“Thanks.”
Steve went around the side of the house and walked down the driveway. The place was a small duplex. The back portion looked even more worn than the front. A small, square dwelling. Looked like it might have been the garage at one time. A place for an old car, not a dying old doctor.
He knocked on the door. Waited. The gray sky over the desert was rippling like an ocean of sludge. Probably a storm coming.
No answer so he knocked again. Waited again.
He put his ear to the door and listened. Didn’t hear anything. He looked back at the main house and saw the T-shirt guy watching him from a back window.
Figuring he’d paid for the privilege, Steve tried the door.
It opened.
Dark inside, and stale. But there was enough light that Steve could make out a couple of items. Like the chair in the middle of the room with a body in it. And a TV in the corner that was on some NASCAR race, but with the sound off.
“Dr. Phillips?” Steve couldn’t clearly see the man’s face or eyes. The odor of hard liquor hit his nose. “Dr. Phillips?”
A grunt, and the head rolled along the back of the chair. Steve’s eyes were adjusting and could make out a gaunt man. A gone man.
Steve looked around and found a lamp, turned it on. The interior was late-American mess. Empty glasses in various places, including the floor. A pair of scuffed black shoes by the door. The curtains on the windows had orange boats and green palm trees on them, as if to try to fool the occupant into a sense of tropical well-being. A stack of National Geographics leaned precariously against a half-empty bookcase under one of the windows.
The man in the chair snorted. He was wearing wrinkled khaki pants, brown socks, and a light-yellow short-sleeved shirt with the top two buttons undone. A tuft of pathetic white hair coiled from his chest. On the coffee table in front of him was a nearly empty bottle of Ancient Age.
“Who is it?” the man said, lifting his head finally and looking at Steve. The man blinked his rheumy eyes a few times.
“You’re Dr. Phillips?”
“Who are you?”
“Someone who needs to talk to you.”
“Who let you in here?”
“The door was open.”
Phillips rubbed his eyes with his hands, then looked for the bottle, as if to reassure himself it was still there.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Steve asked.
“What are you doing in here?”
“If you’ll let me explain — ”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone.” He waved a bony arm. He tried to sit up and, tiring of the effort, slumped back in his chair.
“I have to talk to you, sir, I’m sorry. I won’t be long. Just give me a minute and tell me what you can and I’ll leave.”
A wisp of suspicion blew across his face. “Who are you? Who told you where to find me?”
“My name’s Conroy. I have to ask you something about an autopsy you performed.”
“I don’t do that anymore.”
“This was back in ’83. It was a boy who died in a fire. His name was Robert Conroy. At least, that’s what it said on the report. I have to know what — ”
He swore.
“ — you remember about that case. I’m sure it sticks out in your mind. That’s not something that happens every day.”
The eyes widened a little, the red in them the color of fresh blood. “Who are you? I demand you tell me.”
“Robert Conroy was my brother. According to the autopsy report, which bears your signature, you made an identification by dental records. Do you recall that?”
He said nothing.
“Does the name Larry Oderkirk mean anything to you?” Steve said.
He looked to be drifting away.
“How about Owen Mott? Or Eldon LaSalle?” Steve said.
“Give me a drink. I need a drink.” He found the strength to sit up.
He reached out for the bottle of whisky. Steve snatched it away.
“You don’t need any more of this,” Steve said.
“Give that to me.”
“After you talk. Then you can get as drunk as you want.”
“How dare you? Give me that bottle.”
“Talk.”
When Phillips saw Steve wasn’t going to give him the liquor, he seemed to shrink. He buried his head in his hands, and his shoulders started to shake. Like the quake of the ground before oil gushes, Steve thought. He was hoping the doctor would gush the story he had obviously tried to hide for years.
“All right, all right,” Steve said. He left the man to cry a little, went into the bathroom, and looked for some tissue. Finding nothing but an old towel, he opted for a wad of toilet paper instead. The bathroom was not the cleanest he’d ever seen. The smell almost made him gag. He poured the rest of the whisky down the drain and left the bottle on the sink.
He came back to the doctor, who was in the same position, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right,” Steve said, knowing it wasn’t. He pushed the toilet paper into Phillips’s hands. The doctor used it to dab his eyes.
His breathing started to normalize. “I never thought,” he said.
“Take it easy. Just tell me from the top what happened.”
“I was a good doctor,” he said to his hands, now open in his lap.
“A very good doctor.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“You don’t know. Anything.”
“Why don’t you tell me?” If he wanted to lay out his life story, Steve wouldn’t mind. As long as he got to the important stuff.
But the doctor said nothing, seeming to drift back into a fog.
“Doctor,” Steve said, “do you know Edward Hendrickson?”
That blasted him out of the fog, and his wide eyes were the headlights. “Ed. You talked to Ed?”
“Yes.”
“Oh no.” His head slumped.
“Easy.”
“I need to clean up.” He touched his chest with both hands. “I’m a mess.”
“I don’t care.”
“I care. Get me up.”
