The Scientology Murders Page 13

  Harry wanted to reach across his desk and throttle the bastard. But he simply nodded, thanked him, and headed for the parking lot. Once in his car he called Meg’s cell phone and received a recorded message that the number was no longer in service. Usually you don’t scare them off so abruptly, he told himself. He glanced at his watch. He could only hope she would call later and explain. Then he headed off to meet Max Abrams.

  * * *

  When Ken Oppenheimer arrived at the boat that morning with Meg Avery in tow, Tony Rolf decided that the gods were truly smiling on him. The woman was dressed in a proper gray business suit that on her seemed to ooze sex. Tony imagined that anything she wore would do the same. Maybe it was the red hair, maybe that and the look in her green eyes. Whatever it was, it was definitely there. Or maybe it was because he had seen her before—living aboard a sailboat in the marina where he had spied on that cop—living there and clearly bedding that very same cop.

  “Ms. Avery is going to help us get you safely out of the area,” Oppenheimer explained. “You’re to accept anything she asks you to do as if the request came directly from Mr. Walsh.”

  “You work for the church?” Rolf asked. “When you were with that cop, the one they call the dead detective, were you working for the church then?”

  Meg smiled at him. “Yes, I was,” she said. “We were both watching him then. But you didn’t know who I was or what I was doing.”

  “Ms. Avery runs a company called Avery Security,” Oppenheimer went on. “They provide protection for corporate executives, celebrities, or, as in your case, people who are trying to stay one step ahead of the authorities. They also conduct very thorough investigations.”

  Rolf smiled. It was something Oppenheimer had never seen before and he stared at Rolf for several moments, thinking how strange he looked with a grin on his face.

  “So we’ll be working together, trying to keep the authorities at bay?” Rolf asked.

  Meg returned his smile. “Mostly I’ll be helping you stay out of sight.” She sensed he was about to object and raised a hand, stopping him. “It’s important, Tony. Think about it. If they can’t find you, they can’t tie you to anything. I’ll help you do that—stay out of sight until you can be safely moved.”

  “That’s one of the problems,” Tony said. “I can’t stand the confinement. It makes me feel like I’m some little kid locked in his room. My father tried that when I was a teenager and it didn’t work.”

  “What happened?” Meg asked.

  Tony stared at her. There was a sly look in his eyes, as if he was trying to decide what, if anything, he should tell her. “Maybe we’ll talk about it sometime,” he said.

  He had glanced at Ken Oppenheimer as he spoke. Meg wondered if he was trying to tell her that he would be more forthcoming when they were alone. “I think Tony and I need some time so we can get to know each other a little better.”

  Oppenheimer jumped at the suggestion. “That’s a great idea. I’m supposed to give a deposition this morning. So I was going to leave anyway. But I’ll be available by phone if any problems arise. Call me if there’s anything you need.”

  Tony chuckled as the cabin door closed behind Oppenheimer. He looked at Meg. “Think he was in a hurry to get out of here? That fat bastard is always eager to leave. He’s afraid to be in the same room with me.”

  “I think you may be right,” Meg said, then gave Tony a hard look. “But remember this, Tony: I’m not.”

  * * *

  When Harry got to the Clearwater police headquarters, he found Max Abrams in a foul mood. “You don’t look happy.”

  “That’s because I’m not fucking happy. I’m fucking pissed, is what I am. And I’m pissed because I want to slap the shit out of some Scientologist asshole and I’m not allowed to do that.”

  “What have they done now?” Harry asked.

  “What have they done? Let’s see. You no doubt remember that Walsh’s staff was supposed to be here for questioning this morning, along with Walsh himself and his assistant Oppenheimer. They were going to bring an attorney with them, right? Well, it seems their attorney has gone to a judge claiming that my insistence that the questioning be done here at police headquarters is going to disrupt church operations. So they asked, and the judge agreed, that all questioning should take place in the church’s office so that people not being questioned could get on with their work.”

  “Does it matter?” Harry said. “Once they decided to bring one of their attorneys into this, the chance that we’d get anything solid went out the window.”

  “You’re right, but that sleazy bastard Walsh is just playing with us, and that’s what pisses me off. One of his goons is killing people and trying to kill a former member of this department and now he starts playing games? And what am I supposed to do? I’m supposed to let him get away with it? Not on the best fucking day of his life will that ever happen.”

  “So I take it we’re going back to Walsh’s office.”

  Max looked at his wristwatch. “According to my cheapo Timex we’re due there in half an hour.”

  * * *

  Meg went to the galley and brewed a fresh pot of coffee. She had taken off her jacket and moved about in a scoop-necked, sleeveless silk blouse that accented her figure. Tony could tell she wore nothing under the blouse and his eyes fixed on the movement of her ample breasts beneath the shimmering gray fabric. Meg noticed his interest and fought off a smile. He was such a transparent creature it was almost comical and she was certain that transparency led to rejection more often than not.

  “The first thing we have to do is change your appearance again,” she said. “The blond hair dye needs to be redone. I can help you with that. Next you’ll have to get some contact lenses. They’ll be plain glass, of course, unless you have a prescription, but their main purpose will be to change the color of your eyes. You can choose the color. Your eyes are a pale blue now, so I would suggest a dark blue or green, but as I said, the choice is yours.”

