Thursday Morning
Joyce Witherspoon, William Peterson’s partner at Allied Accounting, was a crisp sixty-year-old wearing a professional gray suit with clean, white tennis shoes.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t meet with you yesterday when you were here,” she said after shaking their hands and sitting behind her desk. Jerry and Lucy took seats across from her. “With Steven gone … we’re juggling a lot, even nearly a month later. His shoes will not be easy to fill.”
“You haven’t replaced him?” Jerry asked.
She shook her head. “We hired someone to help, but it’s not someone of Steven’s caliber. He had a true gift—you know how someone can play music by ear, or a great athlete who breaks all the records? Steven intuitively understood accounting at a level I’ve never seen. And he loved it. I know, sounds weird.” She sighed. “I miss him.”
“Mr. Peterson suggested that you would be best able to explain how Abigail James’s trust works,” Jerry said.
“Yes, I audit the trust. It’s managed by the longtime O’Connell family attorneys—a firm in Santa Barbara. I can give you their contact information. But because Steven believed in checks and balances, he hired me—through Allied—to audit the trust every two years.”
“Did Mr. James have any say over the trust or how the money was disbursed?”
“Yes and no. The trust was managed by the law firm and the money invested in a conservative manner. Once a year, Steven would analyze the investments and suggest changes. The partners in the firm would then vote on any changes, with the primary goal of protecting the trust for Abby’s future. So he could offer changes, and he had a vote on whether they were implemented, but he couldn’t unilaterally make any changes.”
“And Mr. James didn’t receive any money from his first wife’s death?”
“Is that relevant?”
“Honestly, Ms. Witherspoon, we’re facing dead end after dead end. So we’re going back into the lives of all three victims to see if there is anything that may connect them, or any motive for their death. So far, we have nothing.”
“I don’t put much weight on the media, but press reports floated the idea that this was the work of a serial killer.”
“Trust your judgment on that, until you hear an official statement from the sheriff’s office,” Jerry said.
“I am privy to Steven’s finances. He has always been extremely frugal. The O’Connell money—family money, I guess you would say—all went into the trust. But everything that they bought during their marriage—the house in Santa Barbara, a vacation home in Hawaii, cars, jewelry, art—that was left to Steven, even if it was bought with O’Connell money—aside, of course, from certain specific bequests. He sold the Santa Barbara home and bought the house here in Olmos Park. He retained the Hawaiian home and goes there once a year for two weeks. I believe he put the jewelry in a safe-deposit box for Abby to decide what to do with when she’s older. He made a very good salary here, more than enough to support his family.”
“But he had no life insurance policy, which seems odd,” Lucy said. “From a fiscal point of view, wouldn’t he want his wife and daughter protected?”
“Like I said, he was frugal and he had no debt. The trust will provide for Abby’s living expenses—there is a provision that if Abby is orphaned, the trust will increase her allowance in order to provide her day-to-day living expenses. And everything purchased during the marriage is now the property of Teri. I also believe Steven has in his will that Teri gets the house here, and Abby will have ownership of the Hawaiian house. But I’d have to double-check.”
“So,” Jerry said, “there’s no way that if Steven James dies, anyone else can get their hands on Abby’s money.”
“No. Abby herself can’t even make decisions on expenditures until she’s twenty-one—if she needs funds, she applies with the trustee. Education will be paid for. The trust pays for her private high school. There have been too many times when young people are persuaded by unscrupulous people to part with their money. For example—I audited a trust where, on his eighteenth birthday, a boy signed over half his trust to a so-called charitable organization to save the Amazon forest. He’d been conned by a young, unscrupulous woman—a long con. She was in high school, and she and her older sister came up with the plan. She dated him for a full year. It was a sadly brilliant scam, and the women were never caught. When Abby’s twenty-one, she’ll control half the trust, and when she’s twenty-five she’ll control the entire trust.”
“What about her guardian? Could Mr. James have changed the terms of the trust?”
“No. The basic terms were set by the O’Connell estate—such as the age at which Abby would receive the money. Abby’s stepmother, as her guardian, would fill Steven’s role on the board of the trust until Abby is twenty-five, where she will then serve as her own advocate. But again—it’s one vote out of five. Three are partners with the law firm who handles the trust, one is Abby’s great-aunt—a woman as frugal and responsible as Steven. When Abby’s grandfather died, she became the matriarch of the O’Connell family. Abby’s grandparents had one daughter, Bridget; Abby’s great-aunt had one son who has only one child, about Abby’s age. There’s a few cousins, but I don’t know much about them. They all live in California.”
“And the family was on good terms with Steven when he moved to Texas?”
