The Associate

by Phillip Margolin

  McCann didn't take the verdict well. He broke down. He screamed and cried. He swore he was innocent and that Dobbs was lying. Flynn promised to fight his case all the way to the United States Supreme Court if necessary. The appeal he promised would begin as soon as Melissa Arnold, the court reporter, prepared the transcript of the case.

  But that never happened. One week after Paul McCann's trial ended, Melissa Arnold disappeared.

  Someone was knocking on Martin Alvarez's bedroom door. He sat up groggily and stared at the clock on his end table. It was 2:30A.M.

  "Senor Alvarez," a man called out. Alvarez recognized the voice of one of his guards.

  "Come in."

  A barrel-chested young man entered the bedroom.

  "What is it?"

  "Senor Arnold is here."

  "What does he want?"

  "He wouldn't tell me, but he's very upset."

  "All right. Take him to my office, and see if he wants something to drink. I'll be right down."

  The day after his arrest, Lester Dobbs had led the police to Patty Alvarez's grave in the desert. Martin was home when he got the news that Patty was really dead. He had identified the body, returned to his hacienda, and remained there, leaving only to attend Patty's funeral and Paul McCann's trial. Several friends had tried to pay condolence calls, but Martin had turned them away. This was different. Gene Arnold was more than Martin's lawyer. He had worked for Martin for peanuts when Martin was nobody. He had always been there for him when times were hard.

  Alvarez dressed quickly. When he walked into his office he found his friend and lawyer pacing back and forth, his cheeks tear-streaked and his hair uncombed.

  "She's gone," Gene said.

  "Who's gone?"

  Gene slumped on a chair and buried his head in his hands.

  "Melissa," he moaned.

  Gene Arnold was five eight, balding, and had the start of a paunch. He was not much to look at, in other words, which made his marriage to Melissa Arnold so surprising. He had met her during a deposition in Los Angeles, where she was working as a freelance court reporter. According to Gene, she had just left a terrible marriage. He had been pulverized by her looks and had proposed after one date. They married at a wedding chapel in Las Vegas and honeymooned at Caesars Palace.

  Almost from the day he came back to Desert Grove with his bride, the gossips said Melissa had married Gene for his money. Martin and Patty Alvarez saw a lot of the couple and it had been Patty's opinion that Melissa was never in love with her husband-he was someone safe and comfortable who would worship her and never betray her.

  Alvarez poured Arnold a tall Scotch and forced him to take a drink. When Gene was calm enough to speak coherently, he told Martin what had happened that day.

  "Melissa left for work this morning. I went to the office. Around nine-thirty, Marge called from Mel's chambers to ask if Melissa was sick." Gene looked up, his face the very picture of despair. "She never made it to work, Martin."

  Martin's first thought was that she had run out on Gene and the tedium of Desert Grove. He knew Melissa had grown tired of Gene and the town fairly quickly. Martin based his conclusion on the fact that she'd come on to him at his Fourth of July barbecue. Martin had rebuffed her gently and had never told anyone about the pass, but he watched her closely after that and noticed her flirting with more than one man.

  "Marge said no one had seen Melissa at the courthouse. I called home, thinking she was sick and had gone back to the house. There was no answer, so I drove home in case she was sleeping or had fainted or . . ."

  "And she wasn't there?"

  Gene shook his head. It was still hard for him to talk.

  "But all her clothes were there. So were the suitcases. There wasn't any note. She hasn't run off, Martin."

  A feeling of dread began to grow in Martin's stomach.

  "Did you call the sheriff?"

  "No. What would I have said? I mean, she was only gone for a few hours. I was worried, but after I called the hospital and they said she wasn't there, I kept thinking that she would call and explain what happened. The sheriff wasn't going to do anything, anyway, until there was proof that something had happened to her."

  "And now there is?" Martin asked fearfully.

  "There . . . there was a call." Gene stopped and caught his breath. "The voice was disguised. It was so low that I couldn't understand it at first."

  Gene started to cry again. Finally, he choked out what he had to say.

