Pauline was turning around to retrieve a bottle of water from the backseat when she saw Joanne’s Lexus pull up behind them. “I have no idea why you wanted that woman to come today,” she said. “This is turning into a circus.”
“Mrs. Kuhlman offered to help,” Elizabeth told her. “We can use all the help we can get. Besides, we’re not looking for Ian. We’re looking for Ian’s grave. You’re a nurse, Pauline. Has your work made you this callous? This is your brother, for God’s sake.”
“Ian’s hiding out somewhere,” Pauline told her, taking a long drink of water. “I’ve told you that a dozen times. You’re making yourself sick coming out here every day. You never made Ian take responsibility for his actions. He doesn’t care if we lose the house. You warned him repeatedly about the Rubinsky brothers. He thumbed his nose at you. That’s why he hasn’t called. He knows he’s in serious trouble. When he was a kid, he used to hide in the garage when he did something wrong.”
Pauline got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Joanne walked over to introduce herself, but Pauline ignored her, staring out over the open field. “Why are we searching here?” she asked her mother, clutching her cell phone in her hand. “The rest stop back there doesn’t have a McDonald’s. I thought the man who called you said they buried Ian near a McDonald’s restaurant.”
“I’ve looked everywhere else,” Elizabeth explained, removing the stakes and other tools from the back of the Blazer. “There’s a Carl’s Junior. Maybe the man who called got the two restaurants confused. He said Ian was buried near Magic Mountain. Look,” she continued, pointing at something off in the distance. “I think that’s the top of the roller coaster. We’ve been searching on the other side of the park.”
Elizabeth shoved the wooden section of a rake into her daughter’s hands, then handed her twenty stakes and a hammer.
“I can’t carry all this stuff,” Pauline told her. “You said I had to bring my phone. I’ve got a bad back, remember? I lift sick people every day. You should have reminded me to wear pants with pockets.”
Elizabeth pulled a trash bag out of the trunk. “Put everything in here,” she said. “That way you can drag it instead of having to carry it. Every time we have to make a trip back to the car, we waste time. When you find something, don’t touch it. Call me and then we’ll make a decision as to whether or not we should notify the police.” She turned to Joanne. “Mrs. Kuhlman knows how to preserve a crime scene. We should be grateful that she offered to help us.”
Joanne was dressed in jeans and a blue sweater. The day was clear and sunny, the temperature in the mid-sixties. She asked Elizabeth, “What would you like me to do?”
“We’re going to set up a grid,” the woman said. “That way, we don’t cover the same ground twice.” She reached into the back of the Blazer again and handed Joanne some stakes and a hammer The prosecutor already had her cell phone clipped to her belt. “Write down my number.”
“I already programmed it into my phone,” Joanne said, waiting for the woman to tell her which area she wanted her to search. “My daughter became ill last night. She’s resting now, but I don’t think I should stay past noon. I’m sorry.”
“You can leave now if you want,” Elizabeth told her. “Your child should be your first priority.”
“I want to help,” Joanne said. “Leah will be fine. Her brother is with her, and my neighbor is bringing over some food. She can always call me if she needs anything.”
Elizabeth gave the prosecutor a hug. “You were very kind to come.”
“I hope I can help,” Joanne said. “Tell me what to do.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, reaching into the back of the Blazer again, “we poke the ground with these poles. Today is our best shot. The ground is still soft from the storm we had last week. By tomorrow, it will be hard again. It’s good that’s there’s three of us, even if you can’t stay all day. Pauline, start from here and walk straight for a hundred feet, then make a right turn and keep going. I’ll leave the car unlocked. When either of you run out of stakes, just come back for more.” She turned back to Joanne. “I’d like you to start in the opposite direction from Pauline. After a hundred feet, turn left. Every fifty feet, stop and place one of the stakes in the ground. You’ll save yourself some aches and pains if you use the hammer rather than trying to push the stake in with your hands.” She glanced at Joanne’s hands. “I should have told you to bring gloves.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Joanne said, touched by Elizabeth’s stoic and organized approach to finding her son. This frail woman, with the withered face and thinning hair, possessed an immense inner beauty. Every movement and every word seemed to have a purpose. Due to the situation with Leah, Joanne had planned on calling and bowing out. Leah had insisted she go, reassuring her mother that she would be fine. Because the girl had miscarried so early in the pregnancy, the doctor had sent her home with medication to stop the bleeding and muscle relaxants for the cramping. He suggested they make an appointment to see their gynecologist, however, to make certain that there wasn’t any remaining tissue. Leah said all she wanted to do was sleep. Mike had promised his mother he wouldn’t leave the house until she returned.
Outside of a few straggly trees, the ground they were searching was flat. They didn’t really need the phones, Joanne thought, as they could maintain visual contact with each other as they set up the outer perimeters of the grid. They’d only been searching for approximately twenty minutes when they heard Elizabeth screaming. Pauline and Joanne both started running toward her, knowing she must have found the body.
Elizabeth was on her knees. A hand protruded from the dirt. Attached to the skin of one of the fingers was a small green remnant of cloth. Portions of the flesh had been eaten away Pauline had to turn away, fearful she was going to vomit.