“As far as I know. Until Abby’s grandfather died, they went to visit often. Abby spent a large part of her summer in California. As the auditor for the trust, I’ve never found the law firm or Abby’s aunt difficult. In fact, just the opposite.”
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Witherspoon.”
“If I can help in any way, please let me know. Steven James was a quiet soul, but he left a large footprint and I will always miss his friendship.”
“Another dead end,” Jerry said.
“I feel we have more insight into Steven James as a person. He’s rather the opposite of Billy Standish on the surface—Steven is quiet, frugal, reserved; Billy was loud, rough, prone to getting in fights when drunk. But both were well liked among their peers. I suspect Julio was the same.”
“So this killer is targeting nice family men?” He shook his head. “There are a lot of nice family men out there, Lucy.”
“I’m not saying that’s the reason—in fact, it likely isn’t. It just adds to the confusion as to how the killer is choosing his victims. Three family men who are well liked, even if they had some problems. Julio financial problems. Billy family problems. Steven—well, there don’t seem to be any specific issues in his life. So why them? Why not a man who beats on his kids or is a slacker at work?”
“Because they’re randomly chosen. Maybe they weren’t stalked. Maybe the killer was on the prowl, saw a lone male, and targeted him,” Jerry said. “It’s the only thing that fits.”
“If that’s the case, he has to have a partner. Because otherwise, why would the men get out of their car? They did it to help someone—the grease on Billy’s hands attests that he touched the engine of a car that wasn’t his own.”
“And maybe he was specifically targeted and the others because the killer had a taste for killing.”
“Which brings us back to Mrs. Standish’s two lovers—known lovers. Carl Franklin doesn’t have it in him to kill anyone, and Johns has an alibi.”
“Yeah—and we confirmed it this morning. No way he drove from Amarillo to San Antonio on Friday. He worked all day, was off at six—he couldn’t have made it here until well after midnight. And he had breakfast with one of his co-workers at seven thirty Saturday morning—in Amarillo. I checked the airlines just to cross it off—he didn’t fly under his name, at least. Neither guy is all that good … or bad. Just normal folks, with secrets—this secret being they were screwing around with their friend’s wife.”
Marissa was at her sister’s house when Lucy and Jerry arrived at eleven that morning. Sandra was doting on her, and brought out water for everyone, and juice for Marissa.
“I don’t want Marissa to get upset,” Sandra said firmly. “If she does, you’ll have to leave.”
“We understand,” Jerry said. “We just want to follow up on a few things.”
Marissa nodded. “I want to help.”
Her voice was quiet. She looked tired and completely drained of energy.
“Mrs. Garcia,” Jerry said kindly, “we think that your husband may have been followed in the days or weeks leading up to his death. Did he say anything to you? Did he show concern that someone was harassing him?”
Marissa shook her head. “He said nothing. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t want me to worry about anything.”
“Would you mind looking at some photos and telling us if you recognize any of the people?”
“Is one of them a suspect?”
“No. They’re people who may have also been victims—or related to the victims—of the person who killed your husband,” Jerry said. “We are working nonstop to find this man, and this could be important.”
She nodded and looked at her sister, who sat next to her and took her hand.
Lucy scrolled through each of the photos—she’d already taken Julio’s out of the array. With each one, Marissa and Sandra shook their heads. They didn’t recognize any of the people.
“Is there someone else he may have confided in?” Lucy asked Marissa.
“Me.” A short, fit man of about forty walked in. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m Robert Vallejo—Sandra’s husband. And Julio’s friend.”
“Did he say something to you?”
“Sandra, I’m going to take these officers to the back, okay?”
Sandra nodded.
Marissa looked worried. “Why? Why can’t you talk in front of me? I need to know what’s going on.”
Sandra took her hand. “Issa, remember what the doctor said. She doesn’t want you to stress.”
“What do you know, Robert?” Marissa asked. She shifted uncomfortably on the couch.
“It may be nothing,” Sandra said. “Let him talk to the police and if it’s nothing, we don’t need to worry you. If it leads to something, I promise I will tell you. Okay?”
Silent tears fell, but Marissa nodded, and Robert led Jerry and Lucy into a home office. It was a family room that had been converted into an office with a separate entrance, two desks, and a small conference table. “It was so much cheaper to set up our real estate company here,” Robert said. “It helps that Sandy is my best friend as well as my wife.”
He motioned them to sit at the table.
“I take it that Julio shared something with you that may relate to his murder.”
