Tahoe Chase (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) (9 page)

I looked at Bains. “So Manuel had a picture from a brochure or something,” he said.

“Why would a fastidious guy crumple it up and toss it on the floor of his car?”

Bains shrugged. “No crime here that I can see. You can have it if you want.” He turned and signaled the tow truck driver. “Okay, Grady, all yours,” he said.

The driver winched the wreckage up onto the cargo bed. There was nothing left that resembled four normal tires on wheels, so the scraping and screeching of metal on metal was severe. Once in place, the driver leveled the cargo bed and secured the wreckage with cargo straps that were tightened by ratchets.

One of the deputies came up. “Sarge, we’ve got pics from pretty much every angle.”

“Did you check to see if the snow tracks had enough shadows to be easy to see?”

“Matt held the big light down low just to make shadows. See what you think.” The man held up the camera so that Bains could look at the screen. He pushed a button to scroll the photos.

“Looks good,” Bains said. “Okay, let’s gather up the cones and turn this land back over to the public.”

THIRTEEN
 

I stuck the ski photo and cigarette pack into my pocket and got back in the Jeep. Spot was subdued. As always, the lingering scent of deceased human was hard for him.

I often think of how hard it must be for Ellie Ibsen, the search-and-rescue trainer, and her dogs. To have a job finding missing persons would be great when the people turn up alive. But many times the dogs are brought in too late. In that situation, the dogs still perform the miracle of finding the victim, but the victim is dead. It’s the worst reward for a job well done.

The body had been removed before we arrived. Yet, even Spot’s limited experience with the smell of death made him sad. He leaned forward from the back seat, sticking his nose onto my clothes and the back of my neck, reaching down toward the pocket with the cigarette pack, perhaps looking for a scent that would suggest a happier ending. But he didn’t find it. As I drove back toward town, he lay down on the back seat and sighed, deep and long.

I didn’t want to give Joe Rorvik the news over the phone, so I headed back to his house. I let Spot out of the Jeep, thinking that he might be needed. As I knocked, I hoped that Joe wasn’t taking a nap. He answered after just a few seconds.

“Sorry about not calling first,” I said.

“You found out something.”

“Yes,” I said. “Okay if I come in?”

Joe nodded, once again put his hand on Spot’s back, and walked him into the living room.

When we were seated with Spot lying on the floor next to him, I said, “I’m sorry to tell you that Manuel Romero died early this morning.”

Joe jerked as if I’d hit him. His skin lost its color. His forehead wrinkled with stress. It was a moment before he spoke.

“How?”

“A car accident. He skidded off one of the switchbacks at Emerald Bay and went some distance down the mountain.”

Joe was shaking his head before I finished the sentence. “I don’t believe it,” he finally said.

“What don’t you believe?”

“That it was an accident.” Joe’s shock and pain were obvious. He was trying to focus on cause, pushing away the effect for a bit.

“I was there when they pulled up the car. It would be hard to imagine anyone surviving that kind of wreck. There was no other vehicle.”

“Somebody must have forced him off the mountain.”

“Why do you think that? Had Manuel been threatened or something?”

“Not that I know of. I just know that Manuel was too focused and careful to drive off a mountain. You’d have to be going fast, right?”

“From the distance the car went down the mountain, I think so, yes.”

“Manuel was not a reckless driver. He would never be so careless as to drive fast on those switchbacks. He was... I’m not sure how to describe it. The opposite of absent-minded.”

“Mindful?” I said.

“Yes, that’s it. He paid attention to everything he did. I played golf with Manuel. Not that what I did could be called playing. I puttered. He played. And I never saw anyone who had greater powers of concentration. Manuel wasn’t a scratch golfer, but for someone who was quite short and had an old arm injury, he was amazingly good. That didn’t come from any natural talent but from his ability to concentrate. So I can’t see him driving off the road.”

“Even focused people can get distracted when they are driving,” I said. “Or fall asleep at the wheel. The cops said the crash happened in the middle of the night.”

“So that naturally makes you and the cops think that he fell asleep. But I knew him. He wouldn’t do that. He was the kind of man who was always in control. If he planned to drive in the middle of the night, he would make certain that he’d gotten enough rest. He’d bring a thermos of coffee.”

“Yes, he did,” I said. “A thermos, anyway. It was probably coffee. Joe, when you suggest that someone arranged Manuel’s accident, that is an extreme thought. Was there something about Manuel that might create a serious enemy?”

“No. Manuel was as careful and tidy with his relationships as he was with his physical life.”

I pulled the empty cigarette pack out of my pocket and held it out. “I found this on the floor of Manuel’s car.”

