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A thought occurred to her. “What about the Star Wars DVD? Could that have been for the kid as well?”
“Possibly,” said Connors. “You can check it out with the mother, if that’s something Toompas might have been planning to give him.”
They agreed to meet again in two days at the same time, unless something else popped open sooner.
Greta drove on 101, heading north. Neotsu lay contiguous with Lincoln City and was more a neighborhood of the city than a separate entity. She punched the address into the GPS and followed the directions. The house sat in a more upper-scale neighborhood than where Toompas lived. A typical middle-class California ranch structure. Lawn well cared for, flowers mostly finished blooming with winter coming on, house recently painted, and no obvious repairs needed.
Definitely not the style of Toompas, Greta thought as she parked.
After Toompas’s mug shots, her own couple of interviews, and stories from the other three people on the investigation team, Greta was surprised when a nice-looking woman in her late twenties answered the door.
“Stacy Shambaugh?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, that’s me. What is it?”
“I’m Sheriff’s Deputy Greta Havorsford. I need to speak with you about Howard Toompas.”
Her curious expression morphed into resignation and a hint of sadness. “I wondered if anyone would be coming around. I saw the news a couple of days ago. Please come in.”
Thank God for any favors, Greta thought. At least, I’m not breaking the news.
The inside matched the outside—tasteful, orderly, very middle-class America. Pictures of family on mantels, bookcases, and walls. One picture that caught her attention was a group photo of Shambaugh, a boy about eight, and, interestingly, a man and two other younger children.
Greta deduced who they were. Stacy, a husband, Toompas’s kid, plus two other kids, probably with the current husband?
Shambaugh motioned to a chair in the living room, and she sat on the sofa.
“Do you have any idea how it happened?” Shambaugh asked.
“The investigation is still underway. As part of that, we’re speaking with anyone who knew Mr. Toompas.”
“Obviously, I knew him. He’s . . . was Jeff’s father. Jeff is my son and Howard’s. It happened long ago when I was much younger and stupider. When I became pregnant, Howard offered to marry me. By then, I was considerably smarter and said no. There was no reason to make a bigger mistake and compound the earlier one. I had Jeff alone. A couple of years later, I met Sean Shambaugh. He and Jeff took to each other right away, and we’ve been married six years now.”
“Are the children in the picture on the mantel yours and Sean’s?”
“Yes. Megan and Tommie. Almost five and three last month.”
“How much contact did you continue to have with Mr. Toompas?”
“You should understand something about Howard. In his own life, he was a total wreck. By the time we broke up, which happened before I knew I was pregnant, I
realized he was into drugs, drank too much, and had no regular job. Even more, I knew he’d probably never be any different. He wasn’t a bad person, just weak. He never acted any way but considerate toward me, before or after. There was never any physical or verbal abuse. If anything, I think he felt dejected that he didn’t think himself able to change.
“When Jeff came, Howard offered to do anything he could to help, except with money. He always lived hand to mouth. A few times he tried to give me a little money, but frankly, he needed it more than I did. When Sean came along, I think Howard was glad for Jeff and me. He knew Sean would be a regular father. It wasn’t that he didn’t want contact with Jeff. By Jeff’s fifth birthday, Howard spent time with him regularly every two weeks. Sean and I discussed at length whether we wanted Howard around Jeff, but Howard wanted it so much, we gave it a try. There were never any issues. As many problems as Howard had in his own life, twice a month he picked up Jeff at nine o’clock on Saturday morning and brought him back promptly at six o’clock. Never once in three years was he late on either end, nor were there ever any problems. I confess that Sean and I followed them the first couple of months, just in case. However, everything went fine. They often went to the beach. Jeff loves to build sand castles. Howard also took him to movies, arcades, fishing, hiking the last year, and if the weather was too bad for anything outdoors, Howard would spend the day with him watching Jeff’s TV shows and playing games.
“I had to tell Jeff that Howie had died, though I didn’t go into details. Jeff took it hard at first, but you know kids—they often move on faster than adults.”
Shambaugh stopped to pull out a handkerchief for tears brought on by reminiscing. “Sorry,” she said.
“Not at all. I completely understand.”
“Anyway . . . I guess when I heard the news, it wasn’t a shock. I suppose I always knew that one day Howard would come to this. Do you have any idea how it happened? Oh . . . I’m sorry. I already asked that.”
“What I can tell you is that he definitely was murdered and his body left alongside 101 north of Lincoln City.”
Shambaugh looked puzzled. “That’s what the media said, but why? With all his problems, Howard was pretty innocuous.”
Greta thought this was going well enough that she would open the investigation window a bit to see if this ex had any insights.
