It was a large multi-bay garage on a double lot. Along one side of
the building and extending around behind it, there was a fenced area, the gate to
which was padlocked.
Why had the VW bug gone straight to that site? Were the killers familiar with the
area and aware of the Dumpster? Had they tossed a weapon into it? Had a passenger
been dropped off? Had they planned to hide in the storage area and found it locked?
Back in 1990, when Juve Escobedo had abruptly vanished, I had asked Betty Muench to
do a reading to see if he was dead. Betty had assured me that Juve was alive and said
he was confined in a garage in Albuquerque.
“I don’t get a sense that he’s being held by the Vietnamese,” she had said. “It seems
like somebody in authority is acting independently without the people he works with
knowing what he’s doing.”
That had made no sense at the time, but now, right here in front of us, was a garage
that had been identified as a hangout for cops like Matt Griffin. On the day the bench
warrant was issued for Juve’s arrest, he had been on the phone with his girlfriend
and suddenly told her, “Well, the police are outside now. The next time I talk to
you, I guess it will be from jail.” Then he’d vanished and didn’t reappear until the
charges were dropped. Whatever those cops had come for, it wasn’t to arrest him.
If they’d taken him somewhere, it certainly hadn’t been to jail.
We’d given Pat power of attorney, and she was able to get permission to inventory
Kait’s personal belongings under the supervision of an evidence room technician. When
she did so she found that the materials from Kait’s desk were not there. According
to the evidence room log, Detective Gallegos had misled us. Kait’s personal belongings
never had been entered into evidence.
Soon after that we received a call from a woman in Albuquerque with information about
something else that was missing.
“I’ve come across one of your family videos,” she told me.
The shock was so great that for a moment I couldn’t get my breath.
“Where in the world did you find it?”
“At one of those places where you buy used tapes,” the caller told me. “I don’t usually
look at those tapes before I record over them, but this time, for some reason, I decided
to watch it, and there was Donnie ! He and I went to school together, and I helped circulate your reward flyers. Kait
appears on this tape, and before I erased it, I wanted to check and make sure you
really didn’t want it.”
“We want it,” I said. “Yes, we want it! God bless you for calling us!”
I told her where to mail it.
CHAPTER NINE
Another winter was upon us, bringing with it the holiday season and, like a blow to
the heart, a new calendar. What right did it have to be 1995 when we had not yet closed
the door on 1989? When we thought back upon the people that we had been immediately
after Kait’s death, reluctant to leave the house for fear of missing the call that
would tell us her killers had been arrested, it was like remembering ridiculous overgrown
children who still believed in Santa Claus. Back then there had been no way that we
ever could have imagined that six years later we still would be waiting for that call.
The mystery of the missing videos continued to haunt us. They hadn’t been lost after
all, they were back in Albuquerque, and at least one of them had been discarded by
whoever had taken them. But why would anyone want to steal those videos? The tape
Donnie’s friend had returned to us was mostly of a nephew’s wedding. Toward the end
of the tape Kait made a cameo appearance at a cookout, and we watched, spellbound,
mesmerized by such simple wonders as the sight of her spilling catsup on her shirt
and the sound of her voice squabbling with one of her brothers. But although such
scenes evoked memories that were precious to us, there was nothing on tapes like
the building and extending around behind it, there was a fenced area, the gate to
which was padlocked.
Why had the VW bug gone straight to that site? Were the killers familiar with the
area and aware of the Dumpster? Had they tossed a weapon into it? Had a passenger
been dropped off? Had they planned to hide in the storage area and found it locked?
Back in 1990, when Juve Escobedo had abruptly vanished, I had asked Betty Muench to
do a reading to see if he was dead. Betty had assured me that Juve was alive and said
he was confined in a garage in Albuquerque.
“I don’t get a sense that he’s being held by the Vietnamese,” she had said. “It seems
like somebody in authority is acting independently without the people he works with
knowing what he’s doing.”
That had made no sense at the time, but now, right here in front of us, was a garage
that had been identified as a hangout for cops like Matt Griffin. On the day the bench
warrant was issued for Juve’s arrest, he had been on the phone with his girlfriend
and suddenly told her, “Well, the police are outside now. The next time I talk to
you, I guess it will be from jail.” Then he’d vanished and didn’t reappear until the
charges were dropped. Whatever those cops had come for, it wasn’t to arrest him.
If they’d taken him somewhere, it certainly hadn’t been to jail.
We’d given Pat power of attorney, and she was able to get permission to inventory
Kait’s personal belongings under the supervision of an evidence room technician. When
she did so she found that the materials from Kait’s desk were not there. According
to the evidence room log, Detective Gallegos had misled us. Kait’s personal belongings
never had been entered into evidence.
Soon after that we received a call from a woman in Albuquerque with information about
something else that was missing.
“I’ve come across one of your family videos,” she told me.
The shock was so great that for a moment I couldn’t get my breath.
“Where in the world did you find it?”
“At one of those places where you buy used tapes,” the caller told me. “I don’t usually
look at those tapes before I record over them, but this time, for some reason, I decided
to watch it, and there was Donnie ! He and I went to school together, and I helped circulate your reward flyers. Kait
appears on this tape, and before I erased it, I wanted to check and make sure you
really didn’t want it.”
“We want it,” I said. “Yes, we want it! God bless you for calling us!”
I told her where to mail it.
CHAPTER NINE
Another winter was upon us, bringing with it the holiday season and, like a blow to
the heart, a new calendar. What right did it have to be 1995 when we had not yet closed
the door on 1989? When we thought back upon the people that we had been immediately
after Kait’s death, reluctant to leave the house for fear of missing the call that
would tell us her killers had been arrested, it was like remembering ridiculous overgrown
children who still believed in Santa Claus. Back then there had been no way that we
ever could have imagined that six years later we still would be waiting for that call.
The mystery of the missing videos continued to haunt us. They hadn’t been lost after
all, they were back in Albuquerque, and at least one of them had been discarded by
whoever had taken them. But why would anyone want to steal those videos? The tape
Donnie’s friend had returned to us was mostly of a nephew’s wedding. Toward the end
of the tape Kait made a cameo appearance at a cookout, and we watched, spellbound,
mesmerized by such simple wonders as the sight of her spilling catsup on her shirt
and the sound of her voice squabbling with one of her brothers. But although such
scenes evoked memories that were precious to us, there was nothing on tapes like
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