Joe moved his hand through the air in a dismissive wave. “It didn’t come from Manuel. He didn’t smoke.”

“How do you know he didn’t smoke? Did he tell you that?”

“No, he didn’t need to. I never saw him smoke, I never saw any evidence of smoking, and most of all I never smelled smoke on him. I can tell that you don’t smoke either, even though we’ve never discussed it.”

“Then how do you imagine a cigarette pack got in his car?”

“Someone must have put it there.”

“Did Manuel pick up hitchhikers?”

Joe shook his head. “I doubt it. I think he would consider that a risk. He was very focused about the welfare of his wife and children. And yes, it is an extreme thought to suggest that it wasn’t an accident.” Joe held my eyes. “But it is certainly possible, right? Maybe someone followed him and rammed him from behind at the right moment. It would be relatively easy to do that to someone, wouldn’t it? One of those switchbacks would be a perfect spot for it.”

As before during our previous visit, Spot lifted his head and raised his nose toward Joe’s face. Joe looked at him and frowned.

“His name,” I said. “He thinks you were talking to him.”

Joe looked confused, then said, “Oh.” He rubbed Spot’s head. After a moment, Spot rested his jaw on Joe’s lap.

Joe said, “It would be easy to push someone’s vehicle from behind, especially if you were coming down the mountain, because gravity would be on your side. You could get your victim going much too fast. Then, if you stepped on the brakes at just the right moment, you would have enough road to stop, but your victim would not.”

“The roads were covered with snow. It would be very tricky to control it as you say,” I said.

“Slippery snow just makes it so you would have to brake much sooner. Still possible. I know something about snow.”

“Yes, you do,” I said. “More than almost anyone.”

“Another possibility is that some oncoming driver came toward Manuel. To avoid being hit, Manuel might have swerved off the mountain.”

“You sound pretty sure about this,” I said.

“I’m certainly not sure how it happened, but I’m sure that it wasn’t an accident. As I’ve said, I’m a good judge of character.”

I got up and walked over to look out at the deck where Rell fell. Rorvik was confronting two separate accidents that happened to people close to him. Apparently, after Rell, Manuel was the closest person to Joe. Both were victims of what seemed like obvious accidents. Manuel died, and Rell was near death. Although there was no evidence to suggest otherwise, Joe believed that both incidents were intentional.

I turned back to face Rorvik.

“Have you met Manuel’s wife and kids?”

“Yes, once. On the way to one of our lunch meetings, I picked Manuel up at his house. I believe his wife’s name is Lucy. I don’t remember his daughters’ names. Nice kids. That was last summer.”

“Do you remember anything else about them?”

Joe shook his head. “Just that Manuel was crazy about them. He told me that the rest of his family is in Mexico. Lucy’s family is from Philadelphia. And because they recently moved up from Davis, they don’t have friends here to speak of. I suppose that’s why Manuel was willing to spend time with me.”

We sat in silence for a bit.

“Joe, after Rell’s fall, you said that you didn’t think there was a burglar in your house because nothing valuable was missing.”

“Correct.”

“How did you determine that?”

Joe frowned as if he didn’t understand why I would ask. “I just looked to see if our valuables were still here.”

“So you didn’t make a rigorous search of the house.”

“No. Why would I look in the towel drawers or the coat closet?”

“No reason,” I said, “as far as valuables go.”

“Is there another reason?”

“It’s possible that someone was looking for something other than valuables.”

“You mean something personal?” Joe asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know. As an investigator I always look for things that I don’t expect to find.”

“Give me an example of what I wouldn’t expect.” It was a phrase he’d used before in talking about Rell.

“The nature of the unexpected is that you don’t know what it is until you experience it. In your house, the expected are those things you know. You open the glass cupboard and see the glasses. That’s expected. But if you look in your coat closet and find the garbage, that’s unexpected.”

“Got it. It sounds like you think I should go through this house and see if anything unexpected happens.”

I nodded. “Probably nothing will turn up. But it doesn’t hurt to look.”

“You think this will help you find out why someone threw Rell off the deck?”

“If something unexpected turns up, yes.”

I said goodbye, and Spot and I left.

FOURTEEN
 

The winter sun was setting, bringing on the fast, hard, winter night.

I knew that I should reconnect with Manuel’s wife Lucy. This was the first evening on the day Manuel died. I didn’t know if she had local friends. Joe had said that their relatives were in Mexico and Philadelphia. And Manuel and Lucy had just moved up from Davis. I knew nothing about coping with the loss of a spouse, but I did know that what Lucy needed was reassurance and help. I also knew that if you call the same day someone dies, people will say, no, it’s not a good time to come over. No, I’m too upset. No, I have to deal with my kids. No, I don’t trust you not to try to sell me something. No, I’d rather be alone.

