Cavanaugh Cold Case (21 page)

“Never doubted it for a moment,” he told her. “Just let me make this call to Montoya.”

With that, he placed a call to Prickly Gardens' last-known employee.

* * *

The trip from Aurora to San Diego took more than four hours, even using little traveled roads that were, for the most part, mercifully free of traffic.

During the trip, radio stations came and went, depending on the strength of the signal. But, strong or weak, it merely provided background noise. Malloy used the time to bounce various theories about the case and its heretofore still unknown victims off Kristin.

“You do know that this Montoya might turn out to be your murderer,” she said out of the blue.

She saw him grin and realized she wasn't telling him something he hadn't already thought of—and, from the look of it, disregarded.

“The thought did occur to me,” Malloy admitted.

He was being awfully cavalier about this. After all, they were trying to find someone who'd killed twelve people
that they knew of.
There could still be more victims out there.

“If that's the case, shouldn't you be going in with backup?” she persisted.

Malloy spared her a glance. “I have backup. You,” he told her after a beat.

She blew out an annoyed breath. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious,” he argued. “If this retired nursery man attacked me, you wouldn't jump right in to my rescue?”

“I'd probably help him attack you. Besides, you're not his type. If he was the killer, he'd sooner attack me than you.” And suddenly her words played back in her head, and she looked at him, startled. “Wait, am I supposed to be bait?”

He didn't answer her right away. Instead, he laughed. “Are you aware that you have a habit of overthinking things?” he asked her. “And to answer your question,” he went on, growing serious, “I'd never use anyone as bait, least of all you. As for backup, I've already notified the San Diego PD that I was going to be coming to their city—it's known as a courtesy notification,” he told her before she could ask. “If I run into trouble, all I have to do is give them a call.

“At this point, we're just on a fact-finding trip. I've got a hunch that this Montoya
isn't
our killer.”

She'd heard the term “hunch” bandied about ever since she'd joined the medical examiner's office. It didn't seem like a very scientific way to operate to her.

“Why? Because he's moved in with his daughter and her family?”

“That's part of it,” Malloy said with a vague shrug. “But mainly it's because the man's as clean as a whistle. In the past forty-five years, he hadn't gotten so much as a parking ticket. He files his taxes regularly. Attends church faithfully and, until last month, he donated his spare time at a rescue mission twice a month.”

Kristin could only look at him incredulously. They'd only gotten the man's name shortly before they set out on this trip. “How do you know all this?” she demanded.

“Background check,” he replied simply.

“When? You just got the man's name a few hours ago,” she stressed. Malloy hadn't had the time to look any of this up. “And we've been on the road for most of that time.”

He wanted to tease her a little longer but decided that was being cruel. “Sometimes having all that family on the force comes in handy,” he told her. “
Really
handy.”

She'd grant him that, but she hadn't heard him calling anyone. “I still don't—”

Okay, so maybe he
was
enjoying playing this out a little, he allowed. He knew that if he were in Kristin's place, he wouldn't have appreciated being strung along like this.

“We pulled into that rest stop halfway here, remember?” he said.

“Yes.” He'd been out of her sight for maybe five minutes during that time, probably less. Was that when he'd tracked down his information? If so, she'd clearly underestimated him.

“I got a couple of texts filling me in,” he told her, putting the mystery to rest. “I owe both Valri and Brenda steak dinners,” he said, tapping the cell phone in his pocket. The second woman he'd referred to was the Chief of D's daughter-in-law and the head of the computer lab. “Maybe some lobster thrown in, as well. In any case, it's definitely money well spent.”

Growing serious, Malloy looked at her as he took an off-ramp, which brought them to the heart of San Diego. “And just for the record, I wouldn't have brought you along if I thought Montoya was a dangerous man. I would have found a way to get you to stay behind at the precinct. Much as I like your company, nothing's worth risking your life.”

Despite the warm shiver that swept over her, Kristin had no idea what to say to him after that, so she said nothing.

