The Scientology Murders

by William Heffernan

  “Yes, I know,” Lucy said. She lowered her eyes.

  “Why then did you go there?”

  “He ask me to come. He said we need to talk about the problems we have. So I go. What could I do? I’m his mother. I have no choice.”

  “When did he ask you to do this?”

  “The day before I went there or maybe two days, I’m not sure. I had to get the day off from work.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I work in the laundry at a hotel on the beach.”

  “A hotel on Clearwater Beach—you work in their laundry room?” Wells asked.

  “Yes. I work five days every week.”

  “And you were given the day off on the day you went to the marina?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened when you got to the marina?”

  “I followed a man through a special gate they have there and I went to slip number fifty-five, where my son told me he keeps his boat.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “But I don’t see him.”

  “Did a woman ask you who you were looking for?”

  “Yes, a nice young lady, she ask me that, but before I can answer Harry runs up to me and grabs me and puts handcuffs on me.”

  “Did you have a knife in your hand at that time?”

  “No.”

  “Did you bring a knife to the marina that day?”

  “No.”

  “I have no further questions, Your Honor,” Wells said.

  Peters rose to his feet. “Ms. Santos, is it possible you had a knife in your purse?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever carried a knife in your purse?”

  Lucy Santos looked confused, uncertain how to answer. She stared at Wells; he raised a hand to his chin.

  “No, I never had a knife in my purse.”

  “When Mr. Wells touches his chin, is that a signal to you to answer no to the question you’ve been asked?”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Wells thundered as he jumped to his feet.

  “I withdraw the question, Your Honor,” Peters said. “No further questions at this time.”

  * * *

  When Harry left the courthouse he felt bruised and battered by Wells’s summation. He had been painted as a man who would do anything to have his mother sent back to prison. The judge had not made any immediate ruling, but he had also left Lucy Santos free on bail. Jeremy Peters said it was a clear signal that Jordan Wells would likely prevail and that charges against his mother would be dismissed.

  “Come up with another witness who saw the knife and I’ll try to reopen the case,” Peters had said.

  Fat chance, Harry thought. Regis Walsh and his minions had cleaned his clock. He’d be lucky not to be accused of perjury.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A party was held in Regis Walsh’s office to celebrate what he considered a major victory. Wells had assured him that charges would be dropped against Lucy Santos and that he planned to press the sheriff’s office to proceed with an internal affairs investigation into Harry Doyle’s actions.

  “I don’t think the sheriff will have any choice once the judge rules in our favor. Our lovely Ms. Avery’s testimony alone is very damning evidence that Detective Doyle misused the powers of his office.”

  “I wish we weren’t taking that route,” Meg said. “Harry Doyle’s a good cop and a decent guy. We beat him and I understood the need for that. Do we have to destroy his career as well?”

  “Detective Doyle is an enemy of my church, a dangerous enemy, an enemy who must be stopped,” Walsh replied bluntly.

  “But you have stopped him,” Meg said.

  Walsh pointed to the food and drinks set out on the conference table of his office, then turned to Ken Oppenheimer. “Please, Ken, make sure everyone has enough food and drink. This is a celebration, after all.” He took Meg’s elbow gently in one hand and led her away from the others. “I have a bonus check for you, to express our appreciation of a job well done. I have one more assignment for you and then your work for us will be finished.”

  “What is the assignment?” Meg asked.

  “I want you to take Mr. Rolf under your wing for one more night. Then I want you to escort him to the private air terminal at Tampa Airport where he will catch a flight to Miami aboard a private jet. Once in Miami he’ll board a commercial flight to Alaska.” Walsh patted the breast pocket of his suit coat. “I have his tickets and some cash here. It will keep him comfortable for quite some time. And so it will be goodbye to Tony Rolf until the world forgets his past transgressions.” He laughed heartily. “Then, my dear, Tony will get a new name and a new location and he’ll be back in the fold.”

  “And what will you do to find a replacement for him here?”

