Tahoe Dark (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Book 14) (35 page)

“Right.”

“Did she remember the names of the three guys from her high school who were catcalling her?”

Ditmars nodded. “Yes. Lucas Jordan and Carter Remy, the two men who were killed by the ski pole spears out by Baldwin Beach. The third was another student named Gavin Pellman.”

It was the name of the person in the other photo Rosen had pointed to in the yearbook, the third person who, in her words, didn’t deserve to live.

Ditmars said, “Because she believes they raped her, that gives her substantial motive for wanting them dead even if money weren’t involved.”

“The third name you mentioned,” I said. “Any idea what happened to Pellman?”

“No.”

“You said it was nine years ago. That’s a long time to nurse a motive,” I said.

“Maybe it took that long for her to get brave enough or hardened enough to murder.”

“It would take a great deal of strength to stab someone clear through with a ski pole. And from the angle of the thrust, it appears that the murderer was quite tall.”

“Such are appearances,” Ditmars said. “But that doesn’t prove anything. Someone as devious as Evan Rosen would take that into account and try to arrange the crime to make the situation look like it doesn’t fit her well.”

“But my other explanation makes even more sense now that you’ve found a possible motive. It gives the real murderer even more reason to frame her.”

Ditmars shook his head. “I think you should face the facts. It’s common for people like her to end up like this, in a jail cell, at the end of a long history of bad choices.” Ditmars said it in a way that sounded like he was being philosophical. But it merely sounded petty and vicious.

“We all make bad choices at times,” I said. “When I was young, I went to bars that I would now think were stupid places to hang out. Going to a rave and dancing provocatively may not be as safe as going to Sunday school, but it doesn’t mean you deserve to be raped.”

Ditmars flipped his hand through the air in a dismissive wave. His spiked hair wobbled from the motion. “Of course not. But she probably did those kinds of things often, going to the wrong places, hanging out with the wrong crowd. Because people in my line of work talk shop, I know of that Reno neighborhood, and I’ve heard of Wilson High School. Kids from that part of town are notorious for getting into trouble. They know what the right thing is, but they actively choose the wrong thing.”

“You never made bad choices?”

“No.” Ditmars sounded affronted. “I could have. Where I grew up in the industrial part of South San Francisco, kids often got into trouble. But I decided early on to be a good kid. I got grief for it. But I had the sense to stick to my principles.”

“How do you know that Evan Rosen didn’t do the same thing?”

“Because she went to a rave and drank. Probably lots of times. And this time it caught up to her.”

“Let me ask a related question,” I said.

Ditmars frowned.

“Did you do well in school?”

“Of course. I was in the top five percent of my high school class. I graduated from Sac State with honors. I went to California Western School of Law in San Diego and graduated in the top half of my class. I passed the bar exam on my first try.”

“Did you have two parents growing up?”

“Sure. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Did both of your parents participate in your life, help you with homework, take you to events, take you traveling, take you up to The City to see a play or visit a museum? Did they take you on family vacations?”

Ditmars looked shocked.

I continued, “Did your parents have enough money that you never worried about food on the table? Did you ever want for a doctor or dentist when you needed one?”

Ditmars’s ears had turned red. His eyes were even narrower than before.

“Listen, McKenna, I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but…”

“I’m pointing out that you had a host of advantages that pre-selected you for success. For you to sit here and judge Evan Rosen with your sanctimonious attitude is the height of callous indifference. Maybe she made some bad choices, but she was raised in a crappy neighborhood by a mom whose husband abandoned the family. As long as she can remember, she’s had to help take care of her disabled older sister. Her mom had significant health problems and died a few years back. Now the sister lives with Evan. Evan cleans houses, which is back-breaking work. She has to bring her sister along on her jobs. She never had anyone dedicated to giving her a full life with an intellectually-engaging childhood. Nevertheless, Evan was valedictorian of her high school class. And she has a four point O average at UNR.”

Ditmars shook his head. “Anyone could be valedictorian at that high school.”

I continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “But she couldn’t go to college after she got out of high school, partly because she had to stay home to help take care of her sister, partly because they had no money, but mostly because she didn’t have anyone giving her positive feedback and showing her the way. She has a dream of someday going to law school and joining you in your profession, but her circumstances have so far precluded that from even being a remote possibility.”

Ditmars stood up. He was shaking with anger. “McKenna, you are so far out of line, you’d better be careful. Yes, I had decent parents who tried to do well by me, but I bootstrapped my way all the way up through school, studying my ass off, taking out student loans, which I’ll be paying off for the next twenty years. I didn’t have a rich daddy who paid all my bills. I’m covering it all myself. So you can leave this office right now.”

I stood up to go. “Just one more question. Did either of your parents or aunts or uncles go to law school, let’s say California Western School of Law where you went?”

Ditmars hesitated. “What if one of them did? So what? I earned every accolade I’ve been given.”

“No further questions, counselor,” I said, and walked out.

FORTY-SEVEN

Because I was in South Lake Tahoe, I decided to stop by the hospital and see how Jonas Montrop was doing.

There was a different woman at the reception desk. After inspecting my credentials, she consulted her computer and told me that he’d been released that morning.

“Does your record show where he went? Do you know who picked him up?”

“No, I’m sorry. He probably went home, right? I remember him waiting here for a bit. I noticed him because he looked worried. Then a cab arrived, and he left. We have a phone number on file. I can’t give it to you, but it’s a local prefix if that helps.”

