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The call from Joan McCann came at eleven o'clock. To Martin, she sounded like a woman on the brink of hysteria.
"I'm calling from my car. I'm following Paul. You've got to help me."
"How can you be following Paul? He's in jail."
"The judge dismissed his case, this morning. They sneaked him out of jail because they were afraid of you. Then . . . then he beat me up. He said things to me . . ."
She started to cry. Martin did not understand half of what she said, but he understood that Paul McCann was leaving town without his wife.
"He killed Patty. I can prove it."
Now Martin was completely focused.
"How do you know that?"
"Mr. Flynn came back an hour ago. He was very upset. He took Paul into the den, but I listened at the door. Someone called Aaron at home and said he had Melissa's notes and the disks. He wanted two hundred thousand dollars for them. Aaron told him it wasn't a scam. When Patty was murdered, she was wearing a topaz ring you'd given her for your anniversary, right?"
Martin's heart lurched. He remembered Patty's exclamation of joy when she saw the present and recalled the kiss she'd given him.
"Yes, she was wearing the ring. The police held back that information. How did you know?"
"Aaron told Paul that the caller described it."
"What did Paul say to Flynn?"
"He was angry. He claimed he didn't have two hundred thousand dollars. He said he thought the caller was a con artist. They argued for a while. Then Mr. Flynn left. As soon as he was gone, Paul started packing. I asked him what he was doing and he told me to shut up. He . . . he said I made him sick, that he was leaving me for good."
Joan burst into sobs again and Martin waited for her to calm down.
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to stop him. Before he gets the money and escapes."
"What money?"
"The ransom money."
"How do you know he has it?"
"He's going to Laurel Canyon State Park, to the caves. He must have hidden it there. Why else would he go to the park in the middle of the night? If he has the ransom money, Mr. Alvarez, he killed Patty."
"Why are you calling me? Why aren't you calling the police?"
"I don't want him arrested. I want him dead."
Laurel Canyon State Park was a twisting, turning maze of dry riverbeds and towering cliffs that was known to rock climbers all over the world. At the base of some of these cliffs were caves. There was a parking area near the entrance and Martin found Joan McCann parked at the far end of the lot where she'd told him she'd be. McCann's car was at the head of a trail that led down to the caves.
"He has a fifteen-minute head start. You'd better hurry. He's on the Bishop's Point trail. It's where he proposed to me," Joan added bitterly.
Martin had been to the park many times and knew the trails by heart. He put his gun in the waistband of his pants and grabbed a flashlight before starting on a path that led up to Bishop's Point, a lookout spot with an awesome view, and wound down to the desert floor, where there were several caves.
It took twenty minutes to reach the base of the cliff along the narrow footpath. Martin switched on the flashlight for a few seconds and played it over the rock-strewn floor at the foot of the cliff face. Then he walked toward the mouth of the nearest cave. There were large boulders on both sides of the entrance. Martin edged around one rock formation and peered into the cave hoping to see the beam of Paul's flashlight, but there was only stygian darkness.
"You son of a bitch," McCann screamed, just before he cracked Martin's cheekbone with his pistol. Martin staggered backward and swung the flashlight. It caught McCann on a raised forearm but didn't stop him. McCann aimed a punch at Martin's wound. The pain was blinding. A kick to the knee knocked Martin's legs out from under him and sent him to the ground. He tried to get up, but McCann kicked him in the ribs, then stomped on his head. Just when Martin thought he would pass out the beating stopped.
McCann collected Martin's automatic from the ground, where he'd dropped it after the first, surprise blow. Martin was certain that there were broken bones in his face. His ribs stung, but he didn't think they were broken. He struggled into a sitting position.
"Did Joan tell you I was coming here?" McCann asked in a hate-filled voice.
Martin held his tongue. McCann glared at him.
"It doesn't matter. You're not here because of that bitch. You're here for the money. Well, you'll see the money, all right. You're going to dig for it. Then you and I are both going to disappear. Now get up."