  “My dear girl, certainly you know that Tony Rolfs exist by the dozens. You only have to find one who you have a reasonable chance of controlling.”

  “At court today Harry Doyle warned me that Rolf has killed another woman. That’s four now, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid the police are going to try to hang every murdered woman around Tony Rolf’s neck. It makes life easier for them. Thank God for serial killers.”

  “Thank God he’ll be gone.”

  “Will it make you sleep better at night, Meg? Even though you know there are others waiting to take his place?”

  “Yes, it will, Regis,” she said, making no effort to take the edge off her voice. “And please don’t ask me to deal with your next monster.”

  Meg took the envelope holding the tickets and the cash for Rolf and used her cell to call him. “Tony, I want you to pack for a long journey. I’ll pick you up at eight. You’ll be staying at my condo tonight and leaving for the airport early tomorrow.” She listened, closed her eyes in exasperation, and then continued: “Let’s put all that aside for now, shall we? You have to move, and move quickly.” She paused again, listening. “I’ll see you at eight.”

  Meg went to the table that held the food and drinks and poured herself some Old Grand-Dad. Jordan Wells sauntered up. There was a smug smile on his face that Meg wished she could wipe away.

  “In need of strong spirits?” he asked.

  “And a shower,” she said. “How about you, Jordan?”

  “I learned long ago to separate the guilt my clients might feel from my view of my own actions on their behalf.”

  “Do you find it that easy?”

  “Usually. Not always, but usually,” he said.

  “I think I’m having one of those not always moments.” She winked at him. “Usually I smile all the way to the bank. Sometimes it’s just harder than others.”

  Jordan nodded sagely. “Sometimes the Church of Scientology can be a difficult client. That’s why I charge them so much. Triple what I charge other clients.” He put his arm around Meg’s shoulders and walked her away from the others. “But they do come up with some challenging cases.”

  “Like mentally ill mothers who want to murder their sons?”

  “A case in point,” Wells said. “I hope we have a chance to work together again soon.”

  “I hope so too, Jordan. But with a different client.”

  He raised his glass and walked off.

  * * *

  Meg picked Tony Rolf up at eight. He had one large suitcase and a carry-on. He would undoubtedly have to buy clothing in Alaska, but at least it was late June and truly heavy clothing wouldn’t be needed until the Alaskan summer had passed. She popped the trunk and waited while he loaded his bags. When he got into the passenger seat she handed him the envelope Walsh had provided.

  “Your tickets and cash for living expenses.” She watched out of the corner of her eye as Tony counted the money and perused the airline tickets.

  “Miami to Seattle; Seattle to Juneau; Juneau to Glacier Bay/Gustavus,” he said. “Two full days of travel, what a treat. But it looks like some pretty decent hotel reservations. Sure you don’t wanna come?”

  “Mr. Walsh said there was enough money t
o cover your expenses for a considerable time.”

  “Five grand,” Tony said. “You can never accuse Regis Walsh of being cheap. Oppenheimer, now that’s a different matter. He would have given me a one-way bus ticket and a peanut butter sandwich to eat along the way.” He paused. “I bet Regis pays you well.”

  “He pays my company,” Meg said. “And everyone pays my company well.”

  “Or he doesn’t get to see your smiling face, huh?” Tony was grinning.

  Happiness was impossible to read on Tony’s face. Everything seemed to come through a veil of anger, filtered through the hostility that never left his eyes. Except . . . she thought, except when a near-miraculous innocence took hold of him. Meg had marveled at that innocence the few times she had observed it. And yet she still wondered if it was real.

  She opened the latch on her purse, which lay on the console that separated their seats. Her Walther was now just a short reach away. “Did you kill a woman the other night?” she asked.

  “What the hell makes you ask that?” Tony snarled.

  “Harry Doyle told me you did. He told me to be careful if I planned to help you.”

  “That fucking cop, he pins everything on me. In case you forgot, the last time I was out, I was out with you.”

