Divine Fury (23 page)

Connors was confident Wilkins would eventually surface, particularly with his family still in California, but she couldn’t say when.
 
Of course, the computer hacking scenario combined with Wilkins’ expertise as well as his past legal trouble involving his work for the gambling
 
operation just added to the already strong DNA evidence.
 
It made him a compelling suspect.
                         

Lee recounted his meeting with the programmer’s wife, Nancy Wilkins, although he had given Connors the gist of it in a phone call soon after the meeting.

 
Nancy Wilkins’ reaction to what he had told her about the death of Truman at the USF hospital early that Sunday morning was telling, whether or not it would be helpful in court.
 
Lee was convinced of her husband’s involvement.
 
Nancy Wilkins had clammed up when he tried to get her to say where Oscar Wilkins had been that morning or what he was working on.
 
But she seemed resigned to the fact that her husband was in deep trouble.
 
It wasn’t clear really what she meant when she suggested her husband was helping Soldiers of Christ Ministry in some way but there was a connection there as well.

“But I’ve got to tell you,” Lee said.
 
“Nancy Wilkins makes some mean pork adobo.”

Connors laughed and shook her head.

“Well, at least you’re thinking with your stomach,” she said.
 
“Most men I know are totally controlled by another part of their anatomy.”

Blount and Lee exchanged eye rolls.

Lee then told the others what Buzz Shelton had told him about the crop-dusting incident near Salinas, omitting any reference to Shelton’s or his own probable blood alcohol levels at the time of their conversation.
 
He still hadn’t interviewed Bud Walters, the farm owner, about the incident but planned to make another trip to Salinas to do so.

He asked Connors and Blount what they knew about Soldiers of Christ Ministry since he seemed to keep running across the organization and its leader, Rev. Jimmy Burgess.
 
Lee had checked the campaign disclosures for George Chapman’s campaign and found that Burgess and another Soldiers of Christ executive, Brent Daggart, had given the maximum allowable donations to the Republican congressman three months earlier.
 
Another 34 people had made identical contributions on the same day.
   

“They’re well-known players in conservative politics,” said Blount.
 
“Maybe I should say ‘ultraconversative.’
 
Or, perhaps even ‘lunatic, right-wing, beyond-the-fringe’ politics.”

“I’d hate to think what they call your politics,” said Lee.
 
“Actually, I know.
 
I’ve looked at their websites.
 
But it’s really not fit language for mixed company.”

He glanced at Connors.
 
She sniffed and said in a quiet murmur, “Screw you, China boy.”
 
She and Lee both laughed.

“Okay. Okay,” said Blount.
 
“Back to business, kids.
 
You asked about Burgess.
 
He and his church are probably the most influential religious organization on the conservative side today.
 
They’ve got moderate Republicans terrified because one misstep will bring down a mountain of trouble.
 
They’ve got money, a huge audience base and a lot of other religious groups – particularly other televangelists – following their lead.
 
 
They’re like the quarterback of that whole set.

“The contributions you saw are probably a bundling deal,” continued Blount.
 
“Burgess gets a bunch of checks from his people – maybe from people who watch his show, puts them all in an envelope, and drops them off at Chapman’s headquarters.
 
It’s legal.
 
Everyone does it.
 
But it makes it crystal clear to Chapman and his people who really controls the donations.
 
Where the political debt is owed.”

“I guess I’m not surprised,” said Lee.
 
“But I get the feeling there is more going on than check writing.
 
If you listen to Burgess – and you should see this website that’s affiliated with them – it’s pretty scary.
 
I mean, talk about loose cannons.
 
It was like a ship full of them.”
 

Just then, a sharp pinging noise was emitted by Blount’s cell phone that was sitting on the table next to him.
 
He picked it up, pushed a button and stared at the small screen.

“Urgent,” he read.
 
“Watch channel three.”

There was a television on a small table to the side of the white board.
 
Blount turned it on.
 
The sound was muted and Blount had a hard time finding the right button on the remote to get the sound.

On the screen was a thin blond man in his 30s standing at a podium.
 
Lights were flashing as photographers snapped his photo.
 
Microphones were moving in and out of the picture.
 
He wore a dress shirt unbuttoned at the top.
 
Two men looking lawyerish and wearing dark suits were behind him.

The caption below the picture read:
 
“Carter alleges he was molested by Harper.”
            

Chapter 29

WHEN ENZO LEE set up the interview with Bud Walters at his office outside Salinas he told the secretary that he was covering the upcoming election for California’s next governor and wanted to talk to supporters of both Harper and Chapman, particularly business leaders.
  

