JO02 - The Brimstone Murders

by Jeff Sherratt

  If he was as smart as I thought he was, he’d take the deal. But the truth was, down deep, I doubted that I could pull it off. My chances of succeeding were about a billion to one. But I knew I had to try. Betje said to keep fighting and that’s all I could do.

  I fired up the Chevy El Camino and charged out of the dairy, heading north on Artesia Boulevard. I’d have to hold the sporty pickup to the speed limit; God forbid, I didn’t need some cop pulling me over. But I’d have to hurry. I figured I had a couple of hours to catch Bickerton there. The TV show had just started and would be on the air for at least an hour. Then it would take another hour or so for the dancers to shed their makeup and costumes and change into street clothes before Snavley locked up. I wondered if Bickerton would stick around that long. My guess was that he would. He seemed to be a control freak; I doubted that he’d leave Snavley in charge of his big musical extravaganza.

  Golden Valley College looked just as it had before—no ivy-covered walls or gray stone Gothic structures—all space-age, tarted-up architecture and rolling acres of blacktop, an homage to the gods of functionality. Except now it was nighttime. But the darkness didn’t help; they had floods everywhere.

  I slowed on Reseda Boulevard to make the turn into the parking lot, and suddenly a black Mercedes 600 limousine darted out directly in front of me. It missed the El Camino’s right front fender by inches. It was Bickerton, the back of his huge leonine head prominent through the limo’s rear window. In an instant the traffic subsided and the limousine pulled away, its bright red taillights growing dim as it receded in the distance.

  I was too late. I was always too late. I slid down in the seat and stared straight ahead, fuming. I’d never catch him now; the limo was moving fast, and I’d have to punch it. The cops would pull me over for sure. I was devastated; I’d never get another chance like this. By tomorrow morning, Moran would have clued him in about my foray onto the base, and Bickerton would put up his guard. I wouldn’t be able to crack him now. Damn. He’d barricade himself inside a fortress of silence as thick and impenetrable as the concrete bunkers on Normandy Beach.

  I continued into the school parking lot, needing space to turn around. As the headlight beams swung slowly through the wide circle, a flicker of light reflected off the chrome trim of a lone car parked way down at the end of the lot. I drove forward toward it. The small sedan rested in the shadows along the wall of the building that housed the TV station, approximately the same spot where Robbie had murdered Professor Carmichael.

  A man emerged from a door cut into the building, hurriedly locked it behind him, and dashed to the parked car. He stood by the driver’s side, saw my lights coming toward him, looked up and stared at me, wide-eyed like a startled fawn. I pulled forward and stopped, all the while gazing into the frightened face of Reverend Elroy Snavley.

  As soon as he recognized me when I climbed out of the El Camino and walked closer, he began to shout, “What do you want? Why are you pestering me?”

  “Let’s talk.”

  He stood facing me, illuminated in the pickup’s headlights “Here? Right here in the parking lot?”

  “Yeah, right here, right now.”

  “I have nothing to say to you. I didn’t do anything. I’m not guilty.” He stopped and turned back to the car, jangling his keys nervously. It’s been my experience that when someone protests his innocence before being accused, he’s usually guilty of something. “Hey, Elroy, I didn’t say you were. I wanted to talk to Bickerton, but you know what’s going on, and you and I are going to discuss it.” I grabbed his shoulder.

  “Don’t hurt me!”

  The guy was stressing out. His body stiffened. It was like he slipped into a trance, catatonic like a spiny-tailed lizard. I could feel his muscles tighten and let go. “I’m not going to hurt you. That is, not if you come clean with me.” I wasn’t going to hurt him anyway. That’s not the way I operate. But I’d keep that to myself for now. “Tell me about Moran and Bickerton.”

  His face went blank. “Who’s Moran? I don’t know anyone by that name.” He loosened up now; in fact, he became quite animated, waving his arms. “Why are you threatening me? Why are you gonna beat me up about someone I don’t even know?”