Chapter 20

L
eaning into a winding turn as he drove, Malloy glanced in Kristin's direction. That was when he observed the slight trembling movement just at her left hip.

“Either you're cold, which doesn't seem possible, given the temperature outside, or you've got a call coming in,” Malloy said, nodding toward her hip.

Out of habit, Kristin had set her cell phone on vibrate, which was what it was presently doing in her pocket.

Her mind focused on the man they were on their way to see, Kristin momentarily debated not taking the call. The debate was a short one. It wasn't in her nature to ignore anyone. In her opinion, if someone was calling her, they deserved her attention.

Taking her phone out, Kristin swiped it open and placed the device close to her ear, leaving it off speaker. She liked maintaining an illusion of privacy. “Alberghetti.”

His curiosity piqued, Malloy waited for her to say something further so that he could begin piecing together who was calling her and why. Unless he found out otherwise, he assumed the call had something to do with her work, possibly even this case. The last he'd heard, Kristin had left her assistants searching through a dental database.

Kristin remained silent, apparently listening to whoever was on the other end of the call. And then he heard her say, “You're kidding...Really?...You're sure?...No, of course. Thanks for calling me. I'll see you when I get back.”

Terminating the call, Kristin tucked her smartphone away and stared out the windshield.

“Wow,” she whispered under her breath, more to herself than to him.

His attention was totally captured. “Would you like to expand on that?”

As if suddenly realizing that he was there, Kristin shifted in her seat, the seat belt digging sharply into her lap.

“You know that male victim that we found buried with the other bodies? Well, that
did
turn out to be Anson Parker. Rich just called to tell me that they managed to find Parker's dental records, and they
did
turn out to be a match,” she said, referring to one of her assistants.

He'd been under the impression that her assistants were going to be trying to match dental X-rays to the female skulls that had been found. “I thought you said that you didn't know who Parker's dentist was.”

“I didn't,” she answered. “I had Rich call every dentist within a twenty-mile radius who was in practice twenty to twenty-five years ago and run Parker's name past them. Apparently he got lucky,” she said, awed, then amended, “Doubly so, because that male victim
did
turn out to be Anson Parker.”

“Now all we have to do is figure out if Parker was collateral damage because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time—or if he had some kind of connection to all these other victims and the serial killer.” Stepping down on the accelerator, Malloy just made it through the intersection before the light turned red.

“I don't think the word
all
is big enough to fit this situation,” she commented.

“Tell me about it,” Malloy agreed with a dry laugh. The next minute, right after turning down a residential street, he began to slow the car.

“What's wrong?” Kristin asked. Was he stopping because he wanted to discuss this latest turn the investigation had taken, or was there something else on his mind?

“Nothing,” Malloy answered. Stopping the car beside the curb, he pulled up the hand brake. “We're here.”

“Here” turned out to be a rather pleasant-looking two-story forty-year-old house with what appeared to be guest quarters located on the rear of the property.

There were a variety of imposing-looking succulents planted all throughout the front yard. The plot itself was a decent size, and there were all sorts of fledgling plants in the front struggling to spread their roots and get their bearings.

“How can you tell?” Kristin cracked, then went on to complain, “I feel itchy just looking at those things.” She struggled not to shiver.

“I suppose that means getting a part-time job at a cacti nursery is out of the question for you,” he guessed dryly.

The moment he got out of the vehicle on his side, the front door opened. A friendly-looking older man with a mane of silver-gray hair and kind eyes came out to meet them. Almost square in build, the man appeared powerful despite his age.

“You are Detective Cavanaugh?” the man asked. The question was directed at Malloy, but the man's sweeping gaze took Kristin in as well and rested appreciatively on her for a good thirty seconds.

“That's right, I am,” Malloy confirmed, taking the wide, powerful hand that was being offered in greeting and shaking it. “And this is Dr. Kristin Alberghetti, the department's medical examiner.”