He gestured with the pistol and Martin made it to his feet with only one minor stumble. McCann pointed the flashlight beam into the cave and Martin preceded him inside. It was cold, but Martin was in too much pain to notice. The cave was deep and the roof, which was about nine feet high at the entrance, quickly dropped, so that they were soon moving forward in a half crouch. After they had walked for fifteen minutes the roof rose dramatically and they found themselves in a high-ceilinged chamber. McCann told Alvarez to stop in front of a large pile of rocks that looked as if they had been undisturbed for centuries.
"Start digging. The bag is at the bottom of that mess. It took me almost two hours to put it there."
McCann propped the flashlight on a mound of rocks on the other side of the cave so that it pointed at the pile that concealed the money. Martin started throwing rocks from the top of the pile off to one side. Every movement hurt, but digging in the rock pile was keeping him alive and giving him time to think.
After a while McCann eased himself into a sitting position against the far wall. His gun was aimed at Martin, who was certain it would soon grow heavy. As he dug he kept an eye out for a few heavy rocks. Every time he spotted one, he moved it to a spot where he could grab it quickly.
Martin's chance came after he had been working for half an hour. The barrel of the handgun wobbled then sagged downward. Then McCann leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a second. Martin was moving before he opened them. The first rock hit McCann in the forehead. He screamed and fired, but he wasn't aiming. Martin was on him before he could focus, smashing down with a second rock that sent McCann's head ricocheting off the wall, stunning him. A moment later Martin had the gun.
"Look around you, Paul," Alvarez said when he was certain that McCann was fully conscious of his situation. "This cave is where your body is going to rot."
McCann paled.
"You should be happy. I'm going to bury you with your blood money. You'll have an eternity to spend it in hell."
Anger suffused Martin's features as he aimed the gun.
"Goddamn you for killing Patty," he said, but he never pulled the trigger. Another gun fired from behind Martin. The explosion reverberated in the cave. Martin pitched forward, unconscious.
Chapter Thirty.
"I don't know how much time passed before I regained consciousness," Alvarez said. "When I came to I wished I hadn't."
He paused for a moment, reliving the agony of those moments.
"How did you get out of the cave?" Kate asked.
"Joan McCann brought the police. She was attacked while she was waiting for me."
"Who . . . ?"
"She doesn't know. The person was wearing a mask. He put a gun to her head and forced her to tell where I'd gone, then she was knocked out. When she came to I hadn't returned, so she called the police. I was barely alive when the search party found me and Paul."
"McCann was still there?"
"He was dead, shot between the eyes. The ransom money was gone."
"Did Aaron Flynn have an alibi?"
"He was never a suspect. Six months later he quietly left town. I had no idea where he'd moved until today."
"Did anyone else connected with the case move away?"
"Joan. She left within three months. She visited me several times at the hospital while I was recuperating. The last time, she told me that she couldn'
t stay in Desert Grove any longer."
"Was there a theory about the identity of Paul McCann's killer?"
"No. I'm certain that McCann and Lester Dobbs killed Patty, and that the same person murdered McCann and Dobbs. In the end, the most widely accepted theory was that an outsider was behind the plot."
"Do you believe that?"
"Absolutely not," Alvarez said, his voice as hard as granite.
"What happened to Gene Arnold?"
"I hired the best criminal lawyer in Arizona to represent Gene. He convinced Ramon that there wasn't enough evidence to hold him. It was obvious to everyone that Melissa's clothing and the car had been planted at the cabin. The crime lab was all over the place and couldn't find any evidence that Melissa or Gene had been there recently. Melissa's body was never recovered, so there was no forensic evidence connecting Gene to the murder. All they had were the arguments and Ramon wasn't going to prosecute Gene on the basis of a few domestic spats."
"Were there any new developments after you were shot?"
"Not until now."
"Can you think of anything else that might help, Mr. Alvarez?"
