The Scientology Murders

by William Heffernan

  “Very funny.” Meg’s mouth was dry, so dry she could barely speak. She forced the next words out: “Alright, let’s go back to square one. Everything stays as it was. You go to your room and get some sleep. The limo comes at seven. There’s an alarm clock by your bed. Set the alarm so you can be up and ready.”

  The laugh started slowly at the back of Tony’s throat, rising to a crescendo that filled the bedroom. “Is there a fucking sign on my forehead that says, Put a quarter in the slot and speak to the idiot? Is there? Huh? Sure, I’ll just lie down in my bed; you can even come and tuck me in, and I’ll go night-night like a good little boy. And you can call the cops, or even worse, you can come back with a knife like mine and you can slide it into my heart.” Tony stared into Meg’s eyes as he pushed the blade slowly, watching the shock and horror as it entered her heart.

  Her body bucked once; then again. It shuddered as her eyes grew wider and her mouth opened in a failed attempt to scream.

  He leaned in close and whispered: “Die, you fucking cunt.” Then he smiled as he saw all the life slowly fade from her eyes. “Yes, my beautiful Meg, that’s perfect. See how much I like it when you do as you’re told?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jeremy Peters called Harry at ten the following morning. “I just heard from the judge. He’s ordering that all charges be dropped against Lucy Santos. He says my office failed to prove that she was not lured to the marina and that the court will give her the benefit of presumptive innocence. He is not asking for any charges against the arresting officer—that’s you—since the defense failed to show that you played any part in luring her to the marina. So it’s a wash, except for the fact that she’s free. He does order her to stay away from you, or anywhere you live.”

  “Wells will still push it with internal affairs,” Harry said.

  “Yeah, I expect they’ll call you in, they may even suspend you until we submit a report stating that we find you guiltless and do not intend to prosecute. As soon as I get a request from them I’ll write up a report stating exactly that and messenger it over to them. It should be a slam dunk unless you have someone out for your ass within the sheriff’s office.”

  “You never know,” Harry said.

  “It’s the joy of government service,” Peters said. “Take care, Harry. It was good meeting you.”

  Harry called Max and filled him in.

  “So you have a crazy mother who is still an albatross around your neck,” Max said. “Hey, I could make you an honorary Jew.”

  “No thanks,” Harry replied. “I’ve got enough problems.”

  “Hey, the food’s good,” Max said. “We have great corned beef. Anyway, what are you up to today?”

  “I’m looking for Tony Rolf. I think he may still be hanging around one of the marinas, one that was close enough to walk to after he killed Cindy Lewis.”

  “You may be right,” Max said. “If you get anything that even hints he’s around, give me a call and I’ll bring an army of cops down on him.”

  “You got it,” Harry said.

  An hour later Detective John Otis of the sheriff’s office of internal affairs called. “I heard the court is coming out with a ruling on your mother’s case today,” he said.

  “I heard the same thing. Jeremy Peters called me. Who called you, Jordan Wells?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What does that tell you?”

  “It tells me that Wells, or whoever he works for, wants your ass,” Otis said. “Why is somebody so pissed off at you, Harry Doyle?”

  “It’s like I told you, they want me shot, stuffed, and hanging over the mantle because Wells is working for the Church of Scientology and I just happen to be trying to arrest an employee of theirs, a little prick who likes to carve up women with a knife.”

  “How many has he killed so far?” Otis asked.

  “Four and counting. It’s like I told you, his name is Tony Rolf and he’s our own little Jack the Ripper. A Scientology executive named Regis Walsh is trying to get him out of the area before we nail him and embarrass the church.”

  “That’s a pretty heavy allegation. Did Peters say he was charging you with anything?”

  “He said I was free and clear as far as his office was concerned. He said he’d give you a report saying so if you asked him for it.”

  “I’m gonna need that. Wells also called the sheriff; said he thinks you should be suspended.”

  “I think Wells should be disbarred.”

