“Who did this to you?”
“Nobody in particular. Nobody likes a rat in prison.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Word got out I took a polygraph.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened.”
She looked at him with contempt. “I know what you’re doing, Mr. Wheatley. Very clever plan. You have me sit for a polygraph, then have a guard or someone leak it to the other inmates. That’s a sure-fire way of putting pressure on me to cooperate. Now I have two options. Take a beating every day for being a rat. Or I can talk to you and hope the FBI will at least transfer me to another prison.”
“That’s not at all what happened.”
She shook her head, clearly unconvinced. “You cost me big-time. I had some respect in this place. When I got busted, I could have shaved five years off my sentence if I just ratted out my partners. I wouldn’t do it. I took the rap myself. That’s a badge of honor inside here. Now I’ve lost it.”
“I swear to you. We took every precaution to keep this quiet. We didn’t leak a thing.”
“Right,” she scoffed, glaring through the glass. “Good luck finding your wife now, asshole.” She slammed down the phone and turned away.
Gus wanted to call out but couldn’t. He felt numb, helpless, as she crossed the room and disappeared behind the door.
Forty-four
Andie arrived at the Eagle Trace Motel in Yakima just before eight o’clock on Tuesday evening. She went straight to a room called the governor’s hall, which had nothing to do with the governor. It was just an impressive-sounding name for an unimpressive meeting room.
There was a slight backup at the door. A young woman was passing out pamphlets to each person as they entered. Andie was fifth in line. It moved quickly.
“Welcome,” said the woman. “Please sit anywhere you’d like.”
Andie took the pamphlet and went inside. It was an un-adorned room. No artwork on the walls. Basic beige carpeting. She counted twenty rows of folding chairs, ten on each side with an aisle down the center. About half the seats were filled with adults of all ages, about an equal number of men and women. Some were dressed as Andie was, as though they didn’t have much in life. Others wore the kind of clothes Andie might wear in real life. Some had come as couples, but it seemed most had come alone. Very few were talking to each other. Most had left an empty seat between them and the nearest person.
Andie sat on the far right side on the very end about halfway toward the front. An old man was seated to her left. He looked straight ahead at the podium, though no one was there. Andie removed her coat, folded it in her lap, and read the pamphlet the girl had given her at the door. It was simply a reprint of the flyer that had been tacked to the pole outside Mrs. Rankin’s store.
In bold letters it read, “Tap the untapped energy within and around you.” That sounded innocuous enough. It went on: “If you have ever entertained the idea that humans can indeed acquire the kind of energy that is necessary to transition to a level beyond human, you will want to attend this gathering.”
Any doubt as to the true purpose of the meeting was eliminated by the fine print: “This is not a religious or philosophical organization recruiting membership.”
Right. And the Congress was not controlled by special interests.
Straight up at eight o’clock, the doors closed. The lights dimmed. The crowd fell silent. From the back of the room, a beam of light blazed over the audience and illuminated the podium. It cast a faint circle of light at first, but it grew stronger as the ambient lighting continued to dim. It was like watching the moon rise, a white ball of light rising over the podium, shining brilliantly against the reflective backdrop. In a matter of moments the audience was shrouded in total darkness. The white globe around the podium was the only light.
Without warning, the spotlight went out. The room was black. Just as suddenly the light returned. It cut like a laser through the darkness and shined on the man who had almost magically appeared behind the podium. He stood with arms outstretched and his head tilted back, his eyes to the ceiling. He brought the microphone to his mouth and shouted in a deep, resounding voice, “I am the god of hell fire, and I bring you…fire!”
Music erupted from the large speakers in the back. It was the 1968 rock ’n’ roll smash by the Crazy World of Arthur Brown, with its shrill organ music and swift beat. He sang of fire and burning in a voice that sounded almost demonic. The man at the podium moved not an inch, frozen in the light. The music pounded for another ten seconds and was building to a crescendo. Then it ended abruptly with the sound of a phonograph needle scratching on vinyl.
The lights came on. The music was gone. The room was back to normal. The bemused man at the podium stood with his hands at his sides. A handsome man, not much older than Andie.
“I am the god of hell fire?” he asked incredulously. A smile crept to his lips. “I don’t think so.”
A few members of the audience chuckled uneasily.
“Had you all going there for a moment, though, didn’t I?” He approached an elderly couple in the front row and said playfully, “Come on, admit it. I saw you kind of lean into your wife and mutter between your teeth: ‘Get your purse, Ethyl, the man’s a lunatic.’”
The old man laughed. Others laughed with him.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Bob.”
He shook his hand. “Good to meet you, Bob. My name’s Steven Blechman.” He smiled and returned to the podium. “And I am not a god. And this meeting is not about hell fire. In fact, it has absolutely nothing to do with what I am. It’s about you and the direction of your life.” He let the words hang for effect, then added, “And there is nothing more important than that.”
Andie watched carefully, listened to his every word. He was a curious blend of television evangelist and stand-up comedian. Riveting. Captivating.
“I’m curious. Does anyone here believe there is energy in the universe?”
A few people answered, “Yes.”
