Practice to Deceive Page 6

  Wherever shocking crimes happen, television news crews invariably film footage of residents who seem to read from the same script. As the interviewees face the camera, they shake their heads and say, “Something like this just doesn’t happen here. We can’t understand why Russ was murdered. I guess it happens in a big city or a bad neighborhood—but not here.”

  But, of course, it does happen there.

  And it invariably shakes bystanders hard. With the first news bulletin, they have to acknowledge their own mortality. And, yes, wonder if they might be next.

  When the killer isn’t caught, they grow more afraid as time passes.

  PART THREE

  * * *

  The Investigation

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  ONE OF THE MAIN questions that needed to be answered was how Russ Douglas had ended up on Wahl Road, an area where no one had ever known him to be.

  The investigating team studied the placement of homes along Wahl Road. Diane Bailey, the only witness who had seen the yellow Tracker and its driver before he was shot, lived just west of a rather impressive residence closer to Admiralty Way. The place had stone pillars and a heavy gate across its driveway. As the detectives walked farther west, they passed the Baileys’ driveway, another narrow road leading in, and finally the dirt road where Douglas’s body was discovered.

  Interestingly, there was another expensive-looking home on the other end of the street where Wahl Road turned into Ebb Tide. It was almost a mirror image of the first estate; it, too, had stone pillars and fortresslike iron gates. It was difficult to see the large house beyond because of an overgrowth of landscaping. It was right next door to the property where Russ was found dead.

  If Douglas was unfamiliar with the Double Bluff region and had been summoned or directed to “a long driveway next to a large estate with stone pillars and heavy gates,” he might very well have first turned into Diane Bailey’s driveway in error. Fir trees hid almost all of the homes on the street, so giving the color of the house or any other defining characteristic would have been useless. The person giving directions would have been much more likely to describe the fenced-off estates with impressive landscaping as landmarks for him to watch for.

  The victim must have realized he was in the wrong place and quickly backed out when he saw the Baileys’ red Volvo. He had to pass only two more lots to get to 6665 Wahl Road. And just beyond was the entrance to the next lavish grounds.

  So far, Mark Plumberg and Mike Birchfield had only tenuous leads to follow, many of which would turn out to be gossip or from someone with an active imagination. They hoped that they might find some links that would hook with other links if they meshed. They talked with present and former residents west of the Blacks’ land. They figured that they might find someone who had a connection to the second estate—someone who had included it in the directions given to Russ Douglas.

  But first they had to search the Chevy Tracker thoroughly. They went to the Armory, where it had been stored awaiting Washington State Patrol criminalists who would process it for prints, blood, and any other human secretions.

  Russel Douglas had traveled a lot for his job with Tetra Tech, and his car looked as though he had practically lived in it. It was a hot mess. Apparently, he had just dropped things on the floor rather than keeping a litter bag handy. There were many papers, slips, and receipts inside, along with fast food wrappers and paper cups, most of the trash discolored by dried blood. The receipts were the kind everyone has—from grocery stores and restaurants. The murder victim had patronized 7-Eleven, Applebee’s, Starbucks, Fred Meyer, Chevron, Barnes & Noble, Sleepwater Surf, and a number of clothing stores, including one company that advertised clothes and accessories specifically designed for transvestites.

  There was a Washington State Ferry receipt from Clinton to Mukilteo from December 13, and some bank slips. It didn’t appear that someone had rifled through the Tracker searching for something. Rather, Douglas’s SUV was cluttered by someone who wasn’t concerned with neatness. They found nothing that might be of much evidentiary interest. Still, they bagged and labeled into evidence everything they found.

  The two detectives located a fanny pack in the Tracker. It contained a book of thirteen unused ferry tickets, two bank ATM cards, a checkbook with Russel Douglas’s name, many assorted condoms in flavors ranging from mint to chocolate, a Nextel ID card, receipts from Amour on the Boulevard in a shopping mall, a business card from Las Vegas Limousines, and seventy-six dollars in paper currency in various denominations from twenties to ones.

