Jeff Sherratt - The Brimstone Murders

Cathy and Tom Rogers of The Barstow Sun broke the story about Burt Krause, Barstow’s chief of police, who had been involved with Moran. Because of their inside knowledge, Krause had been arrested and held without bail on a laundry list of charges, starting with section 187, then conspiracy, and working its way down to… well, just pick a random page in the California Criminal Code and you’d find one or two of his crimes listed there.

J. Billy Bickerton was shocked. How could he have been duped by those ungodly apostates? He gave a rousing, fist-pounding sermon on his TV show damning the sin of greed. I liked the proverb he quoted: “Greedy eaters dig their graves with their teeth,” although I wasn’t sure how the quote related to Moran and his bunch. To me, the proverb seemed more suitable to a group of heavyweights meeting at their annual dieting convention.

To great fanfare, his network aired Professor Carmichael’s expose. It drew a rating of 23.6 on the Nielsen overnights, topping two highly acclaimed network shows, and because of the rating, Bickerton’s Holy Spirit Network was able to raise its advertising rates by 15 percent.

The big winner-if there was a winner-had to be Sol’s attorney friend, Morty Zuckerman. Sensing a buck to be made, he’d jumped in on behalf of the teens and filed a lawsuit against the Moran estate, requesting a motion for a summary judgment. Zuckerman’s complaint demanded that title to all the assets held by the late Mr. Moran and/or his corporations be immediately transferred to the kids in lieu of payment of back wages.

The judgment was instantly granted. What judge in his right mind would deny that? Zuckerman took his customary 40 percent, and with the balance helped the kids set up a Subchapter S corporation. An initial public stock offering was in the works.

One of my concerns had been put to rest when Sol invited Rita and me to join him the following week at the grand opening of a new restaurant. He said he was part-owner, and when he told me what he had done, I was flabbergasted. He’d bought the Bright Spot Cafe and turned it over to his partners in the venture: Maggie, the waitress who’d passed us the tip about Jane Simon, and Jane herself. I’d been worried sick that something had happened to her, but Sol was the kind of guy who took care of those who helped him. I was always proud to be his friend, but when I heard what he had done… well, let’s just say I was very proud. I laughed when he told me that Jane had suggested they change the name of the cafe to Steinbeck’s.

“So, what do you think, Rita? Want to be the firm’s first new partner?”

“I just don’t think I’m ready.”

“Don’t think you can cut it in criminal law, is that it? Want to be like Zuckerman, with his IPOs and GMOs, BSOs, and a belly that looks like it’s stuffed with Spaghetti Os? Is that what you want?”

Rita shrugged. “I guess not. I’m staying with the firm.” She paused and then said, “But, Jimmy, let’s just let it go. We’ll both know when the time is right.”

From across the crowded room Mabel’s voice rose above the clamor: “Rita, Jimmy. Look what I’ve got.”

Mabel, wearing a faux leopard coat and carrying a huge matching handbag, waved a piece of paper above her head as she rushed to our booth.

“Hey, Mabel, what’s up?” Rita slid closer to me. She patted the spot next to her. “Sit and have brunch with us.”

“Look at this,” Mabel said as she slipped into the booth. “A check from Zuckerman! Sol called, told me to come and pick it up. He forced Zuckerman to cut our firm in on the proceeds from the Moran lawsuit. Wow, look at the number with all those beautiful zeros!”

She passed the check around. I shook my head, said a silent prayer of thanks, and handed it back. Mabel tucked it in her purse.

Rita glanced at me and smiled. “Does this mean I can get some of my back pay?”

“Hey, we’ll all get our back pay and maybe a bonus. Mabel, the brunch is on the firm, and we’re going to order a gallon of the best champagne.”

“I have to leave in a minute,” Mabel said. “I’ve got a date. Gordy Payne invited me to join him for a bite. I’m meeting him here in a few. You know Gordy?”

“Sure, Mabel,” I said. “He’s a nice guy.” I didn’t mention that his wife thinks he’s a nice guy, too. Rita was upset with me, and that was enough. I didn’t need the whole firm glaring at me all next week.

Rita shook her head. “I don’t know him, Mabel,” she lied. “But have a good time.”

“Thanks, Rita,” she said as she reached into her purse and pulled out a large manila envelope. “Here, take this, Jimmy.” She slid the envelope across the table. “It’s yours. I’m tired of babysitting the damn thing.”

I opened it. Inside was a.38 revolver. I hooked the trigger guard with my finger and pulled it out.

“My God , Jimmy, what are you doing? Put that thing away,” Rita said.

My eyes swept the room. Nobody was looking. I started to tuck it back in the envelope, but something caught my eye.

“Mabel!” Rita said. “What’s going on? Is that Jimmy’s gun, the one I found behind the cabinet?”

“One and the same,” Mabel said. “The killer used it to shoot Hazel Farris and planted it there, but I didn’t toss it in the ocean or anything. Maybe I was dumb, but I just kept it. Now that the heat’s off, no sense me lugging it around anymore. Though I did feel comfortable having it handy. A girl with my looks can’t be too careful, ya know.”

I held the gun in my hand, and even in the dim restaurant light I could see where someone had filed off the serial numbers. Suddenly, it hit me.

Rita smiled at Mabel’s remark. Then she turned and glanced at me. “Hey, Jimmy what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

It felt like I’d seen a ghost-or worse. “This is not my gun,” I said.

I jumped up and immediatelydrove out to Chatsworth. When I saw that the gun had no serial numbers, I knew it wasn’t mine. I mean, if someone was trying to frame me with my own gun they wouldn’t file off the numbers, would they?

Being Sunday, I figured the parking lot in front of the White Front Church, Snavley’s Divine Christ Ministry, would be jammed, but when I swung off Winnetka Boulevard into the lot there wasn’t a car in sight.

I didn’t know what to make of it. Had the church gone out of business? Had he just closed up shop? Money couldn’t have been a problem. The TV show that aired on Bickerton’s network featuring the J.C. Down and Funky Dancers or whatever they were called must have raked in a ton. It’s funny, I didn’t exactly remember the group’s name, but I remember vividly Snavley handing each girl a white lily. He remarked that the flower is a symbol of virgin purity.

At that moment, it came to me. I knew why the church was closed. No, it wasn’t something as simple as a lack of cash that shut down the church.

I parked the Corvette close to the front, climbed out and tried the double-wide doors: locked. But taped on the wall next to them was a hand-lettered notice written on binder paper: No Services Today .

I made my way around to the back of the white concrete structure and saw a small sedan parked next to a doorway at the end of the building. I recognized the car. It was Snavley’s, the same car I’d seen when I went out to the college that night looking for Bickerton and bumped into him instead.

The door wasn’t locked, saving me from breaking in-and I would have done just that. I entered the auditorium and moved quickly but quietly to Snavley’s office.

When I got to the office door, I heard Snavley’s muffled voice filtering through the wall. I stopped and listened. Was someone in there with him? That could be trouble.