Victim Six (5 page)

March 31, 10 a.m.
Port Orchard

Instinct and intuition often play an important function in police work. Those who deny their crucial roles are likely those who don’t possess that something extra that allows an interrogator to home in on the truth when the facts don’t always add up: how the flutter of an eyelash indicates a lie, the curl of an upper lip says more than the words coming from the subject. Truth, Kendall Stark knew, was more than the sum of available facts. There was nothing to really back up the belief that Celesta Delgado simply ditched her boyfriend in the middle of cutting brush in Sunnyslope. Nor did she think that the gentle man who’d come into the Sheriff’s Office was involved with her disappearance. She drove out to Kitsap West, the ramshackle mobile home park that was best known for a dead baby that had been found the previous year on the other side of the rusted eight-foot wire fence that cordoned off the single- and double-wide mobiles, along with a smattering of travel trailers and fifth wheels.

She parked her SUV in front of space 223, a single-wide Aloha with new steps and decking, and knocked.

A woman of about sixty answered. Although it was past ten, she was still wearing slippers and a bathrobe. As she spoke, the remnants of the cigarette she’d been smoking curled in the still air. And while she had a pleasant face and reasonably warm eyes, everything else about her told Kendall that she was going to be of no help. She barely opened the door, for starters.

A sure sign that the person is hiding something inside: a messy house, maybe a dead body…

“I don’t need a vacuum or aromatherapy if that’s what you’re here for,” she said.

Kendall offered a smile. “I’m a detective with the Sheriff’s Office. I’m Kendall Stark.”

“I don’t know anything about my nephew.”

Kendall suppressed a smile. She could never begin to count the times that someone misunderstood why she was on their front doorstep and offered up a relative or a neighbor as a quick means to save themselves from some hidden concern.

“Ma’am, I’m not here about your nephew. I’m here about the missing woman who lived next door.”

The woman widened the door a bit more. “You mean the Mexican?”

“I think they are Salvadoran.”

“Same to me.” She motioned for Kendall to come inside. “I liked Celesta. Nice girl. What she was doing with those rowdies, I’ll never know.”

A four-foot patch of linoleum served as the entryway to a living room that was papered in a cheery orange poppy print. A brown sofa, two small chairs, and a TV playing a shopping channel that sold only gems completed the milieu of a person of big dreams and modest means.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Kendall said, scooting a sheaf of newspapers to one side of the sofa before taking a seat.

“Sally Todd,” she said. “Coffee?”

Kendall politely declined. “No, thanks. I’m here about Celesta. You seem to think there was trouble at home. Am I getting that right?”

Sally Todd tightened the knotted belt on her robe, a pale blue flannel garment that needed laundering, and took a seat facing her visitor.

“Look, these days there is always trouble with young people. I know the girl. I know Tulio and his brothers too. They had their music playing at all hours. I called the sheriff on them five times last summer. You can check on that, if you don’t believe me.”

“Did Celesta ever indicate to you that she wanted out of the relationship? That maybe she wanted to return to El Salvador?”

The older woman looked for her cigarette case and pulled out a More. She flicked on her lighter and pulled air through the slender dark brown cigarette.

“She said that Tulio was no good and she wanted to get away from him. He was too controlling.”

This interested Kendall, although she wasn’t sure if she believed anything this woman had to say. “Really?” she asked.

“I’m talking out of school,” she said, “but I don’t care. The girl needed to get away from the lot of them. The Pena brothers have turned this quiet mobile home park into party central. I think one of the boys stole my leaf blower. They denied it. But that’s what I think. I called the sheriff on them too.”

“I see.”

“Yes, and you can verify all of this. The girl finally got some sense. Really, picking brush? What kind of life is that? She could do better than that. Who couldn’t?”

Kendall thanked her. She didn’t tell her that the county was rife with desperate people who would do just about anything to survive—and stay out of the reach of the law. Picking brush was far from the worst endeavor she could imagine.

With Josh Anderson away at the academy speaking about his experiences investigating rural crimes, detectives’ row in the Kitsap County Sheriff’s office was far quieter than usual. Almost pin-drop hushed. Two were out in the field, running down drug cases, and a third was working the third murder of the year, the case of a Seabeck woman who’d been arrested for the killing of a woman she and her husband had picked up after a night of partying at the Bethel Saloon. The tavern was a Kitsap classic, a rough-around-the-edges biker-type bar that shared a parking strip with a butcher, Farmer George’s, frequently prompting a retort about the two establishments’ close proximity:

“Wonder which is the bigger meat market?”

