Jeff Sherratt - The Brimstone Murders

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.