The Scientology Murders

by William Heffernan

  “I’ll get you a stenographer and a three-piece band if you need it.”

  * * *

  At eight o’clock that evening, Harry and Vicky were just sitting down to a plate of grilled haddock on the Gustavus town green when Harry’s cell rang. He looked at the screen and saw the call was from Max Abrams.

  “You’re interrupting our festive Fourth of July dinner, Max,” Harry growled. “How late is it there?”

  “Late. And it’s worth the interruption.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Ken Oppenheimer walked into my office today and gave me a sworn deposition ratting out his one-time boss and mentor Regis Walsh. I’m on my way to arrest the son of a bitch as we speak.”

  “Holy shit. We’re leaving tomorrow to try and nab Tony Rolf in a place called Homer, Alaska. Can you send copies of everything you got from Oppenheimer to the Alaska state troopers in Anchorage, care of Sergeant Jessie Reed?”

  “Will do. Let me give you a quick briefing for now and then I’ll fax everything to the Alaska staties.”

  There was a broad smile on Harry’s face as Max finished. “So Oppenheimer just walked in and handed you all this on the proverbial silver platter?”

  “That’s what you get from clean living,” Max said.

  “Maybe Rolf will give me a nice big kiss on the cheek.”

  “You be careful with that asshole. He’s a complete psycho. And keep Vicky the hell away from him.”

  “Will do,” Harry said.

  “I wish I could be with you.”

  “I do too, Max. I do too.”

  * * *

  “I just received a very strange phone call from an attorney named Jordan Wells,” Dutch said. “Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, I know him,” Tony replied. “He’s the legal gunslinger the church hires when things start to get heavy. He’s a black dude and they say he’s hell on wheels in court. I know he tied the cop who was after me up in knots.”

  “But that cop is still after you. That’s why you’re up here. Those knots must have been tied rather loosely.”

  Tony scowled at the comment but said nothing.

  “Anyway, this Jordan fellow called to tell me that Regis is on his way to Anchorage. He’ll be visiting the mission there. It seems the police in Florida are breathing rather heavily down his neck.”

  “Did he say it involved me?”

  “No. It was more a heads-up that I might be hearing from him. He did mention someone named Oppenheimer. He said he’d been to the police and was cooperating fully. He warned that if I heard from him, not to consider him a friend.”

  “Oppenheimer is Mr. Walsh’s assistant, and he has always been a backstabbing coward.” And a motherfucker I should have taken care of before I left, Tony thought to himself.

  “It doesn’t sound as if Regis was a very good judge of the people who worked for him,” Dutch said.

  “He was too generous with them—generosity is his greatest fault.”

  * * *

  Harry shut down his cell phone. “That was Max again,” he said. “Before he could serve a warrant on Regis Walsh, the slippery bastard pulled a rabbit. He thinks he may be headed our way.”

  “Is he going to forward the warrant to us?” Vicky asked.

  “He said if we can confirm that he’s here, he’s going to ask the Alaskan troopers to hold him and he’s gonna come get him himself.”

  “It’ll be like old home week up here,” Vicky said.

  “I think he misses us.”

  They were in the Gustavus Airport awaiting their flight to Anchorage. Harry had just turned in his rent-a-wreck and arranged for another in Anchorage.

  Jessie swaggered in and came directly up to them. “Good news. My boss says I can hook up with you guys in Homer. Have you booked rooms there yet?”

  “No, I was going to ask you for a recommendation.”

  “Good idea,” Jessie said. “I gotta friend who runs a place called the Ocean Inn. I guarantee you’ll be comfortable and you’ll be five minutes from Dutch’s fishing operation. If you like, I’ll give her a call and set it up.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Harry said.

  “You want two rooms or one?”

  “Are there any big bears hanging around the inn?”

  “Naw, you gotta go upriver for that.”

  “Two rooms,” Harry said. “But close to each other in case we have any two-legged visitors.”

