“We’re going to move toward the lodge, then back out again. Keep a sharp eye. They could be wearing camouflage. Over and out.”
The helicopters elevated to clear the trees and swung toward the lodge. Harry couldn’t believe the size of the place, all of it built in the middle of a wilderness for the indulgence of a few wealthy men.
“Movement, movement, ten o’clock!” Vicky shouted.
Harry looked down and saw someone heading east through the heavy brush. He moved up and pointed the figure out to the pilot. The helicopter swung down and hovered over a small clearing as the pilot got on the speaker and ordered the man into the center of the clearing. Harry radioed to Jessie and told her they had an armed hunter they were about to question. Jessie’s helicopter swung back and both landed in the clearing.
Frenchy came out of the brush, his rifle held in both hands above his head, a large smile spread across his bearded face. “Hey, Jessie, Frenchy did something wrong? I surrender. Okay?”
Jessie walked toward him. “What are you doin’ out here, Frenchy?”
“I’m scouting a hunt for tomorrow.”
“What kind of hunt?”
“Deer—a big buck, I think. We got movie star who wants to take venison home.”
“Why don’t you just shoot him one? It would be easier.”
“For me and for the deer,” Frenchy said. “They usually look like Swiss cheese—they have so many holes—when our guests shoot them.”
“It’s a shame.”
“Mr. Dutch, he says it’s a business.”
“We’re looking for a man we think is here at the lodge,” Jessie explained. “His name is Tony Rolf.” She raised her chin toward Harry and Vicky. “These are two Florida detectives who have come up here after him. He’s a bad man, Frenchy. He’s killed four women that we know of, probably more.”
Frenchy stared at her for a long moment. “Mr. Dutch don’t tell Frenchy that. He just tells me to get him to Ninilchik. Fucking bastid, Frenchy don’t help people who hurt women. Fuck Mr. Dutch. Frenchy don’t work for him no more.”
“Where is this man now?” Jessie asked.
“He’s up at the river. He’s got real good camo. He sit tight, you never see him unless he moves.”
“Is he armed?”
“Yes, good weapon, Remington 700 with an eight-power infrared scope. I don’t know how good he is with it, but the weapon is good enough to take all of you out.” Frenchy shook his head in disgust. “I’ll take you up there, help you find him.”
“No,” Jessie said. “It’s our job, not yours. You tell Dutch we’ll be up to see him as soon as we finish here. Tell him that if he leaves, his ass belongs to me.”
“I tell him. I be happy to tell him dat.”
* * *
Tony took the river crossing Frenchy had showed him and stayed close to the heavier brush, knowing that when he stopped he would be nearly invisible from both the ground and above. His rifle, which was covered in the same material as his clothing, was carried close to his body, with the barrel pointed down and the lens caps closed on the telescopic scope to avoid any glare that might give away his position. He only moved when the helicopters were both flying away from him, making his forward progress incredibly slow. But it was slow for his pursuers as well, and he knew the helicopters would eventually have fuel problems and need to return to Homer. That would be his chance to gain some ground toward Ninilchik, or for Frenchy to get back to find him.
Unless, of course, they had already told Frenchy he was wanted for murder and turned the guide against him. But Frenchy hadn’t joined them, had he? He hadn’t led them back to him. They were just stumbling along like they always were—like they were in Florida, like they were years ago in LA. He had always been able to get away, just as he would this time. And if they weren’t careful, he’d take a few of them down before he did.
* * *
Harry spoke to Vicky through his headset: “Do you see anything?”
“No, I thought I saw some movement on the north side of the river but it was nothing, just some branches waving in the downdraft of the helicopter. I’m wondering if we’d do better with a couple of us on the ground.”
“I’ll ask Jessie what she thinks,” Harry said.
“We can try,” Jessie came back. “Harry, why don’t you have the pilot drop Vicky on the north bank where I’ll be, and you hit the south bank with one of my people. That way, each of you will be with someone who’s familiar with the territory.”
