“Yes,” she answered.
The girl smiled. “She’s a nice kid. Tell her hi for me.”
“Thanks,” Kate said to the girl. She felt a surge of gratitude from the offhanded remark. “I will.”
It was the middle of the afternoon, so there were only a few customers at Chico’s Mexican Restaurant and Take Out. The counterman, a short, stocky Latino with Mayan features, remembered Maria immediately.
“She was always trying to watch her weight, so she usually ordered a tostada and a Diet Coke. But sometimes she’d fall off the wagon,” he said with a gap-toothed smile, “and get an enchilada combo, or tamales. I thought her body was excellent,” he added. He wiped a spot of grease off the counter. “These young girls worry too much about their booties. A man doesn’t want a stick. You want some meat on those bones. Like J. Lo.”
“Do you remember if she was here the day she disappeared?” Kate asked him.
He nodded. “Yeah, she was. I remember hearing about her later and thinking I might have served her last meal to her. She ate light that day,” he recalled, “chicken tostada and iced tea.” He shook his head in regret. “Pretty damn sad.”
“It was,” Kate agreed. “Was she with anyone?”
“Not when she came, but later.”
A blip on the radar. “What happened later?”
“It was crowded, and Maria was at a table by herself. These two boys had their food and were looking around for a place to sit down. There weren’t any empty tables, so they asked if they could sit with her, and they did.”
“Did you know them?” Kate asked. “Did Maria?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t, and I don’t think she did, either. I hadn’t seen them here before. I figured they were college kids, they looked older than high school.”
“Were they Anglo, Latino, Asian, what?”
He laughed. “They were definitely not
hermanos.
Blond surfer dudes.”
“Did you notice anything that went on between the boys and Maria? Did they talk to each other?”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t paying close attention. It was busy. We do a big lunch business.”
You paid closer attention than you’re willing to admit, that she knew. “After they finished eating, did you notice what they did, Maria and these boys? Did they leave together?”
He shook his head. “She left first. Then them.”
“How much after?”
“Not long. Maybe a couple minutes.”
Kate nodded. “Thanks for your help.” She started to leave; then, seemingly as an afterthought, she turned back to him. “If I showed you some pictures, do you think you could recognize them if they were the boys who were with Maria that day?” she asked.
He shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”
She was already opening her bag. “It’ll only take a minute.”
He looked at her with suspicion. “I guess not,” he agreed reluctantly.
She took a pair of eight-by-ten photos of Steven and Tyler out of her purse and laid them on the counter. The counterman stared at them. After a moment’s hesitation, he tapped his finger on Steven’s picture.
“This could be one. Kind of looks like one of them.” He turned to the picture of Tyler. “This one, no. He doesn’t look like the other one.”
“Are you sure?”
The counterman was losing patience with this. “Hey, it was a busy time, and I only saw them for a couple minutes, like I said,” he told her. “But this one”—he pointed to Tyler’s picture again—“I don’t think so.”
Kate was flush with excitement. “We know the boys were together earlier in the day. So if one isn’t Tyler, the other one couldn’t be Steven.”
“Because some taco slinger says so?” Luke challenged her. He felt compelled to play devil’s advocate—from experience he knew that photo ID’s were notoriously undependable. “Find me a jury that’ll be swayed by that and I’ll treat you to a vacation in Paris. And I guarantee you, if we ever put that guy on the stand, Alex Gordon would blow him away in ten seconds flat.”
“I think it’s good stuff,” Kate argued stubbornly. “You’re the one who keeps saying it must have been someone else. Now I give you this on a silver platter and you shit on it. Jesus, what else can I do?”
“Hey, I’m not saying you didn’t do good,” he mollified her. “But this isn’t much.”
“It’s better than nothing. Isn’t there some way you can find out where Steven and Tyler were then? Can’t you ask Steven?”
“Yes, and I will,” Luke answered. “Except anything he says is automatically tainted. But we can try another angle.” He punched his intercom. “Margo, do you have an Arizona phone number for Tyler Woodruff? I think there’s one in our files.”
“I’ll see,” came the filtered reply.
They waited a moment while the number was located. Luke jotted it down, picked up the phone, and dialed. A few seconds went by, then he said, “Tyler?” He paused, then gave Kate a thumbs-up. “This is Luke Garrison, Steven McCoy’s lawyer.” He listened to the other end for a moment. “He’s out on bail, at his grandmother’s ranch. He’s not allowed to talk to you, that’s why your call didn’t go through.” He glanced at Kate. “Listen, Tyler, I have a couple of questions for you. I’m here with my private investigator, Kate Blanchard. I’m going to put you on the speaker, so she can listen in.”