  One dollar bill had writing on the back: the name “Francisco C.” It did not resemble Douglas’s handwriting. Francisco was probably someone who had signed the bill before Russ Douglas ever got it.

  Mark Plumberg and Mike Birchfield saved even the most infinitesimal items because one day they might be priceless to the investigation. They had to find some connection between the killer(s) and his/their victim. Something as simple as a matchbook might make that link possible.

  They did locate Russ’s missing laptop computer. Tracy Harvey, his brother’s fiancée, said it had come from his apartment. Matthew agreed that it had been in his custody since then, most of the time in the trunk of his car. He had intended to give it to the investigators at his brother’s memorial service.

  Brenna Douglas had voluntarily brought one of her husband’s computers to her first interview at the Island County Sheriff’s South Precinct. If she knew where his work computer was, why didn’t she tell detectives about it then?

  At her mother-in-law’s suggestion, Brenna hired a lawyer—Jessie Valentine. Ms. Valentine advised her client to participate in no more interviews with detectives unless she was present.

  Mike Birchfield asked Lieutenant Harry Uncapher to examine the computer and its case for latent fingerprints. He was puzzled when he learned that there were no fingerprints to be found. How odd. The computer had to have been taken out of its case innumerable times; it and the case should have more than a sprinkling of prints. But neither the mouse nor the keyboard gave up any obvious or latent fingerprints.

  “It’s my opinion,” Birchfield said, “that someone wiped the computer clean of any prints.”

  Was it possible that Russ Douglas had been murdered because of something he knew that was part of a high-tech war? There are many high-profile electronic device companies around Seattle. In most of them, visitors have to clear security and sign agreements that they won’t disclose what they might see beyond the security-monitored doors.

  It seemed hardly likely that Douglas had high-security clearance or knew any high-tech secrets. But then his murder itself was hardly likely.

  * * *

  BY SERVING A SEARCH warrant on the Bank of America where Russel Douglas kept his account, Mark Plumberg was able to get a glimpse at his lifestyle, to know where he went on certain days, when he made deposits and withdrawals, where he made regular payments. Ever since he moved away from his home in the spring of 2003, he had been dependable with support checks for his children.

  Russ’s job with Tetra Tech paid well, but he was far from wealthy. He paid rent on his apartment, monthly payments on his new GEO Tracker, and he spent quite a lot of money on his hobbies and on sports and fitness.

  Russ had no mortgage payments; the house in Langley where Brenna and their children lived was rented from a woman named Peggy Sue Thomas. Peggy had worked for Brenna at Just B’s Beauty Salon for a while, but she had moved away from Whidbey Island sometime before, and the house was up for sale. Reportedly, Brenna hoped to buy it but didn’t have enough for a down payment. This was the second mention of “Peggy” that had surfaced in the early part of the investigation.

  * * *

  MIKE BIRCHFIELD TALKED TO the manager of the Gold’s Gym franchise in Renton. The logbook there showed that Russ’s last workout ended at 9 P.M. on December 23. He asked if it was true that Douglas had been at the gym so often, lifting weights in particular, because
he was going to enter a bodybuilding contest.

  The manager said he doubted that.

  “We have two members who may be doing that, but he wasn’t one of them. You have to follow a very strict routine to do that, and the club usually gets involved. Russ’s workout routine was nowhere near the competitive level.”

  Even at Gold’s Gym, the homicide victim had been a loner; he had no workout partners, and only casual acquaintances there.

  “He was very friendly and outgoing with our staff,” the manager said, “but the interesting thing about him was how flamboyantly he dressed. I’m talking pink spandex stretch shorts, gold chains, and wild shirts.”

  Birchfield asked if Douglas had ever mentioned that someone was stalking him or trying to hurt him.

  “No way.”