  Tony stared at her, mesmerized. No one had taken this much interest in him for as far back as he could remember. Regis Walsh had shown some, but that was limited to getting him a job and a new identity.

  “We should also redo your skin tanning,” Meg continued, driving his thoughts away. “I know someone who will come here to the boat and treat you. I would suggest that you tan every part of your body that will not be covered by a bathing suit.” She studied him even more closely, tilting her head to one side. “Show me your teeth.” Tony did as he was told. “No, they’re fine, nothing that will draw undo attention to you.” She picked up the tray holding the coffee pot, two mugs, milk, and sugar. “Now, let’s sit down and relax and you can tell me all about yourself. But remember this: the more you tell me, the better equipped I’ll be to help you. Whatever you hold back . . . Well, I can’t help you with things I don’t know about.”

  * * *

  When Max and Harry arrived at the Scientology offices, Kenneth Oppenheimer and a lawyer who identified herself as Melody Ford were waiting for them.

  The lawyer, who was a tall, awkward, horse-faced woman somewhere in her thirties, made a show of looking at her wristwatch peevishly. They were five minutes late. Max mimicked the gesture, noting the time with a snort that Harry interpreted as: Who gives a fuck?

  Melody Ford brushed back a strand of brown hair that that fallen across her forehead and extended a hand toward an unoccupied office. “I thought we could work in there,” she said.

  “We?” Max replied.

  “I’ll be counseling the people you interview,” she said a bit tartly.

  “Has everyone in the office asked you to represent them?” Harry asked.

  “That’s my understanding.” She glanced at Ken Oppenheimer.

  “We offered legal representation to everyone. No one declined,” he said.

  Max offered up another derisive snort. “Well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We will ask each person if they want an attorney present or not. I
f they say they do, we will invite you to join us. If they don’t, we won’t.”

  The lawyer bristled. “I intend to be there with each of my clients. I have been engaged to represent them and I shall do exactly that.” She strode past them into the office and placed a tape recorder on the desk.

  Max picked it up and handed it back to her. “Thanks, but I have my own. This is just taking up space that I need.” He took a seat behind the desk and moved his arms in a circular gesture as if clearing away unwanted clutter. Then he took out a notebook and pen and placed them on the desk in front of him. Next he removed a tape recorder from his jacket pocket and put it beside the notebook and pen. He looked up and smiled. “All set, Melody. You don’t mind if I call you Melody, do you?”

  “I’d prefer Ms. Ford,” she said.

  “Do I detect annoyance, Ms. Ford? That’s what I do, you know. I detect things.”

  “Let’s get on with this,” she snapped.

  “Hey, what’s the rush? They’re paying you by the billable hour, aren’t they?” He withdrew a list of names from an inside jacket pocket and extended it toward Ken Oppenheimer, who was standing just outside the doorway. “I believe this is the list of employee names that you provided me with. Can you confirm that it is?”

  Oppenheimer stepped forward, took the list, glanced at it, and began nodding his head.

  “Speak up, Ken. I want to get everything on tape.” Max tapped the top of the recorder.

  “Yes, this is the list.” He handed it back to Max.

  “Okay, it’s in alphabetical order, so we’ll take it that way. The first person we’ll interview is Marylyn Arles.” He looked up at Melody Ford and pointed toward the door. “Go get your client, counselor.”

  Marylyn Arles was in her midthirties, a bit on the plumpish side, with scraggly brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a beautiful smile.

  Max told her to sit in one of the office chairs and asked if she had retained Ms. Ford to represent her.

  Confusion spread across the woman’s face. She looked at Melody Ford, then back at Max, and shrugged. “I really don’t know.”

  “The church hired me to represent you and the other members of the staff,” the attorney explained.

  “Oh,” Marylyn responded.

  “Do you feel you need Ms. Ford to help you answer my questions?” Max asked.

  Confusion returned to Marylyn Arles’s face. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “You have the right to counsel. The church hired me and I’m here to help you with the questioning,” Ms. Ford snapped back. “If I tell you not to answer something, you simply say: On advice of counsel I decline to answer. I’ll tell you if and when to say that, understood?”

  Marylyn looked back at the attorney. “Will I get into trouble if I say that?”

  A broad smile spread across Max’s face. He was enjoying himself thoroughly. “No you won’t, hon,” he said.

  “Do not call my client hon,” Ms. Ford said. “And please allow me to answer when she asks me a question.”

  Max ignored her and asked his first question: “Do you know a church employee named Tony Rolf?”

  Marylyn glanced at the attorney, who nodded.

  “I know who he is. But I don’t know him, like, personally.”

  “What does he do for the church?”

  “You mean what’s his job?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t know for sure. I know he deals with people who have gotten themselves into trouble.”

  “He deals with them? What does that mean?” Max had pushed himself to the edge of his seat.

  “I want you to decline to answer that question,” Ms. Ford said.

  Marylyn turned around, looking confused once again.

