Fugitive: A Novel

by Phillip Margolin

  “Come in,” Pope ordered from his seat behind his desk. Tony had taken a few steps into the room when he heard the door close behind him. He started to turn but his feet tangled in the drop cloth that Barclay had spread over the floor at Pope’s request. Tony looked down and realized that every square inch of the beautiful hardwood flooring was covered.

  “You killed my boy,” Pope said.

  Rose’s head jerked up. “No, Mr. Pope. You can’t believe what that lawyer said. She was just trying to prejudice the judge. That was nonsense. Why would I hurt Junior?”

  “As soon as she said it I knew it was the truth. I sent those photographs to Junior so he’d show some spine and get rid of that bitch, but she couldn’t have planned to kill Arnie, because she didn’t know he was coming to the Westmont. And my investigators told me that Marsh is a coward. But the gun was found where he was standing and he’d been fighting with Junior and he ran away. All these years I was certain that Marsh killed Arnie. Now I know I was wrong.”

  “It wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t me.”

  “Were you in the crowd like Jaffe said?”

  “That’s true.”

  “Then why did you lie to Jaffe’s investigator and say you were at your car?”

  Rose broke out in a sweat. “I didn’t want her to know I was anywhere near Arnie.”

  “Did you think you were the only witness Jaffe would have interviewed? Didn’t it dawn on you that someone else could have seen you?”

  “I was under a lot of stress when Jaffe’s investigator talked to me. That was the day before Marsh returned to Oregon. I was thinking about the best way to take care of him, just like you wanted. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “Is that your excuse for shooting my boy?”

  “I didn’t. I saw Epps fighting and I saw him kick that guard. If he had that gun it must have dropped out earlier, because I never saw a gun come out of his waistband and I never saw a gun on the ground near where Epps was fighting. You have to believe me.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Pope said. “And even if I did, you’re the only person who can link me to Sally’s murder and the attempts on Marsh.”

  Suddenly, Tony realized that the drop cloth was covering the floor so his blood wouldn’t stain Pope’s precious hardwood. That flash of insight occurred simultaneously with the flash from the muzzle of the gun Derrick Barclay had aimed at his brain while Senior was distracting him.

  “Get rid of his car and get this garbage out of my sight, Derrick,” Pope said without a trace of emotion.

  DERRICK BARCLAY WAS much stronger than he looked but it was still a strain to drag the drop cloth–wrapped corpse through the house and out the back door where an old Cadillac was waiting. He was sweating profusely by the time Rose was loaded into the trunk and he took several deep breaths before getting into the driver’s seat.

  A timber baron had a terrific advantage in a situation like this. Pope owned vast acres of forest land where a corpse could be buried with little chance of discovery. There had been other occasions when Barclay had disposed of unwanted items like Tony Rose, and he had found a lovely spot in the middle of an old-growth forest for the dearly departed. If there was life after death, Barclay hoped that Mr. Pope’s victims appreciated his choice of a final resting place.

  As soon as he had taken care of Rose, Barclay planned to use the dead man’s credit card to buy a one-way ticket to Germany. Then he would leave Rose’s car in the long-term parking lot at the Portland airport and take public transportation into town. With luck, the police would think that Rose had panicked and fled the country.

  Two hours after leaving Washington County, Barclay turned off a two-lane state highway onto a dirt logging road that had not been used for many years. Twenty minutes later, he stopped the car near a narrow trail that would be invisible to someone who didn’t know it existed. Barclay walked around to the trunk. He flexed his knees, took hold of the body through the drop cloth, and hauled Rose out of the car. Then he hoisted the corpse over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, grabbed the shovel he’d leaned against the side of the car, and tramped into the woods.