  Even though each day’s detective work was filling in the profile of Russel Douglas, changing it from a “stick drawing” to the image of man of many facets, Mark Plumberg was aware that his investigation had a ways to go. Just as he had with other cases, he expected to come to know Russel Douglas, a man he had never met and would never meet, far more than most people the investigator knew in his own life.

  That wasn’t going to be easy, given the indications that the victim of a case that grew colder as the days passed hadn’t appeared to know himself. Russel Douglas had frantically plunged from one activity into another, seen at least two women during the same period, sought therapy, and spent much time in introspection.

  Mark Plumberg studied the series of scratchy notes that Russ had written to himself, possibly as a part of his therapy. Most of the sentences were in question form. He’d clearly been a man consumed with angst. Indeed, if they had found a gun near the death car at the Wahl Road crime scene, Plumberg realized that they almost certainly would have written off the case as a suicide and never second-guessed their conclusions.

  But the gun was missing. With a sinking feeling, the detective believed that this case might turn out to be the perfect murder—if the shooter had already pitched it off a ferry on his or her trip off-island.

  Once again, he read Russ’s notes, which began with his sense that his troubles had started with his childhood:

  “Question: Where is your focus? Why is your focus?”

  Weight of world and past constantly on your shoulders. Bear this enormous burden. Feel others “got away w/life” and you got caught/trapped. Feel you settled by settling down. Marriage feels like a mistake because of your past. Past feels like a mistake—memory/observation.

  He wrote of his upbringing by his mother:

  ENVIRONMENT—Self righteousness

  —Perfection

  Ultimate Restriction

  —No Risk—absolute safety

  (FEAR BASED)

  What makes you uncomfortable and angry feeds off itself. Left feeling lost, insecure, unfulfilled, different, rejected, broken, bitter/anger → depression.

  You want the impossible! Because you were given contradictory upbringing and standards—even within yourself. If you don’t somehow conquer this, you’ll lose what you have. You’ll continue on the path of negativity in thoughts, words, and actions.

  Russ Douglas’s current dilemma appeared to be over his marriage to Brenna:

  Why are you so afraid to just be w/o Brenna and take off? Why are you holding yourself and them back? Are you afraid to leave? Are you afraid this isn’t what you really want? Are you afraid this is what you want but you also didn’t get what you wanted at all and always regret it?

  Perception? Judgment? Rejection? Humiliation—from a divorce?

  Afraid if you leave, it won’t get better?

  Afraid to leave and end up where you were when you were alone and still not get “it”?

  Afraid of lifestyle change?

  Good. Responsibility and Commitment—w/o you what will your kids do?

  Plumberg shook his head. It was sadly ironic to read Douglas’s questions to himself about how he could find happiness and overcome what he perceived he had suffered in the first three decades of his life.

  Now, he had no future and his decisions wouldn’t matter at all.

  But Russ Douglas didn’t know that as he’d scribbled his jumbled thoughts, trying to winnow out some magic formula for a better life.

  One conclusion kept appearing.

  Who provided you with the most happiness? Brenna. This is true!

  With only a very short time to live, Russel Douglas seemed to have made up his mind. He didn’t want a divorce; he wanted to move back into the house on Furman Road with his wife and children.

  What then, had drawn him to Wahl Road in Freeland? Where he would die instantly? Plumberg guessed that the victim was ambushed—lured to his murder by some sort of ruse.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  ON JANUARY 13, 2004, the detective team from Island County drove to the Redmond offices of Tetra Tech, hoping they might find out more about the people with whom Russel Douglas had interacted. Harry Turpin, the Tetra Tech supervisor, spoke with them first, and he described Russel as a “good employee” who had been with the company since July 2003.

  Asked if he had observed anything out of the norm about Russel, he nodded.

  “Well, once he came to work in a kilt, and another time he wore a kind of sarong—maybe you’d call it a long loincloth. We’re casual here—but not that casual. I took him aside and explained to him that basically we’re employed by Nextel, and they’re right next door. We have to dress the way Nextel staff dresses.

