A Killing in the Valley (44 page)

To her surprise, it wasn’t Warren waiting for her—it was Peter. He was turned three-quarters away from her, looking out over the yard. He was barefoot, wearing shorts and T-shirt. He had a mug of coffee in his hand.

Kate stopped in her tracks. From this angle, Peter Baumgartner could pass for Steven McCoy. Unlike his father, who was dark, almost swarthy, Peter was fair. His hair color was similar to Steven’s, as was the length. They were the same approximate height and weight. They shared the same lanky, athletic build.

Peter heard her approaching and turned to meet her. As soon as she looked at him full in the face she could see the lack of similarities. Peter’s face was fuller than Steven’s, and his features were different—the color of his eyes, the shape of his nose, his jaw. Put the two of them side by side, and no one would mistake one for the other. But from a distance, or from behind, they were a decent match.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday,” he said sheepishly. “I was up to my ass in alligators, and I spaced.”

“That’s all right. I’ve forgotten appointments, too,” she told him graciously.
You don’t know how all right it was that you weren’t here yesterday. I should be thanking you.

“My dad said you wanted to meet with me alone,” he told her. He pointed in the direction of the pool house. “He’s over there, in his office. When you want to talk to him, I’ll call him.”

She wondered if Warren was spying on them. She would, if it was her daughter who was being questioned by a private investigator. She pointed to a glass table on the patio. “Is this a convenient place?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

They sat across from each other. She sized him up. “You know why I’m here,” she said. “You talked to Jeremy, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Did he tell you what he told the lawyer?”

Peter was obviously uncomfortable. “That we were with that girl who was murdered.”

“Maria Estrada. You knew her name, didn’t you?”

He squirmed in his chair. “She told me, but I’d forgotten.”

“Because you’d given her a phony name, so you assumed she would use one, too?”

He stared at her in surprise. “How did you know that?” He caught himself. “Who says I used a phony name? Was it Jeremy?”

The question hadn’t been put to Jeremy. The thought had occurred to Kate later, when she remembered Sophia had mentioned that Tina had told her the boys had used fake names.

“So you did,” she confronted him.

Peter hung his head. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He almost laughed in her face. “You think I want some little high school bitch to know my real name? If she had a brain, she’d figure out who my father is. She could have screwed me over good.”

“Except she was killed, so she missed out on that chance,” Kate replied acidly. She didn’t like this boy. That could complicate any relationship that might develop between her and his father, but that couldn’t be helped. The job came first.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said defensively. “I mean, any girl.”

“I know what you mean.” She sat back. “Tell me what happened with you and Maria.”

With a few inconsequential differences, Peter’s account was the same as Jeremy’s. The boys had talked this through, Kate thought as she listened, there was no question about that. She had to remind herself that didn’t mean either one of them was lying.

“Did you drink with her?” she asked.

He nodded.

“What?”

“Beer.” He hesitated. “And tequila.”

“Even though you knew she was underage.”

“Yes.”

“Did you do any drugs?”

He nodded again. He looked miserable.

“Which ones? Marijuana?”

“Yes.”

“Any other drugs?”

He shook his head. “I had a tab of Ecstasy on me, but we didn’t do it.”

“She didn’t want to?”

“We didn’t get around to it.”

“But she would have? Did you ask her?”

“She was up for anything, basically.”

“So you had sex with her.”

Peter almost fell out of his chair. “No!” he protested. “Who told you that? Did Jeremy tell you that?”

“Did you or didn’t you?” Kate leaned toward him. “Listen to me carefully, Peter. The worst thing you can do is lie. About anything. You’re in too much trouble now. And don’t forget, Maria wasn’t the only girl who was with you boys.”

He collapsed like a straw house in a stiff breeze. “That other girl. You talked to her?”

Kate shook her head. “No.”

Not a lie. She hadn’t talked with Tina about this—yet. But she would. And although it would be frightening for Tina, she would tell the truth. Her reason for not coming clean wasn’t the same as this boy’s, and Jeremy’s. No matter what turned up, she would never be linked to Maria’s murder. At this point, who knew about these two, especially Peter?

“Do you remember the other girl?” she asked. “Her name, what she looked like?”

