Oh, boo-hoo-hoo, Barnhill had thought back then as Huttington sniffled and sobbed. The whimpering coward would have kissed his ass if he'd told him to after promising to help. "You do know that this isn't a game," he'd warned Huttington. "The girl is going to have to…disappear, or you're always going to have that hanging over your head. Can't afford to have her show up in a couple of years with a child that looks like Kip, now, can we?"
"Anything, anything," Huttington pleaded.
"Good," Barnhill replied. "Now, leave the keys to your car with me. You can take my sedan back home, and we'll get you a new ride tomorrow."
"My car? Why?" Huttington said.
"Do you really want to know the answer to that?" Barnhill replied.
Huttington shook his head and sobbed. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."
"Quit sniveling, Kip, and pull yourself together," Barnhill sneered. "Find a pay phone on the way home and call the girl. Tell her you love her and want to see her early tomorrow morning, six a.m., at the overlook out on Saddle Mountain Road. Don't use your home phone-that can be traced. Understand?"
Huttington nodded and placed his keys on Barnhill's desk. The attorney tossed him his. "Now, remember, pay phone, six a.m., far parking lot, you'll be there waiting for her in your car," he said. "Now go home, get some sleep, and come to work tomorrow as if nothing has happened. Oh, and never, ever say anything about this to anyone."
The next morning, Maria Santacristina had showed up on time, only to be forced into the trunk of the Cadillac and taken for one last ride. A few days later, he'd laid out the bill to Huttington, who'd initially balked until he saw the photograph of the Cadillac emailed to him by the Reverend Hamm.
After that, Huttington had been as compliant as a two-dollar whore. He'd given Barnhill's employers the keys to the car, so to speak. Then when Rufus Porter raped a girl and needed help, Huttington himself had gone to the university police station at night, let himself in with his master key, and absconded with the evidence. And he hadn't protested the plan to get rid of Mikey O'Toole so that Big John's kid could live out his baseball fantasy.
Hamm's photograph had come in handy a second time to chase Maly Laska off. In hindsight, the university president probably should have just shown it to her instead of sending it to her as an email attachment. But even if the girl kept a copy, which was doubtful the way she up and left in the night, no one would be able to trace it back to Huttington or Hamm.
It was the perfect murder and blackmail. Except the girl's father had not let it go and seized on Huttington as the only suspect. Nor had he backed off despite threats. Then Marlene Ciampi and Karp had stepped in and started making life difficult.
Thinking about the photograph as Zook ushered them into his office and shut the door reminded Barnhill that he had not been able to raise anybody at the Unified Church all day. The phones were dead and there was no service for cell phones.
Zook sat down at his desk and indicated they should sit at the two chairs that faced the desk. "So what can I do for you, gentlemen?"
Barnhill's smirk disappeared from his face. "What do you mean?"
"Why are we here?"
"What the fuck, Zook," Barnhill growled. "Kip here got a call this morning from Marlene Ciampi, who told him to meet you here or else. To be honest, I'm thinking about filing a harassment complaint. It's obviously because her husband is losing the lawsuit and she's trying to intimidate Kip somehow, which may also constitute witness tampering."
"Really? And what did she say?" Zook asked innocently, looking at Huttington.
"Her message was very short," Huttington replied. He nervously accepted a glass of water the district attorney poured for him from a pitcher on his desk. "She said, 'We found your car,' and that I better show up at your office or else."
"So you thought that it was important to show up?" Zook inquired.
"Well, to be honest, I found her demeanor to be-"
"Threatening," Barnhill said, finishing the sentence for him. "This woman has a reputation back in New York for violence. Check it out. She gets away with it because her husband is the district attorney. But that's not the point. Are you telling me that you don't know what this is about?"
Zook looked surprised. "Oh no, I know what this is all about. I was just listening."
"So?" Barnhill said, exasperated.
"So what?"
"SO WHAT IN THE HELL IS THIS ALL ABOUT?" Barnhill roared.
"Whoa, Clyde, no need to yell," Zook replied quietly. "What this is about is that I am charging Mr. Huttington with two counts of murder in the first degree, kidnapping, and, just because I can, improper disposal of an automobile. Oh, and I'm charging you with most of those, too."
Huttington staggered to his feet, rushed over to a trash can in the corner of the office, and vomited. Barnhill just sat in his chair, scowling and shouting, "WHAT! WHAT! WHAT!"
"What? You want to know what, you slimeball," Marlene sneered as she walked into the office, followed by two Idaho state troopers. She spotted Huttington and walked up to him, holding up the photograph of Maria's impending murder.
"We found her, 'Kip,' you piece of shit." Marlene practically spat the words in his face as he tried to duck away from her. "Just in case they didn't fill you in on the grisly details, they buried her alive in your car. But we found her. We dug her up along with the Cadillac you reported stolen. Want to know how that's going to play to a jury, Kip? Do you? What's the method of execution in Idaho, Dan?"
"Lethal injection," Zook replied.
"Oooh, good one," Marlene said with a smile as she walked over to toss the photograph on the desk in front of Barnhill, who glanced at it and looked quickly away.
"They strap you to a gurney in a bright white room and tilt you up so that a bunch of people sitting in a dark room that you can't see can watch you die. They'll bear witness for Maria Elena Santacristina Katarain, but who will be there for you, Kip? The wife you betrayed with your little fling and then foray into murder? I don't think so, bub. I think you'll be alone, scared as hell, and about to meet Lucifer himself."
"That photograph doesn't prove Mr. Huttington had anything to do with any murder," Barnhill scoffed as he pulled himself together.
"Shut up," Marlene said, which caused Barnhill's jaw to open, but no sound came out of his mouth. Satisfied, she turned back to Huttington. "No, they'll stick needles in your arms and then load you up with the same chemicals they put dogs down with. Supposed to be painless, but I don't know. There's a couple of cases in front of the U.S. Supreme Court right now claiming that in actuality lethal injection is a very painful way to go, but the condemned man is too doped up to show it. You're just lying there looking like you're going to sleep when in reality, your brain is screaming like a cat on fire. And that's how you go into the next life, Kip, like a cat on fire."
Huttington threw up again. But Barnhill jumped to his feet and addressed Zook. "How do you know that's even Mr. Huttington's car?"
"The vehicle identification number, you idiot," Marlene answered. "Right there on the dashboard."
"Well, then," Barnhill said, trying to sound reasonable. "Obviously, whoever took the car abducted the girl, killed her, and buried the evidence. And they tried to make it look like Kip was responsible."
Marlene shot the lawyer a disgusted look and turned back to Huttington. "I know why you did it, Kip. I mean, we already knew because those pieces of Aryan crap, Benji Hamm and Rufus Porter, are singing like the proverbial canaries. But now we have proof to back it up. Do you know what we found inside of Maria this morning, do you, Kip?"