A turn on a double-lane road took me up into highlands crowded with small ranches and shuttered roadside stands. Then down into a dry basin and a sign that read HIGGINSVILLE, POP. 1,234, over a rusting Rotary emblem. The lettering was nearly rubbed out and the sheet-metal lemon on top was corroded.
I passed a short stand of live oak and crossed a silt-filled creek bed. Then a shut-down recreational vehicle lot and a half-collapsed barn with a cracked WESTERN ATTIRE sign on the roof. One empty lot later was a two-block main drag called Lemon Boulevard filled with one-story buildings: grocery/cafe, five-and-dime, a bar, a storefront church.
Milo had called this morning and told me the local law was a sheriff named Botula. The sheriff’s station was at the end of the street, pink cinder block, with an old green Ford cruiser out in front.
Inside, a heavy, pretty, dishwater-blond girl who looked too young to vote sat behind a waist-high counter, facing a static switchboard and reading intently. Behind her, a very dark-skinned Hispanic man in a khaki uniform bent over a metal desk. A book was spread in front of him, too. He didn’t look much older than the girl.
A bell over the door tinkled, they both looked up, and he stood to six feet. He had unlined nutmeg skin and a wide Aztec mouth. His black hair was straight, thin, clipped at the sides, neatly parted, his eyes burnt almonds, eager to observe.
“Dr. Delaware? Sheriff Botula.” He came to the counter, unlatched a swinging door, and proffered a warm, firm
hand. “This is Judy, our deputy, administrator, and dispatcher.”
The girl gave him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look and he grinned. “And also my wife.”
“Judy Botula.” She closed the book and came over.
I read the title on the cover. Fundamentals of Evidence Collection.
Botula said, “Come on in, we’ve done a little prelim work in advance of your arrival—Judy has, actually.”
Judy Botula said, “Nothing earth-shattering.”
He said, “We’re new to this place, still acclimating.”
I walked behind the counter and took a chair alongside the desk. “How new?”
“Two months,” said Botula. “We’re each half-time, share the job.”
A mop leaned against the wall and he put it behind a file cabinet. The walls were clean and bare, free of the usual wanted posters and bulletins, and the floor was spotless, though scarred.
Judy brought her chair over and settled. She was almost as tall as her husband, with broad shoulders and a heavy bosom, the extra weight as much muscle as fat. She had on a white knit blouse, jeans, and running shoes, and a badge on her belt. Her eyes were deep blue, dramatic, a bit disapproving.
“We both graduated from the Criminal Justice program at Fresno State,” she said. “We want to enter the FBI Academy but it’s real competitive right now, so we figured a year or so of experience wouldn’t hurt. Not that it’s too exciting around here.”
“Nice and quiet,” said her husband.
“To say the least.”
Botula smiled. “Gives us time to study. So . . . this murder case you’ve got. We heard a little about it right after and then there was something on it today—an arrest.”
“Probably a false lead,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s what Detective Sturgis said. . . . A psychologist working on homicides—is that getting more common down in L.A.?”
“No. Sometimes I work with Detective Sturgis.”
“I’m pretty interested in psychology, plan to hook up with the Behavioral Science Unit once we’re in Quantico. Ever do any serial-killer profiling?”
“No,” I said.
He nodded as if I’d said yes. “Interesting stuff. So what are you doing on this one?”
“Trying to learn as much as I can about Dr. Devane.”
“Because she was a psychologist, too?”
“Mostly because we don’t know much about her.”
“Makes sense. . . . Okay, here’s where we stand so far: After we talked to Detective Sturgis, we thought about the best way to dig something up and came up with A, town records, B, school records, and C, interviewing the old-timers. But as it turns out, all the old records were boxed and shipped up to Sacramento ten years ago and we still haven’t been able to locate them. And the schools closed down around the same time.”