“Judging by the looks of some of those biker babes hanging around the pool tables, I’d say there’s more gristle at the Bethel than at Farmer George’s.”

Kendall Stark had felt genuine concern coming from Tulio Pena when he spoke about Celesta. She’d seen the way a husband or boyfriend can try to emulate devotion or worry by saying the right words. Sometimes they even eke out a tear to punctuate the moment with a display of emotion that is supposed to support their position as a loving partner.

“I don’t know why she did this to me.”

“I had no idea she was unhappy.”

“All I ever did was love her.”

Kendall just didn’t see a false note when Tulio gave his statement. Even so, something troubled her greatly, and there was no way to really dismiss it. The reporting deputy noted in the initial missing-person report that Celesta Delgado’s purse had been left behind in the van.

Inside the purse were the three main indicators of an abduction or a homicide: Celesta’s cell phone, keys, and wallet.

No woman running away leaves those things,
she thought.

It was around five when Kendall found her husband and son in the plaza of the Kitsap County Administration Building. Steven had a client meeting that evening, and they’d planned on an early dinner. A few clouds had rolled in, obscuring the Olympics and turning what had been a lovely afternoon into what promised to be a cool spring evening.

Cody’s face lit up when his mother emerged from the Sheriff’s Office walkway. “Mommy! I see you!” he said.

Kendall beamed and ran toward her son with outstretched arms. Some days there were no words, just the rocking of a small body as he looked at her with eyes that seemed empty of recognition.

“Hi, you two,” she said.

“Ready for a dinner out?” Steven asked, his broad white smile another salvo to her heart.

“Yes, I am,” she said, scooping up Cody. “Pancakes, everyone?”

Cody smiled.

Whenever they went out, they’d have pancakes at the same restaurant, in the same booth.

“Make mine banana pecan,” Steven said with a wink.

“Strawberry for me.” Kendall shot back.

It was always banana pecan, strawberry, and blueberry. Each member of the Stark family had a prescribed meal, time, and place. To deviate was to cause unease and ruin what was a pleasant dinner—or, in this case, breakfast—out.

“How’s your day going?” Steven asked.

“Oh, you know.” She set Cody down and gave her husband a quick peck. “Kind of slow.”

“Any sign of the missing girl?”

Kendall and Steven talked shop only on the most cursory level. He’d tell her if he closed a big ad sale; she’d mention if a perp had been nailed or a case stymied. But she didn’t like to bring her work into their personal lives. They’d agreed to take his car to eat, then drive back to the Sheriff’s Office parking lot so Kendall could take Cody home.

“I’m worried about her,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat of the nine-year-old red Jeep Wrangler that they’d purchased just slightly used a couple of years after Cody was born. Despite his age and size, Cody was secured in a car seat, behind his parents.

“I thought she bolted. I mean, Jesus, she was working two jobs. I’d leave town too.” Steven glanced at Cody in the rearview mirror. He was watching the world slip by his window.

“Josh talked to Celesta’s sister in El Salvador. She’s as worried as Tulio is.”

“Boyfriend troubles, maybe?” he asked, turning onto Sidney Avenue and heading south to Tremont.

Kendall turned on a CD, a Raffi recording that Cody loved. She turned around, hoping to catch a smile, but the little boy just stared out the side window.

“I really don’t know. Can we talk about something else?”

“I drove over to Inverness this afternoon,” Steven said. “Just to check it out.”

Kendall felt his words stab at her, although she knew Steven meant no harm. The idea of the alternative school for their son hadn’t really set in yet. She wasn’t
ready
for it to set in.

“I thought we’d do that together,” she said.

Steven let a sigh pass from his lips. He took his eyes off the road and looked at her.

“I was making a run up to Bainbridge to meet with an advertiser. It was on the way home.”

“I see. I guess that makes sense,” Kendall said, looking away.

Why are you pushing this?
she thought.
Putting him there is one step closer to saying he’s never going to get better.

As much as she loved Steven, there was no doubt there was a wall between them. She knew that some walls can never be scaled. Not even with all the love in the world.

April 1, 10 a.m.
East Bremerton, Washington

The Azteca was a quintessential cookie-cutter Mexican restaurant, one of the type that sprouted all over America around the time that salsa overtook ketchup as the country’s bestselling condiment. Frothy frozen margaritas in flavors that God (or a decent bartender) had never intended—peach mint, cantaloupe, and blackberry—and tortilla chips warm from the deep fat fryer, served until the meal itself becomes an afterthought.

