Dead By Dawn (14 page)

“You know, I’m not really sure,” Lindsay said. “He asked me about Jeremy Davenport. If you don’t mind me asking, did you ever look for your mother?”

“Yes, I did when I was in high school,” Tracy answered.

“No luck?”

“No luck,” Tracy responded.

“You know, that was many years ago. You should try again now that technology has improved,” Lindsay offered.

“I think I’ve lost hope. Besides, I felt guilty when I was looking. My grandparents have been so good to me. I felt like a traitor,” Tracy said.

“Your uncle mentioned that they were helping you,” Lindsay commented.

“They were, but I could tell it was to placate me. I think they felt like my mom betrayed all of us by leaving.”

Dan came back with the girls and the food. “Your burger. I didn’t know what you wanted on it, so there’s a little bit of everything.”

“Thanks. I’m going to eat up and get in the water,” Lindsay said.

“I’ll go back out with you,” Tracy said.

“Aren’t you tired?” Jeff said.

“No, remember, I’m in shape,” she teased.

Taylor Kragen had been staring at his notes for too long. His mind kept drifting back and forth between Judge Van Buren and Charles Davenport. These men knew something about the murders of Letty Carlson and her baby, Janell. Someone else had known something as well. There was too much activity going on surrounding the property after David Davenport inherited it. Someone knew something about those bodies being there and was trying desperately to hide it.

Dixon Calhoun came in and sat down at his desk, next to Kragen’s. He unwrapped a sandwich he’d bought for lunch. The smell of tuna salad wafted across the desk. Kragen suddenly realized he was hungry. He looked at his watch. It was already 1:30, he thought. He watched Calhoun eat. “Hey, were you around here when Judge Van Buren’s wife died?”

Dixon looked at him and chewed the rest of the bite he had in his mouth. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I was here then.” He took another bite of the sandwich.

“Anything suspicious about it?” Kragen asked.

Calhoun put the sandwich down. “It was a hit and run. I think the Highway Patrol took over the investigation. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Something about the timing is bothering me,” Kragen said. “Do you remember anything about it?”

“Just that they never found the car that ran her off the road,” Calhoun said. “Call over to the Highway Patrol and get the report.”

“Did the Judge and his wife live out there then?” Kragen asked.

“The wife did mostly. The Judge was still working in San Luis then. He retired after her death, as I recall,” Calhoun said.

“That seems odd. They didn’t live together?” Kragen commented.

“I think his wife had opened two bakery shops by then. One, in Templeton and the other here,” Calhoun said. “If I remember right, she went to some fancy cooking school in France and decided that baking was her calling.”

“Are the bakeries still open?”

“No, the Judge sold them. The place across from the park is one of them,” Calhoun said.

Kragen laughed. “The one with the fancy pastries all of the tourists buy?”

“That’s the one. The place is more pretentious than when the Judge’s wife owned it. I remember the pastries were simple, but good. She made wonderful cakes and pies, too,” Calhoun said.

“You are making me hungry just talking about it,” Kragen said. “So, the Judge retired and moved out here?”

“Seems like it. Rumor was he had a young girlfriend out this way.”

“There were a lot of rumors about the Judge back then?” Kragen asked.

“You know rich folks. There’s always a lot of gossip about them,” Calhoun said and took another bite of his sandwich.

“But, Van Buren was never rich, was he?” Kragen said.

“After his wife died, he came into some money and the houses,” Calhoun said.

“I thought his wife had inherited a great deal of money from her father. What happened to that?” Kragen asked.

“I think the Judge got some of it. I think most went back into a family trust that her father set up before he died,” Calhoun said.

“How do you know that?” Kragen asked curiously.

Calhoun chewed on his sandwich. He seemed to be thinking hard. “I heard it from somewhere. I remember that the Judge wasn’t too happy about it. I remember someone saying that he was blindsided by his wife’s will.”

Kragen just nodded his head. He picked up his keys from the desk. “I’m going to head down to the Highway Patrol station in Templeton and see if I can find that file.” He walked out the door.

***

The officer at the front desk was friendly. Kragen introduced himself and asked if he could speak with someone who could find him an old file. “I think I can help you,” The young officer said. “Most of our files are computerized now.”

“I’m looking for a file that is about ten years old,” Kragen stated.

The young officer picked up the phone. “Is Tony back there?” There was a pause. “Okay, could you ask him to come up front?” He put down the phone.

A man came out of a door next to the desk. “I’m Tony Diaz,” the man said to Kragen.

Taylor took the man’s outstretched hand and shook it heartily. “Taylor Kragen. I’m looking for the investigation report on Darla Van Buren.”

“I worked that,” Diaz said. “Never was solved. She was well liked around here. We all used to stop in at the bakery for our morning coffee.”

“What can you tell me?” Kragen said.

“Can you hang on a minute? Let me go back into our archives and grab the file,” Diaz said.

Diaz came back out with the file. “Could we grab some lunch while we discuss this?” Kragen asked.

“You bet. Let’s go down to Joe’s. I think they’re closing soon, but maybe we can get in,” Diaz said.

The crowd at Joe’s was winding down. A crowded breakfast joint that closed at three every afternoon, it catered to a large breakfast and lunch crowd. Both men sat down and neither bothered with a menu. They both ate there frequently and knew what they wanted. After ordering, Diaz started. “Darla Van Buren was run off the road by someone. There were paint scrapes on the car from a red vehicle.”