He punched up the speaker phone. “Hi, Tyler,” Kate said.
“Hi,” came back the echoing reply.
“So, Tyler,” Luke said, “I want to go back to the morning you and Steven got to Santa Barbara. After you and Steven left the ranch you drove into town and had lunch, right?”
Kate looked at Luke with concern. She didn’t recall any mention about the boys eating lunch.
To her surprise, Tyler answered, “Yeah, we did.”
“Mexican food?”
Another “Yes.”
Now Kate stared at Luke in astonishment. “Are you clairvoyant?” she whispered.
He grinned. “Just lucky,” he whispered back. “Mexican food is usually the choice of guys their age. Now for the million-dollar question.” He talked into the speaker again. “You went to a joint near Santa Barbara High called…” He waited a moment, as if recalling a thought, or checking a note. “Chico’s, right?”
“Chico’s?” Tyler said. He sounded confused. “We didn’t eat at any place called Chico’s.”
“Where did you eat, then?” Luke asked. “I thought Steven said it was near the high school.” Both he and Kate were leaning toward the speaker box, as if close proximity would make Tyler’s answers more legitimate.
“At a taco stand called La Super Rica,” Tyler answered, his voice hollow in transmittal. “Steven was raving about it on the drive down. It’s a tradition for him to have lunch there whenever he’s in Santa Barbara.”
Luke smiled. One for their side; finally. “So La Super Rica is where you guys ate lunch, not Chico’s? You’re sure.”
“Yes,” came the muffled reply.
“About when? Twelve, one o’clock?”
“One sounds about right. After that we went over to the mall, and I met Serena. Anyway, why do you want to know about this Chico’s place?”
“Just clearing my records,” Luke answered. “That does it. Thanks for the time. We’ll be talking again before the trial.” He punched off the connection.
Kate sat back. She felt relieved and vindicated. She had passed the devil’s advocate test. And Steven was a little bit farther from conviction—she hoped. For the first time, she was beginning to think that Luke was right, that Steven might be innocent.
“Satisfied now?” she asked.
“It’s better than nothing,” Luke allowed, “but it’s no silver bullet.”
“It sounds pretty damn convincing to me,” she protested. “If they were at La Super Rica when Maria was at Chico’s, they couldn’t have been the boys who met her there.”
“If Woodruff’s telling the truth.”
“You think he’s lying?” she asked in disbelief.
“He could be. If they did meet Maria, he’d have good reason to cover Steven’s butt. I’ll come at Steven sideways on it, see if he gives the same answer.” He leaned back. “But it might not matter anyway.”
“How could it not?”
Luke ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “One: Maria Estrada shares her lunch table with two boys. Two: Who aren’t Steven and Tyler, if we take your man at Chico’s word that Tyler’s picture wasn’t a match. Three: Maria leaves. The guy at Chico’s said they didn’t leave together, right? She and those boys left separately.”
“Yes.”
“Maria goes to the mall. She meets another fellow, who’s been identified as looking like Steven. Mr. Big-Spender buys her a pair of earrings to entice her to go somewhere with him, a reasonable person could infer.” He tapped a finger on his desk for emphasis. “We’ve got her and Steven in the mall at about the same time. That’s dead certain now. So they could have met there regardless of who she was with at Chico’s. Not outside the realm of possibility, is it?”
“I suppose not,” Kate answered sullenly.
“Hey, lighten up,” he told her. “You did good. It’s possible there’s another set of boys in play now. Maybe Steven has a doppelganger. We’ll definitely start working on that. But…” He raised his finger in warning. “Steven’s afternoon is still unaccounted for, he had access to the ranch, knew the combination to the lock on the gate, and both their prints are on the murder weapon. Those are the elements we’re up against. All the other stuff is noise.”
A minute ago Kate had been high. Now she was deflated again. “So now what?”
“We need to keep coming up with these contradictions and alternatives. If there are enough of them, we can establish enough doubt that a jury will be squeamish about convicting Steven.” He church-steepled his long fingers. “Or we can find the real killer.” With a wry smile, he added, “If he exists.”
K
ATE HAD BEEN AWAKE
early enough to hear the papers, the
News-Press
and the L.A.
