Expecting to Die

CHAPTER 27
T
he three detectives hashed it out in a back room often used for meetings or, if
they needed one, a task force. The windows were mounted high, just enough to
let in the late afternoon light, two whiteboards were pressed against one wall,
and there were several laptop computers on the large table at which Pescoli and
Alvarez sat, listening to Detective Sage Zoller, as she went over the information
in the Montclaire case. As she talked, information appeared on their screens.
“So, here’s what we know,” she said. “There are rumors that Destiny had
several boyfriends and used one against the other. But, Donald Justison Junior is
not the father of her child.”
“That doesn’t rule him out as a suspect,” Alvarez said. “In fact, that might
have been his motive to kill her, that she cheated on him.”
“Who is the father?” Pescoli asked. The room was hot and stuffy; the air
conditioner, which kept some parts of the building as cold as ice, was unable to
filter any of that cool air here. An oscillating fan standing in a corner did little
more than move the hot air around, ruffling papers on the table.
“Unknown. We’ve ruled out Bryant Tophman, Rod Devlin, Emmett Tufts, and
TJ O’Hara as the baby daddy,” Sage admitted. “None of them are a match.”
“Again, it doesn’t mean they weren’t involved,” Pescoli argued.
Zoller nodded. “So far, Austin Reece has refused to give a sample and his
father is blocking it every way.”
Alvarez growled, “I’m getting a court order. That kid is going to get
swabbed.”
“Good,” Pescoli said, shifting in the chair. Sitting for long periods of time was
difficult, and she’d been up for what seemed like years.
Zoller continued, “Alex O’Hara and the Bell brothers’ samples are being
processed, should be back from the lab tonight or early tomorrow morning.”
Pescoli grunted. “What else?”
“The lab has no other physical evidence other than the bit of latex under the
victim’s nails. It’s assumed she was fighting her attacker off as he strangled her
and she managed to pierce the latex.”
“No easy feat,” Alvarez observed. “That stuff is made so that it won’t rupture.
That’s the whole idea.”
Pescoli fanned herself with her file folder. “So we got lucky.”

---

Zoller didn’t look convinced. “We already know those gloves can be found
everywhere, from hospitals to labs, to your local construction sites. Anyone
could pick up a pack.... We’re checking recent orders from various outlets, but
that’ll take some time.”
“What about alibis?” Pescoli said.
“As for the statements of the people interviewed, they’re all over the map, as
you can see,” Sage said. “Most of them have alibis, but some are each other’s.”
Alvarez was sliding through the statements, all of which were highlighted.
“So the Bell brothers were with each other.”
Sage nodded. “And other kids in and out of their group, too. No one’s
admitting to meeting up with Destiny.”
“Except for Donny Justison,” Alvarez said.
“Yeah, and he’s lying about it. First, Veronica Palmero gives him an alibi he
didn’t use, and then he says that he didn’t meet Destiny in the woods. That she
came by his house. Either way, he’s a liar.”
They’d already thought that she might have been killed somewhere else and
brought to the creek, but had no proof. Nothing was coming together.
“Do we have statements for any of her other acquaintances, people who knew
her and weren’t at the party on the night she was found?” Pescoli asked Sage.
“Yep. Cousins, old boyfriends, her family. Everyone is accounted for. And as
far as we can tell, she didn’t have any kind of secret life. No one would profit
from her death. She had no money and there wasn’t an insurance policy on her.”
“So the last person, aside from the killer, to see Destiny Montclaire alive was
Donny Justison,” Alvarez said.
Pescoli added, “Unless he is the killer.”
“Uh-huh.” Alvarez rubbed the back of her neck. “And the people she texted
that night were Lindsay Cronin and Kywin Bell.”
“That’s right,” Zoller said. “Now Lindsay Cronin’s dead and Kywin claims he
never got the text.”
Pescoli said, “Just like he never got the text from Lindsay Cronin. Someone’s
lying.”
“No. Not just someone. The whole lot of them,” Alvarez said shortly. “If you
scroll through these statements, they’re like Swiss cheese, filled with holes. But
yeah, Kywin’s definitely hiding something. I know he’s lying, I can feel it, but
his reaction to the missing texts seemed genuine. He insists he’s never seen them
before.”
“An act,” Pescoli said. “Just like his old man.” She leaned back in the chair,
trying to get comfortable. It was impossible.
“There’s an interesting thing, though,” Sage said. “It might be nothing, but I