Steve took hold of one of his skinny arms and lifted him. What was left of him anyway.
“Where’s the bottle?” he said.
“Look, let’s get some food and coffee in you. My car’s out front.”
“I feel sick.”
Great.
“Sit,” Phillips said. “Wait.” He trundled toward the bathroom.
As Steve waited he almost said a prayer. He thought that the good doctor was what he, Steve Conroy, could very easily become if he ever lost it to blow again. He appreciated the warning.
He wanted to get out of this hole as soon as he could. Breathe some air. Maybe drop the doc off at the nearest hospital and say, Here, do something.
There was a car crash on the TV. No sound, just a flaming car and people running around. They were trying to get a guy out before he burned up.
Steve heard a door slam.
He turned around and saw the only two interior doors — one to the bathroom, one to what must be the bedroom — wide open. The doctor certainly hadn’t gone out the front door.
Then it hit him. What he’d heard was a gunshot.
He ran to the bathroom.
Phillips was there, his frail body motionless, blood oozing out of the back of his head.
There’d be no doctor for Phillips. There’d be nothing, ever again.
FORTY-SEVEN
The detective looked about twelve years old. “You just found him there?” he said.
Steve was surprised the cop’s voice didn’t crack. “I heard the shot, yeah,” Steve said. “He wasn’t going anywhere.”
Nearly an hour had gone by since Steve had called 9 – 1 – 1. Now the local homicide team was on the job. They were in front of the doctor’s hovel, and Steve could hear the landlord screaming from inside his house. A few epithets and a couple of threats. Toward him.
“Now why is
he so upset?” the detective, named Ross, asked.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Steve said.
“I’m asking you, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. I told you what happened. I told you twice.”
“I’m still not getting why you came to see Dr. Phillips.”
“Toothache.”
“He was a medical doctor.”
“I misread the ad.”
Ross heaved breath. He had ruddy cheeks and blue eyes. He could have been serving hamburgers at the In-N-Out. “You’re not helping yourself here. You think being an LA lawyer is going to do you any good, you got another — ”
“I don’t have to help myself. I don’t have to answer your questions, either. I had a personal matter to discuss with Dr. Phillips and I want it to remain personal. All I can tell you is that I came here, I started to talk things over with him, and he went in the back and shot himself.”
“You must have upset him.”
“He was already upset. The man was a drunk.”
“Drunks don’t always shoot themselves.”
“This one did.”
“And you have no idea why?”
“There are a million reasons for people to cash in. I’m sure if you dig around you’ll find out whatever you need to know. It was a suicide, not a homicide, all right? There’s nothing criminal here.”
“That’s what I have to find out.”
“I’m telling you. There’s only two people who know what happened in there, and one of them’s dead. The other one is right here and he’s telling you what happened. All right? Are we done here?”
“Mr. Conroy, you seem a little anxious to leave.”
“Yeah, I’m anxious. Like Al Sharpton at a Klan rally.”
“Excuse me?”
“Al Sharpton? Klan?”
“Sure.”
“I can tell you’re a real fan of stand-up.” Steve handed the man his card. “I’ll be happy to do up a formal statement and sign it under penalty of perjury. I’ll fax it to your office. Okay?”
“I may have some more questions for you.”
“I always like to help the local constabulary.”
“Excuse me?”
“Constabulary? It means ‘cops’.”
The detective’s face flushed like a fourth grader who just got reamed by the teacher. “I could hold you as a material witness, you know.”
“That would just make both of us crabby. I prefer that you be crabby and I go home. How’s that?”
“You’ll be hearing from me.”
“Looking forward to it.”
FORTY-EIGHT
On the drive back to Verner, Steve considered whether to tell Johnny about finding Dr. Phillips. His big brother would definitely want to know, but then he’d also want to know what Steve was doing snooping around in the past.
And he’d have to say he didn’t know exactly why. That he had these suspicions taking up residence in his brain. Formless doubts hovering around like the bad stink you get from an alley after the rain. It brings up the trash you might otherwise have missed.
Besides, what he did on his own time was his own business. Yes, he was working for the LaSalles, but he had not signed an exclusivity contract with them. He also didn’t want to get anywhere near “belonging” to them. Like that guy said about the women of Beth-El.
That was more than a little strange.
At four in the afternoon, he drove to Beth-El for a client meeting with the LaSalles. His bread and butter now. Yes, the butter smelled rancid if you were to judge by the past. Maybe his being here was going to be a good thing for Eldon LaSalle. And Johnny. Maybe he’d be able to guide them along a way that was not completely nutty.
And make a nice, tidy, ongoing sum.
Yes, it could all work out very nicely. Except that driving into the Beth-El compound reminded Steve of The Godfather movies. The men standing around trying to look attitudinal were just like the mafia soldiers who were always around to protect the don.
Yep, religion was certainly a force for good. At least it was keeping these guys off the streets.
Steve met with Johnny and Eldon LaSalle in another room of the compound. It had the same hunting décor, but was set up like a conference room. The table in the middle looked like the cross section of a giant redwood. Glass was fitted over the top, shaped to fit the natural shape of the cut. Impressive.