  Barclay had walked a short way when he heard a rustling in the underbrush. Rose’s dead weight hurt his shoulders and legs but he paused to listen for any indication that someone was stalking him. When he didn’t hear anything, he decided an animal had caused the sound. Shortly before he reached his destination, Barclay thought he heard a twig snap. Was someone following him? No, that was impossible. He would have seen a car on the sparsely traveled country roads. His shoulders ached and he hurried the rest of the way so he could unload his burden. As soon as the body was on the ground, he flexed his back and shoulders. Then he paused to listen again, still spooked by the sounds he thought he’d heard. Except for the wind and the leaves it rustled, all was quiet.

  Digging a grave was hard work and it required focus. That’s why Barclay didn’t hear Quentin Randolph and his partner, Nathan Rask, until they were almost on him. The sheriff’s deputies were responding to a 911 call relayed to them by their dispatcher. The caller had a funny accent but he had given very specific directions to a site where he claimed a man was burying a body. Quentin thought the report might be a prank, but it was a quiet evening and checking out the call gave him something to do.

  CHAPTER 47

  Wanda Simmons, the acting district attorney for Washington County, was a severe-looking career prosecutor with frizzy red hair and a perpetually harried expression. Simmons, who had no life away from her cases, always wore identical rumpled navy blue skirts and jackets over identical wrinkled white blouses. Amanda suspected that Simmons put up with the time it took to get dressed only because she wouldn’t be allowed in court if she was naked.

  “Who wants to tell me why we’re having this secret meeting?” Marshall Berkowitz asked as he looked back and forth between Simmons and Amanda.

  “I’m going to dismiss the case against Mr. Marsh,” the DA told the judge. “Neither party wanted a media circus.”

  Berkowitz raised his eyebrows in surprise as Amanda nodded her assent. Charlie Marsh, whom Amanda had ordered to speak only when she told him to, sat quietly at his lawyer’s side.

  “Care to tell me why you’re dismissing?” the judge asked.

  “You know that Derrick Barclay, Arnold Pope Sr.’s assistant, was arrested while he was burying Tony Rose on forest land owned by one of Pope’s companies.”

  The judge nodded. The arrest of Arnold Pope and Derrick Barclay was the talk of the county.

  “Barclay has been cooperating since his arrest and he’s told us a lot we didn’t know about Senior’s involvement in this case. Twelve years ago, Senior pressured Karl to prosecute Mr. Marsh and his daughter-in-law. Karl had no intention of charging Mrs. Pope until Senior turned the screws. Barclay also says that Pope wanted Rose murdered because he believed that Rose killed his son.

  “I’ve had a chance to study our evidence and I see a number of serious problems with the case. I had no idea how weak it was until I went through the file after Karl was murdered. Our biggest problem is that Werner Rollins has retracted his statement that he saw Mr. Marsh shoot Congressman Pope. Rollins was the only witness who put the murder weapon in Mr. Marsh’s hand. Rollins tells us that he said he saw Mr. Marsh shoot the congressman because Karl threatened to prosecute him for the assault on the security guard if he didn’t. Without Rollins’s testimony, we don’t have a case. Any number of people, including Tony Rose, could have shot the congressman. Now that Rose is dead we’ll never know if he’s guilty, but he’s now as viable a suspect as Mr. Marsh and several other people who were standing near Mr. Marsh when the fatal shot was fired.

  “Then there’s the problem of the note and the photographs. Twelve years ago, when Sally Pope was prosecuted, it was the state’s theory that Mrs. Pope and Mr. Marsh lured the congressman to the Westmont by sending him several scandalous photographs showing the two of them in situations that suggested that they were lover
s, and an anonymous note saying that Mr. Marsh and the congressman’s wife would be at the Westmont for one of Mr. Marsh’s seminars. Frank Jaffe developed proof that Senior was behind the photographs and the anonymous note that lured Junior to the Westmont.”

  “I never knew that,” Judge Berkowitz said.

  “It’s not public knowledge. In fact, the evidence and the transcript of the hearing where the information was revealed were sealed. Amanda told me about the evidence soon after I was given Mr. Marsh’s case.

  “I’ve given this matter a lot of thought and I’ve decided that I would have a reasonable doubt about Mr. Marsh’s guilt if I was on his jury. I can’t go forward in good conscience feeling that way.”

