The Shadow of Venus (16 page)

“That's her.”

“Did you tell Bill that June was dead?”

“Yes.”

“What was his reaction?”

“He was tense and angry. He said he had spoken to her about contacting you. He told me that Damon Fitzgerald had sex with June, with Bill's daughter, and with other young girls in Taos and at the commune. That June's mother apparently killed herself by jumping into the Rio Grande Gorge from Buffalo Point. Is that true?”

“Veronica Reid's body was found on the riverbank below Buffalo Point,” was all that Allana was willing to admit. “I have information that Damon Fitzgerald had sex with underage girls, but I can't prosecute unless one of the younger ones is willing to come forward and testify. In northern New Mexico having sex with a willing sixteen-year-old is not a prosecutable crime. I was hoping June would testify. Since she was only twelve when the act took place, that makes it a first-degree felony and there is no statute of limitations for first-degree felonies. June made an appointment to see me. She didn't show up. Now I know why.”

“Is Sophie Roybal a possibility?”

Allana's voice turned guarded again. “How do you know about Sophie?”

“She's in the painting and was identified, too.”

“I'd like to have a copy of that painting.”

“I'll fax you one.”

“Things could change, but at the moment I would have to say that Sophie Roybal is not a possibility. I'll get in touch with Detective Owen.”

Claire had the sense that the clock was ticking for Allana Bruno. Time would not be money as it was for a lawyer in private practice but it was still valuable.

“Thank you for calling,” Allana said. “I appreciate your help.”

Claire finished her coffee, picked up the phone, took it into the living room, and sat down on the sofa. Now that Damon's abuse of Edward Girard's daughter had been confirmed, she had to tell Edward. This was a far more difficult call to make. She stared out the window and watched cloud shadows climb the Sandia Mountains before she dialed the number.

“Spiral Rocks,” a woman answered. “This is Jennifer Rule.”

Claire gave her name and said, “I met you on Sunday.” Was it possible that was only yesterday?
she
asked herself. So much had happened since yesterday morning.

“I met a lot of people over the weekend,” Jennifer replied. “Could you refresh my memory?”

“I was talking to Edward in the kitchen in the morning.”

“Oh. You're the woman from Albuquerque who brought the painting of the girls. Right?”

“Right.”

“Edward's working. He hates to be interrupted. Is there something I could help you with?” Jennifer was acting like the guardian at Edward's gate whose role was to keep the intruders away when he wanted to work.

“It's about his daughter,” Claire said. “Tell Edward I have information about his daughter.”

“I can pass it on,” Jennifer said.

Claire was determined to get her information to Edward himself. “I need to talk to him,” she insisted.

Jennifer gave in, sighed, and said, “One moment.”

Many shadows climbed the mountain before Edward picked up the phone and said “Yes?” with a this-better-be-worth-the-interruption tone.

Claire told him all she had learned on her visit to Taos.

“You're telling me that Damon Fitzgerald screwed my lover, then my daughter?” was his response.

“Apparently.” Was it the ultimate insult from one man to another to sleep with his mate or to abuse his daughter? Claire wondered. In this case Damon had done both. On the other hand Edward had done little to protect them.

“That bastard is still living in Taos?” he asked.

“He left the commune and is living in town with a woman named Sharon Miller.”

Edward's laugh was a short, rough bark. “I suppose he thinks he resembles Frank Lloyd Wright in more ways than one. Wright also thought he could screw anybody he wanted to. How old was my daughter when this happened?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve years old. Christ! She was just a child.”

“She was young enough for it to be a first-degree felony. Apparently there were other young girls, too. I found some who were also represented in the painting. Allana Bruno, the DA in Taos, wants to prosecute, but she needs a young victim to get a conviction.”

“Can you imagine the attention prosecuting Damon would get? It probably wouldn't hurt him—scandal never hurt Frank Lloyd Wright, either—but it would be a nightmare for the girls and for their parents. I suppose that's why Veronica jumped off the bridge.”