  He stood in the light quivering. It was strange; he didn’t appear to be lying about not knowing Moran. Maybe he didn’t know him. Moran kept a low profile, but Snavley knew Bickerton and he definitely knew about the base. That’s where he told Hazel Farris to send Robbie. He couldn’t deny that. “What about Rattlesnake Lake? It was your idea to send the Farris kid there.”

  Snavley froze up again. His mouth became a tight thin line, and he moved his head from side to side.

  “C’mon, Snavley, talk to me. Do I have to get rough?”

  “I can’t talk about that. Don’t you understand?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I’ll get fired if I tell you anything.”

  “Fired! You’re in deep legal trouble, and you’re worried about getting fired?”

  “You can’t prove nothing. But if I talk about the drug center Mr. Bickerton will fire me. He’s my boss, you know. I’m not supposed to talk about that either, about him owning the church. But he let it slip when you were there before.”

  “I don’t give a damn who owns the church, and I don’t care if he’s your boss or any of that crap. I just want to know about those kids at the base, what’s going on out there. And I want to know about Bickerton’s involvement with Moran.”

  “I told you I don’t know any Moran. I don’t know anything. I was just trying to save a few poor, wretched souls. I do the Lord’s work.” He paused and looked up at the sky. “Oh, Lord, help me. Please. I know I’m a sinner, but I’ve changed.” He kept at it, praying to the Lord, and the harsh timbre of his voice spoke of a certain agony that gripped his soul. “I promised I’d atone…” He stopped. His mouth hung open; his body stiffened again, and he stared straight into the bright headlights of the pickup truck. “Go ahead, Mr. O’Brien, hurt me if you will. But you’re not so tough, you big shot lawyer—that’s a laugh—sitting behind that cheap metal desk all day waiting for clients to show. Besides, there’s nothing you can do that will cause me more pain than the pain that’s already ripping me apart.”

  A breeze kicked up. A fast-food wrapper fluttered in front of the El Camino’s headlights, momentarily casting flickering shadows across Snavley’s face.

  A sharp voice resonated behind me: “Hey! What’s going on down there? What are you guys doing here?”

  I spun around and saw the beam of a flashlight dance across the lot. A man in a uniform held the light. “What’s that pickup truck doing here?”

  “It’s me, Charlie, Reverend Elroy. And this gentleman was just leaving.” Snavley turned to me and in a hushed voice said, “Aren’t you?”

  “Oh, it’s you, Reverend. Just checking, you know. It’s my job.” The security guard stopped and leaned against the El Camino’s hood. He gave me a probing look, tapping the flashlight against his leg. I felt I’d get no more out of Snavley tonight. But he was as fragile as a porcelain teacup, and I knew he’d crack, once I could get him alone, someplace where I could bounce him off the walls if I had to.

  “I’m not through, Snavley. We’ll be in touch.” I walked to the pickup and slid into the front seat.

  It was nearly midnight when I turned off the Santa Ana Freeway onto Paramount Boulevard. The traffic was light all the way back from Van Nuys to Downey where I planned to stop at my apartment to check my answering machine. I was dying inside. Rita had walked out on me, pulled a stunt like that—not only quitting, but dropping me as a client—without telling me in person; highly unprofessional. If she had any class at all, she’d at least have left a message. But who was I kidding? I’d known her too long, and I thought we were friends… maybe close friends. No, it wasn’t like her to do that. There had to be something, a critical fact that I should have seen.

  Though upset about Rita and just missing Bicke
rton at the college, I felt good about bumping into Snavley. I figured he knew that something horrible was going on at the base and he was keeping quiet about it. I couldn’t fathom why—maybe he was afraid—but whatever his reasons, it was chewing him up. And I knew it was only a matter of time before he’d come clean. A man like him couldn’t keep that kind of information bottled up inside forever. He’d explode. Already the fissures were starting to show.

  I turned onto Cecilia a couple of blocks from my apartment. My head swiveled as I rolled along the dark street, checking for cars, especially ones that might hold those ugly bruisers. A few cars lined the curbs; they were empty.

