Doobie Brothers Chapter
Topics for Discussion
Order directly from havenbooks.net (guaranteed delivery)
Order from Amazon.com
Senior Deputy Delmar Johnson had stayed too long in his office and now it had grown dark. Highway 1
stretched past the window devoid of traffic, and he could not shake his feeling of foreboding.
Chris Christian was definitely missing, and Del had been without a clue as to where to begin his search. The
call from Detective Rogers hadn't been a break in the case, exactly, but at least it would be a starting point.
A Mr. J. Calvin of Santa Barbara had reported her missing, and had asked that Captain Sandoval assign the
matter personally. Keep it quiet, he had apparently said. He'd cooperate fully. The Captain had called
Rogers. Rogers had wanted Del in on the interview.
It had been only two months since Del made senior deputy, and he appreciated the vote of confidence from
the Captain if, in fact, that's what it was. They'd been short-handed, leaving a slot open for someone who
happened to be in the right place at the right time. But it was always hard to tell, when you were the new kid
on the block, if a new assignment meant you were being given a chance, or being thrown to the dogs.
He had done his one-year probation with the Sheriff's department in San Luis Obispo County, and had spent
it on patrol in all three sub-stations: Templeton to the north, Los Osos in the middle, and Arroyo Grande,
which encompassed everything south to the Santa Barbara County line. Among other things, the year of
patrol work meant he'd learned a lot about the area enough to know he loved the Central Coast.
The California Department of Forestry had a new building in Milford-Haven. At first they'd been willing
only to allow the use of a desk and phone. But when they'd learned of Del's computer expertise, and found
out he had his own system, they'd become a lot friendlier. Now he shared space provided by the CDF, and
his new office suited him down to the ground.
By any standards his promotion had come quickly quickly enough to cause some resentment. But that
didn't worry Del. His five years with the L.A.P.D. on the streets of South Central had prepared him as few
officers are ever prepared. Now he'd been assigned to SPU Special Problems Unit. It had the potential to
be the ideal job. He answered only to the Captain, and was assigned to work with detectives or anyone else
when needed. In this unit, there was no case load, per se. The idea was to keep its members free to
respond as needed. So he'd earned the title Senior Deputy Johnson, more responsibility, and more freedom
than he'd had in his professional life. An enormous vote of confidence. Or not.
Del considered again the particulars of the meeting with Joseph Calvin. It was to take place after-hours,
when they couldn't be observed. They were to meet at his private residence. The butler would have retired
for the evening: Calvin himself would answer the door. Did this mean that a member of the white bastion of
Santa Barbara society was embarrassed at being questioned by a black deputy? Del wasn't prepared to rule
out the racial persuasion, despite all reassurances to the contrary. He'd been told he was to arrive at 10 pm.
It was time to go.
Del headed for his car. His keys jangled as they hit his taut hips, making a rhythmic music with his boots as
they thudded through the corridor and down the stairs. Like a one-man percussion section echoing through
the deserted building, Del filled the hallways with his sound, then emptied them abruptly with a final clang
of the double front doors. Making sure the building was locked, Del pressed his car alarm button, its
mechanical chirp still an uncommon sound on the Central Coast.
Another perk of the SPU job was access to four-by-four vehicles. The Suburban coughed into activity and
settled into a deep, growling purr as it gathered speed. It sometimes seemed to Del nothing short of
miraculous that such an expanse of road as Highway 1 could be as safe and clear as it was. The mean streets
of his own childhood sometimes rose out of the dark to haunt him. If a car backfired, he always assumed
first it was a shot, his body reflexively tensing, his senses coming to full alert. Even after twenty-six months,
he had not yet unlearned those inner city reactions. Perhaps, he thought as the Suburban ate up miles, he
never would. Indeed, perhaps he never should.
Del had kept his radio on low volume. Halfway to his destination, he heard, "Twenty-four-Z-four."
"Z-four," he answered quickly. He'd been the last the join the four-person SPU unit, and that had given him
the number "four."
"Ten-twenty-one as soon as possible."
Ten-twenty-one meant "call home." Twenty-four was the number for the main station at San Luis. As Del
used his cell phone to place the call, he wondered who needed to speak with him in enough detail that the
radio couldn't be used.
"Dispatch," the sheriff's office answered.
"This is Johnson."
"I'll put you through." The night sped by outside the Suburban, and Del watched the road. Zebra was the
code name for the SPU unit. Well, we are a bunch of wild animals. He chuckled to himself, and got serious
as someone came back on the line.
"Johnson, this is Rogers. I'm sorry to give you such short notice, but you're going to have to handle the
Calvin interview on your own."