  “He apologized and said he wouldn’t do that again.”

  And he hadn’t. Turpin said he’d never had any disciplinary problems with Russel. He knew that he and his wife were getting divorced and that he had a girlfriend, but learned later that the lovers had broken up and Russ was getting back together with his wife.

  “I heard that just before the, ah, end.”

  Turpin recalled a three-day business trip with several of his employees, including Russ Douglas. They had gone to Klamath Falls, Oregon. Nothing unusual happened on the trip.

  Some of Tetra Tech’s employees had worked with Douglas at his former job with the city of Mukilteo, and they occasionally “razzed” him about his less-than-stellar performance there, but Turpin felt he was doing very well in his new job. In fact, he had been assigned—beginning in January 2004—to the “leasing side” of Tetra. It wasn’t a big promotion, but it would have put him in a position with the likelihood of more upward mobility. He would scout out locations where his company could erect cell phone towers.

  Systematically, Mike Birchfield and Mark Plumberg met with many of the Tetra Tech workers. He had been well liked by his coworkers.

  “He liked his job and everyone at work loved him,” one woman said. “His kids meant a lot to him. He didn’t come to our Christmas party because his wife wouldn’t let him bring them with him.”

  She confided that Russ had always wanted to be “best” at everything he did and wasn’t always successful. But, on the job, he was fine “once he got rolling.”

  Asked about drug or alcohol use, the woman looked shocked. “I’m telling you that I would be blown away if I found out Russ had a problem with either one!”

  The Island County investigators found that Russel Douglas had confided his marital difficulties to many of his coworkers. Some knew that he’d had a girlfriend for a while, and others didn’t. Most described him as “happy” and “friendly,” although they didn’t know where he spent his time after work hours. And no one described him as a druggie or drinker.

  He was a hard worker, a man excited about his new job in the company and his MBA, both of which would come true in the early months of 2004.

  Although he admitted that he and his wife, Brenna, often argued, his fellow workers believed he was doing everything he could to pick up his marriage again and make it work. They had married young, when they already had a one-year-old son. But it wasn’t a “shotgun wedding” in any real sense. Russ lo
ved Brenna and she seemed to love him.

  PART FOUR

  * * *

  Likely and Unlikely Suspects

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  MANY OF THE RESIDENTS of Island County tried to help in the investigation of Russel Douglas’s murder, most of them well intentioned. Mike Birchfield and Mark Plumberg listened to every lead that came in. Some sounded plausible, and others were a combination of gossip, rumor, and wild imagining. The two detectives were trying to locate patterns and connections, and listening to the lay public could very well net something that established those.

  Viola Peckinpaugh* called Plumberg on January 6, 2004. Her friends had urged her to come forward. She was acquainted with Brenna Douglas and she was concerned that her ex-husband, Floyd Peckinpaugh* might somehow be involved in Russel’s murder.

  “I know that Floyd was angry with some company that didn’t pay him for a concrete job—and I’m pretty sure it was a telecom company. He was making threats, and he would sit in his truck making phone calls to that company. He owns a gun.”

  During Viola’s marriage to Floyd, she said he had lived a “secret life,” where he had affairs and did drugs. She was worried that Floyd might have shot Douglas because he was angry that Russ’s employer hadn’t paid him.

  When Plumberg checked with Russ’s coworkers at Tetra Tech, they said it was highly unlikely that he had been involved in any operations on Whidbey Island that dealt with concrete. It seemed a far reach to connect him to Floyd Peckinpaugh.

  This was one of the early leads that ended nowhere. And there were to be many of them.

  Another tip came to Mike Birchfield that same week. A man named Dirk Kenwell* brought a friend of his—Sandra Malle*—to the South Precinct. Sandra was concerned about an acquaintance who had recently moved to Whidbey Island. She explained that she had known Eddie Navarre* since the early eighties, and that he was a peculiar man with a criminal history, a heroin user, and possessed of a very nasty temper.