Andrew Gross - Eyes Wide Open

“And how long is a while,” Sherwood asked, “if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Years. Who even remembers? I can’t even remember the last time I saw the sun, detective, never mind heard from that bitch. She wrote me a few years back. She told me she had moved away from what she had done. They stuffed her full of Xanax and mood stabilizers and they took the life right out of her. She did what she had to do. In my world here, the sun is the moon and the moon the sun. Everything meets, just not necessarily in the way you think.

“So what are you saying?” Houvnanian lit up, bright-eyed. “Ol’ Russ’s time has come again. Watch! I’ve barely stepped outside in the past thirty-seven years. Would probably blind me if I did. And you’re saying, what? I’m plotting my revenge? It’s end of days time all over again! Look, my hair’s all gone. See any horns coming through? So here’s a news flash, gentlemen. Nothing’s changed. The devil, he’s never left. It’s still the same ol’ world I used to be in. So if God wants to accuse me, or any of us, for what we did back then-bring it on! Or if he wants to forgive us-that’s fine with me too, gentlemen.”

I leaned forward, unable to control myself any longer. “You knew my brother.”

He didn’t flinch. He just looked at me, a sparkle in his dark eyes.

I said, “He sang and played the guitar. You once tried to raise money for a record he was trying to make. Do you remember him, Mr. Houvnanian? His name was Charlie Erlich.”

“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie…, ” the killer replied, singsong. “Sorry, all the Charlies seem to merge into one… I’m sorry, doc. I really am.”

“He lived on the ranch with you. Maybe not when everything was happening. But I know you know him. You want to know why I’m here, Mr. Houvnanian? I’m here because I know that what happened to my nephew was aimed directly at my brother. His son was a troubled, innocent kid who never really did much wrong in life, except, maybe, being his father’s son. I know he went up to the spot where he jumped with someone else- a woman, whom I’m pretty sure was Susan Pollack. Why? What did my brother do to you?”

“The wind and the rain, the wind and the rain…,” Houvnanian started repeating again.

My chest tightened.

“I keep telling you, the wind split the rock, but you’ve still not answered my question, doc. If God wasn’t in the wind, then where was he? Do you think”-his eyes bore into me-“maybe here?”

I threw the photos aside and hurled myself across the table, his mocking smirk digging into me like a jagged knife. The guards went to restrain me. Sherwood latched on to my arm. He pulled me back in the chair. I put up my palms, as if to say, Okay, I know, I know… My pulse raced like an engine revved above the red zone.

I said, “ I know it’s you! ” my gaze direct and accusing. “I know you killed Evan.”

My heart rate accelerated again. I felt angry and out of control. And useless. He wasn’t giving us anything. He was enjoying it.

I sat back down.

Houvnanian’s surprised expression inched into a wiry grin, clearly having a ball. He winked, as if to say, Gotcha! then turned and nodded back to one of the guards, putting up his wrists, indicating that we were done now.

“I wish I could help you, doctor, I really do. But it’s been mighty fine visiting with you and hearing about old times.”

One of the guards stepped over and helped Houvnanian out of the chair. Sherwood and I stood. My heart was still racing and my blood was still hot. I knew when I walked out of this room I would still have nothing. It would be over. The bastard was simply toying with us, still pulling all the strings. I balled my fists and looked at Sherwood, who looked back at me, almost apologetically, sweeping up the photos into the file.

“So how’d that music career go anyway?” Houvnanian asked suddenly when he got to the door.

His gaze was trained directly at me, his eyes wolflike now, shiny like black lacquer. Now they had that same dark glow of malice I had seen in the photos a hundred times.

“Your brother?” He winked. “He ever hit the charts?”

He knew.

I knew he knew.

He gave me a last look and a final, mocking smile. Then the guards removed him through another door, his chains jangling like scornful laughter, following me out.

W arden Hutchins walked us back to his office.

I was so wired and frustrated at having to listen to that lunatic’s ramblings it was almost ripping me apart. I was certain he knew who Charlie was. And even more certain he was connected to Evan’s death.

I also knew I might’ve lost my final chance to prove it.

“I’m sorry that you had to come all the way up here,” the warden said. “I’ll notify the copter you’re ready to leave. Like I said, the man’s not a complete package anymore.”

“Bob, you said before you monitor his outside contacts?” Sherwood asked.

Hutchins nodded. “Part of life in the SHUs… All calls in and out must be cleared and everyone’s mail is sorted through and documented as to content and source.”

“Going back how far?”

“How far do you need? Houvnanian still gets his share of activity. There’s a million wackos, racists, and copycat killers out there who still regard him as some kind of god. That’s why we keep a close eye on him.”

I suddenly saw where Sherwood was heading. Maybe sort of a last-ditch fling, on fourth and a hundred. But we were in Hail Mary time now. He pulled up a seat across from Hutchins’s desk. “Could you tell me if he’s received any mail from the California Institution for Women in Frontera?”

Hutchins squinted.

Frontera was where Susan Pollack had been for the past thirty-five years.

“Guess I could.” The warden shrugged. “But I would also need a court order to share it with you. We keep it for security reasons only. The information is strictly confidential.”

“Bob, please, we’re talking about the possibility of multiple homicides here. Homicides potentially masterminded from your own prison.”

“Look, I can pretty well assure you nothing suspicious has taken place,” the warden said, leaning back, “or we would have picked it up. We’ve got gang leaders and organized crime bosses who try to continue to run their operations while in here…”

“Bob, ” Sherwood pleaded, “do this one favor for me. Just take a look. You don’t have to share what’s in it-or even reply. Just let me know if there’s been any correspondence from there. Even just a nod. I’ll take it from there.”

At first the warden looked back at Sherwood with disapproval; he was clearly a person who played things by the book. Then he gradually seemed to soften to an idea he really didn’t like. He sat for a moment, rubbing his finger against his cheek. I was sure he was just looking for some way to frame his refusal.

Sherwood pressed. “Just a look, Bob, please…”

Finally Hutchins blew out a blast of air, then picked up the intercom and waited until his secretary came on. He glanced down at a piece of paper. “Nancy, can you bring me Inmate B-30967’s Outside Communication file?”

My heart rose.

It took a minute or two for his secretary to bring it in. It was a thick accordion-style folder bound by a string. Houvnanian’s name and inmate number were plainly written on it in marker. Hutchins dropped the bulky folder on his desk. “I told you, it’s substantial… And this is only the past year.” He started to look through the photocopies of letters and monitoring forms, starting with the most recent. There appeared to be a master sheet of some kind. “What did you say, the women’s facility at Frontera…?”