"I know, irregular procedure, but we're short-handed tonight, and we've got a situation over on the 101. No
way I'll get to Santa Barbara in time."
"Should I cancel? Explain to Mr. Calvin that you could see him tomorrow?"
"No, that would only make matters worse. I don't know what's so urgent, but the word came down from the
top that someone should speak to him tonight. Who knows, maybe he'll be impressed by a suit ringing his
doorbell at 10 pm."
Del glanced at his sleeve. He wasn't wearing a suit. "Anything in particular I should ask him?"
"No, you know what to do. Standard stuff missing person report. Just keep it simple. Fill me in first thing
"Will do." Del closed his cell phone and kept his foot steady on the accelerator. Mr. Calvin was in for a
little surprise this evening. Del was anxious to gauge his reaction.
The fragrance of night-blooming jasmine wafted into the window of the truck as Del lowered the window.
He brushed aside the long tendrils of an enthusiastic ivy plant to find the security button outside the gates of
the Calvin Estate. "Calma," a carefully aged metal sign announced. Del had found the place easily, despite
the long upward climb along the narrow road etched into the side of the mountain. Hills, they called these,
but for Del the majesty of the Santa Ynez mountains would be forever undiminished. He would have
preferred seeing them in the golden afternoon sunlight, but a casually dressed man driving through the main
gate in a utility vehicle would stand out. Should the occasion ever arise, Del made a mental note to borrow a
different departmental car, and wear a suit.
"Yes," squawked the speaker.
"Deputy Johnson!" replied Del, his voice crashing through the cricket-song. A low hum announced the
smooth motion of a well-oiled gate as it swung slowly inward. Del stepped on the accelerator and climbed
the final quarter mile to the estate. Old California they call this, he thought, as he pulled to a stop in front of
the heavy carved oak front door. Built like the Santa Barbara Mission, he mused as he walked to the front
door. His hand traced the elegant lines of the cool, curled-iron door handle.
The door opened abruptly, snapping Del out of his reverie. "Come in, Deputy." Joseph Calvin paused in the
doorway only long enough to let the man enter. He spun on his heel and led the way to his library. The
footsteps of the two men echoed on terra cotta tile, the sounds rising through the high atrium of the central
"I appreciate your meeting me this late," Joseph began. "Please have a seat." He watched as Del eyed the
chair across from the large library desk. Before sitting, he moved it till it was situated to his own liking.
Joseph sat in his desk chair. "I...I really don't know how much I can tell you, but I want you to know I take
this matter very seriously. Chris... Ms. Christian is a friend of mine. I'm worried about her."
"I see." The leather jacket Del was wearing creaked as he reached into the pocket for his notebook. He
adjusted his belt as his keys and cell phone-pager connected with the cane-back chair. The two men sat in
awkward silence for a moment, each drawing his own conclusions about the other. Del kept his face neutral,
one of the keys his police training had afforded him. Mr. Calvin's face seemed to him not so neutral, as it
was inscrutable. A hard man, Del surmised in his own way as hard a man as any drug dealer Del had
collared and cuffed.
"Well, are there questions we can get started with while we wait for Rogers?" Calvin's expression had
changed suddenly to an affable one.
"No, Detective Rogers was detained. He asked that I speak with you," Del replied.
"On your own?"
"Yes sir, if you don't mind."
Joseph sat back in his deep library chair. "No, no, I just...I was expecting Rogers, but no matter. Where
shall we start?"
"You saw Ms. Christian last, exactly when, Mr. Calvin?" Del's pen was poised over his blank notebook,
and it moved the moment Joseph spoke.
"We were together Thursday. A week ago, Thursday." Joseph switched position in his chair and crossed his
"And where did that last encounter take place, Mr. Calvin?" Del looked up from his spiral pad, catching a
wistful look on Joseph's face. The man did seem to have genuine affection for the missing woman.
"It wasn't an encounter, Deputy. It was a date. She uh...we met at her place in Santa Maria. She had
invited me over she was working late...I didn't get there till about eleven. We'd both been too tired to
uh...for any sort of entertainment that night. We'd simply gone to sleep. We both had early appointments
the following morning."
"And you left on friendly terms?" Del used the flat tones of a practiced professional, insinuating nothing
into his question.
Joseph re-crossed his legs and cleared his throat. "Yes, very friendly. We uh, we were intimate that
morning. Although we had an interruption."
Del looked up. "And what was that, sir?"
"A phone call." Joseph looked out the window into the dark, his brow knitting into a deep furrow. "A
phone message. She didn't pick up. But the call altered her mood."
Del's mind leaped forward. "A message. So Ms. Christian had an answering device?" Would it still be
there, he wondered. Would someone else have thought of the message left in that machine?
