“We feel that there is no way, no physical way, that Tammy could have driven up that road as far as she did, given the level of intoxication in her blood that the medical examiners believe existed.”
Again, the couple remained silent. “Mr. and Mrs. Woodruff,” Estelle said, “we believe someone was with your daughter Sunday night and again on Monday. Someone she knows. Perhaps someone she had come to trust.”
“What can we tell you?” Karl Woodruff asked. “I mean, who would do such a thing?”
“That’s what we need to know, sir,” Estelle said. “Do you know Patrick Torrance?” Estelle’s voice was almost a whisper.
The Woodruffs nodded, and Karl started to say, “But he’s…”
“We don’t believe Patrick Torrance had anything to do with your daughter’s death, Mr. Woodruff. I know it looks that way, with the crash happening on County Road 14 on the way to the Torrance ranch. But the evidence just isn’t there. We also have heard that Tammy had been seeing Brett Prescott.”
Karl Woodruff nodded. “We thought well of him, too. And I’ve known the family for years. Surely…”
“Can you think of anyone else she was seeing?”
Bea Woodruff leaned back into the dark leather and rested her head, eyes closed. Karl sat hunched, his hands covering his face.
“I hadn’t seen my daughter for three weeks,” Bea Woodruff said finally. She rocked her head from side to side. “Three weeks. We had some stupid…some stupid little argument, and she wouldn’t come over to the house.” The woman groped toward her purse, and Estelle leaned over with a box of tissues.
“What was the argument about?”
Bea Woodruff honked, dabbed her eyes, and waved a hand in dismissal. “You know. One of those silly things. I had talked to Jane Ross-she and I are such good friends-and Jane agreed to offer Tammy another chance at the realty. You know, I always thought that Tammy would be so good at that. She’s so good with people, you know.” She leaned her head back again and closed her eyes. “I just mentioned it to Tammy, and she exploded. Such a temper she’s always had. Told me to stop meddling. That she didn’t want to earn a living ‘selling land to fat, rich Texans.’ Those were her exact words.”
“And that was three weeks ago?”
The woman nodded. Estelle looked at Karl. He was working his hands as if he had a ball of putty between them.
“Sir, do you know anyone else with whom she may have been associating?”
Karl shook his head. “I learned a long time ago that Tammy and I could stay on the best of terms if I didn’t pry,” he said softly.
Estelle shifted in the wheelchair, moved her leg a fraction, and then cradled her face against a fold of the afghan in her right hand. She looked like a little kid.
“Who was Tammy’s best friend?” Estelle asked. Both of the Woodruffs looked puzzled. “Her very best friend.”
“You mean, like a girlfriend?” Bea asked, and Estelle nodded.
“During high school, for example. I know she was popular, but most youngsters have got one person as a friend who’s special above all the others.”
Bea almost managed a smile. “Oh, she and Elena Munoz were inseparable since ninth grade. And oh, that Elena. Do you know her?” She looked at Estelle. “I think her parents are from Mexico.”
“I know her parents,” I said, and both of the Woodruffs snapped around as if they were surprised to discover that I was in the room.
“Well,” Bea said, “she was a wild one, I guess. You’d never guess it to look at her. Little slip of a thing. Beautiful hair down to her waist. Face like an angel. But she hated school, my goodness how she hated school. She skipped so much during her sophomore year that they finally suspended her.”
“That makes sense,” I said.
“Doesn’t it, though,” Bea replied. “And she never went back. Then Tammy started to skip. Half the time she was with Elena, and who knows what troubles the two of them together could concoct.”
“And after Tammy graduated?” Estelle asked.
“No one, really. Not that I’m aware of,” Bea said. “I know she still spends time with Elena. I saw them coming out of one of the clothing stores a week or so ago as I was driving by. They had their heads together, giggling like a couple of little kids. I remember because I’d been feeling so badly for her…for Tammy, I mean. I so wanted her to be happy. And I saw her that day, and she looked so carefree, so radiant.” Bea leaned her head to one side, eyebrows arched as she reminisced. “Packages in one hand, arm-in-arm with a friend.”
Mrs. Woodruff began to cry again, and Estelle covered the woman’s left hand with her own, and a handy tissue. I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable with this recitation of the Woodruff family scrapbook. Estelle caught the agitation and shot me a quick look of impatience. I folded my hands on my lap.
“Do you know where Elena Munoz works now?”
Bea shook her head, but Karl Woodruff replied, “She works at the Laundromat on Bustos and Second.”
“We may want to talk with her at some time,” Estelle said. “Had Tammy been drinking more recently?”
The abrupt change of subject startled Bea Woodruff and she glanced over at her husband. His eyes remained locked on the parquet floor tile.
“I don’t think more…” she started to say, but Karl interrupted.
“A lot more,” he murmured.
“How do you know?” Estelle asked, and somehow she kept any accusatory tone out of her voice.
“I could smell it from time to time, on her breath. When she came into the pharmacy. I saw an open bottle once in her truck.” He shrugged helplessly. “Of course, I should have said something.”
“What did she drink, mostly. Beer? Hard liquor? Maybe scotch, vodka, things like that?”
Woodruff nodded. “What difference does it make now? Beer, wine. She was particularly fond of rye whiskey.” He snorted. “The cowpuncher’s drink, I guess. I don’t know for sure what she liked or didn’t like other than that.” He looked up at Estelle, into those wonderful dark eyes. “She drank to excess. We know that. And it killed her. We know that, too.”
“Sir, would you look at this list? These are the items that were found in the cab of her truck at the accident scene. Either in the cab or in the immediate area.” She slipped a single sheet of paper out of her leather folder and handed it to Karl Woodruff.
He read the list and grimaced, then made a little whimpering noise as he looked away. “Jesus,” he said, and handed the list to his wife.
Bea Woodruff read the list and I saw her jaw quiver.
Estelle leaned forward. “Sir, we know that there is no way that Tammy was able to consume all that alcohol and still operate a motor vehicle. She would have been unconscious.” She reached over and indicated one of the items on the list. “A couple of six-packs, maybe. A few shots of rye, as you say, maybe at the Broken Spur on the way. But half a quart of vodka on top of everything else? Not someone her size. It would have put her in a coma.”
I saw the muscles of Karl Woodruff’s jaw clench. “She wouldn’t have drunk that stuff, anyway.”
“Sir?”
“She couldn’t stand vodka, officer.” He reached up and touched his own forehead between his eyes. “It gave her an instant headache, right here. Made her sick.”
Estelle leaned back. “Then someone else was either drinking with her at the time, or Tammy was planning to join someone and knew what his…or her…favorite drink was.”
Karl went back to kneading his invisible ball of putty. “I wish to hell I could believe that in a few minutes I was going to wake up,” he said. “Goddamned nightmare. I realize, sitting here, that my daughter is dead, and I can’t tell you people one thing about her life the past couple years. I don’t know who her circle of friends is. Hell, I don’t even know if she had a circle of friends. I don’t know what she was doing. I don’t know how she was spending her time. Or what trouble she was in.” He looked across at me, his eyes tortured. “And now she’s gone.”