  Meg pulled her car onto the Memorial Causeway and saw the broad expanse of Clearwater Beach and the Gulf of Mexico spread out before her. “It’s very beautiful. Did you enjoy your time here?”

  “You make it sound like I won’t be coming back,” Tony said. “You know something I don’t?”

  “Not at all. I have no idea what plans Mr. Walsh has for you. Did you look at your tickets?”

  “Yeah, sort of,” Tony said with a shrug.

  “Look again, Tony. They’re first class tickets,” she said. “You don’t buy first class tickets for people you don’t value.”

  Tony opened the envelope again and studied the tickets. “Like I said, you can’t accuse Regis Walsh of being cheap. I’ve never flown first class. Is it really different?” The look of innocence was back on his face now and he was smiling again.

  “Very much so,” Meg said. “When you get to Miami International, make sure you get there early, then check in and go directly to the VIP lounge and let the pampering begin.”

  * * *

  Meg pulled up to the entry of her condo. “John, there will be a limo calling for my guest at seven,” she said to the security guard on duty. “Please leave a note for the man working that shift. I don’t want to deal with any confusion. I’ll be working from home tomorrow and I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  “I’ll make sure it’s done, Ms. Avery.” The guard raised his fingers to his forehead in a casual salute.

  “It’s nice to be boss, isn’t it?” Tony said.

  “Yes. I always liked it.” Meg glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed calm. Just stay that way, she thought. Let’s have a nice quiet night and then it’s goodbye, Tony Rolf.

  Meg parked in the garage under her building. Most units in the complex were limited to two reserved parking places. As the occupant of a two-story penthouse, she had four. She exited the car with Tony trailing behind and waved to a camera hidden in the ceiling. The glass door that shielded the garage from the building buzzed open and the two of them entered. Meg used a key to operate the elevator and the door slid quietly open. She used the key again to send the elevator to her penthouse. They rode silently up until the elevator door opened directly into the foyer of her unit.

  “Some joint,” Tony said. “How big is it?”

  “Four bedrooms, four and a half baths, 4,500 square feet in all.”

  Tony walked into the living room where a wall of windows climbed two stories to a glass-domed roof. When skies were clear it would offer a gorgeous view of the gulf by day and at night a breathtaking look at star-filled skies.

  “Are you hungry?” Meg asked.

  “I’m always hungry.”

  “Come out to the kitchen and we’ll see what we can put together.”

  Tony watched her walk toward the kitchen and felt delight at the sway of her hips. He had always believed there was a sexual tension between them and now there was not much time left to exploit it.

  Meg rumbled around in the fridge and came up with half a chicken and various cheeses and spreads, then pulled half a loaf of French bread and flatbread crackers from a cupboard. “I have beer or wine—some fairly good wine, actually—and, of course, milk, coffee, and juice.”

  “What you have here is fine. Are you going to join me?”

  “Regis put out a spread at his office, actually. So I’ve eaten more than enough. Please go right ahead.” She set a plate and silverware on the counter.

  “Are you going to miss me?”

  “It’s always difficult when someone with whom you’ve spent a great deal of time suddenly leaves. Even though I knew that was the plan, it still seems to have happened much more quickly than I expected.” She tried to turn the question back on him: “Are you excited about leaving? It should be quite an adventure.”

  He laughed. “That sounds like one of those nonanswer answers. Don’t be afraid, you can say you’ll miss me. It won’t hurt.”

  “I’m anxious to know how things turn out for you. I know people who have visited Alaska and never wanted to leave. Others . . .” she shrugged, “they couldn’t get away fast enough.”

  “How do you think it will be for me?” he asked.

  “I don’t know you well enough to answer that. But I think you’re going to like it.”

  “Why?”

  “Why . . . ? Because it’s primitive in many ways, but it’s also very, very beautiful. When you check out the mountains and the interior beyond, it all looks incredibly challenging. It’s as though the land itself is saying, I’m big and sprawling and rugged and powerful. No one who is less so should cross over into my heartland.”