  "They have her. It's the people who took Patty."

  Martin felt sick.

  "It's the same people," Gene sobbed. "The caller said so. They'll kill her if I call the police. What should I do? I love her. I've got to save her."

  Gene looked at Alvarez for an answer, but Martin couldn't think straight.

  "Did they let you talk to Melissa?"

  "No. I asked, but they refused."

  "What do they want?"

  "Seventy-five thousand dollars or they're going to kill her."

  "Can you get your hands on that much money?"

  "Just. I've got a retirement account. The money means nothing to me. It's Melissa. If they kill her . . ."

  "What are you supposed to do?"

  "The kidnappers are going to contact me around five tonight at my house. They said they're watching me and they'll know if I go to the cops or have a tap put on my phone."

  "What do you want me to do, Gene?"

  Arnold raised his eyes to Alvarez's face. It was a block of stone.

  "I can't risk going to the police or the FBI. Look at the mess they made in your case."

  Martin nodded. Gene leaned forward, his hands clasped like a supplicant before a king.

  "Can you bring them the money, Martin?" Arnold looked down. "I . . . I'm not brave. Look at me. What could I do to save her? But you're tough. If there was a chance, you could fight them . . ."

  His voice trailed off. The plea was pathetic and desperate.

  "That makes no sense at all, Gene. I'm no Rambo, and these guys won't fight fair. This isn't like one of those kung fu movies where the villain throws down his weapons and fights the hero hand to hand. They'll have guns and they'll shoot me in the back if it suits them. They shot it out with the FBI."

  "I'm sorry. You're right, I don't know what I was thinking." Gene sounded thoroughly defeated. "I have to take the chance that Melissa is alive and that they'll return her to me if I pay them."

  Alvarez looked at the clock on his desk. It was a little after three. His mind was racing. He doubted that Melissa Arnold was still alive, but that didn't mean that he would let his friend deal with her killers. They were the people who murdered his Patty and this was a chance for revenge.

  "Let me take you home," Alvarez said calmly, giving none of his feelings away. "I'll stay with you. Let's see what they say. Then we'll decide what to do."

  8

  By the time the call came, the money was waiting inside a gym bag and Martin had reached a decision. Gene had the receiver pressed to his ear before the second ring. Martin heard him say, "I understand" and "Yes," then, "Is my wife-" and knew by the way Gene's features crumbled that they had hung up on him without letting him talk to Melissa or assuring him that she was all right.

  "Gene?" Martin asked softly.

  Arnold stared at the phone.

  "What did they say?"

  "There's a side road off the highway." He sounded dazed. "It's near the bridge that crosses the McPherson River where they have the picnic grounds."

  "I know it."

  The McPherson River was twenty miles from Desert Grove in a deep canyon. The Park Service had developed a picturesque area near it. Rafters set out from a small park with a picnic area. Last summer, Martin and Patty had rafted that river with Gene and Melissa.

  "Tonight, as soon as it gets dark, I'm supposed to drive up the road for a mile and park the car near the trail to the river. They want me to walk down to the river and follow the trail until it curves around
the cliff side. I'm supposed to leave the money there and drive home."

  "What then?"

  "They didn't say."

  It was a strange plan. The trail from the road to the picnic area was the only way in or out. On the other hand, at night, the location was pretty isolated and the kidnapper would see anyone who tried to follow Gene.

  "I'm going to take them the money," Martin said.

  Gene looked startled. "Forget that. I was crazy to ask you before."

  "Someone has to wait here in case Melissa comes home."

  "I can't ask you to do this for me."

  "You're a good friend, Gene. And I'm not asking for your permission."

  Gene started to argue, but the determination he saw on Martin's face stopped him.

  "Thank you," he whispered. "I'll never forget this."

  It was cold in the desert that night, and Martin was wearing jeans and a windbreaker to fight the chill. The bag of money bumped against his legs as he descended toward the river. Tucked in his waistband was a licensed .45-caliber automatic. A hunting knife hung from his belt in a scabbard. Martin had a simple plan. He would kneecap the person who came for the money, then torture him until he told Martin where to find Melissa Arnold and named everyone involved in the kidnappings.