  “Fat chance,” Otis said with a low chuckle. “He’s covered in Teflon like all those rat bastards. I’ll call Peters and get him to send his report.”

  “I appreciate it, John.”

  “Hey, I know it’s hard for you guys in the field to believe, but I love it when our people come up clean.”

  The phone signaled another call as Harry was finishing up with Otis. It was Max Abrams.

  “Are you sitting down?” Max asked.

  “No,” Harry said.

  “Well brace yourself, buddy. Meg Avery’s cleaning lady just found her body. The murder weapon was a knife. MO makes it likely that our boy was the perp.”

  Harry stared straight ahead. “Damn it, I warned her. Just yesterday, outside the courtroom, I warned her to watch out for herself.”

  “I’m on my way to the crime scene now. I’ll pick you up on the way.”

  * * *

  Max had three detectives with him when he picked Harry up. He introduced them quickly. “We’re going to hit this crime scene with everything we’ve got,” Max said. “I called Vicky and she’s on her way. We have to determine if Rolf did this and we have to do it fast. I’m worried his buddy inside the church is gonna pull out all the stops now to get him the hell out of here.”

  “I’ll be very surprised if he isn’t already gone,” Harry said.

  “Why?”

  “If he was at Meg’s condo, she was doing it as a special favor to Regis Walsh. She was trying to get him out of the area. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s the only reason she’d let him get that close to her.”

  Max pulled up to the security gate, flashed his tin, and got directions to Meg’s condo. “We’ll be impounding her car as soon as we’ve dusted it for prints.”

  “I’ll show you her parking places,” the security guard said. “She had a visitor last night. A limo picked him up at seven this morning.” He handed Max a slip of paper. “This is the name of the limo company.”

  “What did the guy look like?” Harry asked.

  “No one would have seen him except the driver. He was picked up inside. That’s the procedure here. A driver pulls in, double parks by whichever of the three buildings the passenger is in, then goes to the elevator and brings the luggage out. It’s all on film. Everything that happens on the grounds is. I can have a copy for you in a couple of hours.”

  “That’s great,” Max said. “Also, get me the film that shows him arriving last night. Let me know when it’s ready.”

  Max sent his three detectives to various assignments—one to search and dust any cars in Meg Avery’s four parking spaces, two more to begin canvassing the occupants of her building—while he and Harry went to her apartment to view the crime scene. As the elevator rose Max placed a call to the limo company but got a busy signal. “Wouldn’t you know it,” he said to Harry. “This fuck lives a charmed life.”

  When the elevator doors opened they entered directly into Meg’s apartment. Two uniforms guarded the entry while crime scene technicians moved about various rooms dusting the furniture, appliances, and walls, as others checked rugs and furniture for any hair or fiber evidence.

  A tech immediately came to them and handed them cloth covers for their shoes. “Turn these in when you leave,” he said.

  It was regular crime scene procedure. The shoe covers made sure nothing new was brought into the crime scene and nothing was carried out.

  “How’s it going?” Max asked the tech.

  “The perp tr
ied to clean up. He did a pretty good job too. But just like always, he didn’t get it all.”

  Max nodded his approval and led Harry up a long spiral staircase that opened onto the second floor. “Some joint, eh?”

  “Yeah, some joint,” Harry said. “It’s a side of her I never knew.”

  They reached the bedroom, which had another uniform standing guard outside.

  Harry had been to hundreds of crime scenes in his years as a cop. But this was the first where he had known the victim intimately. Meg’s body lay on the floor, her red hair fanned out around her head, her once-beautiful green eyes dull and lifeless, and her mouth twisted in fear, the last emotion she had known. He put on a pair of latex gloves and opened the front of her black silk pajamas. Love your pajamas—the words rolled out at him, telling him they were among the last she had heard. He looked at the wound that had ended her life. It was a narrow slit, clearly made by a knife, just under her left breast.

  He ran his gloved hand up to her jaw and traced her lips with his fingers. Die, you fucking cunt, came back at him.