“Not really,” he answered. “Your basic Chicano girl. She was there for the ride, so Jeremy wouldn’t be a fifth wheel.”

What a sad put-down, Kate thought. As Jeremy’s had been. Tina the cipher. The fill-in, the kid you picked because the teams had to be equal in size. There was nothing wrong with Tina. She was a presentable, attractive girl. Her problem was that she had no pizzazz, for fear of standing out and calling attention to herself.

Her heart went out to Tina. Not only because no one should go unnoticed, but until recently, her own daughter had been in the same boat.

“Let’s get back to what I asked you about. You did or didn’t have sex with Maria Estrada.”

“I didn’t,” he answered emphatically.

“Including oral sex, or a hand job.”

His eyes popped. “Jesus, lady.”

“Come on, Peter,” she told him firmly. “Don’t go all shy on me. Did she blow you or jerk you off?”

His face clouded. “No. She didn’t do anything.”

“She wouldn’t put out?” Kate pressed him. “That must have ticked you off.”

He glared at her. “She couldn’t. The other girl freaked out before me and Maria could get it on. She made us take her back to town.”

Jeremy had left that detail out. Or maybe he hadn’t known. The two couples had been physically separated.

This next part was delicate. “So when you got back to town, why didn’t you and Maria take off again, if she was so hot to trot?”

“She didn’t want to anymore. The moment had passed.” Peter scowled. “Dumb bitch.”

His answer both puzzled and offended her. “Why was Maria a dumb bitch? Because she didn’t want to go on with you?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m talking about the other one, the timid little mouse. She screwed everything up.” For the first time since they began talking he looked her straight in the eyes. “You know what’s really fucked about this? If me and Maria had hung together that afternoon, she wouldn’t have gone off with whoever killed her. She might still be alive.”

Kate and Peter walked across the wide expanse of the backyard to his father’s home office. Warren listened intently as Peter told him what had happened between him and the girl who was later found murdered out in the Santa Ynez Valley. The more Peter got into his story the deeper Warren slumped in his chair, his head dropping to his chest.

When Peter was finished, he looked up. “Jesus, Peter,” he lamented. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”

Peter looked like he was about to cry. “I was afraid to, Dad.”

“Is that why you dropped out of school so abruptly?”

“No!” Peter protested heatedly. “It had nothing to do with that. I swear it!”

Warren was pallid. “What do we do now?” he asked Kate.

“I think you should talk to your lawyer,” she suggested.

“We will.” He hesitated before asking the next question. “Is Peter under suspicion?”

“I’m not with the police, so that’s not up to me to decide,” she answered. “If Peter’s story holds up, I would say probably not. Legally, he wasn’t bound to come forward, although withholding information is never good. It can make someone look like they have something to hide. Again, your lawyer can advise you about that.”

She shouldn’t have made love to Warren. She shouldn’t have gone to dinner with him, or let him pay for her hotel. She had let her emotions supersede her professional ethics. You were stupid, she chastised herself harshly.

Well, she had done it. In the long run, she hoped it wouldn’t matter. But she had compromised herself, nonetheless.

She got up. “Thanks for your time. Both of you.” She reached into her bag and took out her digital camera. “Do you mind if I take a couple of pictures, for our files?” she asked Peter.

He looked at his father, who nodded grudgingly. “Okay,” Warren agreed.

She took a couple of head shots, and one from each side. “One more, from behind,” she requested. “Might as well get all the angles,”

Peter turned his back to her. She took the picture, and put the camera back into the bag.

“I’m done now.”

“I’ll see you out,” Warren said. “Don’t move,” he ordered Peter sternly.

Warren escorted her outside. “I’m sorry about this,” she told him. She hoped he believed her.

“It’s not your fault. Although I do think you weren’t entirely straight me with yesterday.” He shook his head. “Stupid bastard.”

“He was scared.” She felt she had to defend Peter, now that she had burned him.

“I’m talking about me, not him. Do you know the line from
Othello,
before he kills himself?
I loved not wisely, but too well.
That’s me. I’ve been overly indulgent toward Peter, especially since I left his mother. I’ve never made him stand behind his actions, I’ve always let him off the hook. Like his dropping out of school this quarter. I knew the reasons he gave me were bullshit, but I didn’t press him on them. Now he’s in real trouble.”