  * * *

  They slept on the flight to Anchorage and had time for a leisurely lunch before picking up their rental car and heading south on the Kenai Peninsula. They were both beginning to get used to the long days of sunlight, and it proved to be an advantage when traveling long distances by car. Harry wasn’t sure how he’d like driving here in the winter months where he’d be dealing with only a few hours of sunlight each day. But you certainly couldn’t complain about the long days with the scenery Alaska laid out before you. He had never seen anything like it. The drive took them along the coast through deep forests and rushing rivers with snowcapped mountains rising in the distance. A brochure Vicky had picked up at the car rental office said they would travel along Cook Inlet, across which they would see no less than three active volcanoes: Mt. Iliamna, Mt. Redoubt, and Mt. Augustine. The last to erupt was Mt. Augustine in 2006. They were also traveling during the end of the salmon run when massive brown bears were patrolling the rivers and glutting themselves on fish returning home to spawn; building up the layers of fat they would need to carry themselves through their long winter hibernation.

  “So how do you want to handle it when we get to Homer?” Vicky asked.

  “Let’s have a look at Vandermere’s fishing operation—but from a distance,” Harry said. “I don’t want to tip anybody off that we’re here looking for Rolf.”

  “Sort of play it close to our vests until Jessie gets here, you mean?”

  “That’s what I was thinking. She knows the lay of the land and the players a helluva lot better than we do. If it looks like we’re going to have to go out to that hunting lodge, I’d like to get our hands on some heavier weapons than our Glocks. Whoever is out there is sure to have access to some pretty good weaponry. I don’t want to find us going up against high-powered rifles equipped with infrared scopes and night-vision goggles and us carrying nothing more than our nine-millimeter peashooters.”

  “Yeah, that wouldn’t be fun,” Vicky said.

  “I’m hoping the Alaskan staties will provide some of their weaponry. If not, I’ll buy what we need and sell it before we go back.”

  They drove on past the cutoff to Seward, named for William H. Seward, Abraham Lincoln’s secretary of state, who was seriously wounded in the assassination plot and who remained with Lincoln’s successor, Andrew Johnson, and eventually consummated the Alaska Purchase. Then they cut back to the coast onto the Sterling Highway and drove past the once-Russian village of Ninilchik.

  When they passed over the Anchor River they got a glimpse of three brown bears fishing for salmon in the shallows, and within minutes they were inside the Homer city limits. There wasn’t much to see there—a scattering of shops and restaurants, a few people walking down the main street.

  Harry pulled in at Captain’s Coffee Roasting Company, both to get a much-needed cup of coffee and to confirm his directions to the Ocean Inn. As he exited the car, he put his jacket on to cover the Glock on his hip and immediately came under verbal assault from a drunk passing by on the street.

  “Why don’t ya learn how to park yer fuckin’ car? Oh, I see, you got a gun so you think you can park any fuckin’ way you want, is that it? Well, it don’t work that way here in Homer, you motherfucker.” The man was clearly plastered and looking for trouble that Harry didn’t need.

  Harry raised the edge of his jacket to show the badge on his belt. “Watch your mouth,” he responded as Vicky exited the car.

  “Oh, big shot. Big badge, big gun, big cop—but you still don’t know how to park yer fuckin’ car.”
>
  Harry gave him a wave of disgust and he and Vicky walked into Captain’s and took a seat. A heavyset man at a nearby table grinned at them.

  “You just met the town drunk. Don’t pay him no mind. I’m Sam.”

  “Harry.” He inclined his head to his partner. “This is Vicky.”

  “Hello there, Ms. Vicky.”

  “Hi, Sam, how’s the coffee?”

  “Best in the world. But I’m prejudiced. I’m related to the owner.”

  Sam got them two mugs of coffee and asked if they were hungry. Vicky ordered a pastry after insisting that Harry eat half.

  “Why do women always do that?” Sam asked Harry. “Do you think it makes them feel less guilty about ordering something sweet? And why do they feel guilty anyway? I could order a whole cake and I wouldn’t feel guilty.”

  “If you ever find the answer, you could write a book and become a wealthy man,” Harry said.

  “Maybe I will. I’d like to be a wealthy man.” Sam left to get Vicky’s pastry.

  “You think the whole town is like this?” Vicky whispered.