After a moment Martin shook his head. "You realize, of course, that Gene's death may have nothing to do with what happened here. It was a long time ago."
"That's true, but Aaron Flynn . . . The coincidence bothers me."
"Life is full of coincidences."
Kate stood and extended her hand. "Thanks for seeing me."
Alvarez took her hand and held it for a moment before releasing it. Kate handed him her card.
"If you think of anything else, please call me."
Martin nodded just as his assistant appeared on the patio.
"Anna will see you to your car. Good luck."
_ _ _
Martin Alvarez watched Kate Ross cross the terrace. Though she looked nothing like Patty, the investigator reminded him of her. They both had the same purposeful stride, and Patty had always shown a core of strength that he sensed in Kate Ross. Alvarez closed his good eye and rubbed his temples. There were times when he imagined that his wife was still with him, taking her morning ride, just out of sight and soon to return. Thoughts like that were calming, like a belief that he and Patty would be reunited in a life after death.
There were other times when memories of Patty stoked an impotent rage. It was that rage that was building as Martin entered the hacienda and went to his office. As soon as he closed his door he picked up the phone. A man answered in Spanish.
"You know who this is?" Alvarez asked.
"Yes."
"I have work for you. Come on the evening plane."
Chapter Thirty-One.
Saturday morning, Daniel bolted out of sleep thinking that he was still in his cell. When he realized that he was safe in Kate's guest room he fell back on the bed. Daniel was normally an early riser, but he had slept past nine. Just being in a place where the lights were not on twenty-four hours a day and screams and moans did not jerk him awake at all hours had been a luxury greater than silk sheets.
There was a note from Kate on the kitchen table. She had taken an early flight to Arizona and hadn't wanted to wake him. He wished she had. He remembered how happy he had been to see her waiting for him at the jail and he missed her already.
Daniel reread Kate's note. He liked holding something that she had touched and reading something that she had written just for him. Kate was very kind and very thoughtful. There hadn't been many people like that in Daniel's life. In truth, Kate was the single positive note in the sorry mess that had become his life. Despite their barely knowing each other, Kate had made sure that a top defense attorney represented him, she was paying some of his legal fees, and she was letting him stay with her-knowing that he was charged with murder. Her support conveyed her complete confidence in his innocence. He couldn't imagine getting through his ordeal without her.
After breakfast, Daniel wandered aimlessly around the house, flipped channels on the television, and quickly lost interest in a science-fiction novel he found in Kate's bookcase. Its plot wasn't nearly as surreal as his life. What had happened to him? A little more than a week ago he'd been living a dream he had never dared imagine as a child. Now someone had stolen that dream. Daniel wanted his life back.
One of the worst things about jail was being forced to stay inside. Daniel realized that he needed to get out in the world. He called Joe Molinari.
"How's the convict?" Molinari joked.
"I'm cooped up at Kate Ross's house and I'm going nuts."
"Ross, huh? That'll make juicy office gossip."
"There's nothing to gossip about. I'm hiding from reporters and Kate was kind enough to put me up."
"Of course."
"You're a pig, Molinari."
"I assume you didn't call just to insult me."
"True. Do you want to go for a run? I've got to get some exercise."
"Sounds good."
"Can you drive me over to my apartment so I can get my car and my running gear?"
"No problem. See you soon."
A fire-engine-red Porsche pulled up in front of Kate's house. Joe honked the horn and waved.
"Jesus, Molinari, I'm trying to be inconspicuous."
"Don't worry," Joe said as he peeled out, "you're too ugly to attract attention. Everyone will be looking at me."
Daniel relaxed and enjoyed the ride. It was cool, but the sun brought everyone out and the streets of northwest Portland were crowded with strolling couples.
"Go around the block once," Daniel instructed when they were a few streets from his apartment building. "I want to make certain that there aren't any reporters waiting for me."
"This celebrity thing is going to your head. Who do you think you are, O.J.?"
"Hey, I'm feeling a lot of empathy for O.J. at the moment."
