The Associate (23 page)

“Yes, but there’s no transcript.”

“Even if there was,” Flynn interjected, “it wouldn’t be admissible against Mr. McCann because I had no opportunity to cross-examine Mr. Dobbs.”

“I believe Mr. Flynn is correct,” the judge said. “Mr. Quiroz, is there any legally permissible way to present the testimony of Lester Dobbs to a jury in a second trial?”

“Not that I can think of at this moment.”

Judge Schrieber was lost in thought. He tapped his pen against the dais. When he spoke he looked very unhappy.

“Mr. Flynn, I am not going to dismiss the charges against Mr. McCann today. New evidence may be discovered. However, I am very reluctant to keep Mr. McCann in jail under the current circumstances.

“Mr. Quiroz, I am going to give you one week to convince me that there is a legal basis for keeping Mr. McCann in jail. If you can’t, I’m going to be forced to set him free.”

When Ramon Quiroz returned to the district attorney’s office he found a furious Martin Alvarez waiting for him.

“What are you going to do about this?”

“There’s nothing I can do, Martin. Unless we find new evidence, McCann is going to walk.”

“That’s insane.”

Quiroz shook his head. “That’s the law.”

“There’s got to be something you can do.”

“Martin, I’ve been dreading this since I learned that Melissa’s notes disappeared. I once went through something just like it with Gene Arnold and I knew what could happen. I was hoping that Flynn wasn’t sharp enough to figure out what to do.”

“What do you mean you went through something like this with Gene?”

“Remember when Bob Champion and Gene were partners?”

Martin nodded.

“Bob represented some young kid charged with auto theft. They picked the jury and the state put on some witnesses. There was a three-day weekend because of a national holiday. When the trial started again no one could find the kid. He just took off. Judge Milbrandt decided that the defendant’s failure to appear was willful and ordered the lawyers to go on with the trial in his absence. The jury found the defendant guilty. The judge couldn’t sentence him unless he was present, so he issued an arrest warrant.

“Three years ago they caught the kid in Canada. He was sent back for sentencing. Bob had retired by this time and Gene filed a notice of appeal, but the court reporter couldn’t find her notes. They were in a box of old transcription tapes that she’d destroyed. Gene couldn’t appeal because there wasn’t any way to prepare the transcript without the notes, but he found that statute Flynn cited and the court had to order a new trial.”

Martin left the DA’s office. As he drove home he remembered that Joan McCann was Gene Arnold’s legal secretary. If she knew about the auto theft case, she would also know that Judge Schrieber would have to order a new trial for Paul if Melissa’s notes were lost. Did Joan love her husband enough to kill Melissa Arnold and Lester Dobbs? Was the ransom demand merely a smoke screen that had hidden a plot to free Paul McCann from prison? Was she capable of committing a double murder?

Martin tried to remember everything he knew about Joan McCann. She had exhibited signs of tremendous stress lately. Martin had assumed that she was worrying about her husband’s fate, but what if her gnawed nails and weight loss had been physical manifestations of unbearable guilt.

A week passed. There were no new clues in the murder of Lester Dobbs, Melissa Arnold’s body and the tapes were still missing, and Ramon Quiroz had not been able to come up with a legal theory that would keep Paul McCann in jail. Early Friday morning, Quiroz and Aaron Flynn slipped in the back door of the courthouse and stole down the corridor to Judge Schrieber’s chambers. It was 7:00 A.M. and no one else was around. Ramon had phoned the judge the previous evening and convinced him that meeting in secrecy was necessary because of the threat that Martin Alvarez had made to Flynn.

“Good morning, Ramon, Aaron,” Judge Schrieber said. He did not look happy as he signed the paper that sat in front of him. “I’m dismissing the case against Paul McCann and signing this release order. Everything has been done over at the jail to assure that McCann can walk out the door the minute you present this. I’ve arranged for you to go in and leave by the back door. I also instructed the jail personnel that anyone who leaks McCann’s release is headed to prison for contempt. That should ensure your client’s safety, at least for today.”

Flynn drove his car behind the jail and knocked on the rear door. Sheriff Cobb was waiting with McCann, who was dressed in the clothes in which he had been arrested. The sheriff read the release order and told Paul he could go. Cobb looked as happy about this state of affairs as the judge.

As soon as they were in the car Flynn’s client closed his eyes, put his head back, and said, “Hallelujah. I am so fucking grateful to be out of that hellhole that I might actually go to church.”

“If I were you, the church would be in some city on the other side of the planet. I don’t think Martin Alvarez is going to let this rest.”

“Well, fuck him,” Paul answered angrily. “Alvarez doesn’t scare me.”

“What are your plans?” Flynn asked.

“A hot shower, an edible meal, a good fuck, and a decent night’s sleep.”

“And after that?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking of moving. This trial showed me how many friends I have in Desert Grove. Besides, Sunnyvale is dead and your fees about wiped me out.”

Flynn pulled the car as close as he could to Paul’s front door and prayed that Martin Alvarez wasn’t out in the desert with a sniper scope. As soon as the car stopped Joan rushed out of the house. Her arms were around Paul’s neck before he was standing. He let her kiss him, but Flynn didn’t see much fire on his part. Then Joan walked around to Flynn’s window and placed her hand over his.

“I’ll never forget you for this, Mr. Flynn. God bless you.”

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.

“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?”