  “I think all of Alaska is like this,” Harry said.

  After their coffee and snack, they drove through a small commercial district, past the town airport, to Kachemak Bay where the Ocean Inn was located.

  “This is beautiful,” Vicky said as they walked up to the office, which looked out at the bay and the snowcapped mountains beyond. “If I didn’t know that Jessie picked this place, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

  “Maybe I’m just using Jessie to get your guard down,” Harry said.

  Vicky gave him a smirk that he couldn’t interpret.

  “Hi!” The manager, a perky middle-aged woman with bright blue eyes and a wide smile, came out of a back room with an armful of towels. “You must be Harry and Vicky, right?”

  “We are,” Vicky said.

  “Jessie called about you and I’ve got two second-floor rooms that she suggested for you. They have great views and real squeaky outside stairs leading up to them. They’re the only second-floor rooms in that building, so if you’re both up there and hear the stairs squeaking, somebody’s comin’ up who shouldn’t be. Jessie told me to tell you that. My name’s Minnie, like the mouse.”

  “I like the bit about the stairs,” Harry said. “Kind of an Alaskan burglar alarm.”

  “Exactly,” Minnie said. “And Jessie asked me to tell you that she’d meet you both here tomorrow to go out for breakfast. She also said you shouldn’t worry about weapons, she’s got that covered.”

  Minnie signed them in and showed them the way to the creaky stairs and an outdoor hot tub should they choose to use it, then left them to get their bags up to their rooms.

  Harry unpacked his bag and went next door to Vicky’s room. It was the mirror image of his own, a leather sofa and reclining chair set up in front of a thirty-two-inch flat-screen television, a king-sized bed, and a master bath with a glassed-in black-tiled shower. Vicky had been right: if Jessie hadn’t made the reservation it would indeed have had a seductive air about it.

  “Pretty neat room, isn’t it?” Harry said.

  “It’s fantastic.” Vicky gave him the once-over. “You sure you didn’t put Jessie up to this?”

  “I wish I had.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know.” He pawed the floor with his shoe. “What do you want it to mean?”

  Vicky hesitated. “I don’t know either.”

  “I think we better leave it at that.”

  * * *

  They drove down to the Homer Spit and eyeballed Vandermere’s fish-processing plant. It was a discreet drive-by, typical tourist stuff, but it provided them with a lay of the land. It didn’t give them any chance sighting of Tony Rolf but that would have been asking for too much. They went on to the end of the spit and found a seafood restaurant.

  There was nothing intimate or romantic about Captain Pattie’s Fish House; it was one large room overlooking the bay with long tables that guests shared. Diners waited to be called to a table where they were slotted in with others who had waited before them, as waitresses hustled platters of fish and crabs in a never-ending stream.

  Vicky had a steaming platter of king crab; Harry ordered a charbroiled platter of fresh-caught haddock. The food was great, but when the meal was over they felt rushed and harried, and all they wanted to do was get back to their rooms and pack it in for the night.

  “I might try the hot tub,” Harry said as they walked to the car. “If I do, I’ll let you know so you don’t freak out if the stairs start to squeak.”

  “I wouldn’t freak out. I’d just come out and shoot you.”

  “Nice to know you wouldn’t panic.”

  “Not me.”

  * * *

  Jessie met them at eight a.m. the following morning and drove them to Two Sisters Bakery on Bunnell Street, explaining that it was a favorite breakfast hangout for Pete McGuire and his crew.

  “If your boy is hangin’ with Pete, he’ll be gettin’ his breakfast feed there,” Jessie said. “If he’s out on a boat, then we’re just shit out of luck until he comes back into port, and since Vandermere has a processing ship out in the Bering Sea, that could be a month from now.”

  “And if he’s in this plush hunting resort back in the wilderness?”

  “That would be best for us. We could go in and flush him out. I could get helicopters, whatever we need, given time.”

  “Would this Vandermere guy cooperate?” Vicky asked.

  “Oh, he’d be madder than a hornet and he’d fuss and piss and moan all to hell, but in the end he’d cover his ass just like he always does.”

  “So the answer is yes.”