Kendall took a call from an Azteca busboy named Scott Sawyer, looked at her watch, and decided she’d head north from Port Orchard and time it for lunch. Josh was out pursuing a lead on a drug dealer near Wye Lake, so she drove up alone.

“I have something important to tell you,” Scott had said in a voice that cracked in a way that suggested he was barely out of puberty. “It’s really important. About the case you’re working on.”

“Can you give me a hint?” she asked, wanting to find out before she left if the kid had anything worth telling.

“Celesta had something going on here with another waiter. Tulio was so mad I thought he was going to kill her.”

That was certainly enough for the drive up the highway to Bremerton.

Peeling off his apron, Scott Sawyer slid into an orange and brown vinyl booth in the back of the restaurant. He was blond, pale, and as lanky as an orchard ladder. He introduced himself and apologized for keeping her waiting. She’d had to tell the server twice she didn’t want any more chips, although she’d barely touched her basket. She wondered if anyone ate the red and green chips, a tip of the hat, or rather sombrero, to Mexico’s flag.

To Kendall, it always seemed more like a nod to Christmas.

“First off, I just want you to know that everyone here really likes Celesta. She’s our best hostess by far. She trained me.”

Kendall smiled. “I’ve heard nice things about her.”

“When the boss remodeled the restaurant in Port Orchard, she was the one he selected to hostess the grand reopening.”

The waitress brought a taco salad and silently set it in front of her. For a second, Kendall thought she detected the server rolling her eyes slightly. It was subtle and could have been a nervous tic.

“I made the dressing,” he said. “Good stuff. Not good for you, but good stuff.”

Kendall speared a piece of lettuce and dipped it into the spicy sour cream dressing.

“Anyway,” Scott went on, “Celesta liked me. I could tell. I knew that she was hooked up with Tulio, but she just, you know…”

“No, I don’t
know
.”

Scott rested his bony hands on the table. A tattoo across his knuckles spelled out
ROCK AND ROLLA
.

“She could do better,” he said. “Tulio wasn’t going anywhere. She didn’t like the brush thing. She wanted to move forward here, not run around the woods with a clipper trying to make a buck.”

The server—who wore a name tag that said
MARIA
but, with her green eyes and blond highlights, looked more like a Mary—shook her head as she cleared the table on the other side of the restaurant. She caught Kendall’s eye, and the detective made a mental note to speak to her before leaving the restaurant.

“You said on the phone you had some information that could be helpful in finding her,” she said to Scott. “Do you know where she went? Did she say anything to you about leaving town?”

Though clearly enjoying the attention, Scott looked a little impatient. He wasn’t ready, it seemed, to cut to the chase.

“I’m getting there. I’m getting there, Detective Stark.”

“All right. We’re trying to find a missing person, Scott.”

“You’ll find her. But she’ll be dead when you do.” His words were delivered matter-of-factly.

Kendall felt a chill. “How do you know that?”

Scott flexed his tattooed knuckles and grinned. “Because I bet you money that Tulio killed her. I read the article in the paper. That’s why I called. Tulio and his brothers are big liars. They want to act all lovey-dovey and whatnot, but that’s a big fat lie.”

Now Kendall could see where this was going. “How do you know this, Scott? Is this an opinion or what?”

“No. One time Celesta and I were messing around in the back.”

“‘Messing around’?”

“Well, not like that. It wasn’t messing around. I had a tear in the strap of my apron,” he said, picking up the food-spattered white garment that he’d removed before sitting down. “See right here?” He pointed to some black thread. “That’s where Celesta sewed it up. I was wearing it at the time, and Tulio came in and saw us. He thought something was going on.”

“But nothing was, right?”

“Right, I mean, I wish. But no, nothing. He just lit into her, saying, ‘If I ever catch you touching another man, I’ll do what they do to whores back in El Salvador!’”

“And what did you take that to mean?” she said.

“I don’t know exactly. I went online and looked up what they do to cheats in El Salvador, and I found something about how a woman can go to prison for six years if she gets caught cheating on her husband.”

“But Tulio and Celesta weren’t married.”

His break over, Scott got up to return to the kitchen. “They acted like it. Or at least
he
did.”

Maria, who turned out to be Maryanne Jenner, a student at Olympic College in Bremerton, rang up the bill at the cash register by the front door. The recorded mariachi music blared from the bar, and Kendall had to strain to hear the young woman.

