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 Bickerton 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.