Or they won’t even answer the phone.

You have to show up on their doorstep, preferably with food.

I dialed Street to tell her about the sudden change of plans.

She didn’t answer her lab or her cell or her home.

We’d made a date, and Street was the most reliable person on the planet. That meant she was either driving or in the shower.

I didn’t know what to say on her voicemail, so I didn’t leave any messages. I drove to her condo.

I saw the peephole darken after my first push of the doorbell. The door opened.

“Owen, you’re early. What’s wrong?” Street had her hair in a towel. She was fresh out of the shower and wearing the big, peach-colored terry cloth robe. Women don’t come more attractive. Her skin glowed in a way that harmonized with the robe.

“Remember my client Joe Rorvik?”

Street nodded.

 “Joe’s best friend, Manuel Romero, died this morning in a car accident at Emerald Bay. One of his daughters goes to UC San Diego. I don’t know what can be done about that right now. But I’m thinking that maybe Manuel’s wife and their other daughter could use a stabilizing presence. From what Joe said, they recently moved up from Davis, and they don’t have any family members close. They haven’t lived in Tahoe long enough to have much in the way of friends.”

“You want me to go there with you.”

“Yes, please.”

Street nodded. It was a sudden, major adjustment in her evening plans.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m in.”

“One more thing,” I said. “Have you made food arrangements?”

“You mean, did I plan for dinner? Yes. I roasted a chicken and veggies. It’s all ready to pop in the oven to warm up.”

“Can we bring it?”

“Of course.”

I called Joe Rorvik and told him about our plan. He agreed to let us pick him up. Next, I called my buddy Diamond Martinez, sergeant with the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office, told him about Manuel, and explained that I was putting together a small party to help distract Manuel’s wife and daughter.

“I thought someone with your gravitas would be a helpful presence. Plus, we’re bringing some food. Not much, but Street cooked it.”

He said he’d join us.

An hour and twenty minutes later, we rang Lucy Romero’s doorbell in the Tahoe Keys. Street was dressed in jeans and cotton shirt and over it she wore a shiny leather jacket. Casual, but nice enough to show respect. Lightweight, too, but Street has a metabolism to rival the boiler on a steam locomotive. Joe wore a sport jacket over dress pants and dress shirt. He looked elegant even with his bent posture. Diamond had switched from his uniform to his civvies. He looked good in navy slacks and navy sweater. I had on my work clothes, jeans and flannel shirt and down vest. Functional to a fault.

I carried Street’s large covered pan. Leaving Spot in the Jeep, we four stood on Lucy’s doorstep for two minutes before the door opened a little.

A woman peeked out. She was large and pale and pretty, and her eyes revealed that she was as emotionally ripped apart as people get.

“Hello?” she said in a small voice.

“Hi, my name is Owen McKenna. I spoke to you on the phone this morning. I’m the guy helping Joe Rorvik regarding his wife’s fall.” I moved my head toward Joe. “You’ve met Joe, of course. Manuel was his closest friend. This is my girlfriend Street Casey. And this is my friend Diamond Martinez, all-around good guy and friend and sergeant with Douglas County. We brought you and your daughter some dinner.”

Lucy didn’t react and didn’t move except for her lower lip, which started quivering. The quivering turned into a small facial earthquake, and then her body started to sway and melt as she let go of the door.

Street was smart enough to figure it out before I did. She pushed forward and grabbed Lucy Romero in a bear hug, steadying herself against the door frame.

When Lucy got her blood pressure back, she stood up on her own, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and said, “Please come in.” She turned, and Street took her elbow and walked her up the stairs.

Many houses in the Tahoe Keys are built with the bedrooms downstairs and the living room and kitchen on the second floor, the better to take in the views of the lake and mountains. Joe and Diamond and I stepped in and followed up the stairs. Joe didn’t hesitate at the effort.

Upstairs, I walked into the open kitchen. I looked around and sniffed and decided that Lucy had made no plans for dinner. Following Street’s instructions, I set the oven for 325 degrees, put the big pan in, then turned on the timer for 30 minutes.

I turned back toward the living room and saw that Street had maneuvered Lucy onto the big couch. Next to them was a girl of high school age. Beyond them was the fireplace mantel and on it pictures of the family. Manuel was a handsome guy with a strong nose and thick black hair.

Street sat on the other side of the girl. She held hands with the girl. The girl was speaking, answering Street’s questions. How a bug scientist can work such magic with people is a mystery. Street was not what people think of as a naturally warm person. But she can be the kindest person in the room.