"Yes, yes, she's a journalist, of course she has an answering machine. She never turns the blasted thing off.
Drives me crazy." Joseph's words were trailing off, his anxiety rising by the minute.
Del edged forward in his chair. "Mr. Calvin, to your knowledge, did Ms. Christian erase that message?"
"Certainly not while I was there." Joseph composed himself, uncrossed his legs. "We both dressed in a
hurry after that," he continued. "She seemed distracted, rushed. I had an early meeting. We made another
date a rain check we called it. We left immediately. I opened her car door for her in the parking garage
and watched her drive away before doing the same myself."
"Perhaps we should start there, sir."
"I'm sorry, where, Deputy?"
"The last place you saw Ms. Christian. At her apartment."
Joseph leaned forward in his high-backed desk chair. "I can't be seen entering Ms. Christian's residence in
"It's 10:30 pm, sir. What about right now?"
At first, Joseph had resisted the idea of a late night drive all the way to Santa Maria, but if he were ever
going to satisfy his own curiosity about Chris's apartment, this would probably be his only opportunity.
They had arrived, now, at the quasi-elegant apartment complex, and Joseph fingered his leather key holder
until he held Chris's key, then handed the mass of keys to Del. Wearing gloves, Del took the proffered keys,
and saw the smooth leather case was embossed with "J.C."
"A gift from Chris," said Joseph. "Ms. Christian. For my birthday last year."
Del looked at Calvin, then over his shoulder at the complex. Two-story apartments were built end-to-end,
their front doors staggered in uneven rows. "Villas At The Shore," a sign announced in a cursive font.
Salmon-colored stucco was accented with aqua-painted metal railings, in a kind of hybrid pseudo-Spanish-Southwest style favored by California builders in the 90s. They stood under a stucco arch, which already
showed signs of wear. An effort had been made to give the place a certain upscale look. But it was a far cry
from the old-world elegance of Calma.
"You understand, Mr. Calvin, that I'll have to keep you in sight while we're in the apartment."
"I see. Yes." Joseph's words were clipped.
Del turned the key. As the two men opened the door, their nostrils flared at the cool, feminine fragrance of
the rooms. The catch in Joseph's throat made it impossible for him to speak for several moments. Del didn't
ask him to, beginning instead a slow, thorough walk from room to room.
Del entered the bedroom a few steps behind Joseph, and found that the man was transfixed by the sight of
the unmade bed.
"It's exactly as we left it," he mumbled. "Exactly."
"Are you saying she hasn't been here since then?" Del's eyes searched Joseph's for a trace of manipulation,
and found none.
"She couldn't have been...that's where she threw her...that morning she threw her underthings. That's
where they landed." Joseph turned, walked away, headed for the large living room window.
"Mr. Calvin...Please...." Del admonished.
"Right," said Joseph, swallowing the word.
Del walked slowly around the bed. The sheets were in disarray. At a glance, it looked like recreational
aftermath. If he pushed it, he might have just enough to suggest a situation coercion? Rape? He lifted one
edge of a sheet. No blood, but there was residue from other bodily fluids. He hoisted the bed skirt and
looked underneath. Nothing. He walked to the other side. The night stand. The phone. The answering
The LED readout gave the correct time and date. No power interruption. Three messages, it said. Del hit
the play button.
The machine beeped. Message one. Left Wednesday, 9:12 pm. "Chris I got stuck in a late meeting, but I'm
on my way now." Joseph Calvin had called from his car phone. "Should be there in oh...fifteen. See you,
doll." The machine beeped. Del kept his expression impassive, and glanced over in time to see that
Calvin's no longer was.
Message two. Left Thursday, 6:30 am. "Ms. Christian, you know who this is." A strange rasping voice.
Not deep, not high, not natural. "The time frame has changed. If you want to get the story, you now have
only 24 hours. You know where to go. Trust me. This is it."
The machine beeped again. Message three. Left Thursday, 11:30 pm. "Hey, doll, where the heck are you?
Dinner's been served and it's getting cold. I know you said not to wait past eleven, but this was supposed
to be our rain check, remember? You can run but you can't hide." Joseph had ended his message more
abruptly this time. There had been an edge to his voice. How obsessed had Calvin been with this woman?
Had he followed her? Caught her with another man? Killed her in a passionate rage? Stranger things had
happened. Murderers often started out as stalkers. Stalkers often started out as boyfriends.
Keeping his thoughts to himself, Del hit the "save" button, nodded at Joseph, and exited the bedroom. "I'm
going to have to seal the apartment," he said quietly to Joseph. "The Sheriff's department will need to give
it a thorough going over."
Joseph's expression had turned stoic as he allowed himself to be ushered out of Chris's apartment, probably
for the very last time.