“So attractive for such grim work,” Montoya lamented in sympathy, shaking her hand, as well. “I am Enrique Montoya,” he said, introducing himself to her. “Come into the back,” the older man invited. “My daughter has prepared refreshments. We can eat and drink while we talk.”

Offering his arm to Kristin, Montoya led them into the backyard. Aside from a gazebo and a child's elaborate swing set and slide, the backyard was meticulously landscaped and completely drought friendly, Malloy observed.

“The garden's beautiful,” Kristin told the man. She had a feeling that he had selected every specimen that was planted there.

Montoya's smile deepened with appreciation. “I had time on my hands, and I do not like being idle.”

He waited until his guests were seated and offered them both iced tea and slices of a pie that had very obviously only recently been removed from the oven.

Satisfied that their needs were attended to, Montoya sat back and asked, “Now, what is it I can do for you, Detective?”

Malloy got right down to it. “You were recently in charge of handling the sale of the nursery where you worked. Prickly Gardens,” he added, watching the other man's expression.

“Ah, yes, the Gardens,” Montoya said fondly. “I enjoyed working there,” he confessed. “But sadly, I am not the young man I used to be, and the plants insisted on becoming heavier,” he added with a laugh. “When I finally told Miss Agnes that I was retiring to go live with my daughter and she was going to have to find someone else, she asked me for one last favor.

“I said of course. I thought she wanted me to find my replacement, but instead she asked me to find someone to buy the nursery.” There was a touch of pride mingled with humility in his voice as he told them, “She said that without me there to run the Gardens, she was no longer interested in keeping the nursery going.”

“Tell me,” Malloy began, sliding a bit closer to the older man on his seat, “Why didn't she handle the sale herself?”

“Miss Agnes is not a well woman. She had not worked at the Gardens for a few years, and she told me that she was confident I would be able to deal with any questions a buyer might have better than she would.”

“So you worked there a long time?” Kristin asked.

Montoya's smile seemed to go up another hundred watts as he answered her. “Oh, yes. A very long time. Mr. Bruce was the one who hired me.”

“Mr. Bruce?” Malloy repeated.

Deftly refilling Kristin's partially empty glass, Montoya continued with his narrative. It was easy to see that the man enjoyed talking and liked having an audience listening to him.

“Mr. Bruce bought Prickly Gardens two years before I went to work for him. It was small back then, but Mr. Bruce, he had a vision. And I was happy to help him achieve it.”

Malloy was feeling his way around, trying not to make it seem as if he was interrogating the former employee. “Did ‘Mr. Bruce' want to sell the nursery, too?”

Montoya's expression lost some of its sunny demeanor. “Mr. Bruce died more than ten years ago.”

Malloy was still trying to identify the players. “And Miss Agnes was his wife?” he guessed.

“No, she was his older sister,” Montoya corrected. “She was also his partner, working beside him everyday, going on trips to look for new specimens to sell at the Gardens.” Judging by the man's tone, it was easy to ascertain that, in his opinion, those constituted the better days. “Miss Agnes was the one who kept things running at the Gardens after Mr. Bruce lost interest.”

“Was there a reason he lost interest?” Kristin asked, wondering if they were finally on the right track to learning the circumstances that led to all those young women being murdered and mutilated.

“Oh, yes, a very sad reason,” Montoya said. Pausing as if to collect himself, he went on to give it to them. “One day Mr. Bruce's son just disappeared. No note, no reason, he just did not come home when he was supposed to. Mr. Bruce got angry, then he got frightened. He hired private detectives to find the boy.

“When they could not,” Montoya sighed, “Mr. Bruce started drinking. Miss Agnes tried to get him interested in the nursery again—it was his passion, you see—but all he cared about was numbing his pain. So he went on drinking. She tried everything to make him stop. One day, Mr. Bruce, he just drove the car over the side of one of the winding roads. He died before they could get him to the hospital.”

