“Like they were dating?” I asked.
“Not really. Anyway, I don’t know anything else. And it’s not like she was an enemy, but he said she wasn’t warming up to him very fast.”
“Name?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
Chapter 35
“Detective Gifford?” I asked the man standing in the tie and dark blazer near the door of the Santa Barbara library. If this dude wasn’t a detective, I wasn’t a Santa Barbarite.
He turned and nodded.
“I’m Robbie Jordan. Jason Wong said you wanted to speak with me.” Jason had texted me as I was driving back to town with Liz an hour ago and asked if I would be willing to have a chat with the detective working Paul’s case. We’d agreed on the library as a neutral public space.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Nolan Gifford with the Santa Barbara Police Department. I’m a detective sergeant in the Criminal Investigations Division. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” His handshake was firm without being bone crushing. So far he hadn’t smiled, and his manner was brisk. “I’ve saved us a table over here.”
I followed him into the older part of the library, with its two-story-tall arched windows and an enormous fireplace a century old. A big wall clock marked noon as patrons in armchairs perused newspapers, worked on laptops in carrels, and read books at round tables. He gestured to a similar table in a corner of the room and sat in one of the chairs, laying a device half the size of a small TV remote on the table between us. I lowered myself into the other seat but perched on the edge.
“Do I have your permission to record our conversation, Ms. Jordan?”
Yikes. My heart rate zoomed into the red zone. Did he consider me a suspect? “Um, yes.” I folded my hands on the cool, smooth tabletop to keep from fiddling with them.
He switched on the device, cited the date, and introduced himself. “I am speaking with Roberta Jordan of South Lick, Indiana, and am recording this interview with her permission.” His voice was deep and rich, like a radio broadcaster’s, even though he spoke softly. He added the date, time, and our location. “Where are you staying during your visit here?”
“In a B-and-B room above the Nacho Average Café.” I told him and his recording the address.
“Thank you. Please tell me how you knew Paul Etxgeberria.”
I swallowed. “My late mother’s friend Liz Stover put us in touch. I only met Paul once, last Sunday.”
“Why did Ms. Stover want you to meet the deceased?”
I winced at the term, accurate though it was. “My mother—Jeanine Jordan—passed away two years ago. At the time they told me it was from a ruptured brain aneurysm. My mom and Paul were in an activist group together. Liz said Paul had mentioned maybe Mom’s death had been from poisoning, not from natural causes.”
His eyebrows went up and he blinked. “Is that so?”
“Yes. I met Paul Sunday afternoon and we talked.”
“Where did you meet?”
“In Alice Keck Park.” Sitting this close I could see acne scars scattered over Gifford’s face. He must have had a bad case of it as a teen.
“And?” He gestured for me to continue.
“Their group was working to get certain fumigants banned from the county. The chemicals are neurotoxins and are sprayed, so they make farmworkers and nearby animals sick. Ask Ceci Shaterian. Have you heard of her?”
“No, ma’am.”
“She raises alpacas.” I told him about Ceci and her husband having to sell their Oxnard property at a loss and move to the hills to escape the Agrosafe spray. “Apparently, exposure to the chemical manufactured by Agrosafe in Goleta might mimic a stroke in the brain, or cause it, I’m not sure. Paul said my mom had gotten into a public fight with Walter Russom, who runs the company. Paul thought maybe Walter found a way to administer the chemical to my mom to get her out of the way.”
“Wong says you’ve been trying to investigate these matters yourself.”
Was this meeting a scolding to leave police work to the police? “Not really. I mean, I’m curious, sure. Jason and I went to Chumash High with Walter’s daughter, Katherine.”
“I spoke with a lieutenant at the South Lick Police.” He cocked his head. His brown hair was cut so short it didn’t budge with the movement. “He said you have a knack for running down murderers.”
My buddy Buck. Was this good or bad?
“I also understand you’ve been speaking with Mel Washington.”
“Yes. I asked her to track down my mom’s death report because I never saw it. It took Mel a while, but she found it. They performed an autopsy on my mother. It turns out she did die of a ruptured aneurysm, but they didn’t check for poison in her system.”
“Right. But you asked her to make sure to check for those agricultural neurotoxins in Etxgeberria’s remains.”
“I suggested she might want to, yes.” I was going to go on, but shut my mouth instead. Why get any deeper in trouble than it appeared I already was? Except I couldn’t help myself. “Has she found any?”
“Ah.” He hesitated as if deciding what to reveal. “Actually, the autopsy is not yet complete.” He watched me for a moment. “Is there anything else you’ve learned this week? Anything you’d like to share with us?”
I blew out a breath. “I heard Walter Russom has a gambling problem. Someone said he applied for a big loan and was turned down.”
“Who was that someone?”
“I don’t know. It was a conversation I overheard in the ladies’ room.”
“Which ladies’ room?” He gave me an exasperated look.
“Sorry. I went to a Chamber of Commerce talk Walter gave downtown last evening. These women were talking in the restroom, but I have no idea who they were. One said her friend had seen Walter giving money to someone down at the beach. They thought it was for drugs.”
“Duly noted.”
“But—” I took a deep breath. “But the cook at the café said her sister cleans for