“Come on. All of you believe that. The stars shine. The planets rotate. Comets soar. There is energy.”
Many people nodded.
“Congratulations,” he said, smiling. “You’ve all passed physics for idiots one-oh-one. But now answer this question for me. Privately. Honestly. As honest as you can be with yourself.” He paused and leaned forward, as if putting the question to each member of the audience individually. “Do you feel connected to that energy?”
The audience was silent. He had them thinking. He waited nearly half a minute, then said, “Perhaps some of you think you are. But do you feel so connected that if you left this earth today, it would carry you to the next level? The level beyond human?”
He waited again. The silence was palpable.
“I see some doubtful faces.” He smiled again at the old couple up front. “Look at Bob, everyone. He’s got that look on his face again. ‘Ethyl, get your coat. The guy’s off his rocker.’”
Blechman smiled. Others smiled with him. Then he turned serious. “But am I? In this universe, how does something get from one place to another? How does one thing become another?”
The question lingered. “Energy, right? All living things have energy. In casual conversation, you’ve heard people say they can feel your vibes. Or they might say, he or she is giving me bad vibes. The Beach Boys even wrote a song about it. Well, there’s something to that, folks. Each one of us is constantly vibrating with energy. We vibrate at different levels, depending on how connected we are to the source of that energy. A proper connection to the source, ladies and gentlemen, is vital to our ability to transcend our humanness, to move up to the next level.”
He returned to the podium and sipped water from a glass. To Andie, even his drinking seemed calculated, designed to make the audience thirst for his next word.
“Many things can break our connection with the source. Temptation. Greed. All of the worldly possessions that delude u
s into thinking that being human is the ultimate form of existence. That self-absorbed outlook is what keeps us vibrating at a human level, a lower level of energy.”
A few people lowered their eyes, seemingly embarrassed, as if he had touched a nerve. He softened his tone. He was no longer judgmental.
“But perhaps the most important point for you to understand is that you don’t have to be a bad person to be disconnected from the source. Strangely enough, the most kind and giving people are often the most disconnected. Why? Because the most dangerous break between humans and the source is caused by people we allow to rule our lives, dictate our emotions, and literally suck the energy right out of us. People who profess to love us but are only parasites.”
All eyes followed as he walked from one end of the room to the other, then back to the podium. “So, I return to my original question. Are you so connected to the source of energy in this vast universe that if you left this earth today you would transcend to the next level, the level beyond human?” He looked again toward the audience, locking eyes with each member. “I can tell you this. If you cling to the things that define you as a human. If you pander to others who enslave you as human. If there is anything or anyone on this planet you could not bear to leave behind. Then you are not so connected.”
He was looking right at Andie, or so it seemed. She forced herself not to flinch and was glad he moved on to someone more enthralled.
“What does all this mean?” he asked in a voice that was hushed for effect. “It means you must prepare yourself for the long and difficult road ahead. The good news, folks, is that each and every one of you has the power to succeed. Just go back to the source. You can do it. I know you can.”
He smiled warmly, not overdoing it. “Now I’d like you to meet some friends of mine. Two people who, not long ago, were sitting in the audience like you are tonight. Two people whose lives have been transformed. They can help you understand what this journey is all about. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Tom and Felicia.”
The audience applauded. Andie applauded, then froze. Felicia was the woman who had been kicked out of the thrift store.
They looked like two very normal people. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt; she wore slacks and a sweater. They weren’t great public speakers, but they talked intelligently, honestly. The man spoke first, then Felicia. She was particularly interesting. Earlier, Andie had been right on the money when she’d guessed the woman was out of place in a thrift store. It was no surprise she walked with polish. Felicia was a college graduate. She had run her own travel agency for nine years. She had been married to an architect who lived in Seattle. She hadn’t been unhappy. Just disconnected. She gave it all up for one simple reason.
“Steve Blechman changed my life.”
“No, no,” said Blechman. “You changed your life.”
“Right,” she said, as if he were always right. “I did it.”
Blechman thanked his friends and opened the floor to questions from the audience, which took another twenty minutes. Most people asked legitimate questions. A few were cynics who just wanted to rattle him. Friend or foe, Blechman treated each of them with respect. His message never wavered. He never lost his cool. It was impressive. The man could talk.
Felicia explained his gift. “He’s better connected to the source than you or I.”
Blechman smiled modestly and laughed it off. He checked his watch. Their hour was up. He returned to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope this has been more than just a form of entertainment for you. For me, Tom, Felicia, and many, many others, it is a lifelong cause. As we’ve stated all along, we do not recruit members. We leave it up to each of you to decide for yourself whether you want to take that big first step. If anyone is interested, we are having a retreat this weekend. We leave Friday night and return Sunday. It’s not a pleasure trip. There are some cabins in the mountains. It’s cold, but there are wood-burning stoves and plenty of blankets. There’s no fast food, only what nature provides. It’s about getting back to the source. The purpose isn’t for you to learn more about us. It’s a chance to learn more about yourself. We’d love to see you there. Thank you all for coming.”
