Read Online Disturbed Ground by Carla Norton - Free Book Online
Authors: Carla Norton
Tags: True Crime
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ass.
Bach asked, "Do you have any facts? Any indications that Dorothea Puente is doing something that she shouldn't be doing?"
No, actually, they didn't.
"Do you have a client staying at Puente's home?"
They did not.
No facts, no indications of abuse, and no client. Bach's advice was to avoid any appearance of being alarmist. Rather than risk infringing on Puente's rights, it would be better to keep mum. All in all, Polly Spring's memo had ignited a chain reaction like a lit string of firecrackers: much noise but little damage.
Mary Ellen Howard got similarly cautious advice when she approached Deputy Sharon Cadigan, stationed at the Department of Social Services, with questions about Dorothea Puente. Howard stood and watched as Cadigan pulled up information on the computer. But Deputy Cadigan didn't tell Howard what she wanted to hear: In essence, she said that Puente was on parole for writing bad checks and for property crimes, that she'd committed no offenses against people, and she had a right to have a business license.
[Cadigan later could not recall this conversation.]
Knowing that she had no official reason for being concerned about the Puente home (since none of her clients resided there), Mary Ellen Howard didn't alert her supervisors. Even if she had, they admitted later, they would have informed Howard that she was venturing "beyond her jurisdiction."
So far, no one had detected any legal violations. No one had stopped Dorothea Puente from carrying on pretty much as she had been before. And apparently, no one had even considered contacting the parole board.
Everyone seemed unanimous about the wisest course of action: Do nothing.
Meanwhile, Judy Moise was awash in emergencies: battered women with broken bones, drunks brandishing firearms, hostile street people having delusional episodes right there in front of Woolworth's. If Dorothea Puente wanted to keep some portions of her life secret, Judy certainly wasn't left with much time to pry.
Still , she was troubled by that conversation with Mary Ellen Howard and Polly Spring. Howard had claimed that Dorothea had spitefully cursed her, yet Judy had never even heard Dorothea swear.
The whole story seemed outlandish, but Judy had promised to try to ascertain whether the landlady she and Beth so ardently defended could possibly be the vile character that Howard and Spring suspected her to be. So, quite deliberately, Judy and Beth went to Puente's to ask questions.
Ostensibly, they went to see Bert. Soon enough, however, they managed to end up chatting with Dorothea in the parlor. Ever so casually, Judy remarked, "You know, you're so fair-skinned, Dorothea, you sure don't look Mexican. What was your name before it was Puente?"
"Montalvo," she replied.
"But that was your previous husband's name, wasn't it?" Judy persisted. "I mean, what was your name before you were married?"
Dorothea paused, turning upon her a most peculiar look, as if weighing the question before replying. She finally said, "It was Johansson," and the words crackled through the air like static.
CHAPTER 7
Whispers of suspicion had breathed through the air, memos had ricocheted from office to office, but so far Dorothea Puente had no cause to worry. All the heat generated by Mary Ellen Howard and Polly Spring had amounted to only so much smoke. The landlady suffered no provocations, threats, or accusations. Her daily routine at 1426 F Street went on as unruffled as a cat's nap on a warm windowsill.
But Judy Moise had been knocked off-balance by the realization that Dorothea Puente was truly Dorothea Johansson. By nature a curious person—some would say just plain nosy—Judy wondered just what sorts of skeletons Dorothea Puente might have rattling about in her closet. Now the magazine article that Mary Ellen Howard had mentioned was nagging at her. She and Beth had agreed they ought to read this supposedly scandalous article, but Mary Ellen was in the process of moving,
Bach asked, "Do you have any facts? Any indications that Dorothea Puente is doing something that she shouldn't be doing?"
No, actually, they didn't.
"Do you have a client staying at Puente's home?"
They did not.
No facts, no indications of abuse, and no client. Bach's advice was to avoid any appearance of being alarmist. Rather than risk infringing on Puente's rights, it would be better to keep mum. All in all, Polly Spring's memo had ignited a chain reaction like a lit string of firecrackers: much noise but little damage.
Mary Ellen Howard got similarly cautious advice when she approached Deputy Sharon Cadigan, stationed at the Department of Social Services, with questions about Dorothea Puente. Howard stood and watched as Cadigan pulled up information on the computer. But Deputy Cadigan didn't tell Howard what she wanted to hear: In essence, she said that Puente was on parole for writing bad checks and for property crimes, that she'd committed no offenses against people, and she had a right to have a business license.
[Cadigan later could not recall this conversation.]
Knowing that she had no official reason for being concerned about the Puente home (since none of her clients resided there), Mary Ellen Howard didn't alert her supervisors. Even if she had, they admitted later, they would have informed Howard that she was venturing "beyond her jurisdiction."
So far, no one had detected any legal violations. No one had stopped Dorothea Puente from carrying on pretty much as she had been before. And apparently, no one had even considered contacting the parole board.
Everyone seemed unanimous about the wisest course of action: Do nothing.
Meanwhile, Judy Moise was awash in emergencies: battered women with broken bones, drunks brandishing firearms, hostile street people having delusional episodes right there in front of Woolworth's. If Dorothea Puente wanted to keep some portions of her life secret, Judy certainly wasn't left with much time to pry.
Still , she was troubled by that conversation with Mary Ellen Howard and Polly Spring. Howard had claimed that Dorothea had spitefully cursed her, yet Judy had never even heard Dorothea swear.
The whole story seemed outlandish, but Judy had promised to try to ascertain whether the landlady she and Beth so ardently defended could possibly be the vile character that Howard and Spring suspected her to be. So, quite deliberately, Judy and Beth went to Puente's to ask questions.
Ostensibly, they went to see Bert. Soon enough, however, they managed to end up chatting with Dorothea in the parlor. Ever so casually, Judy remarked, "You know, you're so fair-skinned, Dorothea, you sure don't look Mexican. What was your name before it was Puente?"
"Montalvo," she replied.
"But that was your previous husband's name, wasn't it?" Judy persisted. "I mean, what was your name before you were married?"
Dorothea paused, turning upon her a most peculiar look, as if weighing the question before replying. She finally said, "It was Johansson," and the words crackled through the air like static.
CHAPTER 7
Whispers of suspicion had breathed through the air, memos had ricocheted from office to office, but so far Dorothea Puente had no cause to worry. All the heat generated by Mary Ellen Howard and Polly Spring had amounted to only so much smoke. The landlady suffered no provocations, threats, or accusations. Her daily routine at 1426 F Street went on as unruffled as a cat's nap on a warm windowsill.
But Judy Moise had been knocked off-balance by the realization that Dorothea Puente was truly Dorothea Johansson. By nature a curious person—some would say just plain nosy—Judy wondered just what sorts of skeletons Dorothea Puente might have rattling about in her closet. Now the magazine article that Mary Ellen Howard had mentioned was nagging at her. She and Beth had agreed they ought to read this supposedly scandalous article, but Mary Ellen was in the process of moving,
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