Dead By Dawn (20 page)

Lindsay decided to call Dan McCarthy and talk to him first. When he answered, she told him she got the test results back. “So, is Ellen Collins Tracy’s mother?” he asked immediately.

“No, but she is your sister,” Lindsay said.

“I don’t understand,” Dan said with confusion in his voice.

“Your sister is not Tracy’s mother,” Lindsay said.

Dan let out a whistle. “How can that be?”

“I don’t know. Are you sure your sister left Tracy off with your parents?” Lindsay asked.

“That’s what I understood. I was a teenager at the time. I know that’s what my parents told me,” he said.

“You said that Shana ran away and she came back for a couple of weeks and left Tracy. Is that right?” Lindsay asked.

“That’s what happened.” he confirmed. “Shana and her friend were at our house with Tracy.”

“What was Shana’s friend’s name again?” Lindsay asked.

“Tim Herron.”

“You’re sure that Tim wasn’t Tracy’s father?” Lindsay asked.

“There’s no way. I remember my dad saying something about it,” Dan said.

“What did he say?” Lindsay asked.

“He said that you could tell Shana and Tim weren’t a couple,” he said. “My mom kept asking Shana if Tim was the father. Shana told both of my parents that they were friends.”

“Well, the good news is that you found Shana,” Lindsay said.

“What am I going to do with that?” he asked.

“Are you asking me if you are going to tell her you know?” she asked.

“Yes,” Dan said.

“That’s up to you,” Lindsay said

“Look, my parents were never able to find her. Do you think you can look into where she was when she ran away?” Dan asked.

“That was thirty years ago. I don’t know how much I would find.”

“What about Tracy?” Dan asked.

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know where to begin,” Dan sighed. “We have to find out where Shana got Tracy from.”

“That means that you are going to have to confront Ellen Collins,” Lindsay said.

“Poor Tracy. This is going to hurt her,” Dan said. “I never thought about that when I started all of this.”

“Dan, why don’t you digest all this information. I know it is shocking. Why don’t we touch base in a few days and see if we can come up with a plan,” Lindsay said in a comforting tone.

Jim Alberts took all of his paperwork to the D.A. for a second time. Jennifer Marshall listened passively to what Alberts claimed was new evidence. He asked for the investigation to be reopened.

“Look,” Jennifer said, “I admire your passion, but Small’s admission that he found the one hundred and fifty dollars does not reach the threshold of new evidence.”

“So, you won’t reopen this?” Alberts asked directly.

“No way. The people have spoken and your client is guilty,” she said.

“I am going to have an independent lab go through all of this again,” Alberts said calmly.

“You have that right sir, but there is nothing here I can do for you,” Marshall said.

***

Alberts called Lindsay. “The D.A said no to re-opening the case.”

“I want you to file a complaint with the police department and claim that Small lied under oath to the parole board,” she said.

“Are the Dorans on board with this?” Alberts asked.

“They signed the affidavit. Didn’t they?” Lindsay answered. “Someone in internal affairs will get the complaint.”

“Does a department this size even have an internal affairs officer?” Alberts asked.

“Every department has some sort of oversight,” Lindsay said. “Look, I’m not saying that any one is going to look at it. It’s the only thing I can think of to help you.”

“Then, I’ll give it a shot,” Alberts said.

Steve Magon had been a cop for twenty years. Fifteen of them had been at the Paso Robles Police Department. Because the department was small, he wore many hats. He was the public affairs liaison, as well as the internal affairs investigator. Most days, he reviewed reports citizens filed against the other officers. Most of them went nowhere.

Magon was a formidable looking man. At six foot two African American with a shaved head he could look mean and intimidating until he smiled. He had a smile that could light up the room. His chocolate colored brown eyes danced when he smiled. His biggest weakness was that he loved children. He had four children of his own and spent his weekends and evenings coaching or reffing one of the kids’ sports.

Most departments hate the men and women who investigate them. Magon was different. Everyone at the department loved him. He was fair, honest and kind to a fault. They all knew he could be tough when he had to be, but he always gave people the benefit of the doubt.

When the complaint came across his desk from Barton Edmunds, he was intrigued by its contents. He remembered Small from when he started with the department. Small and Paul Davis were the department’s investigators until they both retired. He also remembered that this case was Small’s big case. The men talked about it all the time back then. How Small knew from the minute he saw that creep Edmunds that he was the killer. Magon read the affidavit from the Dorans that claimed that Small had never contacted them about finding the one hundred and fifty dollars. He read the transcript from the parole hearing. He had never seen a complaint quite like this. After all, this was a convicted killer filing a complaint against his investigating officer. In a small town like Paso Robles, he usually got complaints about officers being rude at traffic stops or being out of line on DUI busts. Occasionally, a defendant would claim an officer planted drugs. Almost all of these incidents were proven to be false.

Magon saw detective Kragen talking to Dixon Calhoun outside his door. He interrupted, “Kragen, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Kragen shrugged, “Sure. What’s up?”

“Aren’t you investigating the bodies found at that ranch out in Shandon?” Magon asked.

“Yes,” Kragen answered pensively. “Why?”

“I just got a complaint filed against an officer on the Davenport murders,” he answered. “Has that case come up in your investigation?”

“Well, yes and no,” Kragen answered. “There is a P.I. from L.A. that has been asking questions.”

