think happened here, Pac?"
"I'd say the victim drove out last night with a man in her car. Otherwise, why did he wipe the passenger side? He'd planned to kill her, so he had a car of his own planted across the river at Sweet Meadow. Maybe he kept the saw in that car, too. Anyway, they walked down to the river and did some swimming. Looks like she died of suffocation, so he may have drowned her."
"It's a good possibility," Rusty said.
"Well, the autopsy'll tell us."
"So what else happened?"
"After she was out of the river, he raped her."
"Raped?"
"You testing me, boss?"
"More like testing myself," he said. "You're more observant than me and you're not exactly a dummy."
"Well, thanks."
"Okay. Why do you say he raped her?"
"She obviously didn't give consent. Being already dead."
"Sharp as a tack. So how do you know it was after she'd drowned?"
"If it'd been before, the river would've washed the semen off her."
"One more question," Rusty said.
"Fire away."
"The rape. Did he do it before or after he cut off her head?"
"Rusty!"
"I'm serious."
"Before."
"What makes you think so?"
"Just a gut feeling," Pac said.
"Go on."
"Without her head on, I just don't think he'd feel very inclined. You know?"
Rusty smiled grimly and shook his head. "You don't know guys."
Chapter Eight
Zelda
Leaving his daughter-in-law sitting in a shaded area near her patrol car, Rusty drove out to the main road. As he headed north, he radioed Madge and had her put out an APB on the 1994 gray Chevrolet pick-up truck, license plate Bob-William-David 793.
He stopped at the Texaco station. The owner, Herby Swaymen, came out of the office. "Morning, Sheriff," he said. "Beautiful day, don't you think?"
"Lovely," Rusty said, and climbed out of his car. "Just want to use the phone," he explained.
"Public phone. Help yourself."
Rusty walked over to the telephone booth. He flipped through the directory, running his eyes down the listings for Sierra College. He didn't want the student residence hall, the student book store, or the campus food service. Academic and administrative offices had to be the number. He picked up the phone, fed it a quarter, and tapped the number in. As he listened to the ringing, he clamped the handset against the side of his neck and took out his notepad and pen.
After several rings, a woman's voice spoke to him.
"Sierra College, Betty Morris speaking. May I help you?"
"You sound like a real person, Betty," Rusty said.
"Why, thank you. I am."
"Not voice mail?"
"No, sir. We like to keep the personal touch."
"Well, here's one fellow who appreciates it."
"And who might you be?"
"Name's Russell Hodges. I'm with the county sheriff's office."
"You are the county sheriff."
"That's right, ma'am."
"How may I help you, Sheriff?"
"I'd like to speak to someone about the identity of a woman who might be connected to your school."
"You may speak to me about it, if you'd like."
"Do you have access to the various records?"
"I'm the only person on campus with such access, Sheriff Hodges. Unless you'd prefer to wait until Monday morning."
"You'll do just fine, Betty. What I'd like is some information about Alison Parkington. She apparently resides in Santa Monica, but her car windshield has one of your summer parking stickers."
"Ah. Well, she would be the wife of Dr. Grant Parkington. He's a guest lecturer for our summer literature program. From UCLA? The Coleridge man."
"May I have his address?"
"His Santa Monica address, or . . . ?"
"Where I can find him today."
"Just a moment, please. I'll have to look that up." After a brief silence, Betty's voice returned. "His summer residence is sixty-eight Cove Road. He and Mrs. Parkington are staying in Professor Dill's condominium. Dr. Dill is away on sabbatical leave."
Rusty jotted the information in his notebook. "Very good," he said. "Thank you so much for your help, Betty."
"You're very welcome, Sheriff. Let me just say, I vote for you every chance I get."
"Well,
"I'd say the victim drove out last night with a man in her car. Otherwise, why did he wipe the passenger side? He'd planned to kill her, so he had a car of his own planted across the river at Sweet Meadow. Maybe he kept the saw in that car, too. Anyway, they walked down to the river and did some swimming. Looks like she died of suffocation, so he may have drowned her."
"It's a good possibility," Rusty said.
"Well, the autopsy'll tell us."
"So what else happened?"
"After she was out of the river, he raped her."
"Raped?"
"You testing me, boss?"
"More like testing myself," he said. "You're more observant than me and you're not exactly a dummy."
"Well, thanks."
"Okay. Why do you say he raped her?"
"She obviously didn't give consent. Being already dead."
"Sharp as a tack. So how do you know it was after she'd drowned?"
"If it'd been before, the river would've washed the semen off her."
"One more question," Rusty said.
"Fire away."
"The rape. Did he do it before or after he cut off her head?"
"Rusty!"
"I'm serious."
"Before."
"What makes you think so?"
"Just a gut feeling," Pac said.
"Go on."
"Without her head on, I just don't think he'd feel very inclined. You know?"
Rusty smiled grimly and shook his head. "You don't know guys."
Chapter Eight
Zelda
Leaving his daughter-in-law sitting in a shaded area near her patrol car, Rusty drove out to the main road. As he headed north, he radioed Madge and had her put out an APB on the 1994 gray Chevrolet pick-up truck, license plate Bob-William-David 793.
He stopped at the Texaco station. The owner, Herby Swaymen, came out of the office. "Morning, Sheriff," he said. "Beautiful day, don't you think?"
"Lovely," Rusty said, and climbed out of his car. "Just want to use the phone," he explained.
"Public phone. Help yourself."
Rusty walked over to the telephone booth. He flipped through the directory, running his eyes down the listings for Sierra College. He didn't want the student residence hall, the student book store, or the campus food service. Academic and administrative offices had to be the number. He picked up the phone, fed it a quarter, and tapped the number in. As he listened to the ringing, he clamped the handset against the side of his neck and took out his notepad and pen.
After several rings, a woman's voice spoke to him.
"Sierra College, Betty Morris speaking. May I help you?"
"You sound like a real person, Betty," Rusty said.
"Why, thank you. I am."
"Not voice mail?"
"No, sir. We like to keep the personal touch."
"Well, here's one fellow who appreciates it."
"And who might you be?"
"Name's Russell Hodges. I'm with the county sheriff's office."
"You are the county sheriff."
"That's right, ma'am."
"How may I help you, Sheriff?"
"I'd like to speak to someone about the identity of a woman who might be connected to your school."
"You may speak to me about it, if you'd like."
"Do you have access to the various records?"
"I'm the only person on campus with such access, Sheriff Hodges. Unless you'd prefer to wait until Monday morning."
"You'll do just fine, Betty. What I'd like is some information about Alison Parkington. She apparently resides in Santa Monica, but her car windshield has one of your summer parking stickers."
"Ah. Well, she would be the wife of Dr. Grant Parkington. He's a guest lecturer for our summer literature program. From UCLA? The Coleridge man."
"May I have his address?"
"His Santa Monica address, or . . . ?"
"Where I can find him today."
"Just a moment, please. I'll have to look that up." After a brief silence, Betty's voice returned. "His summer residence is sixty-eight Cove Road. He and Mrs. Parkington are staying in Professor Dill's condominium. Dr. Dill is away on sabbatical leave."
Rusty jotted the information in his notebook. "Very good," he said. "Thank you so much for your help, Betty."
"You're very welcome, Sheriff. Let me just say, I vote for you every chance I get."
"Well,
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