She couldn’t help herself—she took his hand. He grasped hers firmly. “You can’t beat yourself up over being too lenient toward your child, Warren. I do the same with mine. It’s better than the opposite.”

Because we want them to love us, she thought despairingly. And are so afraid they won’t.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “I needed that.”

She opened her car door. “Please keep me abreast of what’s going on,” he pleaded with her. “I’m scared for Peter.”

“Of course I will,” she promised him. “And Warren—I didn’t deceive you. Not intentionally.”

He stared at her. Then he looked toward the house. No one was in sight. He pulled her to him and kissed her on the mouth.

“I hope I see you again,” he told her, when they broke. “I hope we’ll be able to. Honestly, without any bullshit.”

“I do, too,” she answered. “I really hope we can.”

Angela Baumgartner was already at Starbucks, sitting at an outdoor table. Her tanned legs were crossed, and an expensive-looking sandal dangled off an impatiently wiggling foot. She was easily recognizable to Kate; she looked like her son—the same fair coloring, the same facial features. A tall, athletic-looking woman, she appeared to be in her late forties. To Kate’s unsophisticated eye it looked like she’d had some facial work done. If not plastic surgery, at least Botox. She was drinking a cappuccino from a takeout cup. She didn’t stand when Kate introduced herself.

“I didn’t order you anything, because I didn’t know if you’d be on time,” she told Kate rudely.

Kate sat down at the wrought-iron table. Five seconds and the woman had already laid down her marker. “I’ve had my morning fix,” she replied easily. Sticks and stones, lady, she thought with delicious upsmanship. I just fucked Warren Baumgartner, and you didn’t.

Angela sipped some foam off the top of her cup. “How’s my son? Is he in trouble again?”

No beating around the bush with this woman. “Why? Has he been?”

Angela shrugged theatrically. “Not recently, to my knowledge. But since he doesn’t live with me and we hardly spend any time together, I don’t know what’s going on with him. He dropped out of school, so I assumed he was up to no good of some kind.”

“He didn’t tell you why?”

“No. He doesn’t confide in me. He saves that for his father.”

Not a lot of love between mother and son, at least from her end. It had to do with the divorce and Warren having custody of Peter, Kate was sure of that. She knew how hurtful it was for a parent to be rejected by a child. Particularly a mother, who had suffered the pain of bringing him into the world.

“So you don’t see him that much?” she asked.

The woman shook her head. “We have dinner together once a month. I always have to be the one to call and ask. Beg, practically. Occasionally he’ll drop by if he needs money. His father gives him a healthy allowance, but Peter doesn’t know from budgeting. He sees something he wants he goes out and gets it, whether he can afford it or not.”

Like the high school girl he saw and wanted to have sex with.

“Actually, I’m being a bit dramatic,” Angela confessed. “Our relationship has thawed somewhat in the past year. Peter finally realized I wasn’t the monster Warren has made me out to be. Our divorce was brutal,” she confided, grimacing. “I had to fight tooth and nail for every dime. And Warren still got primary custody of our only child. I finally got tired of fighting his lawyers,” she lamented resentfully.

“So he’s always lived with his father.”

“We shared him for a while, but Peter understandably wanted to be in one place, not shunting back and forth. And once he turned eighteen, he could choose where he wanted to be. He chose Warren. I was left with whatever bones they were willing to throw me.”

She has reason to be bitter, Kate thought. Someone always has to lose. “But you’re seeing him more now?” she asked.

“Bit by bit,” Angela answered. “I did visit him in Santa Barbara a couple of times last spring. It was easier for us to be with each other up there, away from the shadow of his father. Another reason I was sorry he dropped out.” She sipped some coffee. “Anyway, that’s our personal business, and none of yours. So tell me—why are we here, Ms. Blanchard? Something to do with Peter, obviously.”

“I’m investigating a murder that happened in Santa Barbara County earlier this year. The beginning of September.”

Angela’s eyes widened. “A murder? Are you with the police? I thought you told me you were a private investigator.”