“I was an alcoholic when I came to Verner. Came back from Korea and settled in San Berdoo, wife and baby waiting for me. Drank myself into a divorce. Couldn’t hold a job. Bruck was my sergeant. We kept in touch, he told me to come up to see him.
“He dried me out. Got me back up on my feet, made me feel like a man again. The doctor he paid to help dry me out was Walker Phillips. Bill Bruck gave me a job. It wasn’t at the mortuary — he was just starting that out. He also ran a hardware store. I worked there for about fifteen years, then went to the mortuary. About that same time two new people came to town. One was Eldon LaSalle. The other was Owen Mott.
“Mott came in from another county and was an appointed sheriff. I don’t know if it was a coincidence or if there was some money that changed hands. All I know is that Mott did not seem overly concerned with Eldon LaSalle. And LaSalle gave the appearance of being someone who wanted to do good in the community. He paid for the building of the Chamber of Commerce. That was in the early days of his citizenship.
“Then came the fire. It was the fire that killed a man named Clinton Cole and a little boy. Mott led the investigation and ruled that it was an accident. I don’t know why, but I never believed that. Maybe it was just the way Mott looked when he talked about it. The other man who had a strange look about it was Bill Bruck. I never questioned Bill. I never felt I had that right. I figured whatever he knew was his to know, and he had a good reason for knowing it. They did the autopsy and found that the little boy who was burned to death was a kid who had been taken from his home sometime earlier that year.”
“That was supposedly my brother,” Steve said.
“That’s where I would have left it but for Walker Phillips. I was going to church regularly then and had straightened out my life to the point where people thought of me as a pillar of the community. Some sort of moral example. That’s a laugh. If only they could have seen inside me.
“But one night Walker Phillips came to see me. He had been drinking heavily. That’s not something he used to do. So I knew there was something wrong. He proceeded to spill his guts to me. He asked me not to say anything to anyone, but that he had to talk to somebody. You know, I think deep down maybe he wanted me to talk about it. Maybe he wanted to be caught. You think strange things when you’re drunk. Believe me, I know.
“So I listened. And this is what he told me.”
Hendrickson paused. “I’ll take that water now, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” Meyer left the office for a moment, leaving Steve and Bethany alone with Hendrickson.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Hendrickson said. “It can only end badly for you now.”
Tiny mice feet clawed Steve’s spine. The man no doubt spoke the truth.
Meyer came back with the water and Hendrickson drank. He cleared his throat and seemed to be gathering his strength, like a weight lifter about to do the clean and jerk.
“The boy in the fire was Eldon LaSalle’s own son.”
Steve almost slipped out of his chair. He saw Meyer’s eyes filling the thick lenses of his glasses. Even Bethany seemed stunned.
No one said anything for a long moment. Then Hendrickson continued. “Eldon LaSalle came to these mountains after building that place he calls Beth-El. He was able to keep tight control over the information flowing out of it. I don’t think anyone even knew he had a son until years later, a son named Johnny. Only Walker knew the truth. The truth about Eldon LaSalle’s son.”
Hendrickson took another sip of water in what was obviously an ordeal.
“He brought Walker up to the place in secret to examine his son. It was clear he was not the son LaSalle wanted as his heir. He was retarded. I guess that’s not the term you’re supposed to use now. I can’t keep up. He was not perfect, let’s put it that way, and that was all that mattered to LaSalle. Sometime up there Walker made his deal with the devil. I don’t know all that was involved after that, how much money may have changed hands. But Walker was in deep.
“I sometimes wonder why LaSalle didn’t just kill poor Walker. I know Walker has two daughters who he was estranged from. But he loved them. They came to represent the only good thing he’d ever done. Maybe LaSalle told Walker if he ever spoke about anything, he’d deal with the daughters. At the end, I don’t think it would have taken much to scare Walker into doing anything.”
Suddenly Hendrickson’s eyes narrowed. “If this gets out, they may try to kill Walker and those two girls. You’ve got to promise me you’ll take care of that.”
Meyer deferred to Steve.