  “AM I FREE?” Charlie asked as soon as he and Amanda were alone in her car.

  “It’s over, Charlie. Of course, there’s no statute of limitations on a murder charge. Theoretically you could be indicted again if new evidence implicating you turned up. But I doubt that will ever happen, since we both know what really took place at the Westmont.”

  “What’s going to happen now?” Charlie asked.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Brice’s corporate jet will fly you and Levy to New York so you can work on the book.”

  “Levy is going to be pissed when he hears the case is over,” Charlie said with a smile. “He was counting on my trial and dramatic acquittal for the last chapter.”

  CHARLIE’S EUPHORIA LASTED as long as it took for Nathan Tuazama to slip into the elevator when it arrived in the hotel lobby.

  “Good evening, Charlie,” Tuazama said as the steel doors sealed Marsh in with the assassin.

  Charlie’s heart rocketed into his throat. He had been so distracted by the day’s events that he’d forgotten the Batangan. With Tuazama a knife blade away, Charlie was too frightened to speak. Tuazama sensed his terror and smiled as he pressed a button that stopped the car between floors.

  “Did you think I’d forgotten you?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want the diamonds. You will give them to me now.”

  “Why should I?” Charlie asked with unconvincing bravado.

  “If you choose to keep them, Charlie, I will kill you. I assume that argument is very convincing. I will call you tomorrow to tell you where to bring the stones.”

  Tuazama started the car again. The door opened on the floor below Charlie’s.

  “Wait,” Charlie said.

  “The time for waiting is over,” Tuazama said as the doors closed and he disappeared from view.

  Charlie was shaking when he locked the door to his room. As soon as he settled down, he called Amanda and asked her to bring the diamonds to her office in the morning. She asked no questions, assuming that Charlie wanted to have the stones with him in New York and she was perfectly happy to have them out of her possession.

  As soon as Charlie hung up on Amanda, he made a second call.

  CHAPTER 48

  Amanda handed over the diamonds an hour after Tuazama called Charlie with instructions. As soon as he had them, Charlie returned to his hotel and waited for midnight.

  Washington Park, 130 acres of forest featuring attractions like the Oregon Zoo and the Japanese and Rose Gardens, overlooks downtown Portland from the West Hills. During the day, it is a feast of colors and a place for thousands of visitors to play. At night, it is deserted: a place for drugs to be dealt, lovers to meet, and the occasional act of violence. At midnight, it is no place for a law-abiding citizen but it is a perfect place to transfer diamonds worth several million dollars to a trained assassin without being seen.

  Charlie had no idea where Tuazama was lurking when he parked his car in the deserted lot near the Rose Garden and walked along a shadow-shrouded path to the amphitheater, but he was certain that the Batangan was close enough to protect his property from the predators who roamed the park at night.

  During the summer, concerts and plays were performed in a meadow surrounded by trees and shrubbery. Tonight, the only light illuminating the grassy field was from a half moon. Char lie stepped onto the platform that served as a stage, as he had been told to do. His heart was thudding in his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to control his breathing. When he opened them, Nathan Tuazama was standing a few steps away.

  “I brought them,” Charlie said, his voice shaking.

  “I knew you would,” Tuazama answered confidently as he started toward Charlie. He’d taken two steps when a man stepped out of the space between two trees. His first shot caught Tuazama in the chest. The Batangan stumbled backward and reached under his jacket for his gun. More shots hit him from behind as two other men materialized out of the shadows. The rebels had used silencers and the shots had been mere whispers in the night. Tuazama tumbled onto the grass and the three men surrounded him. Charlie joined them.

  “Hello, Nathan,” Pierre Girard said. Tuazama stared at him but didn’t reply. Blood trickled from his lips. “Do you recognize me? I’m Bernadette’s brother and I’m sorry I don’t have time to make you suffer the way Bernadette must have suffered.”

  Pierre turned to Charlie. “Would you like to finish him?” he asked.