  In sunlight, this was a beautiful spot-high red cliffs, carefully cultivated greenery at the jump-off spot, and the always soothing shush of the rapidly flowing water. At night, with the possibility of a killer lurking in the dark, the spot lost a lot of its glamour.

  There was no light except the stars and a half-moon, so Martin moved slowly. It was about a quarter mile until the cliff jutted out where the river turned. The first rapids, a gentle class two, was a short distance past the bend. The trail narrowed where the river curved. A little ways on it dwindled to a footpath. Martin walked past the curve of the rock and looked around. There was scrub brush and not much else except for the high cliff wall. If someone was lurking behind one of the many outcroppings of rock, he wouldn't be able to see them. Martin left the money then walked back along the path and hid in the shadows.

  Nothing happened for forty minutes. Then Martin heard a muffled footfall. Clouds suddenly moved across the moon and Martin could barely make out the person bent over the gym bag. He tried for a better look and dislodged a rock. In the stillness the tumbling stone sounded like a stack of bottles shattering in a supermarket aisle. The kidnapper turned and Martin went for his gun. While he was leveling the .45 he heard the crack of a gunshot and felt searing pain in his left shoulder. Martin staggered a few paces, then fell. His head struck the ground. Struggling to stay conscious, Martin fired a shot to discourage the kidnapper from coming over to finish him off.

  Two more shots rang out and Martin crawled for cover. Something splashed in the water. Martin peered around the rock. Two muzzle flashes lit up a small raft as it floated rapidly downriver. Martin came up shooting, but the raft was around the bend in the river and out of sight. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. He became nauseated and his legs gave way. Adding to his misery was the knowledge that his incompetence may have cost Melissa Arnold her life.

  Martin stumbled up the trail, which seemed impossibly steep and long. After what seemed like hours, he reached his car. He had to fight to stay conscious during the drive to Gene Arnold's house and he let himself collapse on the car horn as soon as he came to a stop in the front yard. Gene was at his side in moments, blanching at the extent of Martin's bleeding as he pulled his friend from the car. With a grunt, he slung Martin's good arm across his shoulder and supported him as they crossed the yard. When they were inside, Gene called the hospital. Then he called the sheriff.

  9

  "Feel up to talking, Martin?" Detective Norm Chisholm of the Laurel County Sheriff's Office asked as soon as he walked into Martin's hospital room.

  "Sit down. I've been expecting you. Any word yet on Melissa?"

  Norm shook his head.

  "How's Gene doing?"

  "Not good. You two weren't acting very smart."

  "Don't make me feel any worse than I do already. Gene wouldn't let me call the police. He was terrified that the kidnapper would kill Melissa." Martin's features clouded and his voice caught. "The way the FBI handled Patty's stakeout really spooked him."

  Chisholm had no comeback for that, so he asked Martin to tell him what had happened by the river. When Alvarez was through, Chisholm brought Martin up to date.

  "We sent a forensic crew to the take-out point downriver from where you were shot. That's where the kidnapper left the river, but we don't have a clue to who he is."

  "Nothing?"

  Norm shook his head. "Martin, what kind of couple are they?"

  "Melissa and Gene?"

  The detective nodded.

  "Gene worships her."

  "And Melissa? She seem happy?"

  "Desert Grove is a change from the big city, and there is the age difference," he answered after a pause. "Why do you ask?"

  "Gene never said anything to you about marital problems?"

  "No, he didn't, Norm. Where is this going?"

  He shrugged. "Probably nowhere. I'm just ruminating."

  When Norm left, Martin called Gene Arnold, who seemed inconsolable. The pain pills the doctor had given Martin dulled his senses, but not enough to banish the guilt he felt for failing his friend.

  10

  When Norm Chisholm walked into Ramon Quiroz's office two days later he looked excited. The detective sat across from the DA and handed him an affidavit signed by Aaron Flynn.