He left San Francisco early knowing the normal two-hour drive could be longer with the rush-hour traffic slowing him on the way.

It was overcast when he arrived.
 
The Earth’s Own Produce operation was humming.
 
Empty trucks were lined up, waiting to be packed full with crates of lettuce, artichokes, cucumbers, spinach and radishes before they fanned out throughout the country.
 
He imagined some of the hardier vegetables might even get loaded on ships bound for Hawaii, if not all the way to Asia.

After a 10-minute wait in the outer office, Lee was ushered into Walters’ inside domain.
 
It was a modest, practical setup.
 
Wall paneling that you would find at the giant hardware stores.
 
Brown, short shag carpeting.
 
A few photographs from Southeast Asia – temples, women washing clothes, a group of rickshaws waiting for passengers.
 
Lee guessed Walters had vacationed in Thailand or somewhere similar recently.
 

Bud Walters sat behind a standard gray metal desk.
 
He had stacks of paper spread all around the desk and a credenza behind him.
 
He was heavyset with a ruddy complexion.
 
He wore an open shirt and a blue, medium-weight jacket.
 
Outside, Lee would have guessed he was one of the foremen.

After they exchanged business cards, Lee asked him some stock questions about the election.
 
Who did he support?
 
(Chapman.)
 
Why? (Good for business.
 
Family values.
 
Christian values.)
 
What about his peers in the area?
 
(He guessed 70-30 for Chapman.)
 

Then, Lee started talking about campaign events and what it was like to cover them.
 
He singled out Harper’s press event next to the artichoke field, not far away from where they were sitting at that moment.

“You probably heard about it,” said Lee.
 
“This crop duster came through and sprayed everyone.
 
It was horrible.
 
We didn’t know what kind of poison was being dumped on us.
 
One of the television reporters was pregnant.
 
She must be terrified.
 
I don’t know if they’ve determined yet what it was.”

Lee had noticed Walters start to fidget when he first brought up the Harper event.
 
He looked increasingly agitated the longer Lee talked about it, turning even more red in the face and fiddling with the papers on his desk.

“It was just smoke,” Walters finally said when Lee paused in his narration.
 
“It was just the stuff they use for skywriting.
 
Not anything real dangerous.”

Lee ignored the comment.

“You know,” he said.
 
“It seemed like the pilot was
trying
to hit us.
 
I mean he flew right over us and…bam!”

“No.
 
No,” said Walters.
 
“It was an accident.
 
I’m sure of it.
 
He was just working the fields and was a little off, or didn’t account for the wind drift.
 
It’s not a science, you know.
 
They make mistakes.”

“Hmmm,” said Lee.
 
“So why was he spraying the fields with skywriting smoke?
 
Is that a common practice?”

Walters just looked at him for a few seconds.
 
At first he looked stunned…then a little panicked.

“I…I…well, I don’t know,”
 
he said.
 
“I mean…I haven’t really thought about it.
 
It’s just…you know…stuff I’ve heard.
 
It’s a small town.”

“C’mon, Mr. Walters.
 
There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” said Lee.
 
“Buzz Shelton was told to do it, right?
 
He was paid to do it, wasn’t he?”

“I…I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Walters.
 
He was in serious distress now and looked ready to bolt his own office.
 
“Look. I’ve got stuff to do here.
 
It’s a busy day.
 
I really need to get back to my business.”

“Okay,” said Lee.
 
“I’ll let you go…for now.
 
Oh.
 
Just one more question, though.
 
I saw your photograph outside on the wall with Jimmy Burgess, the televangelist.
 
Are you a supporter of his church?”

Lee thought maybe the shift in questioning would give the farmer some relief, let him change course from the obvious lies he was telling.
 
Walters’ reaction had told Lee what he needed to know, short of an actual admission of involvement in the crop-dusting incident, which he hadn’t really expected.
 
He didn’t want to end the interview on a ‘gotcha’ moment.
 
He’d probably want to talk to Walters again and it would be better to finish on a more pedestrian note so he’d take Lee’s next call.
 
Walters’ response surprised him.

“What are you saying?” he said.
 
“What are you accusing him…me of doing?
 
This has gone far enough!
 
You need to get out of here right now!”

Bud Walters stood up and pointed his finger toward the door to his office.
 
He was breathing hard and trembling so much it looked as though his finger was drawing a jagged circle in the air.