The Whole Truth Read online

  A woman answered.

  “I need to speak to Mal Meyer,” Steve said.

  “Just a moment . . . Mr. Meyer isn’t in, would you like his voice mail?”

  “No. This is an emergency. For Mr. Meyer and for me. My name’s Conroy and I’m defense counsel on one of his cases. I need to speak to him now.”

  “I believe he’s in court.”

  “Does he have a pager?”

  “Yes, but — ”

  “Listen carefully, please. The case we’re on is Cullen. You need to tell him that Cullen is dead. He’s been shot. And his defense counsel needs to speak to Mal right away.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Did this cell number come through on your screen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you page him immediately and give him that message? Have him call me?”

  “I can try right now. If you hold, I can put him on with you.”

  “I’ll hold. I don’t have much battery left, so if you can hurry.”

  “Please hold.”

  He looked at Bethany, admiring her strength. What must it have taken for her to get out of that situation? What would become of her now, even if they managed to survive this ordeal?

  “We need to hide these bodies,” Bethany said.

  “That would be a good idea,” Steve said.

  “I’ll do it.”

  And she did. As Steve waited on Mal Meyer, she went about her work as if she were cleaning up a yard. She dragged Rennie’s body to where the floor of the lean-to had been. Then did the same with the dog. Then started reconstructing the lean-to.

  The woman came on the line. “Mr. Conroy? I’m going to connect you.”

  A click, then, “This is Meyer.”

  “Steve Conroy.”

  “I got that. What’s this about, Cullen?”

  “Listen, I don’t know how much time I have on this thing. I’ll explain everything to you, but you have to come get me. I’m on Verner Pass Highway, I don’t know how far, but it’s got to be close to the LaSalle place. I just killed one of them. But I’ve got a bum leg — ”

  “Hold it. Killed? Killed who?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

  “Me? If you’re hurt we’ll get an ambulance — ”

  “No. Listen. This thing is breaking down around both of us. I don’t want anybody in Verner to know about this. I need to get to a doctor. I need to get to one in another town. I need you to take me there.”

  “I’m due in court in ten minutes.”

  “Whatever you’re doing, believe me it’s not more important than this. You have to trust me on this one. There’s going to be a hunting party out for me and the woman who helped me.”

  “Woman?”

  “Can you get out here?”

  “Just take a — ”

  Silence.

  Steve looked at the LCD. “You’re kidding me.” The juice was gone.

  “Is he coming?” Bethany said.

  “He didn’t sound excited about it. He may alert the sheriff.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “That’s bad.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We need to move,” Steve said. “Do you know a place we can hole up and still keep an eye on the highway?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you still believe in God?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then pray. We can use all the help we can get.”

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  His leg was practically no use now. He dragged it behind him like a sack of wet laundry. He followed Bethany, who went before him like a scout. She carried the rifle with her. She said she had three rounds left. The morning was just getting underway, and he was on the run with a woman with a rifle.

  What’s next on the agenda?

  “Here,” Bethany said.

  She’d found a jut of gray rock. It provided a sort of prow over which they could see the highway below. It was a sharp drop of about twenty feet to the road.

  Better, it gave them a view of where they’d come and a place to hide. Like some old cowboy movie.

  Bethany went before him, up the rocks, and helped him. It was easier than he expected that way. He wouldn’t mind having Bethany around in any sort of a pinch. She was doing the job.

  Once ensconced in the rocks, Steve allowed himself a moment of rest.

  “Now?” Bethany said.

  “We wait,” Steve said. “If something doesn’t happen in the next twenty minutes or so, we take a chance and flag a car.”

  “I don’t think that would be good,” she said. “They will be looking.”

  “I don’t see any other choice. Keep praying.”

  She closed her eyes. It was so childlike. He hoped she really had some connection to the supernatural going on. Anything at this point.

  A car approached. Steve looked over the rocks in time to see a red pickup zip by. Several more cars, in both directions, passed during the ensuing minutes.

  None slowed. No one looked like Mal Meyer.

  “I think we’re going to have to chance it,” Steve said. “Let’s try to catch one going toward Verner. If anyone from Beth-El was coming they’d be headed the other way.”

  “We don’t look too good.”

  “We’re going to look even worse if we don’t get somewhere safe. You up for this?”

  “I’ll do what we have to do.”

  “You could start by leaving the rifle. That may not invite too many stops.”

  Bethany smiled. It seemed like a relief to her.

  He heard the sound of a car horn. A laying-it-on-thick blast. Somebody angry. He looked over the rocks and saw a blue Mercedes burn past the curve, doing about fifty. Five seconds later a black Saturn came into view, going way too slow for the flow.

  The driver’s side window was down and Steve saw the anxious face of Mal Meyer, scanning the hillside.

  “Stand up and wave,” Steve said.

  SIXTY-NINE

  Meyer knew of a hospital in the next county, about a twenty-minute drive, he said. That way they could buy a little time before deciding what to do in Verner.

  At least part of Bethany’s prayer had been answered. Steve was in a Saturn with a prosecutor, a captive audience.

  “Now,” Meyer said, “tell me what this is about.”