Times,
hit the front door. That was about six, six-thirty. She lay in bed, naked under a sheet, debating whether to get up, make coffee, and leisurely read the papers, or to lie in bed and meditate for a few minutes. She had closed her eyes for a moment to think about which choice to make, and then it was a quarter after eight. She had fallen back asleep.
There was rattling going on in the kitchen. She threw on her robe and padded out in her bare feet. Sophia was at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee and eating a toasted onion bagel spread with almond butter. She was already dressed for the day, in jeans, a Radiohead T-shirt, and running shoes.
“Hey, Mommy. I made coffee.”
Kate was still feeling the sleepiness melt from her body. “That’s good. So what’s on your agenda? You’re up early.”
Sophia bit into her bagel. “Riding lesson,” she said around her chewing,
“Riding lesson?” Kate repeated. Her brain was still fuzzy from sleep.
“With Mrs. McCoy. We talked about it, remember?”
The fog cleared. “At her ranch?”
“Well, yeah. That’s where the horses are.”
Kate crossed to the cabinet above the drain board, took a mug out, shuffled over to the coffeemaker, and poured herself a cup. She took a carton of milk out of the refrigerator, topped up the mug, and sat down on one of the stools alongside the island. “You didn’t say anything about going out there.” She could feel her heart all of a sudden, fluttering inside her chest.
“Sorry,” Sophia answered casually. “Thought I did. She and I talked about it on the phone, day before yesterday.”
“I…” Damn, Kate thought. How am I going to approach this? She took a sip of coffee to stall for a moment. “You know her grandson is living on the ranch?”
Sophia nodded. “You told me. She bailed him out, right?”
“Yes.” Now what? “I don’t know if he’s allowed to see other people. Besides his grandmother and ranch people. And his parents.” She sounded ludicrous, a babbling idiot. “And his lawyer.”
Sophia looked at her as if she were talking in an unknown language. “Why? He’s innocent, right? Isn’t that what you believe?”
“Well, what I believe…”
“He’s innocent until proven guilty. Right?”
Kate took a deep breath. “Right.”
“So what’s the problem, Mom? I’m not going to be hanging around with him or anything. What are you worried about?”
About my irrational fears as a mother. Which someday, when you’re a mother yourself, you’ll understand.
“Nothing,” she declared, trying to sound totally positive and comfortable with this. “I’m not worried about anything.” Juanita McCoy would never let harm befall Sophia. Of that, she was certain. She forced a smile. “Have a great time. Say hello to Mrs. McCoy for me.”
Sophia had her lesson in the little riding ring next to the stable. When it was over, she and Juanita went into the house and drank Arnold Palmers. Juanita spiced the drinks with fresh mint from her spice garden. Sophia had been curious to see Steven McCoy in the flesh, but he was nowhere in sight.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Juanita observed, looking out the window to the foothills. “Not too hot, for a change. Why don’t we go on a picnic? Unless you have to get back.”
Sophia shook her head. “I don’t have to be back any particular time.” Juanita fixed egg-salad sandwiches on whole-grain bread. She wrapped them in Saran Wrap and made up a picnic basket of the sandwiches, homemade potato salad, ripe peaches from one of her peach trees, and a large water bottle. Putting on large straw hats for protection against the sun, they went back outside, mounted their horses, and rode off toward the foothills.
Sophia sat tall in her saddle, as Juanita had taught her. After climbing a gentle plateau, which led them high enough so that they could see Lake Cachuma, the county’s main water source, which glistened in the midday sun, they headed into a section that was denser with growth—stubby, crooked trees, mostly native oaks, and thorny native bushes. Juanita led them up a trail that wound through the area. They rode single file, Juanita leading, Sophia close behind. The horses skillfully picked their way over the hard terrain. Then the area cleared, and they were in open country again.
It’s so beautiful, Sophia thought, so stark and compelling. The loudest sound was the wind coming down from the hills. Overhead, large birds glided in the thermals, like she’d seen when she went hiking with her mother in the hills above Santa Barbara. There were more of them here—hawks, eagles, buzzards. Wild turkeys, the toms big as goats, their red cocks standing up on their heads like greased-up pompadours, attended to by smaller, less colorful hens, could be seen among the dense clumps of bushes. And there were mule deer, dozens of them in packs, running along the brown burnt-grass mesas. The deer weren’t skittish until the horses got close to them; then they bounded away in long, loping strides.