning up dead so soon after threatening his ex-wife. Convenient coincidences happen, but that doesn’t mean I like them. Anything more you can tell me?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got a few questions, though. Things that occurred to me while we’ve been talking.”
“Go ahead.”
“How much corroboration have you got that Erskine was an abuser and a stalker?”
“Enough. The woman at the Salishan Gallery in Santa Fe confirmed the abuse; so did hospital records. We verified the restraining order and three complaints by Janice Erskine on file with the Santa Fe and Taos police. And both Woolfox and his housekeeper were witnesses when Erskine threatened her life at the ranch on Saturday.”