“It might. Sandy and I have been talking all week about what to do with this information, and Sandy said I should tell you. She loves Marissa so much, and Marissa made her promise not to say anything. But I didn’t make that promise. But I beg of you—please don’t talk to Marissa about this, not unless it is absolutely necessary. She is thirty-four weeks’ pregnant. The doctor wants to postpone labor if at all possible for at least two more weeks. Marissa has been in pre-labor before—both with Dario and with this baby—and stress is a mitigating factor. Dario was born a month premature, but he was five pounds and had healthy lungs. The doctor says this baby isn’t yet four pounds.”
“Unless we absolutely have to, this will remain confidential and a part of our investigation,” Jerry said. “We don’t want to trouble Mrs. Garcia any more than necessary.”
“That’s why she’s here—Julio’s mother is difficult, and she’s grieving. She’s not a bad woman, she’s just—well, let’s just say that no woman would be good enough for her perfect son. And I say this with love, because Julio was damn close to perfect. He was the finest man I know. I remember when Julio came over for their first date—Marissa was still living with us. You know her parents died when she was a teenager, Sandy raised her and Anna. I’m an only child, but Issa and Anna are my sisters in every way but blood.”
He took a deep breath. “Anyway, Julio and Marissa had met at the hotel where he still works. She was a maid, Julio had started in the kitchen. I liked Julio immediately. He was a good man, a religious man, worked hard. Everyone loved him. He only had eyes for Marissa.” He paused.
“Robert?” Jerry prompted.
“This is very difficult to discuss, because I feel like I’m betraying Julio and Marissa.”
“But you think it is relevant to our investigation.”
“Yes. Yes I do.” He took a deep breath again, let it out. “Marissa is a good girl. In this day and age so many young people turn to drink or drugs or sex—casually. I’m not disparaging them, it is part of society now and chastity isn’t promoted as a virtue. But to Marissa it was. When we learned that she was pregnant—this with Dario, nearly seven years ago—and she and Julio weren’t yet married—they were engaged, not married. We. Well. We didn’t judge her because we knew they loved each other and things happen. But it wasn’t like that. Marissa was depressed and withdrawn and would talk to no one. Julio’s mother didn’t make it any easier, accusing Marissa of trapping her son. I finally confronted Julio because this was so unlike Marissa, and I needed to know that he was going to continue to do right by her. This sounds old-fashioned, but Marissa is old-fashioned. I wanted what was best for her, and she was so unhappy.
“Julio broke down. His best friend—his longest childhood friend—raped her. Full disclosure—he didn’t tell me who until recently. He only said it was someone he trusted, a friend. Marissa didn’t tell anyone until she learned she was pregnant, which was more than two months after the rape. Julio convinced her that he would claim the baby as his, that they would never speak of it again. I told him they should file charges, to punish this man for what he’d done. Julio wanted to—but Marissa refused. I told Sandy—I had to—and Sandy tried to convince Marissa to change her mind. But she—both of them are stubborn. Marissa almost miscarried at four months, and that’s when we had an agreement never to bring it up again. Julio cut this man out of his life, took Dario as his own son. It is his name on the birth certificate.”
Lucy said, “Why are you telling us this now? Did Julio have a confrontation with Marissa’s rapist? Does this man know Dario is his son?”
“Dario was a month premature, the man had left San Antonio for work, and because Julio had cut him out of his life, there’s no reason that he would have thought the baby was his. If he heard about Dario, he would have assumed the child was Julio’s.”
“Except?” Lucy prompted.
“This man was gone for years. Julio saw him in his restaurant, at the hotel, a month ago. They had a confrontation. Julio regretted it. He hit the man, had to tell Marissa that he’d seen him. He has never lied to her, he couldn’t start now. Marissa is terrified that her rapist will find out Dario is his son and take him from her. She thinks no one will believe her.”
“No one is going to take Dario from Marissa,” Lucy said firmly. “You need to tell us who he is.”
“I will. But you must promise not to tell him anything about Dario’s paternity.”
“It won’t come from us, but could he suspect that Dario is his son?” It could be a motive for murder. At least one of the murders.
“I honestly do not know. But Julio was very concerned about the altercation, and while he didn’t lie to Marissa, he downplayed it.” He took a deep breath. “His name is Christopher Smith, the grandson of the owner of Sun Tower, where Julio worked. Chris left San Antonio to start up another hotel, then returned and Julio was concerned because he didn’t want Marissa to run into him—that’s why Julio told her he was in town. It’s the only thing that has happened in their lives that could—possibly—lead to … to this. This senseless murder. I hope it isn’t so, but you need all the information.”
“Did Smith threaten Julio?” Jerry asked.
“I don’t know. Julio didn’t say anything to me about threats, just that he’d seen him at the hotel and they fought. Julio wanted him to leave. I don’t know what he planned on doing, I told him to just ignore Chris. But Julio—he’s a man of honor, and Chris hurt the woman he loves.”