“It’s okay, Ian,” Elizabeth said, scooping out the dirt around the hand with her small shovel. “Mother is here. We’re going to take you home now. You’re not alone anymore.”
Joanne placed a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Perhaps you should wait until the police arrive,” she said. “You might be destroying valuable evidence.”
“I’ve waited long enough,” Elizabeth said, a fanatical fire in her eyes.
Joanne walked a few feet away and called the Valencia Sheriff’s Department, notifying them that they’d found what appeared to be Ian Decker’s body.
“For Christ’s sake,” Elizabeth cried, “can’t one of you help me?”
Tears were streaming down Pauline’s face. Joanne walked over and put her arm around her. “What should we do?” Pauline asked. “I didn’t believe Ian was dead. I was concerned about my mother’s health, don’t you understand? I love my brother.”
“Please,” Elizabeth shouted, having uncovered an entire arm. “For the love of God, get the shovels and help me. He’s been in the ground too long. We can’t wait for the police.”
The emotion of the moment overtook Joanne’s reason. She dropped to her knees and began digging, tossing the earth over her shoulder. The crime lab could take all the dirt and put it through their sifter, she told herself. There was no way to exhume a body without disturbing the crime scene.
Pauline stood with her arms wrapped around her chest. A few moments later, she got down on her knees beside her mother and began digging. “If you see any kind of object,” Joanne said, panting, “try not to touch it. Scoop it up with the shovel and place it a few feet away, then put one of those yellow stakes beside it so we’ll know where it is when the police get here.”
The three women worked in silence. Another arm was uncovered, then a shoulder. Finally, they saw strands of hair caked with dirt and both Joanne and Pauline laid down their shovels. Elizabeth used her bare hands, sweeping away the dirt until she had exposed the top portion of the face. She leaned forward and tenderly kissed his forehead, then rocked back on her legs, staring up at the sky. Joanne and Pauline exchanged questioning looks, yet neither woman spoke. Elizabeth was obv
iously praying, Joanne told herself. The woman’s eyes were closed and her mouth was moving, although she couldn’t make out what she was saying. Joanne bowed her head in respect, but she didn’t know what kind of prayer she was supposed to say. Ian Decker hadn’t deserved to die. She had a bitter taste in her mouth, not just from the smell of rotting flesh. She wanted to shake her fist at the heavens, shout at the top of her lungs, demand that God put an end to the violence, the senseless deaths. She didn’t mind fighting the battle. She was just tired of losing. When would good finally triumph over evil? Would she ever see such a thing in her lifetime? With her own hand, Joanne swept the earth off the corpse’s abdomen, making certain she didn’t touch anything that resembled a wound. She suddenly heard a voice inside her head. Her own thoughts, she assumed.
Elizabeth opened her eyes and stared out over the field. Pauline and Joanne continued digging around the lower half of the body. Between Crenshaw’s murder, her daughter’s miscarriage, and now this, Joanne was afraid she might faint. Elizabeth brushed more dirt off the face, then pushed herself to her feet.
“This is not my son!”
“What?” Joanne said, her jaw dropping.
Pauline leaned over and stared hard at the face. “She’s right,” Pauline said. “This isn’t my brother.”
“Are you certain?” Joanne asked, repositioning herself so she could get a better look at the body The features looked familiar, but she had to agree with the other women. Ian Decker’s face was more elongated. And his eyes were set farther apart. “I think I know who this is,” Joanne said, picking up the man’s arm and looking at his ring finger. “It’s Gary Rubinsky. I recognize the ring.” She tried to remove the ring to get a better look at the insignia. When she realized the finger might detach from the joint, she spat on the edge of her shirt and wiped the ring clean. “See,” she said, motioning for Pauline and Elizabeth to come closer, “Gary Rubinsky graduated from Ventura High School. This is his senior ring.”
Elizabeth made the sign of the cross, certain her prayers had been answered. “It’s a miracle, don’t you see? They couldn’t kill my son. God wouldn’t let them. Instead, God took the life of this terrible man. This is divine justice.”
Joanne felt lightheaded, caught up in a swirl of emotion and confusion. “Where is Ian, then?”
“Alive!” Pauline said, walking back toward the car. “I told you all along he wasn’t dead. No one ever listens to me.”
THIRTY
Saturday, February 17, 2001, 8:20 A.M.
ELI WAS shocked when he saw Joanne’s Lexus parked behind a Chevy Blazer on a farm road three miles from the Interstate 5 exit. A slender brunette was leaning against the side panel of the Blazer, her face smudged with dirt. “Don’t tell me the sheriff only sent one guy out here,” Pauline said, squinting at the big man over the top of her sunglasses. “What are you going to do? Throw the body into the back of your pickup truck?”
“Daniel Stewart,” Eli said, thinking the woman was a Ventura detective. “Is Joanne Kuhlman here?” He didn’t want to make a mistake and try to pass himself off as Marvin Brown. Daniel Stewart was another of his aliases. Once he left town, the Connors name would drop to the bottom of the list. He would never be able to use his real name again. “You mentioned a body….”