  Charlie shook his head. Pierre turned back to Tuazama and shot him between the eyes. Charlie shuddered. He was relieved that Tuazama was dead but he didn’t feel any sense of satisfaction. Killing Tuazama hadn’t brought Bernadette to life.

  “Did you bring the diamonds?” Pierre asked.

  Charlie handed him the box.

  “Thank you,” Pierre said. “We will always be grateful to you for the risks you took for us.”

  “I’m the one who should be thanking you for saving my life here and at Sally Pope’s mansion,” Charlie said.

  “We had to protect you until you could bring us the diamonds. We need them to buy the weapons that will bring Baptiste down.”

  “Good luck in Batanga.”

  “Thank you, Charlie. We will escort you to your car, then we must go,” Pierre said. “I will always remember what you’ve done for us.”

  A lump formed in Charlie’s throat and tears filled his eyes. “I did this for your sister, Pierre. I did this for Bernadette.”

  EPILOGUE

  Moonbeam

  The din of the noisy crowd in the living room of Martha Brice’s penthouse dissipated when Amanda Jaffe shut the sliding door to the terrace behind her and Brice. It was a cool night in Manhattan and the threat of rain was keeping the guests inside. The party was in honor of the publication of Violent Homecoming. The reviews had been ecstatic and there was already a buzz about the book that cast it as the next In Cold Blood and Helter Skelter combined.

  Earlier in the evening, Amanda had spotted Dennis Levy putting the moves on a stunning fashion model who had recently graced the cover of a sister magazine of World News. The girl appeared to be listening to Levy with rapt attention but Amanda suspected that she was only pretending to find him interesting. Dennis had been interviewed on network shows and written up as the next great writer of his generation, which meant that he was officially rich and famous, but fame and fortune did not miraculously transform a jerk into a decent human being. None of that mattered, of course. Amanda was certain that Levy would be in bed with the model before the night was through. A gorgeous woman could ignore unfortunate personality traits if a celebrity had enough money.

  And maybe Dennis deserved to go to bed with a fashion model tonight, as his reward for doing the right thing. He had returned the photograph the morning after the custody hearing, even though Amanda could see that the decision had not been easy for the young reporter. But Levy’s virtue appeared to have been rewarded many times over and it was now Amanda’s turn to do a good deed.

  “What did you want to talk about that we couldn’t have discussed inside?” Martha Brice asked Amanda.

  “There are some things you need to see and I don’t think you’d appreciate my showing them to you if anyone else was around.”

  “Why don’t you
complete your show-and-tell so we can go back to the party? It’s chilly out here.”

  “Okay, Moonbeam.”

  Amanda expected a reaction and she wasn’t disappointed. The color drained from Brice’s face and she stared at Amanda for a moment before regaining her composure.

  “Moonbeam? Why did you call me that?”

  “Isn’t that the name you invented for yourself when you followed Charlie Marsh to Oregon from Yale?”

  Amanda took two photographs out of her purse. The first was the picture of Charlie’s entourage that had been snapped at the Dunthorpe seminar. As soon as Amanda handed it to Brice, the editor’s shoulders sagged.

  “I’m not crazy about the shaved head,” Amanda said.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “It was in Sally Pope’s case file. No one would have seen it if Charlie hadn’t come back to stand trial.”

  “I look so young,” Brice said as she stared at the picture.

  “How did it happen?”

  “How did what happen?” Brice asked cautiously.

  “To put your mind at ease, the authorities are half-convinced that Tony Rose shot Pope and I have no reason to change their mind. I can’t prove you killed the congressman, anyway, and I have no interest in telling my theory to the police now that Charlie’s case has been dismissed.”

  “What about Charlie?”

  “He’s going to keep his mouth shut, Delmar Epps is dead, and Werner Rollins didn’t see you. I don’t know what Gary Hass saw but no one would believe him, assuming that he even saw you shoot Pope. If he did, I doubt he’d ever make the connection between the hippie he saw in Oregon in the dark for a few minutes twelve years ago and the successful businesswoman who runs World News.”