As he spoke, Montoya cut second slices of pie and placed one each on their plates. “Eat, please,” he urged.

And then he continued. “Mr. Bruce had left the nursery to her, so Miss Agnes ran the business until she became sick. She is in a wheelchair now, poor lady,” he explained. “She asked me to keep the Gardens going, but well, it was getting harder and harder to do the potting and the shipping, not to mention the day-to-day things that have to be taken care of. I had some help, but...” He shrugged.

The older man's smile was rueful as he admitted, “It takes a young man to run this business, and I no longer am that. So when I told Miss Agnes I would be retiring, she asked me to sell the Gardens for her. I was surprised,” he admitted.

“Why's that?” Malloy asked.

“I thought she would keep it in case Mr. Anson ever came back. But she said no, he would not be coming back after all this time, and she needed the money to stay where she was. It is expensive to be old and alone,” he told them sadly. “So, what could I say? I told her I would stay on until I found someone to buy the nursery. Fortunately, that did not take as long as I thought.”

Malloy exchanged looks with Kristin. By the expression on her face, he knew she'd caught it, too. “What did you say the owner's son's name was?” he asked Montoya.

“Mr. Anson.” He nodded as if he understood why he'd been asked to repeat the name. “It is a strange name, I know.”

“What did you say the owner's last name was?” Malloy pressed, just to get everything right.

“Miss Agnes? Her last name is Parker. The same as her brother. She never married,” he added, even though there was no need to. “The poor lady had a good heart, but she was a very plain-looking woman. She did not try to make herself look prettier.” It was obvious by his tone that he felt for the woman he was talking about. “I think that is why Miss Agnes liked the cacti and succulents so much. Many people say that they are ugly, but she thought they were beautiful.”

“Was she close to her nephew?” Kristin asked.

She felt as if they were staring at all the pieces in this puzzle, but they still needed to make sense out of them somehow. So far, they were all just a mishmash of parts.

“Mr. Anson's mother died when he was a little boy, and Miss Agnes tried to be a mother to him, but I don't think that ever really worked out for either one of them. Mr. Anson was difficult for her to handle. He could be nice one minute, not so nice the next.”

Montoya stared into the bottom of his empty iced tea glass. His expression was solemn.

“They were not a happy family, although Mr. Bruce tried to be a good father. He bought his son everything he asked for, but ‘things' do not take the place of a mother, or love.” Rousing himself, Montoya shook his head. “So much sadness.”

“Are you still in touch with Agnes Parker?” Malloy asked. It was clear that he was going to need to speak to the woman. Maybe she could shed some more light on things.

“If you mean have I seen her recently, no. We spoke on the phone when I sold the Gardens for her,” Montoya answered. “She told me to have the check deposited into her bank account.”

“When was that?” Malloy asked. He had his notepad out and was making notes accordingly now.

Montoya didn't have to pause to think. He remembered exactly. “Four weeks ago.” He looked from the detective he was talking to to the woman sitting beside him. “Is something wrong?” he asked, then immediately jumped to the only conclusion that he could. “Did Mr. Anson come back?”

Malloy was tempted to tell the man the truth. Montoya had been straightforward with them and answered all their questions, not to mention that he'd been hospitable when he could have just as easily been hostile. But the case was still open, and the investigation was ongoing. That meant that details had to be kept secret until the crime was solved.

“Not exactly,” was all Malloy could say. “But we need to get in touch with Miss Parker. Would you have her address as well as her phone number handy?”

“Yes, of course. Let me give it to you.” Montoya reached into his pants pocket and, after a moment, tugged out a cell phone. “My daughter, she wants me to be part of the modern world as she calls it. Half the time, I forget where I put this thing, so now she makes me carry it with me.”

He shook his head, as if the whole concept of having a cell phone still mystified him. “I like holding something in my hand that
feels
like something,” he said. “This is like a toy,” he complained, opening the phone. Muttering something under his breath, he swiped through pages, attempting to get to the right section.