In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(63)
The second report revealed that Hastey Devoe Senior’s businesses owned several trucks, including tow trucks that likely would have been fitted with all-terrain tires. Earl Kanasket owned a 1968 Ford truck. A 1973 Ford Bronco was registered to Ron Reynolds. Bernard Coe, who Tracy assumed to be Archibald Coe’s father, owned a 1974 Chevy truck. Any of them could have also had all-terrain tires. In fact, Tracy suspected they did. She also suspected that the chances any of those vehicles remained in circulation were slim to none. The chances they’d have the same tires as in 1976 was ludicrous to even consider.
The Accurint report confirmed that Hastey Devoe lived in Stoneridge, and an electricity bill indicated that Archibald Coe lived close by, in Central Point, as Sam Goldman had said. The address looked like it would be for an apartment. Eric Reynolds’s address was also Stoneridge, though a Google map and satellite search revealed the property was far out of town and surrounded by orchards. Tracy didn’t find a utility record for Darren Gallentine, but she wasn’t expecting one, since Sam Goldman had said Gallentine had killed himself.
Other than Tommy Moore, only Hastey Devoe had a criminal record. He’d been arrested three times for driving under the influence—the first arrest in 1982, the second in 1996, and the most recent in 2013. Tracy could only imagine how many times a career drunk had driven impaired and not been caught, or had been caught but received the benefit of having a brother serving as the chief of police.
Tracy ran Gallentine’s name through the Washington State Digital Archives and got a match. Darren John Gallentine died October 12, 1999, at age forty-one. The death certificate from the Washington State Department of Health listed the cause of death as a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. She located a short obituary in the Seattle Times archives. Gallentine had worked for nearly two decades as an engineer for Boeing after graduating from UW in 1981. He was survived by his wife, Tiffany, and his two daughters, seventeen-year-old Rebecca and fourteen-year-old Rachel. In lieu of flowers, the family had asked for donations to an organization called Evergreen Health Clinic Northwest. Tracy Googled the name and found that the clinic still existed and had been serving the Puget Sound region since 1973. Searches using the name Tiffany Gallentine produced no results. Gallentine’s wife could have died, remarried, changed her name, or simply not done anything to warrant a Google hit. The names Rebecca and Rachel Gallentine produced multiple possibilities on Facebook of women who would have been about the right ages. However, given that the sisters would be in their early thirties, they also could have married and legally changed their last names, making the hits for “Gallentine” even more suspect.
Deciding to go after the lowest-hanging fruit, Tracy called the clinic referenced in Darren Gallentine’s obituary and asked to speak to the director. She knew she was treading on thin ice. Under federal HIPAA laws, the confidentiality of a patient’s health information continued even after the patient’s death, and the law was particularly touchy about psychotherapy notes. She was connected to an Alfred Womak, who confirmed that the clinic had treated Darren Gallentine but wouldn’t reveal for what. Tracy said she was in the area and would appreciate a few minutes of the director’s time. Womak agreed to see her for twenty minutes starting at two.
Evergreen Health Clinic Northwest was located in a chic shopping complex off Northwest Gilman Boulevard called The Village at Issaquah, a thirty-to forty-five-minute drive east of Seattle. Once nothing but hills of virgin forest, the plateau was now looked upon by many in Seattle as an illustration of urban desecration of the environment. In the past decade, developers had clear-cut and bulldozed large swaths of forest for tracts of homes, shopping centers, schools, and sports facilities. The population had quickly tripled—predominantly white middle-class families with young children, who’d rushed to buy large homes at affordable prices.
The buildings at The Village at Issaquah, interconnected by wooden and brick walkways, included restaurants, a hair “studio,” an upscale kitchenette store, art galleries, and a yoga studio, in addition to the clinic. It gave Tracy a better sense of Evergreen’s likely typical clientele—overextended husbands, stay-at-home moms feeling unfulfilled and underappreciated, and the children of those parents sent to counseling for ADD, anxiety, and stress-related disorders.
Tibetan bells announced Tracy’s entrance as she stepped into a reception area of soft colors and soothing music. Womak met Tracy in the lobby and escorted her to his office, which resembled the inside of a yurt but with plate-glass windows for walls that provided an eastern view of the hills. She estimated Womak to be in his early sixties, with the mandatory mental health professional’s beard. His was salt and pepper. Balding, he wore round wire-framed glasses.
“As I indicated on the telephone, Detective, federal laws prohibit me from telling you anything about Mr. Gallentine’s treatment.”
Tracy pushed forward. It was why she preferred face-to-face meetings. It was easier to hang up a phone than to ignore a person sitting across from you. She’d also learned to avoid debate and just get the witness answering questions. “I understand. You were able to confirm he was a patient of this clinic?”
“Yes, he was.”
“And for how long?”
“Just under two years.”
“Did he come regularly for those two years?”
“His billing records indicate he did.”