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
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
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