I pulled out my note of his home number and read it off.

“Yes, that’s what we have,” she said.

“Thanks.”

I left and drove over to Tahoe Keys Boulevard and pulled into Jonas’s drive, parking next to the old VW microbus.

When I knocked on the door, a frightened voice said, “Who is it?”

“It’s Detective Owen McKenna, Jonas. I went to the hospital, and they said you’d been released. I thought I’d stop by and see how you are doing.”

The door opened an inch until chains stopped its movement. Jonas looked out at me, then carefully peered past me and to the sides. He shut the door. I heard two chains being slid. I knew that no number of chains would secure the door because it was set into such a lightweight frame. But if it gave him comfort, that was good.

The door opened. Jonas motioned me inside, then quickly shut the door behind me, rehooking the chains.

“The cops had someone replace the broken lock,” he said, pointing. “He put metal straps up to hold the door frame back together. And he added two chains. So at least I’m a little safer.”

“Are you worried the kidnappers will come back?”

“I shouldn’t be, if only because my stepdad is now dead. Who would they ransom?” He glanced at the windows. “But I admit I’m afraid. I used to like this cabin. Now I just see how the door is flimsy, a couple of the window locks don’t work, and the back door is completely hidden by trees so none of the neighbors would notice if someone broke in. I’m going to move to an apartment building as soon as I can find one for a similar rent. That will be safer.”

“How are your wounds?” I pointed toward his wrists.

He held his wrists out as if to look at them. “Better. Still scabby. But that’ll go away. I still can’t lift my arms up to my forehead.”

“Are you able to go back to school?”

“Yes, but spring quarter is almost over. I was going to take classes over summer session, but I have to figure out how to pay for it now that my school allowance died with my stepdad. One of the nurses said I might be able to get some kind of restitution if the kidnappers could be caught. But I wouldn’t know where to begin on that. I’d probably have to call a lawyer, right? I have no money for that.”

“What happens to your stepfather’s assets? Did he have a will?”

“I have no idea. I doubt it primarily because I doubt he had any assets to worry about. He was always trying to work a deal, and as a result, he never saved or did anything sensible. If he needed money, he saw the solution as working another hustle, not working like everyone else.”

“I learned that his house in Incline is actually owned by an LLC out of Vegas,” I said.

“Oh, that’s perfect. That’s classic David Montrop. One more part of a fraudulent scheme, no doubt.”

“Have you thought any more about the kidnapping? Have you remembered anything else that might help us track the kidnappers?”

“I wish. It’s very scary to think of them out there. I keep having nightmares about men in hockey masks, tying me up, whispering threats in my ear. I wake up calling out, soaked with sweat.”

“I don’t mean to sound like I’m downplaying it, but it will get better with time.”

Jonas nodded.

“Anything else you need?”

“No. Just catch those guys, please.”

I didn’t want to tell him that it had already been long enough that it was unlikely we ever would. “We’ll keep trying,” I said. “One more question. You said you didn’t know where Flynn lives. Can you think of anyone who might? Or any way I might try to find him?”

Jonas shook his head. “No, sorry. He used to stop by all the time. We had good times together on my boat. That’s why he wanted to buy it. But after the boat started leaking, Flynn got so mad at me, I haven’t seen or heard from him in weeks.” Jonas paused, then said, “I’m no help to you at all, am I?”

“Don’t worry about that. But if you think of anything, give me a call right away, okay?” I gave him my card.

FORTY-EIGHT

After I left, I went over what I knew about the man known only as Flynn.

He was a contemporary of Evan as well as the robbers who’d been killed. He hadn’t gone to Wilson High in Reno, but he hung out there. He must have been about the same age, which would put him in his mid-to-late twenties. I also remembered thinking that if you took the man called Flynn in the yearbook and had him put on 130 pounds, he’d look something like Randy Bosworth of Reno Armored. Evan thought Flynn had spoken with an accent, possibly Australian. I’d thought the same about Randy Bosworth.

The logical next step would be to ask Bosworth about his past, find out if he had gained a lot of weight since high school or if he had a skinny brother. But after getting him in trouble with his boss, I knew I’d never get any information out of him.

Finding someone when you didn’t know anything about them other than a first name and a location where’d they’d been seen nine years earlier was not an easy task.

When I got home, I called Street.

“You’re pretty savvy with the whole social media thing, right?” I said when she answered.

“Not at all.”

“But you said you do Facebook.”

“I use Facebook in just a rudimentary way. It just allows people to have a vague sense of what I’m up to so I don’t have to send out Christmas cards. And it takes less time than checking in with people by telephone or email. My use of Facebook is sporadic and somewhat ineffectual.”

“Like I said, you’re savvy with social media.”

“You’re thinking of joining Facebook?”

“No. But I’m wondering if you could show me how to do something on it. I think I told you about a guy who used to hang out at Wilson High in Reno nine years ago. All I know is that he went by Flynn and he knew Evan and the two robbers who were murdered.”

“But you’re a detective. It’s your business to find missing people.”

“Sure. I could use the old skip tracing tricks. Often the gumshoe technique of going door-to-door with a photo will produce results. But in this case, the information about this guy is so lean, it might take ten years. I’m thinking that new technology might speed things up. I’ve heard that people find long-lost relatives and friends on Facebook.”

Street was silent for moment. “What you’re saying is that despite your skip tracing skills, you haven’t a clue about this guy’s whereabouts.”