  “You’re going to be a star, Mal,” Steve said. “Are you ready for the TV cameras?”

  “I have a face for radio,” Meyer said. “What’s this about killing a man? That’s a little fact that interests me.”

  “He’s one of the guys from Beth-El. They decided to put me on the cooling rack. But I got out.”

  “How?”

  “That’s going to take a little more time. What I need to tell you right now is that you have the chance to bring down Eldon LaSalle and his whole little empire.”

  Meyer’s mental gears clicked around. “Nothing would make me happier, but he’s been around a long time and has his act together, at least legally.”

  “Does that include hits on lawyers?”

  “How can you prove this?”

  “Bethany will testify to it. That’s conspiracy to commit murder. She’ll also testify to ritual abuse carried on up there.”

  “Abuse of who?”

  “Her. And the other women LaSalle keeps there.”

  “Is this your only witness?”

  “Me too.”

  “You were their lawyer, weren’t you?”

  “I was, until they tried to kill me. I consider that a breach of the attorney-client relationship.”

  “Still, they may be able to keep any statements you make about them out of a trial. You got anything else?”

  “You’ve got probable cause to search the place. You can get a team together and go up and look for evidence of conspiracy. You can bring in a bunch of them and start with the questioning.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Weapons. Bethany here will tell you about the weapons. Sh
e doesn’t think there’s a permit to be had for any of them.”

  Mal Meyer took a contemplative breath. “I can get a warrant, but I need it to be as specific as possible. If we’re going after the big fish, we need a big net.”

  “Then there’s one other man you need to talk to. His name’s Hendrickson. He works at Bruck’s Mortuary. I have a feeling he knows a lot more than he’s willing to tell. You feel up to pulling a bluff?”

  “What kind of bluff?”

  “Like on Law & Order. You know, where the cops say they have a witness against some guy and offer him a deal if he talks now.”

  “I never watched that show.”

  “You should. You’ll be inspired by Sam Waterston.”

  Meyer said, “Keep going.”

  Steve put his head back on the seat. “You mind if we wait until I get this thing looked at? I’m feeling a little beat up at the moment.”

  “He’s been fantastic,” Bethany said.

  Steve shook his head. “She’s the fantastic one. Just wait till you hear the whole thing.”

  “I’m busting at the seams,” Meyer said.

  The hospital was bigger than the one in Verner, as was this whole town. There was even a five-story Hyatt within shouting distance. Probably a place for the serious skiers, hunters, and fishermen to hang their collective hats on their way to various points of interest.

  They patched Steve up in Emergency. He escaped infection, but not a zipper-like line of sutures. They pumped something into his veins. They fitted him for crutches and sent him out at 12:35 p.m.

  Mal Meyer and Bethany were in the waiting area, talking. Or rather it was Bethany talking and Meyer jotting notes.

  Meyer stood when Steve came in. “She’s spinning quite a tale,” he said. “I want to question this guy Hendrickson too. I want enough to go to a grand jury.”

  “How about the feds?” Steve asked.

  “I can try to bring in ATF.”

  “The feds are already on this. There’s two agents in LA, Issler and Weingarten. You had contact?”

  “No.”

  “They’re working this thing somehow. But before you talk to them, get to Hendrickson. But do it on the QT. Think you can?”

  “QT?”

  “Don’t you ever watch old movies?”

  “No time for that.”

  “It means on the lowdown,” Steve said. “No fanfare. Not yet. Mott is involved.”

  “Mott! You got proof of that?”

  “Oh, I got proof. But you just ask Mr. Hendrickson to come in. Tell him not to say anything to anyone, under threat of indictment.”

  “What indictment?”

  “Make something up. Just bring him in.”

  At which Mal Meyer smiled like a mischievous kid. “You LA guys really do march to a different beat.”

  SEVENTY

  They got back to the DA’s office around three. Meyer took his Saturn into the private below-ground lot, the same place the sheriff’s bus would drop prisoners off for court. There was a private elevator for law and court personnel. Meyer guided Steve and Bethany up to the fifth floor, which was relatively devoid of activity. Like a guy leading prison escapees, Meyer led Bethany and Steve to a small conference room halfway down a corridor.

  Only a woman carrying a stack of files saw them. She nodded at Meyer like there was nothing amiss. Just another day at the office.

  Meyer locked the conference room door from the inside. “You’ll be able to kick back here,” he said to Steve.

  Kick back? “What are you going to do?”

  “Persuade. I want to get that Hendrickson in here if I can. And I want to get a full account. Oh yeah, and those federal agents. Names again?”

  “Issler and Weingarten,” Steve said. “You can just tell them a Mr. Conroy referred them.”

  Meyer jotted it down on the little pad he carried. “I’ll have one of the clerks look in on you. Take care of anything you need. You’ll be okay?”

  “Just get her a rifle,” Steve said.

  Meyer looked at him, shook his head. Left.

  “Now what happens?” Bethany asked.

  “We are in the jaws of the system now,” Steve said. “We wait. But you can do a little more of that praying if you want.”

  “What should I pray for?”

  Steve thought a moment. “That Eldon LaSalle and his band of merry men get ripped off the face of the earth.”