Blechman left the room to a warm but not overwhelming ovation. A few people didn’t applaud at all. They headed straight for the exits, shaking their heads. Others were more intrigued. They milled about the exit, taking more pamphlets and asking questions of the girl at the door. She had a sign-up list for people who wanted to receive additional information in the mail. Several people signed. She also had videotapes for sale, for those who wanted to relive the studio version of tonight’s experience or share it with their friends. Andie bought one, then followed the dozen or so others who drifted toward the front of the room. Tom and Felicia were answering questions. Tom had a clipboard with a sign-up list for the retreat.
Andie made her way toward Felicia, who was talking to a college-age man, telling him what to pack for the weekend and what to expect. Andie waited behind him. When they finished, Andie moved up. Felicia immediately recognized her.
“Hello. You work at Second Chance, don’t you?”
Andie smiled shyly. “Yeah. Sorry about what happened.”
“That’s okay. Mrs. Rankin doesn’t think much of our group.”
“I’m afraid Mrs. Rankin doesn’t think much of anyone.”
They shared a laugh. Felicia asked, “What’s your name?”
“Kira.”
“Well, Kira, are you going to join us this weekend?”
She wanted to appear indecisive, unsure of herself. The kind of person they’d prey upon. “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug.
“Come on. I think you’d be perfect.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so.”
Andie blinked demurely. “Will Steve be there?”
Felicia smirked. Another smitten young woman. “Of course.”
“Well, what the heck? What do I got to lose?”
“Atta girl. Just check in with Tom. He’s got the sign-up list and all the info.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you Friday.”
Andie drifted toward Tom. He was talking to the old couple Blechman had teased during his presentation. The wife was lukewarm, but the husband was excited and ready to sign up. Andie, too, was excited, though she tried not to show it. She had a sixth sense about Blechman and his teachings. Beth Wheatley’s disappearance was taking on a whole new face. She couldn’t wait for Friday.
Just remember your name is Kira.
Forty-five
Gus met his investigator for an early Wednesday breakfast. Dex picked Café René again, his favorite. It was starting to grow on Gus, too. There was something endearing about a place so unpretentious that it printed its dubious review from Seattle Weekly right on the menu: “The food and service are equally bad, but at least the atmosphere’s lousy.”
Dex gorged himself on a thick slice of Canadian bacon and a mountain of scrambled eggs smothered in ketchup. Gus nibbled on a side order of toast as they hashed out Shirley Borge.
“First thing,” said Dex with his mouth full. “You gotta decide just how important Shirley really is.”
“There’s only one way to read that polygraph. She may not know for certain where Beth is. But she either knows some people or knows something about Beth that gives her a pretty good idea what happened to her.”
“Maybe she’ll cool off in a day or so and talk to you.”
“I don’t think so.”
Dex added even more ketchup. “You could play hard-ball. Get the FBI to put some pressure on her till she comes back and talks to you. Solitary confinement. Move her to a cell with a backed-up toilet. One thing about life in prison. It can always get worse.”
“Those kind of games might just push her further away.”
“Or maybe she’ll just cough up what she knows.”
“Or she’ll be
even more ticked off and Beth will get killed.”
Dex gulped down half his glass of orange juice. His eyes bulged as the stomach erupted in scrambled-egg revolt, but he managed to keep it silent. “You got two choices. You either gotta go through Shirley Borge or around her.”
It sounded like mindless jock talk. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Shirley has information you want. You’re telling me you can’t beg it, force it, or buy it out of her. So go around her. Find someone else. Someone who knows her secrets.”
“Like who?”
Dex shrugged. “The usual suspects. Friends. Lovers.”
“That’s a list I don’t have.”
“Don’t need the whole list. Just one person she might have confided in somewhere along the line.”
Gus sipped his coffee, thinking. Then his eyes brightened.
Dex smiled thinly. “You got one already?”
Gus lowered his cup, then answered, “I think maybe I do.”
Sympathy got Gus an immediate meeting with Kirby Toombs. Rarely did he make himself available on a moment’s notice, but he made an exception for a fellow member of the bar whose wife was missing.
Kirby had read about Gus’s plight in the newspapers. Though he had seen the reward advertised, he was completely unaware that Shirley Borge had responded to it. After Gus explained his predicament on the phone, Kirby couldn’t blame him for wanting to talk to the lawyer who had represented her.
Kirby had been a rookie public defender at the time of Shirley’s trial. Many talented lawyers had come out of the P.D.’s office, but Kirby wasn’t one of them. He’d been fired four months ago, couldn’t find a job, and was now in the process of setting up a solo criminal defense practice. From the looks of things, he had a long way to go. His office was near the state courthouse in a decaying brick building that looked ready for the wrecking ball. Gus knew it well, since one of his clients owned it and was waiting on a historic designation that would make renovation worthwhile. About half the building was vacant. The rest was filled with questionable tenants, many of whom weren’t even paying rent. The sign outside Kirby’s door read VENTURA ENTERPRISES, the name of a former tenant, probably not even the most recent former tenant. Gus rang the buzzer outside the door. It didn’t buzz. He tapped on the glass. Kirby answered from behind the closed door.
Under Cover of Darkness Page 26