“Are
you sure she jumped off the …. bridge?”

“That's what it said in the article I got. If someone was trying to warn me about Damon when they sent me that, the warning was too subtle. I didn't get it.”

“The information I got was that Veronica wasn't near the bridge, that her body was found south of there below Buffalo Point.”

“Well, it wouldn't be the first time a newspaper got something wrong, would it? There's going to be an article in the
Denver Post
next weekend about the Maximum Moon celebration. They'll probably get something wrong, too.”

Claire had decided it would be easier to find the Taos article herself than to wait for it to come from Edward. She continued her account. “Prodded by Bill Hartley, the father of another girl involved with Damon, June made an appointment to talk to Allana Bruno, but she died before she could keep it.”

“No one likes to think his child could end up a heroin addict, even when the mother could never stay away from drugs, but I can understand why June might prefer heroin to standing up in court and saying she had sex with her mother's lover. How could her mother have been so stupid as to let that happen?”

The corollary to that question was how could her father have been so distant as not to know it was happening? But Claire kept that thought to herself.

“Tell your police detective that I'll do the DNA test,” Edward said. “If it proves June is my daughter, I'd like to bring her back here and give her a proper burial, at least.”

“I'll pass that on,” Claire said. “Damon Fitzgerald told me Veronica stayed in touch with you and sent you pictures of June.”

“Damon Fitzgerald is a liar. You can't believe anything he says.”

“He also said June told him she contacted you after Veronica died.”

“Maybe she's the one who sent me the article. If so, she didn't identify herself. Anything else? I need to get back to work.”

The rocks and the sky were waiting, Claire thought. “That's all,” she said.

Chapter
Nineteen

W
HEN SHE GOT TO THE CENTER
, Claire called Detective Owen but she wasn't in. She left a message, then walked down the hall to see Celia, who was wearing an embroidered Guatemalan huipil today. It would have made Claire feel like a macaw, but it looked great on Celia.

“Let's get a cup of coffee,” Claire said.

Celia took this, as Claire knew she would, as a signal there was something that needed to be discussed outside the office. “All right,” she said. “Where?”

“Book Ends.”

They walked out to the cart near the main entrance, bought some coffee, and sat down at one of the tiny wrought iron tables.

“How was Spiral Rocks?” Celia asked, stirring sugar into her coffee.

“Amazing,” Claire said. “The Maximum Moon came up right between the rocks just like it was supposed to. Edward Girard acted like he was conducting a performance.”

Celia laughed. “The full moon rising between two penis rocks. Imagine the significance of that! What was Edward like?”

“Remote. Devoted to his work, which is magnificent. He's building an observatory that will last through the ages. He believes that Maia is his daughter.”

Celia stopped stirring her coffee and put down her spoon. “Oh, my God. Edward Girard's daughter. Well, that explains why she had the illustration.”

“Edward says he hasn't seen her since she was an infant. The mother, Veronica Reid, took her to Taos to live in the Cave Commune. She and Damon Fitzgerald were lovers. Maia's real name is June Reid.”

“The mother likes artistic types, doesn't she?”

“Do you know Damon Fitzgerald?”

“Only by reputation, which is that he is very impressed with himself.”

Claire put her coffee cup down on the table. “Did you know that he molested underage girls? One of them was Maia.”

“That pig. He slept with both the mother and the daughter? No wonder Maia OD'd on heroin. That's a hell of a thing to do to your mother.”

“Veronica may have killed herself, too.” Claire told Celia about her encounter with Bill Hartley
at
the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge.

“Whoever would have thought that all that stuff was going on in Taos? It's such a beautiful place.”

“It has been kept under wraps until a young enough girl could be found to testify. If it ever came to trial there would be plenty of publicity, which makes it even more difficult for the victims to come forward. Bill Hartley told me he met with Maia in Albuquerque and she agreed to tell the DA her story, but then she died in the storage room. He's very angry.”