“How do you know she didn’t hit the other car?” Kragen asked.

“Her white Porsche had red paint on the back and passenger side. The skidmarks indicated she was literally pushed off of the road,” Diaz said.

“How did she end up dying?” Kragen asked.

“She didn’t have a seat belt on. The car rolled and she was thrown,” Diaz said.

“Did you have any suspects?” Kragen asked.

“None, we never found the car. No one saw anything,” Diaz remarked.

“How did her husband react?”

Diaz eyebrows rose at the question. “Funny you should ask that.”

“Why?” Kragen asked.

“My partner and I drove to San Luis to make the notification. We both thought he reacted coolly,” Diaz said.

“In my experience, everyone reacts differently,” Kragen commented.

“I agree.” Diaz said. “What bothered us is that the Judge interfered with the investigation.”

“How so?” Kragen asked. Somehow, he was not surprised to hear this news.

“He hurried us along. My partner and I weren’t compliant with his wishes,” Diaz said.

“Let me guess,” Kragen said sarcastically. “Your superiors started putting pressure on you to wrap it up?”

“You guessed right,” Diaz said. “We moved on, but it didn’t feel right. We had talked to the victim’s sister several times. She was sure that the Judge had something to do with his wife’s death.”

“Did he have an alibi?” Kragen asked.

“Not really. He was asleep,” Diaz said.

Kragen played with his food for a moment. “You said that there was paint on the passenger door?”

“Yes,” Diaz answered.

“I don’t do much accident investigation, but was she on her way home, headed west in the middle of the night?” Martin asked perplexed.

“No, she was headed east,” Diaz said.

“So, she was leaving her house in the middle of the night?” Kragen remarked.

“She always did. She was at the bakery at 4:00 a.m. every morning. The place opened at 6:00 a.m.” Diaz said.

“Was that common knowledge?” Kragen asked.

“Probably, this is a small town,” Diaz answered.

“What time did you notify her husband?” Kragen asked.

“I think about nine in the morning. A patrol car came up on the skidmarks and got out of the car to take a look and spotted the car and the body down the embankment,” Diaz said.

“Van Buren would have known her schedule and it would have given him plenty of time to get back to San Luis,” Kragen remarked.

“We thought about that, but no red car registered to him,” Diaz said.

“Do you remember the victim’s sister’s name?” Kragen asked.

Diaz opened the file and skimmed through it, “Cammie Aldridge.”

Kragen looked Cammie Aldridge up. It appeared that she was now Cammie Kent. The print out of her driver’s license showed an address in the Pacific Palisades. He wasn’t really sure that he should be questioning her. Her sister’s death was many years ago and he wasn’t at all sure that it was related to the deaths in Shandon. Complicating matters was a trip to Los Angeles. He had already made one trip. With the budget cuts over the last couple of years, it would be a stretch to get reimbursed by the department for a second trip. He got the contact information together for Cammie Kent and called Lindsay.

Lindsay felt her phone vibrate and looked at the caller ID. “Hey, there. Got updates for me?” she asked cheerfully.

“Not really. More of a favor,” he said.

“What do you need?”

Kragen explained about the meeting with the Highway Patrol. “I want to know if you can contact Darla’s sister and see what she knows.”

“Sure. What specifically are you looking for?” Lindsay asked.

“I’m not sure. I’m not supposed to be investigating the accident.” He said and paused. “I do want to know if her sister knew anything about Letty Carlson. That would be a good place to start,” Kragen said.

“You mentioned that this woman pointed the finger at the Judge after the accident. Let me see what I can find out about that,” Lindsay offered. “Can you call and pave the way for me to visit? I don’t really have any official capacity here.”

“Yes, I can do that,” Kragen said. “I’ll call you back when I have a time.”

Kragen’s next call was to Cammie Kent. “Ma’am I’m investigating a murder from the fifties and your brother-in-law’s name has come up several times.”

“He was a no good son of a bitch. This doesn’t surprise me at all,” she said in an angry tone.

“I have an investigator down in your area. Could she come by and talk to you?” Kragen asked.

“You bet. Why don’t you give me her name and number? I will contact her and get it set up for tomorrow,” Cammie said. “Thanks for calling, detective. I have an earful for her.”

Kragen hung up the phone. He hoped that Cammie Kent had an earful of helpful information on her mind. So far, he felt like he was hitting a dead end.

Lindsay’s home in Calabasas was about forty minutes from the Pacific Palisades. The morning was beautiful. She decided to take the beach route and go through Topanga Canyon. She wound down Pacific Coast Highway until she got to Sunset Blvd. and then started her way up into the hills. The address she had led her to a large ranch style home. The home had light blue siding and a white wrap around porch in front. Like most homes in the area, there was a sprawling, well-kept front lawn. Red, white, and purple impatiens and begonias filled the flower beds in front of the home. She could see a trellis at the side of the home spilling over with bougainvillea, in brilliant fuchsia tones.

Cammie Kent answered the door herself. She was a petite woman with blond hair that cascaded to the middle of her back. She was dressed in a white tank top and a tennis skirt. Her long legs were tan and toned. “I am so glad to meet you,” she said exuberantly. “I told the police that Marty was up to no good when my sister died. No one listened.”

Cammie led them into a living room with floral couches. Every thing in the house was perfect. There were fresh flowers on the table. The home looked like it was straight out of a magazine. “What is it that you wanted to know?” Cammie asked eagerly.

“How much did Detective Kragen tell you?” Lindsay asked.