And like every other room in the house, this one had a large, active fireplace.
“It looks as if there is not going to be any impediment for your official designation as a church,” Steve said. “The free-exercise clause is a wide protection these days.”
Eldon LaSalle nodded. “In principle,” he said. “But what about views that society deems out of the mainstream? Such as that the Bible teaches racial purity, which it does. What’s to stop the politically correct machinery of government sticking its nose in our business?”
“The Supreme Court,” Steve said. “Back in 1993 there was a case involving Santeria. A city in Florida passed an ordinance that targeted a Santeria church because they have this little practice they call animal sacrifice. The court said, No way, Jose. In almost exactly those words. They said this was a sincere religious belief that was targeted by the city. Now, you don’t sacrifice animals, do you?”
Johnny smiled. “Only for food, dude.”
“So,” Steve said, “this practice is protected. It follows that beliefs are even more protected, and expression of those beliefs also gets the benefit of free speech. As long as you’re not inciting violence, you can believe whatever you want, teach it, promulgate it. You can be a church that does this. And the state can’t touch you.”
Eldon LaSalle leaned back in his regal wheelchair and smiled. “Well done.”
Johnny winked at Steve.
Steve felt gratified and sick at the same time. He liked being a lawyer. He didn’t like what Eldon LaSalle was all about.
But he kept reminding himself that this was no different than representing defendants who were guilty. Sienna would have approved.
Sienna.
He wondered what she was doing now. Wondered if she ever gave him a passing thought.
Then told himself not to think about her anymore, which made the thought all the stronger.
Eldon LaSalle backed away from the table a bit and positioned his chair between the fireplace and Steve.
“Son,” Eldon said, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you with us. To have you on our side. To have you working with Johnny.”
“Thank you,” Steve said.
“Do you know what I love about fire?” Eldon said.
Steve waited for the answer.
“It is both an instrument of wrath and an instrument of cleansing. Have you ever been near a forest fire, Steve?”
“Nope. Nearest was looking up at the wildfires in LA County, but I was in the flatland.”
“Son, you don’t ever want to be caught anywhere near such a thing. The sound is almost as bad as the heat. It’s like hell coming up from the earth to visit for a while. And that’s what God’s wrath is like, Steve. It is going to be just like that for the wicked when the Lord returns to judge the nations. When he sends his angels to gather up the wheat and the chaff, and he throws the chaff into the unquenchable fire where the worm dieth not.”
Steve swallowed. “Worms, huh?”
“Do you have any idea what it would be like to be eaten by worms for eternity?”
“Like having Wild Hogs on an endless loop?”
Eldon LaSalle did not smile. Steve looked at Johnny. He gave Steve a half smile. It was better than nothing.
Eldon said, “The Lord’s judgment is nothing to be made light of, Son. For ‘when the people complained, it displeased the LORD: and the LORD heard it; and his anger was kindled; and the fire of the LORD burnt among them, and consumed them that were in the uttermost parts of the camp.’ ”
“Bummer,” Steve said.
“Our c
amp is somewhat the same, Steve. It’s an instrument of the Lord. And that’s why we’d like you to consider yourself more than just a lawyer for us, more than just someone who is being paid. We want you to think of yourself as part of a family. A big family.
You see, I know what it’s like to need family and not have it. I know what you’ve gone through.”
Steve sensed Eldon was on a preacherlike roll and said nothing.
“And as part of the family,” Eldon said, “I’d like to think we’re all on the same page, so to speak. Do you know what I’m talking about here?”
Without knowing the specifics, Steve certainly sensed the gist. He felt one of those mountain fogs starting to descend, or maybe an avalanche, covering the landscape.
“Do you?” Eldon repeated.
“Maybe.” Steve cleared his throat. “You have a view of things that is rather well known. And controversial.”
Eldon waved his hand. “I’ve been lied about for many years. That’s why I stopped talking to the press. They never report what you say. They never make an effort to truly understand. They are tools of the corporations and the government. They have no interest in the truth. Do you have an interest in the truth, Steve?”
“Of course.”
“Think about your answer.”
Johnny, sitting on Steve’s other side, added, “Think real hard, Steve.”
Pressed between the rock of Eldon and the hard place of Johnny, Steve swallowed and said, “Yeah. Of course I do.”
“Then do you believe in good and evil?” Eldon asked.
“Well, yeah.”
“How? Tell me, how do you determine what is good and what is evil?” Eldon took a pipe from the carousel on the conference table and opened up the tobacco jar.
Steve did not want to get into this. He had better things to do than talk philosophy with a former associate of white supremacist groups. Yes, that had been in the past, but that sort of poison never leaves a system. Steve had come across many neo-Nazis over the years, and even the ones who “reformed” never completely gave up their views. It was like the fat drippings on a barbeque. Scrape all you want, the residue remains.
What he really wanted to know was what Johnny thought of all this. How much was Johnny invested in the warped views of his stepfather?
The Whole Truth Page 19