  Where is he going, Meg? If you know, tell me where he’s going. The word airport floated back at him. But to where? Where? Please tell me where. Harry placed his hands on the sides of her face. Tell me. It came like a rush of air, filling his mind, allowing nothing else to enter. He turned to Max.

  “He’s going to Alaska. Don’t ask me how I know, because I couldn’t begin to explain it.”

  Max got on the phone to the limo company that had picked up Meg’s overnight guest. This time the phone was answered on the third ring.

  “This is Dmitri.”

  “Dmitri, this is Sergeant Max Abrams of the Clearwater Police Department. Did any of your drivers pick up a fare at the Ultimar condos on Sand Key?”

  “Yes sir, I pick up a man myself at seven a.m. I took him to Tampa Airport. Is there a problem?”

  “Not for you,” Max said. “But for him there’s a very big problem. We believe he killed a woman at the Ultimar.”

  “You are sure?” Dmitri asked. “He seems like a really nice guy. He gave me a hundred bucks for tip.”

  “Where at the airport did you take him? Which airline?”

  “I take him to private terminal. Plane was waiting for him.”

  “It was a private jet?” Max asked.

  “Yes, I pull limo right up to it and he went right on board. One of the pilots even loads up his bags. It’s easy job for me.”

  “What name did he give you?”

  “He said his name was Tony. But limo reservation and all charges go to Ms. Meg Avery. She’s a regular customer.”

  “Did this Tony say where he was going?”

  “No.”

  “Did you get a name of the plane’s owner, or a company?”

  “No. I was told a Gulfstream would be waiting at the terminal and when I pull in there it was. I got out and asked if they were waiting for Ms. Avery’s friend and they said yes.”

  “Did you see the plane taxi out?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time was that?” Max asked.

  “It was about eight,” Dmitri said.

  “Okay, I need you to come into Clearwater PD and ask for me, Sergeant Max Abrams. I’ll need a full, signed statement.”

  Max looked at Harry. “The bastard flew out at eight.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Shit, it’s two o’clock already. The son of a bitch could be anywhere in the country. How long does it take to fly to Alaska?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Harry said. “Let’s check all private planes leaving Tampa at eight. They have to have filed a flight plan.”

  * * *

  Tony Rolf sat comfortably in his first class seat as his Alaska Airlines flight made its final approach into LAX Airport. His connecting flight was due to start boarding in twenty minutes for the short hop to Seattle. From there he would fly to Juneau and then on to Gustavus/Glacier Bay.

  Meg had been right, he thought. First class was the only way to fly. He had been sipping champagne since noon. Even lunch had been good—a choice between broiled haddock or a corned beef on rye sandwich. He got the sandwich because of his passion for kosher pickles. Now he found he was looking forward to dinner.

  A flight attendant stopped by his seat to ask if he needed more champagne. She was tall and slender with dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders and light brown eyes that he enjoyed looking at.

  He said he did and she asked where in Alaska he was headed to.

  “Gustavus is the first stop.”

  “Oh, it’s the bush for you.”

  “Why do they call it that?”

  “It just means you can only get there by boat or plane. You can’t get there by car or truck. There are roads when you get there but nothing that goes in or out. Most of Alaska is like that.”

  “And you don’t feel trapped?” Tony asked.

  “I never did,” she said, “and I grew up in the bush.”

  “What about big bears and moose and stuff like that?”

  “Oh, they’re there, alright. You’ll see them just about anywhere. But you learn how to avoid any dangerous confrontations.” She held out her arms. “See, I was never eaten.” She laughed. “I’ll go get your champagne.”

  Tony thought about her light brown eyes. Meg’s eyes had been beautiful as she died. Vibrant and green, they had almost sparkled as he slid his knife into her heart. The flight attendant had worn a name tag that said, Sheila. He wondered how her eyes would look as she died. Perhaps, with a little luck, he’d find out.