  Sol always said I was a little reckless, but I didn’t think the bad guys would stake out my place and wait for me to show up. They’d know there were too many neighbors with prying eyes who’d spot them—suspicious mugs lurking in the shadows—and call the law. If they were truly after me, they’d cruise the street a few times, and when they noticed a light in my window or saw the Corvette, then they might try something. The goons wouldn’t place themselves at serious risk. Hit and run was the style of all the leg breakers I’d heard about. Besides, they wouldn’t expect me to be driving an El Camino.

  I pulled up to the curb in front, slipped out of the pickup, and dashed upstairs to my apartment on the second floor. The red light on the answering machine wasn’t blinking. Damn, no message from Rita. I picked up the receiver to see if the phone was working—it was. I grabbed a few things—a book, a change of clothes—and was out the door in a matter of minutes.

  Arms filled, I stayed in the shadows and peered around the corner of building. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary I made a run for the El Camino. As I struggled with the junk, trying to open the driver’s side door, I sensed someone near. I was about to turn when a man slipped up behind me. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my sore ribs; no doubt the hard jab of a gun barrel.

  I dropped the stuff and instinctively raised my arms.

  “Hold it right there, O’Brien. Don’t move.”

  The voice was familiar, too familiar. But it was a relief. A cop, Hammer; it wasn’t one of Moran’s thugs that held the gun. Over my shoulder I said, “What is this, Hammer? Gonna give me a ticket?” I looked down at my belongings in the street. “Littering?”

  “What are you doing here, wise guy?”

  “I live here, for chrissakes.”

  “Yeah, looks like you’re moving out. Trying to escape. Where you get the El Camino? Steal it?”

  Lowering my hands, I turned until we were face to face. I could smell whiskey on his stale breath. “Are you charging me with—”

  “Keep your arms up, or I’ll drop you where you stand!”

  “Cool it, Hammer. I’m not armed.”

  “Oh yeah, not armed? What’s this here?” He opened the front of his jacket. Tucked in his belt was a snub-nosed automatic. I knew what this was. I’d been a cop. The gun was a thrown-down piece, probably lifted from some street hood, untraceable, of course. He could shoot me, plant the piece in my cold, dead hand and claim self defense.

  My stomach churned. He’d get away with it.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  I started to talk fast: “Look, Hammer, I know you think I’m guilty of killing the old lady, and all the talk in the world won’t convince you otherwise, but until I prove differently—”

  “Cut the bullshit. You’re guilty, and if I could prove it, you’d be a goner right now. But I’m not through with you.” He paused for a moment. “You’re still breathing, but that doesn’t mean you’re not dead.” He turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  C H A P T E R 36

  I pulled away from curb, and as I did I saw the detective’s unmarked car make a U-turn and drive away in the opposite direction. I breathed a sigh of relief. Hammer had been drinking, and I noticed that he hadn’t written down the plate number of the El Camino. It didn’t seem as if he was following me, but I took a roundabout way back to the dairy anyway, checking my rearview mirror every three seconds. When I felt sure that no one had tailed me, I turned on Artesia and headed straight for the dairy.

  Bellowing cows and grunts and shouts from dairy workers, woke me up. My noisy bovine neighbors filled the milk barn just on the other side of the wall. The morning milking ritual was in full swing. I stumbled out of my bed in the Holstein Hilton and made my way into the kitchenette to put on a pot of coffee. The clock above the sink read 8:10.

  After I got out of the shower and into my clothes, I poured my first cup of the day. I sat at the little table, hands ringing the warm mug, and let my thoughts wander. What was I going to do now? Especially about Hammer waiting for me to make one small mistake? Of course, he’d been drinking, but I felt as if he’d shoot me on sight with the slightest provocation. I’d have to be extra careful with him lurking in the shadows.