“My name is Pauline,” she said. “Ian Decker is my brother. We found a man buried out there, but it isn’t Ian. We’re almost positive it’s Gary Rubinsky. Are you a police officer?”
“No,” Eli said, experiencing an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. He’d been so certain he would find Ian’s body, he’d even placed a call to Arnold Dreiser, arranging to meet him later that evening at the Cliff House restaurant to collect the rest of his money. Rubinsky was either one hell of an actor, or a far more sophisticated criminal than they realized. Why would Tom direct him to his brother’s grave? He could understand Tom being angry that Gary had betrayed him. Nonetheless, how could he have arranged for someone on the outside to kill Gary and bury him in only a matter of hours? Even if such were true, why would he want Eli to find him? Had Tom killed both Ian and Gary? Tom was already in custody at the time of the Crenshaw homicide, and from what Eli understood, Gary was the prime suspect. The situation was mind-boggling. With Gary in the ground, Tom in the county jail, and Willie Crenshaw in the morgue, the only remaining suspect was Ian Decker. “Who identified the body as Gary Rubinsky?”
“I’ve known Gary for years,” Pauline said. “One of my girlfriends even dated him. I mean, he isn’t in the best condition, but he looks like Gary and he’s wearing a high school ring from the school Gary attended.”
“Have you heard any news about your brother?”
“No,” Pauline said. “He’ll turn up eventually”
Eli’s gut instinct told him to turn tail and run. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time before, and the results had been disastrous. For all he knew, Tom Rubinsky could have led him into a trap. He should have never taken Arnold Dreiser to the Nightwatch, even though most of the weapons he had on board were kept hidden. Dreiser was both smart and curious, a dangerous combination for a man with Eli’s history.
Pauline walked to the other side of the car to make a phone call. Eli could see Elizabeth and Joanne off in the distance. Regardless who was buried out there, how had the three women managed to find the grave before him? They were at least fifteen miles away from the area where the original search had been concentrated. His mind hurled him back in time, to that hot summer night in Washington that had forever changed his life.
Tuesday, August 24, 1994, 10:14 P.M.
Eli was in his apartment, stretched out in his recliner watching television. His wife, Abby, an elementary schoolteacher, was grading papers in the spare bedroom they used as an office. They’d been married for three years. As soon as the agency assured him his post with the Washington bureau was permanent, the couple intended to buy a house in the suburbs and start a family. The phone rang, but Eli ignored it, thinking it was Abby’s younger sister, Martha. They spoke on the phone almost every night.
Abby appeared in the doorway. “It’s for you,” she said, her brows furrowed with concern. At thirty-two, she was a statuesque woman with large, expressive eyes and gorgeous skin. She had tried to talk her husband into leaving the agency, terrified that something was going to happen to him. With his technical skills, he could have easily obtained a job in the private sector, but things were looking good for him. His last performance review had been excellent, and his supervisor had all but promised him a promotion. The agency provided excellent benefits, and Eli enjoyed his work.
Eli picked up the portable phone. “Loyd Berman,” a familiar voice said. “You’ve been assigned to deliver a document for the attorney general’s signature.”
“Where’s the document now?” Eli picked up a pen and a notepad off the coffee table. He knew better than to complain, just as he knew not to question the nature of the document. CIA agents weren’t used as messengers unless the material was classified and the principals involved were high-level government officials.
“At Senator Weinberg’s house,” Berman said, rattling off an address. “Milhouser attended a state dinner tonight. He’ll be waiting for you in his office at eleven. Once he signs the document, deliver it to the guard shack at the Hall of Justice. They’ve also been notified. Bring a signed receipt when you come to work in the morning.”
Eli disconnected, stepping into his shoes and heading to the bedroom to strap on his service revolver and pick up his wallet and identification. Abby came out of the bathroom in her nightgown, her hair in a ponytail on the top of her head, her face void of makeup. “How long are you going to be gone?” she asked. “Should I wait up for you?”
“I’ll be back before midnight,” Eli told her, walking over and pulling her into his arms. He kissed her on the lips, then playfully patted her on the buttocks. “Even if you go to sleep, I might have to wake you.”
“I’ll wait up,”
Abby told him, smiling seductively.
As he rode down in the elevator to the underground parking garage, Eli didn’t anticipate any problems. Senator Weinberg’s town house was only a few blocks away Overall, the capital was a small town, a small town crammed full of monuments, politicians, and people whose jobs were either to protect them or to serve them.
The senator’s housekeeper met Eli at the door. Weinberg came down the stairs in his bathrobe and personally handed Eli the package. “Sorry about this,” he said, a stout man in his late sixties. “I got tied up on another matter.”
Eager to get home to his wife, Eli had arrived at the Department of Justice thirty minutes early The outer door to the attorney general’s office was standing open, but the door to his private office was closed.
Eli took a seat, assuming the senator hadn’t returned from his dinner. A few moments later, he heard a gunshot. Yanking his service revolver out of his shoulder holster, he’d kicked open the door to Roland Milhouser’s office, finding two men standing over the attorney general’s body. The men flashed Secret Service badges and ordered Eli to leave immediately, informing him that the attorney general had just committed suicide. One agent stood guard over the body while the other escorted Eli out of the building.
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