  “Just say, On advice of counsel I decline to answer.” Irritation was heavy in Ms. Ford’s voice.

  Marylyn did so, her confusion only growing.

  “Did Tony Rolf work out of this office?” Max asked.

  “I think so. I saw him here a lot, anyway.”

  “Did you ever talk to him?”

  “No, he was scary. I was afraid—”

  “That’s enough. No more on that question, Ms. Arles,” the lawyer said.

  Max shook his head. “Jesus, let the woman finish.”

  “I think not,” Melody Ford countered. “You’ve established that Mr. Rolf worked out of this office—though he was seldom here—which is what Mr. Walsh and Mr. Oppenheimer have already told you. He was an employee of the church and until it’s shown that he has committed some crime, I don’t intend to allow him to be smeared by innuendo.”

  “You represent him too?” Max asked. “Well, good, please produce him so we can ask him a few questions. Like why he keeps trying to kill one of our retired police officers.”

  “That’s an allegation that is yet to be proven,” Ms. Ford shot back.

  * * *

  Tony Rolf sipped his coffee. He was seated in one of the salon’s soft leather chairs, directly opposite the sofa on which Meg Avery sat, her legs tucked up beneath her.

  “When did you come to Clearwater, Tony?”

  “At the beginning of 2005,” he said. “I was living in Los Angeles and had just turned eighteen.”

  “And you joined the church here or there?”

  “There. Mr. Walsh brought me to the church and later he gave me a job here in Clearwater.”

  “How did you come to meet him?”

  “I was living on the streets and a guy who befriended me turned out to be a Scientologist. He brought me to a church office and introduced me to Mr. Walsh. Walsh sort of took me under his wing and brought me to Clearwater, helped me change my name, and gave me my job. He also enrolled me in some church courses.”

  “Why the name change, Tony?”

  He hesitated. “The police were looking for me. He said it would be safer to have a new identity. It has been. He was right.”

  “Why were the police looking for you, Tony?” It’s like drawing water from a well with a leaky bucket, she thought to herself.

  Again, Tony hesitated. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Mr. Walsh trusts me. Do you trust Mr. Walsh?”

  “Yes, he’s the only one I do trust.”

  “Well, then I think it’s clear you can trust me.”

  “I killed my stepfather,” he said after another pause. “It was self-defense, but that might be hard for me to prove.”

  “And this was back in 2005?”

  “December of 2004,” Rolf said.

  “I’d like you to tell me your stepfather’s name.”

  “Why do you have to know that?”

  “I told you, Tony, the more I know, the better I can protect you.”

  “His name was John Gandolini. He was a wop who had latched onto my mother after my real father was killed back when I was fourteen. My mother met him in some bar they both hung out in and within a couple of weeks he moved in with us. After that he took her money and beat the shit out of her for all the years they were together.”

  “Did he beat you too?”

  “No, but he tried to intimidate me. He was a big asshole. People said he worked as an enforcer for a couple of loan sharks. Then one day, when I was eighteen, I beat the shit out of him. He left then, but I knew he’d be back. And sure enough, back he came, all sorrow and regrets. A few days later, that’s when he tried to kill me. He had to, you see, because he knew he couldn’t beat on me and he couldn’t intimidate me anymore. He was just like my father. He just didn’t have the good sense to go away.”

  Meg digested what she’d been told. She couldn’t wait to get to her computer and find out all the facts behind the 2004 death of one John Gandolini.

  “I’m glad you’re being so open and honest with me,” she told him. “Tomorrow we’ll get started on changing your appearance.”

  Tony smiled at her, and it was so chilling that she had to struggle to keep her reaction under control. It would be like walking a
tightrope to keep him under control, but she had done it before with people just as dangerous.

  “That cop who’s trying to nail my ass to a barn door—were you sleeping with him at the marina?”

  “That’s a very impertinent question,” Meg said. “Why do you want to know?”

  Tony leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. “I told you about killing my stepfather. Now you can reciprocate, right?”

  “Yes, I was. I needed to get close to him fast. He was a danger to the church.”

  “The church doesn’t approve of that, you know: sex outside of marriage. You’d be in for some heavy-duty discipline if they ever found out.”

  “But I’m not a member of the church.”

  “You’re not?” Tony seemed genuinely surprised by this bit ofinformation.

  “No, ours is strictly a business arrangement. I’m just a hired hand doing a job.”

  Tony sat in his chair nodding his head. He seemed to be having difficulty digesting that idea.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Meg Avery sat in front of her computer reading about the death of John Gandolini. It had occurred in Los Angeles on December 25, 2004, and had been ruled a homicide by the medical examiner. The murder weapon had been a double-edged knife approximately six inches in length and Mr. Gandolini, who had been forty-five at the time, had been eviscerated in a prolonged and vicious attack. Eviscerated on Christmas Day, Meg thought. A shudder went through her body as she read on. The victim had been killed in the residence of Victoria Rawlings, forty-eight, with whom he had lived sporadically for the past ten years. Police had named Ms. Rawlings’s son Anthony, eighteen, as a person of interest. A source in the police department, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said Anthony had an extensive and violent juvenile record. His current whereabouts were unknown.