As the Porsche cruised by Daniel's apartment house, a large man in jeans, a black windbreaker, and a baseball cap came out of the front door and crossed the street to a black pickup truck. He looked familiar, but Daniel was certain he had never seen him in the building. When they came around the block the next time, the pickup was gone.
Molinari parked in the street and Daniel ran up the stairs. Kate had been right about the chaos inside. The cops had obviously never heard that neatness counts. Daniel didn't feel like dealing with the mess right away. He grabbed his workout gear and changed in the bathroom, then he stuffed some extra clothes in a duffel bag and ran down to the small lot at the side of the building where his car was parked.
With Molinari following behind, Daniel drove past the zoo and the Forestry Center and parked up the road from the Vietnam Memorial. The two men stretched before taking off through the woods along one of the trails that wound through Washington Park. It took a while for Daniel to get his rhythm, and it didn't help that the first half mile was uphill.
"Feel like telling me what's going on?" Molinari asked.
"You shouldn't get involved."
"From what I can see, you don't have too many people on your side. I'd like to be one of them."
Daniel knew that he probably shouldn't talk about his case with Molinari, but Joe was one of the few people at the firm who'd stood by him. And he was smart. Maybe Joe would see something that he had missed. It would also be a relief to be able to talk about everything he'd kept bottled inside.
Daniel started with the night that Susan conned him into reviewing the discovery and ended with his arrest. The only part of the story he omitted was the call from Arthur Briggs and his presence at the cottage. The prosecutor couldn't prove he'd been at the scene of Briggs's murder and Daniel didn't want to make Joe Molinari a state's witness.
"Any brilliant insights you'd care to share?" Daniel asked when he was through.
"Not really, but it's sure a funny coincidence that Flynn got lucky again so soon after finding the Kaidanov letter."
"What do you mean?"
"Jaffe demolished Fairweather under oath. After Oregon Mutua
l sees a transcript of her testimony they'll be begging Reed, Briggs to settle and Flynn will collect a nice fat attorney's fee."
As they ran up a small rise Daniel suddenly remembered that Flynn had sent one of his associates to sit in on his hearing. An odd thought occurred to him. Did Flynn know what was going to happen when Fairweather took the stand? Was Flynn the guardian angel who sent Amanda the videotape of Fairweather's speech?
"You know, I just got a crazy idea," Molinari said as they started downhill. "Do you think it's possible that Aaron Flynn has a mole at Reed, Briggs?"
"Like in the spy novels?"
"Seriously, think about it. How did Kaidanov's letter get into the box of discovery? How did a tape from Arthur Briggs's office find its way to Amanda Jaffe?"
The trail narrowed and the men ran single file in silence until it widened giving Daniel time to think. He liked Flynn. He remembered how natural he'd been with Patrick Cummings. Daniel knew that Flynn was flamboyant and aggressive. He didn't want to think that he was dishonest.
"Someone at Geller could have included Kaidanov's letter by mistake when they compiled the discovery," Daniel said.
"You told me that everyone at Geller swears that they've never seen that letter or the Kaidanov report," Molinari countered.
"They would if they're lying."
"But how would someone at Geller know about Fairweather's case?" Joe insisted. "It has nothing to do with Geller Pharmaceuticals. If someone at Reed, Briggs sent Amanda that tape to help Flynn they could also have slipped the Kaidanov letter into the discovery."
"Okay, suppose you're right. Who's the mole?"
"Oregon Mutual was Briggs's client, so, technically, the suit against Fairweather was Briggs's case, but Brock Newbauer and Susan Webster were doing most of the work on it. They'd know about the videotape."
"Brock and Susan are also on the Insufort team," Daniel said.
"Something happened after you left that fits into my theory," Joe told Daniel. "Briggs called a meeting on the day he was killed to discuss what to do in the Insufort litigation. Brock Newbauer was complaining that he wanted Geller to settle, but Briggs wouldn't listen to him."
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