“Mr. Hendrickson,” Steve said, “I wasn’t entirely up front with you. Yes, I talked to Dr. Phillips, but he shot himself before I left. He’s dead.”
Hendrickson closed his eyes, paused, nodded. “Then there’s no use holding this thing close to the vest,” he said. “Walker told me that LaSalle had found a boy to his liking, and wanted him to be his only son.”
Steve had a sudden thought about a TV mini-series he’d seen once. A Stephen King story about a demon who came to an island community in the middle of a storm when no one could get out. He came to take away one of their children, to become his apprentice demon. It was chilling, and as Steve recalled the demon won because the town didn’t stand up to him with collective faith.
“What happened next was horrible,” Hendrickson continued, “but Walker, for reasons known only to him, went along with it. I do know that in the next few years Walker became quite wealthy. But his drinking got worse.
“Cole had become a problem for LaSalle. So it was arranged. Cole and the boy died in a fire that was set by someone from LaSalle’s own group. Walker performed the autopsy, but there was still one other role that had to be played.”
“Mott,” Steve said.
Hendrickson nodded. “And now you know what’s been hidden all these years. I’m a coward for not coming forward before.”
“That deputy,” Steve said, “Oderkirk. He was killed, wasn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Hendrickson said.
“You didn’t suspect?”
“I’ve given up suspecting.”
“I think Oderkirk started asking questions Mott didn’t like.”
“That may be.” Hendrickson was a deflated balloon now. He seemed to sink inside his suit.
Meyer clicked off the tape recorder. “This is all hearsay,” he said. “I believe it, but we need to have direct evidence.”
“We can exhume the boy’s body, do a DNA match,” Steve said. “He’s buried in Indio. We’d still need LaSalle’s DNA. He predates the databases. I don’t think he has a record.”
“We’ve got enough for the feds to go up there with a search warrant. They’re going to need a whole team for this one. I better call those two guys in LA.”
“What about Mott?” Steve said.
“We have less than nothing on Owen Mott,” Meyer said. “We’re going to have to tread very lightly around that one.”
“And what about me?” Hendrickson asked.
“No one needs to know we’ve spoken,” Meyer said. “In the warrant affidavit you will be an anonymous citizen informant. That’s enough to get us through their gates.”
Bethany spoke. “But will you be able to get out?”
When the interview with Hendrickson was over, Steve and Bethany filled in gaps with Meyer for another hour and a half.
Meyer might have gone for another two, but Steve finally said, “That’s it for the night, Meyer. Have you thought about what you’re going to do with us?”
Apparently he had not. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.
“I’ll help you out,” Steve said. “You’re going to secure a couple of rooms at that Hyatt we saw near the hospital. Under your name. You’re going to spring for the meals and some clothes for Bethany. We’ll kick back there, if you don’t mind. At least until the feds come riding in to town.”
“Which may be sooner than you think,” Meyer said. He opened his cell phone and made a call, turning his back and walking to a corner of the conference room. A moment later he was back.
“Just half an hour more,” he said. “Issler and Weingarten just got here.”
“Already?” Steve said, “How many speed laws did they break?”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re feds.”
“All right,” Steve said. “But I want you to bring us another bag of Milanos.”
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Conroy,” Agent Issler said. Weingarten gave him a nod.
“I missed you guys,” Steve said.
“I guess you’re ready to help us nail LaSalle?”
“I am so ready.”
“Then we need to move fast,” Issler said. “I’m going to need statements from both of you.”
“Mr. Meyer has it all on tape,” Steve said.
“Just some things we need for ourselves. We’ll put it all together.”
Steve looked at Bethany, who seemed ready to fall asleep. “I’ll give you half an hour,” he said. “Then we go into Mr. Meyer’s version of witness protection.”
It was eight thirty when Steve settled into a room at the Hyatt, with a window that looked out at the mountains. In the moonlight they were but an outline, peaceful in repose.
Quite an illusion, Steve thought. You’d never know that death was everywhere out there.
He disconnected the hotel phone and fell into a solid, dreamless sleep.