“Sounds good,” Harry radioed back. “You guys watch your backs. If you see him, let us know and we will back you up. We’ll do the same.”
“Roger, over and out.”
* * *
Tony watched from about thirty-five yards away as the helicopters deposited two cops on his side of the river and two on the opposite side. He intended to sit still and let them walk past him unless he had an angle that allowed him to take them out one after the other. He looked up at the two choppers back above him now. No, that would be foolish. He studied the cops more closely. Wait, one was that woman cop from Florida, Vicky Stanopolis, the one who worked with the guy they called the dead detective. They all looked so unisex here in the baggy field dress they were wearing. She sure as hell hadn’t looked unisex in Florida. He remembered her from the marina where the other cop kept his boat. She usually wore tight jeans or slacks that showed off that shapely ass of hers. Oh yeah, he remembered that. The big broad with her must be that Alaskan trooper everyone said was so tough. She was supposed to have broken Pete McGuire’s nose. If they got too close he’d take her out first. No sense in taking any chances, and he definitey didn’t want the humiliation of being brought down by some tough bitch with a badge.
* * *
“He could be almost anywhere. We could step on him before we flushed him out,” Jessie said. She squatted down and listened to the river moving past. “The current’s fairly quick here so it gives some cover to the sound of our movements.” The helicopter roared past overhead. “So does that. But it all works the same for him. We just gotta keep pokin’ through the woods here and hope he gets antsy and makes a mistake.”
“He’s been pretty controlled so far,” Vicky said. “He’s surprised me.”
Across the river, Harry alternated between keeping his eyes on Vicky and Jessie and searching the ground ahead of him. He hoped Rolf would be on his side of the water, as far away from Vicky as possible. He’d seen what that sick asshole did to women and he wanted to put him down before he had the chance to do it again. That’s a new one for you, he thought, actually wanting to take someone down. You’ve done it before, but like most cops you’ve never wanted it. When you started wanting it, it’s time to start watching yourself; maybe even time to start thinking about packing it in.
One of the helicopters swooped down low and the radio crackled in Harry’s ears. “I thought I saw some movement about thirty yards ahead of our people on the north bank,” the pilot said. “It’s gone now—could have been an animal but I can’t be sure, the brush is too thick there.”
Jessie motioned to Vicky, indicating something up ahead. She whispered, “Saw something move. Spread out, about fifty feet apart.”
A shot rang out. Jessie grunted and staggered back; then a second shot, and she went down on her back. Vicky ran to her and dived headfirst next to her. There was a third shot that kicked up dirt about two feet in front of her head.
On the other side of the river, Harry fired into the area where he had seen a muzzle flash—two, three, four shots. The rounds coming at Vicky and Jessie stopped and Harry was up and running into the water, headed for the north bank. Covering fire came from the helicopters circling above.
Vicky watched Jessie gasping for breath. There were two bullet holes in her tunic, both heart shots. She ripped back the clothing and peeled off the kevlar vest. Jessie’s chest had suffered two severe bruises but the bullets had not penetrated her skin.
Vicky got on the radio: “Jessie’s okay. The b
ullets just knocked the wind out of her. Can one of you get down here to pick her up? I’ll cover you.”
“Roger, we’re coming in. Get yourself to a more secure location. Our second chopper will provide us with backup cover.”
Vicky ignored the instructions and waited until the helicopter had landed and two troopers were bringing a litter for Jessie before she broke away and headed for a thick brush pile. From her new location she could see Harry struggling against the river’s current. He was waist deep and two-thirds of the way across—a sitting duck if Rolf had a clear shot at him. She scanned the woods, looking for any sign that would give his location away. Then she waved at Harry, motioning for him to get down.
She didn’t feel him come up behind her, and then there he was. The eight-inch hunting knife slid up under her chin, the blade pressing against her throat, and she felt a trickle of blood running down her neck.