  “Even Johnny?”

  “Yeah,” Steve said. “Even Johnny.”

  “I don’t know if this matters,” Bethany said. “But I don’t think Johnny wanted to have you . . . you know, taken care of.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t think he and his father were getting along. Just little things I saw, that’s all.”

  “It’s too late to make any difference. Johnny made his choice a long time ago. Now he’s got to live with it. Or die with it.”

  The clerk, a paralegal named Arty who looked like Adam Sandler, did as promised, and brought coffee and bottled water and a bag of Milano cookies. Bethany said she’d never had a Milano and ate almost the whole bag.

  It was good to watch her do that. Like she was a little girl again, before innocence was lost to Eldon LaSalle.

  At 4:35 Meyer stuck his head through the conference room door. “You all set?” he asked.

  “Set for what?” Steve said.

  “He’s here. I’m bringing him in.”

  Meyer closed the door. Five minutes later it opened again. Meyer walked in with Edward Hendrickson.

  “What is this?” Hendrickson said, looking at Steve.

  “You know Mr. Conroy?” Meyer asked.

  The old gentlemanly face reddened. “I do not feel I need to be here.”

  “Please sit down, sir,” Meyer said. “Like I said, I would much rather talk informally here than get a subpoena. But that’s entirely up to you.”

  “What is he here for? What am I supposed to have done?”

  “I found Doc Phillips,” Steve said.

  Hendrickson gasped as if he’d had a lung punctured. For a moment Steve thought it was a heart attack. Hendrickson put a hand to his chest and fell into the hard government chair that Meyer held for him.

  “Can I get you some water?” Meyer asked.

  Hendrickson shook his head, took a moment to steady his breathing. He kept his eyes on the table when he said, “Did Walker tell you anything?”

  “He told me enough,” Steve said. “Your name came up.” He decided not to reveal exactly how Hendrickson’s name had come up, as he had been the one to raise it. Nor the little detail of the doctor’s blowing himself away. Maybe that news hadn’t reached Hendrickson’s ears yet. Steve could mention it for shock value later if he needed to.

  “Where is Walker now?” Hendrickson asked.

  “Tehachapi,” Steve said. “Still very much in Tehachapi. I think he’s very attached to the place.”

  “Is he drinking?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “That’s good,” Hendrickson said. “Perhaps he’s found a measure of redemption.”

  “Why haven’t you said anything about the autopsy in ’83?” Steve asked. “Why have you kept it secret for so long?” This required assumptions, but he was on a roll.

  “It was for old Mr. Bruck’s sake,” Hendrickson said. “He saved my life. I wanted to save his.”

  Meyer pulled out a chair now and sat. He removed a handheld tape recorder from his inside jacket pocket. Steve thought it might be too early for that. Might scare Hendrickson off.

  “I’d like to tape your statement,” Meyer said. “I’ll have it transcribed and you can correct anything you want and sign it later. Okay?”

  Hendrickson hung on the question for a beat, like a man on a tightrope steadying himself. His eyes seemed to recede, drifting off to a distant memory.

  Then he started to talk.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  “I was an alcoholic when I came to Ve
rner. Came back from Korea and settled in San Berdoo, wife and baby waiting for me. Drank myself into a divorce. Couldn’t hold a job. Bruck was my sergeant. We kept in touch, he told me to come up to see him.

  “He dried me out. Got me back up on my feet, made me feel like a man again. The doctor he paid to help dry me out was Walker Phillips. Bill Bruck gave me a job. It wasn’t at the mortuary — he was just starting that out. He also ran a hardware store. I worked there for about fifteen years, then went to the mortuary. About that same time two new people came to town. One was Eldon LaSalle. The other was Owen Mott.

  “Mott came in from another county and was an appointed sheriff. I don’t know if it was a coincidence or if there was some money that changed hands. All I know is that Mott did not seem overly concerned with Eldon LaSalle. And LaSalle gave the appearance of being someone who wanted to do good in the community. He paid for the building of the Chamber of Commerce. That was in the early days of his citizenship.

  “Then came the fire. It was the fire that killed a man named Clinton Cole and a little boy. Mott led the investigation and ruled that it was an accident. I don’t know why, but I never believed that. Maybe it was just the way Mott looked when he talked about it. The other man who had a strange look about it was Bill Bruck. I never questioned Bill. I never felt I had that right. I figured whatever he knew was his to know, and he had a good reason for knowing it. They did the autopsy and found that the little boy who was burned to death was a kid who had been taken from his home sometime earlier that year.”

  “That was supposedly my brother,” Steve said.

  “That’s where I would have left it but for Walker Phillips. I was going to church regularly then and had straightened out my life to the point where people thought of me as a pillar of the community. Some sort of moral example. That’s a laugh. If only they could have seen inside me.

  “But one night Walker Phillips came to see me. He had been drinking heavily. That’s not something he used to do. So I knew there was something wrong. He proceeded to spill his guts to me. He asked me not to say anything to anyone, but that he had to talk to somebody. You know, I think deep down maybe he wanted me to talk about it. Maybe he wanted to be caught. You think strange things when you’re drunk. Believe me, I know.