  "I want you to write up an affidavit for a search warrant for Gene Arnold's house, his cabin near the Meander River, his car, and Melissa Arnold's car. You can use Aaron's affidavit to establish probable cause."

  Quiroz looked puzzled. "What's going on?"

  "You know that court reporters type a kind of shorthand onto a strip of paper in a stenograph machine while court is in session."

  Quiroz nodded.

  "Well, there's a computer disk in the machine that acts as a backup. When a lawyer needs a transcript, the court reporter puts the disk in her computer and uses a software program that translates the stenographic notes into English. Flynn needs to get started on Paul McCann's appeal. He called up Judge Schrieber to find out who's going to prepare the transcript of McCann's trial now that Melissa Arnold is missing. A couple of other lawyers had the same question about their cases because Melissa was their court reporter. The judge told Flynn that he'd arranged for another court reporter to prepare the transcripts, but she can't do it because they can't find the disks or Melissa Arnold's notes. They've checked her office at the courthouse and they called Gene. He says they're not in his house. The judge thinks they could be in Melissa's car, but the car is still missing. The notes are essential, right?"

  "Sure. When you appeal a conviction the appeals court looks through the record to see if the judge made a mistake during the trial that could have affected the verdict. Without the record, there can't be an appeal."

  "Okay. I want to search Gene's house and that little cabin he keeps by the Meander River for Melissa's notes. That will make the search legal because they're government property."

  "Why don't you just ask Gene to let you look around?"

  "I don't want to alert him. Gene's become a suspect."

  "You're not serious."

  "There's nothing concrete yet. The neighbors say that Gene and Melissa have been arguing pretty heavily recently. She may have been thinking of leaving him."

  "You think he killed her and faked everything?" Quiroz asked incredulously. "Martin was there when he talked to the kidnappers on the phone."

  "He was there when a call came in, but he didn't hear the other side of the conversation. Gene could have arranged for someone to call him, then he could have gone upriver to Angel Ford and rafted downriver to the drop."

  Quiroz shook his head. "What if Martin had gone back to Gene's immediately, instead of waiting? Gene wouldn't have bee
n there. It would have given the whole plot away."

  "No. He'd just tell Martin that the kidnappers called, told him where to find Melissa, he drove there, and his wife wasn't where they said she would be, or something like that."

  "So do you think that Gene was involved in the Alvarez kidnapping?"

  Chisholm thought for a moment before shaking his head.

  "No, that was Paul McCann, all the way. But Dobbs got everyone thinking that there was a third conspirator out there, and maybe that gave Gene the idea for his fake kidnapping."

  "I don't buy it. I know Gene. He couldn't kill someone, and he worshiped Melissa."

  "Ramon, you've been in this business long enough to know that anyone can kill under the right circumstances. Anyway, I'm not saying that Gene's guilty, but he is a suspect. Maybe this is a wild-goose chase, but I wouldn't bet on it."

  11

  Two days later, at nine in the evening, Martin Alvarez's phone rang. It was Gene. He sounded on the verge of hysteria.

  "I'm in jail. They're saying I killed Melissa."

  "Try to calm down, Gene. Is anyone with you who can hear what you're saying?"

  "Ramon, Norm Chisholm. I know these guys. I can't believe they're doing this."

  "I'm coming down now to see you. Be strong and do not say anything. If they try to talk to you ask for the Miranda rights. Do you understand?"

  "Yes. Thank you, Martin."

  "Put Ramon on."

  A moment later the DA was on the phone.

  "What the fuck are you doing, Ramon?"

  "This is hard for me, too, Martin, but we've got evidence."

  "That Gene murdered his wife?"

  "Yes."

  "Bullshit. Gene's the gentlest person I know. You fucked up."

  "We searched Gene's cabin, the Meander River place. The clothes Melissa was wearing on the day she disappeared were stuffed into a dresser drawer. They were covered with blood. We haven't done a DNA test yet, but the lab's done some preliminary tests. It's Melissa's blood type. We also found her car parked behind the cabin."