“Oooh, that is sooo sharp,” Rolf whispered in her ear. “Just one little flick of my wrist and it will take your lovely head right off that beautiful body. And look at your boyfriend just struggling against the current, trying to get here to save you. Imagine how he’s going to feel when he gets here and your lovely head is lying on the ground all by itself. And all that happens just before I blow his fucking head off. Why, it just might ruin his whole day, don’t you think?”
“You are one sick motherfucker,” Vicky rasped.
“And you have one dirty mouth on you, Miss Vicky. Didn’t your mama teach you better than that? Mine didn’t. That’s why I had to kill her. Did you know her name was Vicky too? No, you didn’t know that? Did you kill your mama? No, of course you didn’t. You were one of those good girls, weren’t you?”
Harry struggled up onto the bank, his rifle held in both hands.
Tony screamed at him: “One more step and her head will be on the ground next to her!” He smiled as he watched Harry stop dead in his tracks. “That water’s cold, isn’t it?”
Harry didn’t answer, he just stared, looking for an opening.
“Now here’s what I want you to do,” Tony said. “You tell the helicopters to back off. That’s number one.”
Harry spoke to the choppers and they pulled away.
“Number two: toss your rifle in the river.”
Harry did so.
“What other weapons do you have?”
“That’s it,” Harry said, thinking of the Glock in his shoulder holster.
“You’re lyin’, but I can’t do nothin’ about that now.” Tony turned his attention back to Vicky and leaned in close to her ear. “When I killed the last one, I slid the knife in just under her left titty then up into her heart. I don’t think she felt any pain at all. She just sort of slipped away, little by little, until that last little sparkle left her eyes and she was gone. It was beautiful, really. For me, anyway; I hope it was beautiful for her too. Do you think it was?”
“You sick fuck,” Vicky spat out.
The roar was so loud it literally knocked them forward a step, and it was followed by an overwhelming stench of putrid breath. Tony spun around, his knife instinctively raised, his rifle all but forgotten. The Alaskan brown bear, which had been drawn in by the earlier rifle shots and the hopes of any easy meal, rose up on its hind legs to its full height of ten feet. It roared again, blocking out all other sound, and it bit down on Tony’s head, driving its three-inch teeth into his skull. The murderer’s screams only seemed to enrage the bear more, and it reared back and swung one giant paw, catching Tony on the shoulder and ripping out his arm as his body flew twenty feet down the riverbank.
Tony’s torment filled Harry’s ears as he rushed forward and grabbed Vicky. He threw her over his right shoulder in a fireman’s carry as the bear loomed above him, then spun and raced back toward the water, expecting the animal to grab them from behind at any moment. He hit the water, headed for the south bank, and called over his radio for the helicopters to return and pick them up. Tony’s screams and the bear’s roars continued as he pressed himself against the rushing water to keep his balance. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the bear had no interest in Vicky or him. It had followed its victim’s body and was happily ripping and chewing on Tony Rolf as a geyser of blood spurted out. Tony’s remaining arm still held the knife and he flailed weakly at the monstrous animal while it tore chunks of flesh from what remained of his body.
Harry continued to stare at the grisly scene as he reached the south bank of the river. “Bon appétit, bear,” he said, then lowered Vicky to the ground and ran for the nearest chopper.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When the helicopter returned to the lodge from refueling, Max Abrams was on board.
Harry greeted him with a wide grin. “Just like you, Max. Show up when all the heavy lifting is done.”
“I understand you had a trained bear do your heavy lifting for you,” Max replied.
“They do things different here in Alaska. They feed their criminals to the wildlife. It cuts down on incarceration costs.”
“I like it,” Max said. “Be a good plan for Florida, good way for us to feed our alligators and all those big snakes we’ve got in the Everglades now. How much of Rolf were you able to get back?”