---

went over the phone and text records of Kywin Bell. Nothing.” She brought the
phone records up on screen. “But when you compare them to his brother’s?
Kip’s. Take a look.” She split the screen and both records came up. “If you
notice, Destiny called Kip as well. They knew each other, obviously, but more
than that, she seemed to pocket-dial him a lot. Those are the short conversations,
or non-conversations, that only lasted a second or two.”
Pescoli leaned closer to the screen.
“I tend to pocket-dial the same couple of people,” Zoller went on. “It happens.
But what’s noteworthy is that on the dates of the missing texts, take a look,
there’s a quick call to Kip that didn’t last for even two seconds. They didn’t
connect, so I thought originally that she’d hit the wrong number by accident, or
pocket-dialed him . . . but what if she didn’t?”
“You mean it was what? A signal?” Pescoli felt a sizzle of excitement.
“So that he would get a message on his brother’s phone?” Alvarez was
thinking aloud, her thoughts in sync with Pescoli’s.
Zoller said, “She pocket-dialed him a lot, so I didn’t think anything of it at
first. But maybe those times when he didn’t pick up were somehow a signal back
so then she didn’t text Kywin.”
“Why?” Pescoli asked.
Alvarez posed, “Because she was seeing Kip on the side and was supposed to
be dating Kywin?”
“No one says Kywin was involved with her,” Pescoli pointed out. “Destiny
Rose Montclaire, yes. But Lindsay?”
“Let’s ask him,” Alvarez said.
They tossed the idea around some more. Then Pescoli stood and stretched for
a second. “Sorry,” she said. “I can only sit in one position so long.” She settled
into her chair again and asked Zoller, “What do we know about Lindsay Cronin’s
accident?”
“The accident reconstruction crew spent hours at Horsebrier Ridge. They
think she swerved, as if to avoid something, or as if something was in the car and
forced her to turn sharply. She lost control and went through the guardrail. There
was no indication that she was actually run off the road, but that’s still a
possibility. It seems unlikely at her age that she would have had a heart attack or
anything debilitating. She didn’t have any medical history of anything like
seizures.”
“But she could have dropped her cell phone and reached for it. Something like
that,” Alvarez said. “Or a malfunction of the vehicle.”
“It’s possible,” Zoller agreed. “Once they get the car out of the canyon and go
over the mechanics.”

---

Pescoli grumbled, “So we really don’t know anything more except it’s a
helluva coincidence.” The baby kicked and she shifted in her chair again.
“Not really, but on a side note, I found some pictures of the missing Big Foot
costume.” The picture came up on the screen. “It’s not been located, but here’s
what it looks like.” Sure enough, an image of a man in a shaggy ape suit
appeared. “It’s the same color as the one in Carlton Jeffe’s film, unfortunately.”
Zoller seemed a little disturbed. “I was hoping there would be differences, so
that there would be less doubt that the creature is real.”
“You think Jeffe and the Big Foot Believers created this film, that it’s a hoax?”
Alvarez asked.
“Oh, no. I don’t think Carlton would be involved in that. He’s sincere. But
there are others . . .” She lifted a hand from her computer mouse and waggled it
back and forth. “I’m not so sure.”
“You got names?” Pescoli asked.
“All of the kids you suspect in the murders could have taken the suit. For the
Bell brothers, Alex O’Hara, Donny Justison, Bryant Tophman, and the rest of
them, including Marjory Tuft’s stepsons, it’s all just a fun time for them to get
together and go out in the woods and hunt a Sasquatch. They hang out with Ivor
Hicks and Fred Nesmith—nutcases—and secretly laugh at them and play the
whole game. Any one of them could have taken the costume. Or not . . .” She
clicked another button on her computer and said, “I checked with costume stores
as far away as Spokane and Boise, even Salt Lake. None rented any Sasquatch
costumes in the last couple of months, but now, with the upcoming reality show,
there’s more interest.”
“Great,” Pescoli said.
“This next page,” Zoller continued, “is a list of all the materials used to make
the missing costume. All man-made. Any fibers located at any of the scenes will
be compared.”
“Good.” Pescoli squirmed in her chair again. “This is progress,” she said, but
they still had no answers.
They talked some more, got no further, decided to take a break. Pescoli’s back
was beginning to ache, and she’d had several texts from Bianca asking about
when she was coming home. Bianca was at the house by herself as Santana and
Jeremy were also working late, rounding up a couple of steers that had gotten
out of a hole in the fence line at the Long ranch.