“Jim Alberts?” Magon asked.

“No, Lindsay Carter. She used to be an L.A.P.D. homicide detective.”

“Seems like quite a crowd investigating the Davenport murders,” Magon commented.

“Davenport is looking into a missing persons case relating to it,” Kragen said.

“Didn’t they find those little girls dead?” Magon asked.

“No. One of them was never found,” Kragen said.

“Edmunds never told the police where she was?” Magon asked.

“Edmunds said he had nothing to do with the murders.”

“Yes, another innocent man in prison,” Magon said sarcastically.

“There are a lot of important people involved in my case. From what I’ve been able to ascertain, many of the same players are involved in the Davenport murders,” Kragen said.

“Can you give me any names?” Magon asked.

“The Davenports of course, and Judge Van Buren.”

“So, what are you saying? Political pressure?” Magon asked.

“Maybe. Maybe a rush to judgment,” Kragen answered.

“Thanks,” Magon said.

When Kragen left, Magon thought about the complaint in front of him. If this officer lied at the parole hearing, maybe he lied in other places too. He knew he would be taking a trip to the evidence building that day.

Lindsay Carter and Dan McCarthy knocked on the door of the home in Santa Clarita in the early afternoon. Ellen Collins answered and looked visibly shocked.

“Ellen, it’s been a long time,” Dan said. Ellen Collins stared at him. Finally she said, “Dan, how did you find me?”

“This is Lindsay Carter, she is a private investigator,” Dan said.

Ellen looked at Lindsay. “You found me?”

“No, your brother did, but it was a fluke that he did. Can we come in?” Lindsay said.

“No,” she said abruptly.

“We really need to talk to you,” Dan said.

“I have no desire to reconnect, Dan. I have a family who doesn’t know anything about you,” Ellen said flatly.

“I know. We met Ally and Gabe,” Dan said.

Fear crossed Ellen’s face. “Do they know?”

“No, we didn’t say anything. We wanted to talk to you first,” Dan said.

“Dan, I have a good life here. Please don’t mess it up for me,” Ellen pleaded.

“We are here about Tracy,” Dan said. “We know Tracy is not your child.”

Ellen started to cry softly. “I can’t tell you anything about Tracy.”

Lindsay said, “Who are Tracy’s parents? We need to know.”

“I can’t tell you that,” Ellen said again. “I would like you to leave now, please.”

“You have to tell us,” Dan pleaded.

Ellen raised her voice and spoke sternly. “No, you have to leave me alone. Don’t tell anyone you know where I am. Do you understand?” She closed the door and left them standing on the porch.

Steve Magon retrieved the evidence boxes from storage and started looking through them. He read the transcripts from the trial and looked at everything carefully.

It was clear that there was a set of bloody footprints that matched Edmunds’, but they clearly backed up his story. The investigators had never found the murder weapons and there was no evidence that Edmunds ever owned a gun. Back in 1977, the GSR or Gunshot Residue tests did not exist.

He looked at the crime scene photos. None of the footprints or fingerprints had even been processed. Then, a photograph caught his eye. He picked up the photo of Shelly Davenport and looked at it closely. He could see a footprint on her neck. It looked as though the killer had his foot on her neck before he shot her. He looked carefully at the other footprint photos. The print on Shelly Davenport’s neck was not the same pattern that was on the work boots that Edmunds was wearing.

Magon knew that Andy Small had died of brain cancer a couple of years ago. But Paul Davis lived a couple blocks from the station. He decided to pay him a visit.

***

Paul Davis was working in the front yard when Magon drove up. “How are you?” he said as the officer got out of the car.

“I’m doing well Paul. The yard looks great,” Magon said admiring the profusion of flowers in the beds. “Well, it looks like retirement suits you.”

“What brings you here?” Davis asked.

“The Davenport investigation.”

“Seems to be a hot topic lately,” Davis sighed. “A P.I. was here a couple weeks ago,” Davis took off his work gloves and set the shovel against the porch. “Come on in, I’ll get us some lemonade.”

“Was that the Davenport investigation or Alberts investigation?” Magon asked as they went into the house.

“Davenport. Carter is a sharp woman,” Davis said with admiration. “She used to be a homicide detective. We didn’t have women in the department.”

They went into the kitchen and Magon sat down at the oak dining room table. Davis went to the cupboard and got glasses out and poured the lemonade. “So what do you want to know?”

“Why wasn’t any of the evidence processed?” Magon asked.

“I didn’t know it wasn’t,” Davis said. He set a glass of lemonade in front of Carver.

“None of it was,” he said and took a drink of the lemonade. He continued, “Small testified at the preliminary hearing that the victim’s blood was on Edmunds shirt.” He handed Davis a picture of the shirt Edmunds wore on the day of the murder.

“There’s nothing on it,” Davis said.

“My point exactly,” Magon said.

Davis sighed. “I didn’t think that Edmunds did it. Every time I voiced my opinion Small and the chief shut me down.”

“Who else were you looking at?” Magon asked.

“There was a ranch hand named Bing Taylor. He disappeared after the murders,” Davis said. “Apparently he had worked for the Davenport family for a long time.”

“Why do you think that the chief and Small shut you down?” Magon asked.

“I’m not sure. What I do know is that Martin Van Buren seemed to be mixed up in everything,” Davis said.

“The judge?” Magon asked.