Joe was in one of the arm chairs. Diamond took one nearby. I pulled over a bar stool from the kitchen counter.

“Owen,” Street said. “This is Katia.” She turned to Katia. “Owen is my boyfriend.”

Katia looked at me. I gave her a little wave.

The girl stopped talking for a moment. The silence in the room was uncomfortable.

A very small orange cat watched me from behind the end of the couch.

“What’s your cat’s name?” I said. I pointed at the cat that was behind the girl.

“Tiny Scared,” the girl said.

“Boy or girl?” I said.

“Girl.”

I was thinking about what would change the evening from one of mourning to one of comfort. Diamond beat me to it.

“Owen has a giant dog that would like Tiny Scared,” he said.

The girl shook her head. “Tiny Scared is petrified of dogs.”

“She’s only afraid of dogs that would threaten her,” Diamond said. “But not Owen’s dog. He likes cats. So cats are not afraid of him.”

The girl shook her head. “They could never be friends.”

More silence. Lucy looked like she was about to collapse in grief.

Joe spoke up, “I’ve met his dog. His name is Spot. Diamond’s right. If he brought Spot in here, your cat would probably crawl on top of him.”

The girl’s eyes widened a bit. She turned to me. “Did you bring Spot with you?”

I nodded.

“Mom,” the girl said. “Mr. Owen brought his dog Spot. Can he come inside?”

Lucy was staring at the wall.

“Mom,” the girl said again.

Lucy slowly turned her head and looked at her daughter. “Whatever you want, Katia,” she said, her voice like a robot.

“You want to come with us to get Spot?” I said.

Katia nodded.

Katia, Diamond, and I went down the stairs and outside to the Jeep. When Katia saw Spot get out of the Jeep, she stepped behind me.

“Don’t worry, he’s friendly,” Diamond said. “In fact, he wants to meet you. Spot, sit.” He sat. “Katia, stand in front of him, and he’ll shake hands.”

She moved toward Spot with great care.

“Spot, shake.”

He pawed at the air. I caught his paw. “Here you go, Katia.”

She took his paw with both hands, gave it a shake. “Whoa, his paw is heavy.”

“Yeah, it is,” I said.

“Can I pet him?”

“He’d love it.”

She reached out, slow but steady, and touched her hand to the top of his head.

Spot began panting.

“Oh my God, look at the size of his tongue.”

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s introduce him to Tiny Scared.”

We walked Spot into the house. Katia, like Joe, rested her hand on his back as they walked up the stairs. In a near-silent whisper, Diamond said to me, “I hope I’m right that your hound won’t decide he wants a kitty dinner.”

“He won’t,” I said.

At the top of the stairs, I took Spot’s collar before he could frighten Lucy. When she saw him, she inhaled. I had Spot lie down. Katia sat on the floor next to him. She wanted to know all about him. I answered her questions. She pet Spot, leaned on him and wrapped her arms around him.

A few minutes later, Tiny Scared walked out from under the couch, strolled over to Spot, and sat down in front of his head. Katia gasped. The cat stretched her head out and sniffed Spot, nose to nose. Spot, whose head was bigger than the cat, didn’t budge beyond flexing his nostrils.

“That’s unbelievable,” Katia said.

The timer buzzed. Street said, “It’s time for dinner.”

I stood, leaving Katia in charge of dog and cat. Street found plates and glasses and silverware, and Diamond set the table and put water in the glasses.

Street took the lid off the big pan to reveal the chicken and potatoes and squash and green beans. Instead of much excess food for two people, we had a small amount for six people. I ate a small part of my normal portion, which left a decent amount for all the others.

We never spoke about Manuel during the evening. I didn’t know if that was good or bad, but I took my cues from Street. If she wanted to push conversation one way or the other, she would have. I assumed that our only goal was to make things a bit easier for Lucy and Katia.

After dinner, Lucy and Diamond ended up sitting at the dining table talking while the rest of us retired to the living room and watched Tiny Scared as she discovered that Spot’s prostrate body was a soft warm playground. First, she explored the little gap between Spot’s throat and the floor, and she jabbed her paw into the space as if to catch a critter. He never raised his head. Then she crawled up his bent rear leg and slowly walked up his back to his neck. When she saw his rhinestone ear stud bobbing and flickering, she leaped and attacked it. Spot lifted his head and shook his ears and Tiny Scared did the kitty-cat slingshot disappearing act.

Katia called her for a bit and then said she must have gone under one of the beds, not to come out until morning.

When we were leaving, Lucy gave Diamond a big hug, then took me aside.

“You and I should talk.”

“When is good?” I asked.

“Tomorrow morning. After Katia goes to school.”

“Should I come here?”

“Yes.”