  “You sound like you were very tempted to stay.”

  “I think the idea frightened me a bit.”

  “Frightened you a bit?”

  “Well, maybe more than a bit. I like the way I live.” Meg waved an arm, taking in the room, the gulf, everything. “When you’re tempted to give it up, that’s a scary concept. Plus, I really don’t think I’m cut out to be Nanook of the North.”

  Rolf gave her a sideward glance. She was so sexy it almost hurt him to look at her. She opened a bottle of Modello and poured it into a glass.

  “Eat as much as you want and help yourself to anything else you can find. I’m going to shower and change into something loose and relaxing. Make yourself at home, turn on the television, whatever. I’ll be back soon.” She headed to an open staircase that led up to the next level.

  Tony watched her go, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face. Now was that an invitation or what? Yes indeed.

  * * *

  Meg climbed out of the shower feeling relaxed and refreshed. She had laid out one of her favorites—black lounging pajamas. She slipped into them, enjoying the feel of silk sliding against her skin. She sat down at her makeup table and began brushing her hair with long, slow strokes, enjoying the contrast of her red hair against the black silk.

  She decided she would call the office tomorrow and tell them she was taking a few days off. To hell with her plan to work at home; she needed more than that—a few days on a quiet, stress-free island, that was what she needed. Call a travel agent and see what was available on the spur of the moment. Perhaps even a short cruise, or a quick flight to Key West. She just wanted to celebrate her freedom from the insanity she had endured for the past few weeks.

  She got up slowly, stretched, and opened the door that connected to her bedroom and walked slowly across the large room. She went to a closet and opened a gun safe. There she withdrew a .25-caliber automatic in an ankle holster and strapped it on, then went to the door that opened onto a hallway. There was a keypad set up next to the door. Her bedroom was also a safe room and she intended to use it
as such while Tony Rolf was in her home. She punched in a code and listened as a series of deep dead bolt locks released, allowing the door to be opened. As the door swung inward, Tony Rolf stepped out from the side and she jumped involuntarily. He still held the glass of Modello she had poured for him.

  “Hi,” he said. “Love your pajamas.” Tony’s eyes were wild, gleefully so.

  “What are you doing in here? This is my bedroom!” Meg shouted.

  Tony Rolf’s face slowly turned into a snarl; like a cornered animal, he abruptly changed from passive to aggressive. “What’s the matter? I’m not good enough to be here? How many times did you have that fucking cop in here?”

  “What I do or don’t do in my bedroom is none of your business. This is part of my goddamn home. What happens here is part of my life, not yours, not anyone’s—and it is no one’s concern but mine.”

  “You fucking cunt.”

  Meg stood silent, staring at him. “Get your things together. I will call a hotel and reserve you a room. I will call you a cab to get you there and I will notify the limo driver that his pickup location has changed. You can wait downstairs for the cab. I’ll call security and tell them your plans have changed.” They both stood there for several moments, before Meg said: “Now get the hell out of my home.”

  Tony took a step toward her. Meg shifted her body position, prepared now to strike out with a kick to his solar plexus. He feinted forward and pulled back. She had fallen for the feint and kicked too soon. He grabbed her heel and pulled her leg up and away. Her back slammed into the hardwood floor, driving the breath from her lungs. He straddled her chest and before she could move again, his knife was out. He slid his body lower, moving down on her body so the point of his blade was pressing just below her left breast. Any additional pressure would now move the blade up and into her heart.

  “It’s different than the shit you play at in a gym, isn’t it?”

  Meg’s mind raced, trying to think of what move might free her, allow her to gain a physical advantage over him and get to the pistol strapped to her ankle.

  “This reminds me of an old joke,” Tony hissed. “There are two fighters facing each other. One fighter shouts, Karate! and strikes a fighting pose. His opponent shouts, Smith & Wesson! and takes out a .38 and shoots the first asshole between the eyes.”