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“Adult males? I don’t think we should jump to conclusions. The killer could’ve been a woman.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s a possibility. Have you already ordered?”
“Yep. The kitchen got slammed with the Sunday rush. I ordered you a slice of Italian sausage with fennel and a kale salad drizzled with French dressing.”
“Thanks. I’m starving.” She took out her notes and went through Tazzie’s social circle again for his benefit, including the confusing number of nicknames. “I realize it’s a jumbled mess. She even had trouble keeping the clique straight. Or it was an act. I don’t know which. Even with monikers, we’ll still need to track these people down. Like James ‘Jimbo’ Meadows, the one who died of cancer a few years back. The group also called him ‘Tolkien.’ See the problem?”
“Tolkien?”
“Jimbo apparently was a big fan, as was Zeph. See how confusing this is. Then there’s Leon Gibson, or maybe Gilbert—Tazzie wasn’t sure which. Leon was known as ‘Lex Luthor’ as in Superman’s archenemy. It seems Leon had a temper and was on the mean side—Tazzie’s description. Oh, and Leon shaved his head, even at sixteen. That nugget might help ID him over someone else later.”
“Like Gene Hackman in the movie? Sounds like a good suspect.”
“Let’s not be so quick to judge. But I’m sure Luthor could be as good a candidate as anyone else. Good luck in finding Luthor with that scant bit of information. Next is ‘Diego’ or Michael Holcomb. We should start checking Mike out in San Diego. Tazzie thinks he moved back there to take care of his dad. Then there’s her ex-husband, Dennis Marshall, also known as ‘Cruz’ because he grew up in Santa Cruz and still lives there with his ‘new’ family. Even though ‘new’ happened twelve years ago.”
“So Tazzie’s not able to let go, huh?”
“Are you kidding? Tazzie gave me the impression she’s not the type to let go of anything. Ever. She’ll likely carry around getting dumped for a younger woman to the grave.”
A teenage girl brought over their food, piping hot and smelling delicious.
Brogan didn’t wait to dive into her salad. In between bites, she continued to evaluate the situation. “You mentioned the people on your list still kicking. It doesn’t mean we should eliminate the dead as suspects, like Tolkien. The killer could’ve died already.”
“Absolutely,” Lucien agreed as he slid the list across the table. He thumped the paper. “But let’s get real. If the killer is on that list, it means they could be right in front of us, in plain sight, and we’d never know it. We need the suspect’s DNA. Period. That means waiting for the exhumation and hoping it gives up the DNA of our killer.”
“And that could take months,” she muttered, scanning the hundreds of names on the list. “Why do we always do this? Why do we always sign up for the impossible?”
“We’re optimistic?” Lucien cracked. “I don’t know. Right now, we deserve to enjoy our lunch. I’ll tell you what I learned about Richie, though. The guy is in a miserable marriage to a younger woman who beats him up.”
“He told you that?”
“He had a black eye turning purple to prove it. It seems his wife has anger issues. She assigns him these chores to do. If he doesn’t get them done, she goes ballistic. He even admitted he tried to get her to see Marley, but she refused. I’ll tell you something else. My gut says Richie is holding something back about Gidget. I could feel it. That Saturday night, he claims he went out with Tazzie to see Jaws2. But I’m not sure I buy it.”
“Really? Well, Tazzie initially backed that up date-wise. She said they went on a date but never specified what they did or where they went. Weird to me. And when I pressed her about it, she backed off the date thing entirely, saying she might’ve broken up with Richie by the first week of August.”
“Interesting. Richie mentioned he’d lost a girlfriend or two because his dad got him a job. What gets me is that no one remembers this girl except for Vera Lockhart. Why is that? To make matters worse, Vera is now deceased and wasn’t really Vera Lockhart.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s bizarre. It’s the same reason I think Tazzie was lying to me. How could they not know Gidget’s real name when the girl hung out at the beach for a week?”
“Exactly. It’s the same with Ritchie Plunkett. He claimed he didn’t have a lot of free time that summer. Construction work from early morning until late afternoon, then went to bed early. Does that sound like a sixteen-year-old male to you with a beach right next door? Maybe putting him to work was his dad’s way of keeping him out of trouble. I don’t know. I thought he panicked when I pressed him for the alibi.”
“The thing is—and it’s not something we should overlook—Tazzie mentioned Lex Luthor, Diego, Cruz, Tolkien, even Zeph, with such familiarity using their nicknames but seemed to hesitate when I brought up Boomer. That was in response to Tazzie claiming Gidget flirted with all the guys. Boomer and Cruz—her ex—were tops on her list for the guys who succumbed to the charms of the new girl in town.”
“That’s motive if you ask me. Jealousy. That’s why you said the killer could be female.”
“Women have killed for less. Tazzie referred to her ex as a serial cheater. If you’re pointing the finger at a male as Gidget’s killer, Dennis Marshall should go to the top of our list.”
“Right there with Richie,” Lucien finished. “But let’s reserve the number three spot for Zephyr.”
“Here’s the thing about Tazzie, though. She went ahead and married Dennis. Why would she do that if she thought he’d cheated on her with Gidget?”
“Or killed her.”
“Yeah. And there’s something there when Tazzie talked about Zeph. She knew Zeph joined the Coast Guard and got married. It should be easy enough to check if Zephyr was in town the weekend of August 12th and 13th or if he was on duty somewhere else.”
“We could run the name through a database and see what pops up.”
“We could do that, but I know you. You won’t be happy until you talk to him yourself to see what kind of guy he is.”
“I want to see his reaction to us reopening Gidget’s murder. Plunkett was surprised that I brought this case to his doorstep. Tazzie?”