  * * *

  Vicky arrived at the condo at three. Harry was on the phone with Miami International Airport flight control. When he finished the call he turned to her. “Miami says the flight Rolf took made a brief stop and then flew on to Dallas. We don’t know if they picked up someone who flew on with Rolf or if he got off and caught a shuttle to the main airport. I left a message for the crew to call me when they land.”

  “What did you get from the body?” Vicky asked.

  “He’s going to Alaska.”

  “That’s it then. I’ve worked with you long enough to know we can’t ignore what comes to you.”

  “Is the stuff he gets always accurate?” It was Max, who had come up behind them.

  “It’s so accurate it’s scary,” Vicky said.

  * * *

  Regis Walsh sat in his office and watched Kenneth Oppenheimer move toward his desk. When he came into the circle of light from the desk lamp, Walsh could see his face was ashen and his eyes were shrouded in fear. He was so tired of it, the stupidity, the absence of self-control. When would he see some pure and simple courage?

  “Have you heard?” Oppenheimer asked.

  “Heard what?”

  “Meg Avery is dead. She was found murdered in her condo. It has to have been Tony Rolf. It’s a disaster for us, Regis. Once they catch him, he’ll point a finger at both of us.”

  Walsh noticed the perspiration on Oppenheimer’s upper lip. That manifestation of the man’s fear disgusted him. It was the very thing that could bring them down.

  “So you’ve already tried and convicted poor Tony, I see. And you already have him turning on the only people who have ever protected him. I happen to know that he was on his way out of town when she was killed. I know that because I provided him with the airline tickets and the cash to escape his persecutors. Right now he’s—”

  “Don’t tell me,” Oppenheimer said. “I don’t want to know where he is now, who he’s with, and especially where he’s going. Leave me out of this whole damn thing.”

  Walsh stared at him without speaking for nearly a minute. “Get out of my office, Ken. And don’t come back unless I send for you.”

  * * *

  Tony’s flight landed at LAX and he headed straight for his connecting flight to Seattle. It was a pity he didn’t have an hour or so in Los Angeles. It would have been nice to have a drink with the lovely Sheila, to hear her views about the world, to watch the beautifu
l light in her brown eyes. Watch it glimmer and then go out.

  As always, first class passengers were the first to board the aircraft. They were already comfortably seated and sipping cocktails when the unwashed masses filed in with their carry-on bags—and in some cases their ill-tempered children—trailing behind them. Tony noticed that most first class passengers declined to look at them. These people did not exist and they would never exist for them. In the great scheme of things, they simply did not matter.

  Tony had a new flight attendant to care for him now. Her name was Rose and she had already brought him his first small bottle of champagne. He watched her attentively as she performed the mortality play with the demonstration seat belt and the inflatable vest, and when she finished he beckoned her over. She arrived with a smile. She was shorter than Sheila but her curves were far more voluptuous and her eyes were a bright blue, almost startlingly so.

  “What time are we scheduled to arrive in Seattle and how much longer until we get to Juneau?” His own smile seemed to dazzle her. He could tell by the way she looked back into his eyes.

  She rattled off the times. “Is Juneau your final destination?” she asked.

  “No, I have a layover until tomorrow morning, then I grab a flight to Gustavus/Glacier Bay.”

  “Oh, that’ll be a little puddle jumper,” she said. “Just up and down; no first class, no service at all. Make sure you bring coffee on board with you.”

  “That’s so disappointing.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you on this flight.”

  * * *

  Harry got off the phone and turned to Vicky and Max. “Rolf got off in Miami and took a cab to the main airport. There were several Alaska Airlines flights out of Miami and Fort Lauderdale that Rolf could have made easily. They had stops in Houston, Denver, and LAX, then connecting flights to Seattle and on to Alaska.”

  “Do you think Meg Avery knew his final destination?” Vicky asked.

  Harry nodded and turned toward the stairs that led to Meg’s bedroom. An assistant medical examiner was still conducting a superficial examination of her body. Harry introduced himself and learned that the man’s name was Igor Vaselevich. What a moniker to go with his occupation, Harry thought.