  And what about Rita? Would she come back? I was carrying a ton of guilt. I should’ve come clean with her from the start. I should’ve trusted her, trusted her ability. If she did return, I’d lay it all out. Let her know why I did what I did, why I went to the base, and I’d tell her about the gun too. I shouldn’t have let Mabel get rid of it to begin with; stupid thing to do. After all, it was the murder weapon, a serious piece of evidence, and maybe the real killer left his prints or something. It was a long shot but the gun might have proven my innocence. Now the only way to clear my name would be to get Robbie back.

  I took another sip. The coffee tasted bitter.

  Suddenly the door burst open.

  Sol’s voice boomed, “Jimmy, turn on the TV! Quick, channel nine.”

  I didn’t like the sound of this. “Sol, what’s going on?”

  “Turn on the goddamn TV!”

  “Why?”

  Sol grabbed the remote and clicked on the set. “Christ, you’ve done it now,” he said as the television warmed up. “It’s been all over the news this morning.”

  “Done what? I just went to see Bickerton.”

  “You went where?”

  “Went to see Bickerton. I had a hunch and thought… Sol, I missed Bickerton out there, but I had a powwow with Snavley…”

  “…And now the local news…”

  “Shut up, Jimmy. This is it.”

  A talking head filled the screen and a chill crawled up my spine. “…the young victim, identified as Robbie Farris, a client of the suspect, attorney James O’Brien, was discovered by L.A. County Sheriff’s deputies. The body was sprawled in the back of an abandoned milk truck parked on a side street just off the Pomona Freeway in a remote area of San Dimas. Farris had been shot to death with a .45 semi-automatic pistol. According to police, the victim had died last night sometime before eight p.m., and O’Brien’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapon as well as the milk truck. O’Brien, also a suspect in the murder of the victim’s mother, is considered armed and dangerous. An all-out search is underway for the missing Downey attorney…”

  The newsman went on to say that the police had already talked to Peter Van Hoek. He denied knowledge of how I happened to have the truck. The film cut to Van Hoek standing in his lot pointing at rows of identical delivery trucks. “I’ve got a hundred of ’em. Can’t keep track of all of them, can I?”

  “Van Hoek doesn’t want the cops or the bad guys to know he was involved.” Sol clicked off the set.

  There was a big empty hole where my soul had been. Robbie was dead, and so was I. There was no hope now. I slumped to the couch and stared at my shoes, trying to concentrate on what I’d just seen, failing to make sense of it all. Hammer had seen me at my apartment at around midnight, plenty of time to shoot Robbie, snatch an El Camino somewhere, and get back to Downey. He saw me with my arms full of clothing, like I was taking it on the run. It would look bad for him if word got out that he had me in his clutches, then let me, a murderer, walk away like that. One thing was for sure: the next time he saw me, he’d shoot to kill.

  Cubby, Sol’s driver, barged in. “Boss, the off
ice patched a call through to the limo. Rita wants to talk to O’Brien.” He glanced at me.

  “Rita?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Says it’s important. Says she has an idea.”

  C H A P T E R 37

  I bolted from the room and raced to the black limousine. The smell of cow manure wafting from the dairy corrals hung in the warm air and black flies buzzed in lazy circles as I slid into the driver’s seat and grabbed the receiver.

  “Jimmy, I heard the news—” Rita began.

  “Why’d you run out on me?”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t run out on you.”

  “Mabel said…”

  I glanced up. Sol was standing next to the open door. “Be careful what you say. Calls on a mobile phone can’t be traced, but they’re sent out over the airwaves. Anyone can listen.”

  “I don’t give a damn what Mabel said.” Rita’s voice had an edge. “I wouldn’t run out on you just because you’re a jerk.”

  I nodded to Sol and continued my conversation. “She said you stormed out of the office.”

  “I was tired of you getting beat up and decided to do something about it. That’s why I left in a hurry. And now with the new developments—Robbie being dead—I’m glad I did.”

  “Listen, Rita. I’ve got to tell you about the gun behind the file cabinet…”

  “Jimmy, I know all about it. Remember, I’m the one who wanted to get rid of it in the first place. I figured you came to your senses and saw it my way. Now keep your mouth shut about that. We’re on the radiophone.”