“I hope you don’t put much faith in what Scott says,” she said. “He’s had a thing for Celesta, and she wouldn’t give him two seconds of an hour.”

“Was Tulio the jealous type?”

“Look,” the young woman said, “I’ve never seen it. Not from him. Others, yeah.” She handed her the change, and Kendall pushed it back to her.

“Thanks. One more thing, Detective.”

“What’s that?

“I think she’s dead too. She’d never just run off. Celesta wasn’t that kind of girl.”

All cops know that if Oscars were handed out to workers in any profession other than moviemaking, it would be to homicide detectives, who must approach suspects with an unyielding poker face, or ratchet up sincerity to win over those on the brink, or feign anger to force a meltdown of defenses. Kendall had liked Tulio Pena and believed him. She did not believe or like Scott Sawyer, but it was her duty to follow up on what he had said.

It wasn’t going to be a good cop/bad cop scenario when Kendall and Josh met with Tulio for a follow-up interview based on the information provided by Scott Sawyer and Maryanne Jenner at the Azteca Restaurant. Josh remained disinterested in the case, sure that Celesta had ditched her boyfriend for greener pastures.

Or at least where she didn’t have to quite literally work greener pastures.

Kendall told Tulio that they found some evidence and he needed to come down as soon as possible. He was in the little room within thirty-five minutes of her call, still wearing the white Mexican wedding shirt that was his restaurant uniform.

“Tell us what you did with Celesta,” Kendall said, looking dead-eyed at Tulio as they sat across from one another in a small, windowless interrogation room in the Kitsap County Sheriff’s Office.

“What
I
did with her?”

Kendall forced all her emotions to flatline. “Yes. Did you fight?”

“I don’t know what you are saying.”

“Did you tell someone that you would make her pay if she ever left you for another man?”

“She would never.”

Josh was snapped back into the moment by the adrenaline coming from across the table. “We have a witness who says so.”

Tulio was caught completely off guard. He pushed back his chair. “Who? Your witness is a liar!”

“Look,” Kendall said, finding her way back into the interview, “we have a good idea what happened. You argued in the woods, didn’t you. She told you she wanted to leave you, correct?”

“She never.”

“Did you beat her? Did you choke her?”

His eyes were filling with tears. “I love her.” The compact man across from the detectives shrunk before her eyes. “No. I did not.”

Josh jabbed an accusing finger at him. “What did you and your brothers do with her body?”

By then Tulio had stood up. “We did nothing.”

“It is only a matter of time,” Josh said. “We will find out what you’ve done with her.”

Kendall saw genuine emotion in Tulio’s eyes, and her instinct was to tell him that everything would be all right. That they’d find her. That they didn’t really think he killed her. Tulio got up and went toward the doorway, stopping before passing through.

“You don’t believe me. But I am not lying.”

Kendall felt a twinge of shame as Tulio made his way out of the building. She
did
believe him, but there was nothing else to go on. Something had happened to the young woman in the woods near Sunnyslope.

For the next two days an angry and confused Tulio did what he’d been told: he waited. He and his brothers returned to Sunnyslope and yelled out Celesta’s name. They called the police a couple times a day, but got the same response from the deputy who’d gone out to see them following that first call. So Tulio did what he’d seen others do in cases in which the police stonewalled.

He called the newspaper.

And while Tulio was seeking answers, the man who had them kicked back and enjoyed what made Washington such a lovely place in the spring.

Never too hot.

Never too cool.

He did all of the things that other men did. He drove to work. Drank beer. Barbecued. Went out on his boat in Puget Sound. Hauled in crab pots brimming with Dungeness beauties. He even took his boat up to Hood Canal during the short-lived shrimp season. He considered heading toward the Theler Wetlands in Belfair, where he’d dumped his victim, but he thought better of it.

Mostly, however, he reveled in what he’d done and what he’d do next. He knew the smartest killer would never kill in his own backyard. He likened it to how a dog wouldn’t defecate in his own kennel. How a drunk tries his best to get to a toilet rather than vomit anywhere where cleanup would be required. A smart killer doesn’t discard a victim too close to home. He’d researched what had been the downfall of others who’d aspired to the kind of greatness that he did. He wasn’t sick, just clever. The others hadn’t refined the rules as he had.

He wrote them down on a scrap of paper in his office at the shipyard.

As he contemplated his next move, the man with the sharp blade knew that at least one of his rules would be violated, but he carelessly dismissed it. Clever as he was, he felt that set of laws he’d adopted served a mighty purpose.

They kept others in line.