“You can't blame a father for being angry, can you?”

“No, you can't, but his daughter was sixteen at the time. Sex with a willing sixteen-year-old isn't considered much of a crime.” Retelling Bill Hartley's story had created an opening, a crack in the door of Claire's past, a chance to tell her own story. The wrought iron table was too public a place, but it was the place Claire had chosen for this conversation. “I have to get back to work,” she said, finishing her coffee.

“Before you go, I'm curious about one thing,” Celia responded. “From what you told me it sounds like Edward Girard put his work before the people in his life. Is the work worth it?”

Claire might live to be a hundred and never be able to answer that question. “The deaths are horrible. The work is magnificent. That's all I can say.”

******

While she waited for the detective to return her call, Claire worried that Owen would think she'd intruded on the APD's turf. Her previous attitude had been territorial. She'd made it clear she considered damaged books to be Claire' s only legitimate involvement. But Maia's death was the only death Claire had to think about. She cared more than the APD did. Detective Owen ought to be pleased, at least, that she'd identified the victim.

Owen surprised Claire by showing up at her office without bothering to announce her presence at the information desk. Claire was engrossed in a computer search when she looked up and saw the detective standing in the doorway. Her hair seemed to be pulled up even tighter than usual, exaggerating the slant of her feral eyes.

“Am I interrupting you?” Owen asked. “I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“No,” Claire replied, thinking Owen might have been deliberately trying to catch her off guard.

“Mind if I sit?” Owen sat without waiting for a reply. “I've had calls from Edward Girard and Allana Bruno, and she referred me to Bill Hartley. You were busy. Now I've been busy.”

Claire couldn't tell from her expression whether she was annoyed or amused or grateful that Claire had gotten involved. “I went to the celebration at Spiral Rocks, trying to learn more about the place. I showed Edward a photocopy of the painting and told him what I knew about Maia. One thing led
to
another,” she said. “I called you as soon as I got back.”

“Well, some good came of your trip. Edward believes he is the victim's father and that her real name is June Reid. He has agreed to come to Albuquerque and submit to a DNA test. It will be good for everyone to identify the victim and provide some closure. If Edward is the father, he has agreed to take care of the burial. He told me there are no living relatives on the mother's side.”

“The mother died at the Rio Grand Gorge in Taos,” Claire said.

“So I heard. Allana Bruno told me she has been trying to prosecute Damon Fitzgerald for criminal sexual penetration. Unless a victim younger than thirteen comes forward, it will be difficult to convict him. When June Reid made an appointment, Allana was optimistic that she would be her witness, but then June died in the storage room.”

“Maybe someone was trying to prevent her from being a witness,” Claire said. It was a thought that had taken shape on the drive back from Taos.

Detective Owen chose her words with care. “Maybe someone was, but we have no evidence of that. All we have is a young woman dying alone with her drug of choice.”

“Did you talk to Linda Butler at the Downtown Gallery about the woman who bought the painting?”

“Yes, but we didn't get much information. The buyer paid cash. Linda Butler's description of her was generic. Bill Hartley told me he talked to the victim shortly before she died. He has agreed to come down here and talk to us further.”

“When I talked to him, he was very angry. He could have frightened Maia.”

“What father wouldn't be angry?” Owen asked, raising a hand to smooth back her hair.

“From Bill's description it sounds like it was Ansia who told him where to find Maia. Have you talked to her yet?”

“We interviewed her, but she wasn't very forthcoming. She didn't mention anyone had been looking for Maia.”

“Was the interviewer a man or a woman?” Claire asked.

“A man.”

“You might have gotten more with a female investigator. Maia told me Ansia hates men. I've seen her react to security as if men are the enemy. So many women end up on drugs and on the street because of sexual abuse. It was June Reid's story. Maybe it's Ansia's story, too.”

“She did speak to Bill Hartley,” Detective Owen pointed out.