“Not much. After a while the troopers scared the bear off. Eventually they’ll hunt him down and try to get more out of his belly to finish the autopsy. But they probably would have killed it anyway. Apparently they don’t like to have bears in the woods that’ve developed a taste for human flesh, although from what I’ve heard, the damn things will eat anything they come across. And when they hear a rifle shot, it’s like a dinner bell and they come running to see what there is to eat. If Rolf hadn’t shot his rifle, the bear probably never would have showed up.” Harry paused. “But I’m glad it did. Right before that bear ripped his arm off, Rolf had a knife to Vicky’s throat.”
“And he was telling me how good it was going to feel when he slipped it into my heart,” Vicky added.
“Maybe they shouldn’t shoot that bear after all,” Max said.
“They should give it a medal,” Jessie said, adding her two bits as she entered the room. “What kind of accent is that?” she asked Max.
“What accent?”
“Yours.”
“You’ve never been to Brooklyn?” Max said.
“There really is such a place?”
“Are they all like this up here?” Max countered. “I thought Sarah Palin was something the comedians made up.”
“Watch it, mister, we got more hungry bears up here.”
Max raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve got a warrant to serve.”
“And I have one too,” Jessie said.
“Well, let’s go have some fun.”
* * *
Regis Walsh and Dutch Vandermere were smoking cigars in the lodge office, trying to sort their way through the current predicament. Tony was dead and that was a blessing. Without his testimony, much of what the authorities hoped to prove against either of them would be difficult. Regis had spoken with Jordan Wells earlier and the lawyer was confident that a jury—if it came to that—would be sympathetic to a plea of ignorance. And while ignorance of the law was not considered an acceptable defense, ignorance of another’s evil actions was often looked upon with favor by jurors. The important point, the lawyer had stressed, was that Regis and Dutch remain supportive of and loyal to each other. Right now, the only person speaking ill of them was Kenneth Oppenheimer.
* * *
Max and Jessie entered the office together, leaving the door open behind them so Harry and Vicky could loiter in the hall and hear what was said.
“Mr. Walsh,” Max began, “you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. If you choose not to remain silent, everything you say may be taken down and used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?”
Regis stared at him without speak
ing for nearly half a minute. “What am I charged with?” he asked at length.
Max handed him the warrant he had brought with him. “It’s all in there, but it basically deals with your aiding and abetting Tony Rolf in the commission of four murders, your efforts to help him escape arrest after each murder, and so on.”
“Tony killed four people?” Regis said. “When did this happen?”
“I’m not here to play games with you. Save it for court. Get up and put your hands on that desk while I search you.”
“Are you going to handcuff me?”
“You bet your bippie I am,” Max said. “You’ll be wearing these bracelets until you get into an Alaskan jail. Do you plan to fight extradition?”
“Of course not. My home and my job are all in Florida, as is my attorney. The sooner I get back there and deal with this nonsense, the better.”
“What were you doing here?” Max asked.
“Visiting a church facility in Anchorage and an old school chum here in Homer.” He inclined his head toward Dutch. “And that is the last question I shall be answering.”
Max patted him down and cuffed him behind his back. “My work is done here,” he said to Jessie.
She nodded and turned to Dutch. “Malcolm Vandermere, you are under arrest for aiding and abetting the attempted escape of one Tony Rolf, who was an escaped felon wanted in Florida on four counts of first degree murder.” Dutch’s face became grayer by the second as she read him his rights.
“I want to call my attorney,” Dutch said as soon as she had finished.
“Well, you just sit down at your desk and go right ahead. And do you think we could get us some coffee here while we’re all waiting?”
“Just pick up the phone on that conference table, punch in a free line, and hit four. That will connect you to the kitchen. Tell them what you want and have them deliver it to the office. All our guests left when they heard about the unpleasantness of this morning, so the kitchen staff has nothing to do. If anyone is hungry, order lunch for your people. My treat.”
Jessie smiled at the irony of his words. “Max, Vicky, Harry, anybody hungry? Sandwiches, coffee maybe?” she suggested.
The Scientology Murders Page 27