  “When all the pissin’ and moanin’ is over, the answer would be yes,” Jessie said. “Basically, Malcolm ‘Dutch’ Vandermere, Skull and Bones ’74, Yale ’75, is one big pussy.”

  They entered Two Sisters and found a crowd of people waiting to place takeout orders. Jessie scanned those already sitting and spotted McGuire at a table with two other men. She pointed them out to Vicky and Harry but neither of the others were Tony Rolf.

  McGuire must have sensed their eyes on him because he slowly raised his own until he was staring directly at Jessie, then Harry and Vicky. Jessie started for his table with Harry and Vicky close behind. She stopped and stared down at Pete McGuire, a self-satisfied smile on her lips.

  “Hello, Pete, you’re lookin’ good,” she said. “I especially like your new nose. It gives that Irish mug of yours some character.”

  A big grin spread across McGuire’s face. “Do ya think so, Jessie? I was thinkin’ that very same thing this mornin’ when I was shavin’. And I also thought what I could possibly do for the lovely woman who gave me that nose, maybe give her one for herself. What do ya think of that?”

  “But then I’d have to throw that big lovely Irish ass of yours in jail,” Jessie replied. “And that would be a great pity.”

  “Why don’t you marry me instead?” Pete said. “Sentence me to life without parole. And just think of the beautiful little kids we’d produce.”

  “Is that a proposal, Pete?”

  “It surely is. And it’s in front of witnesses.”

  Jessie shook her head. She continued to stare at him but remained silent.

  “Think of the children,” Pete said again.

  “Think of the domestic abuse complaints,” Jessie said.

  “I’d never lay a hand on you,” Pete said.

  “I wasn’t talking about you,” Jessie said.

  Pete threw back his head with a roar of laughter, then asked, “Are these the two Florida cops I was told to watch out for?”

  “You’re a smart one,” Jessie said. “How’d you know?”

  “Don’t see many suntans quite that deep in Alaska.”

  “You’ll be callin’ that little shit you work for?”

  “I will,” McGuire said.

  “Wish y
ou wouldn’t.”

  McGuire’s eyes flitted to the two other men at the table, letting her know that even if he didn’t, there were others who would. “What is this fella supposed to have done?”

  Vicky chimed in: “Murdered four women. And that’s just in Florida.”

  “We sure do get mixed up with a lot of crazy shit for a bunch of fishermen,” McGuire said. “Watch your ass.”

  “Always do,” Jessie countered.

  They picked up three coffees and a bag of fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon rolls and headed back to the Ocean Inn.

  * * *

  Seated at a picnic table, Vicky leaned in toward Jessie. “I think I witnessed a marriage proposal back there.”

  Jessie blushed. “Think so?”

  “I do.”

  “I’d marry the big lug at the drop of a hat.”

  “So say yes.”

  “I might do that if he asks again.”

  “Just go up and tell him yes,” Vicky said.

  Harry looked confused, maybe even a bit unnerved, by what he was hearing.

  “Oh, for Chrissake,” Vicky scolded.

  “What?” Harry said.

  Vicky just shook her head.

  * * *

  Dutch drove his Range Rover to the end of the trail that cut along Deep Creek, a spawning river that ran just south of the Russian village of Ninilchik then back into the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge. Before it reached the refuge, it passed through a two-hundred-acre parcel owned by Vandermere Enterprises which housed one of the most luxurious hunting camps in all of Alaska. At present, three corporate executives, one sitting US senator, and a well-known Scientologist movie star were in residence at the camp’s 10,000-square-foot lodge. They had feasted on prime venison steaks and roasts prepared by the lodge’s two chefs and consumed two cases of fine wines. None had picked up a rifle in four days.

  A helicopter collected Dutch and Tony just southeast of Ninilchik and flew them to the lodge shortly after ten that morning. Dutch was fuming that Pete had not called him; that his warning about the two Florida detectives had come from one of Pete’s subordinates. And now the Irish lug wasn’t even answering his cell. Dutch thought about firing him but knew his fishing business would fail within the year if he did. What was worse was that Pete knew it too.