A week passed. There were no new clues in the murder of Lester Dobbs, Melissa Arnold's body and the tapes were still missing, and Ramon Quiroz had not been able to come up with a legal theory that would keep Paul McCann in jail. Early Friday morning, Quiroz and Aaron Flynn slipped in the back door of the courthouse and stole down the corridor to Judge Schrieber's chambers. It was 7:00A.M. and no one else was around. Ramon had phoned the judge the previous evening and convinced him that meeting in secrecy was necessary because of the threat that Martin Alvarez had made to Flynn.
"Good morning, Ramon, Aaron," Judge Schrieber said. He did not look happy as he signed the paper that sat in front of him. "I'm dismissing the case against Paul McCann and signing this release order. Everything has been done over at the jail to assure that McCann can walk out the door the minute you present this. I've arranged for you to go in and leave by the back door. I also instructed the jail personnel that anyone who leaks McCann's release is headed to prison for contempt. That should ensure your client's safety, at least for today."
_ _ _
Flynn drove his car behind the jail and knocked on the rear door. Sheriff Cobb was waiting with McCann, who was dressed in the clothes in which he had been arrested. The sheriff read the release order and told Paul he could go. Cobb looked as happy about this state of affairs as the judge.
As soon as they were in the car Flynn's client closed his eyes, put his head back, and said, "Hallelujah. I am so fucking grateful to be out of that hellhole that I might actually go to church."
"If I were you, the church would be in some city on the other side of the planet. I don't think Martin Alvarez is going to let this rest."
"Well, fuck him," Paul answered angrily. "Alvarez doesn't scare me."
"What are your plans?" Flynn asked.
"A hot shower, an edible meal, a good fuck, and a decent night's sleep."
"And after that?"
"I don't know. I'm thinking of moving. This trial showed me how many friends I have in Desert Grove. Besides, Sunnyvale is dead and your fees about wiped me out."
Flynn pulled the car as close as he could to Paul's front door and prayed that Martin Alvarez wasn't out in the desert with a sniper scope. As soon as the car stopped Joan rushed out of the house. Her arms were around Paul's neck before he was standing. He let her kiss him, but Flynn didn't see much fire on his part. Then Joan walked around to Flynn's window and placed her hand over his.
"I'll never forget you for this, Mr. Flynn. God bless you."
14
The call from Joan McCann came at eleven o'clock. To Martin, she sounded like a woman on the brink of hysteria.
"I'm calling from my car. I'm following Paul. You've got to help me."
"How can you be following Paul? He's in jail."
"The judge dismissed his case, this morning. They sneaked him out of jail because they were afraid of you. Then . . . then he beat me up. He said things to me . . ."
She started to cry. Martin did not understand half of what she said, but he understood that Paul McCann was leaving town without his wife.
"He killed Patty. I can prove it."
Now Martin was completely focused.
"How do you know that?"
"Mr. Flynn came back an hour ago. He was very upset. He took Paul into the den, but I listened at the door. Someone called Aaron at home and said he had Melissa's notes and the disks. He wanted two hundred thousand dollars for them. Aaron told him it wasn't a scam. When Patty was murdered, she was wearing a topaz ring you'd given her for your anniversary, right?"
Martin's heart lurched. He remembered Patty's exclamation of joy when she saw the present and recalled the kiss she'd given him.
"Yes, she was wearing the ring. The police held back that information. How did you know?"
"Aaron told Paul that the caller described it."
"What did Paul say to Flynn?"
"He was angry. He claimed he didn't have two hundred thousand dollars. He said he thought the caller was a con artist. They argued for a while. Then Mr. Flynn left. As soon as he was gone, Paul started packing. I asked him what he was doing and he told me to shut up. He . . . he said I made him sick, that he was leaving me for good."
Joan burst into sobs again and Martin waited for her to calm down.
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to stop him. Before he gets the money and escapes."
"What money?"
"The ransom money."
"How do you know he has it?"
"He's going to Laurel Canyon State Park, to the caves. He must have hidden it there. Why else would he go to the park in the middle of the night? If he has the ransom money, Mr. Alvarez, he killed Patty."
"Why are you calling me? Why aren't you calling the police?"
"I don't want him arrested. I want him dead."
Laurel Canyon State Park was a twisting, turning maze of dry riverbeds and towering cliffs that was known to rock climbers all over the world. At the base of some of these cliffs were caves. There was a parking area near the entrance and Martin found Joan McCann parked at the far end of the lot where she'd told him she'd be. McCann's car was at the head of a trail that led down to the caves.
"He has a fifteen-minute head start. You'd better hurry. He's on the Bishop's Point trail. It's where he proposed to me," Joan added bitterly.
Martin had been to the park many times and knew the trails by heart. He put his gun in the waistband of his pants and grabbed a flashlight before starting on a path that led up to Bishop's Point, a lookout spot with an awesome view, and wound down to the desert floor, where there were several caves.
It took twenty minutes to reach the base of the cliff along the narrow footpath. Martin switched on the flashlight for a few seconds and played it over the rock-strewn floor at the foot of the cliff face. Then he walked toward the mouth of the nearest cave. There were large boulders on both sides of the entrance. Martin edged around one rock formation and peered into the cave hoping to see the beam of Paul's flashlight, but there was only stygian darkness.
"You son of a bitch," McCann screamed, just before he cracked Martin's cheekbone with his pistol. Martin staggered backward and swung the flashlight. It caught McCann on a raised forearm but didn't stop him. McCann aimed a punch at Martin's wound. The pain was blinding. A kick to the knee knocked Martin's legs out from under him and sent him to the ground. He tried to get up, but McCann kicked him in the ribs, then stomped on his head. Just when Martin thought he would pass out the beating stopped.
McCann collected Martin's automatic from the ground, where he'd dropped it after the first, surprise blow. Martin was certain that there were broken bones in his face. His ribs stung, but he didn't think they were broken. He struggled into a sitting position.
"Did Joan tell you I was coming here?" McCann asked in a hate-filled voice.
Martin held his tongue. McCann glared at him.
"It doesn't matter. You're not here because of that bitch. You're here for the money. Well, you'll see the money, all right. You're going to dig for it. Then you and I are both going to disappear. Now get up."
He gestured with the pistol and Martin made it to his feet with only one minor stumble. McCann pointed the flashlight beam into the cave and Martin preceded him inside. It was cold, but Martin was in too much pain to notice. The cave was deep and the roof, which was about nine feet high at the entrance, quickly dropped, so that they were soon moving forward in a half crouch. After they had walked for fifteen minutes the roof rose dramatically and they found themselves in a high-ceilinged chamber. McCann told Alvarez to stop in front of a large pile of rocks that looked as if they had been undisturbed for centuries.
"Start digging. The bag is at the bottom of that mess. It took me almost two hours to put it there."