Eyes Wide Open (22 page)

Chapter Fifty-Eight

I
parked the Taurus underneath the carport and followed Charlie in.

He went into the living room and knelt beside the chest that contained his old keepsakes. The old pictures of his family back in Miami. His medical diagnoses, kept like grade school report cards. The
Billboard
Top 40 sheet he had shown me.

He pulled out a thick folder and leafed through dog-eared sheets of music and lyrics until he came upon a manila envelope. He took it out and handed it to me, barely looking me in the eye.

“I got this about a week ago,” he said, shrugging. “A couple of days after Evan died . . . I can't remember exactly when. I didn't know what to do with it, so I hid it. I didn't even tell Gabby. I was scared. I knew they had found me. I didn't want to believe they had anything to do with my son.”

The envelope was addressed to Charlie. No return address.

“You have to believe me, Jay, if I knew this could have ever hurt anyone . . . Evan, Gabby . . .” Tears glistened in Charlie's slate-gray eyes. “
You
. I would never have kept it to myself . . .”

The envelope was torn open at the top. I slid out the contents and stared in shock at what I was now looking at, reacting as if I'd been punched and recoiling.

There were photos of a dead woman.

Not just dead, it became clear to me, mutilated. My mouth went dry. She was naked, her face and torso cut up. Red slits and bloody lacerations disfiguring her all over.

The woman was blond, kind of pretty in a way, I could still detect. Her hair was strewn to the side in long braids. Maybe in her fifties. I leafed through the shots one by one, my stomach clenching. Only someone who wanted to cause terrible suffering to someone could have done something this cold-blooded.

They'd tortured her.

“Who is she?
” I asked, but something made me think I knew.

“Her name was Sherry.” Charlie let out a deep, pained exhale. “I hadn't seen her in over thirty years. I knew her back then—on the ranch . . . She's—”

“I know who she was.” I looked up at him. “It's Katya.”

He just stood there staring at me, his eyes wide. Then he sank onto the couch and ran his hand through his ponytailed hair. “
Katya . . .”
He smiled fondly and gave me a slight nod of confirmation. “She didn't deserve something like this, Jay.”

“Both of you pointed the finger at Houvnanian. And the ones who went with him down to Santa Barbara. You helped the police in their investigation?”

Again, he gave me the slightest nod. Then he looked up, befuddled. “How do you possibly know all about this?”

“It doesn't matter how I know. What matters is what we do about it now. You're who they want, Charlie. Greenway. Zorn. Evan. Sherry . . . This has all been leading up to you. For what you did. They're torturing you, just like they did to this woman. By killing off the things you love.”

Charlie rubbed his brow in anguish. He leaned forward and picked up the photos, leafed through them again, pressing his lips in sadness and a held-in anger. “She was a beautiful person, Jay. She wouldn't have hurt a fly. Look at her. The kind of people who could do this . . .”

“You already know the kind of people, Charlie. We were with one the other day. But now you have to step back. Out of the prison you've been in. You have to help me bring them down.”

Charlie nodded, exhaling a breath that might have been in him thirty years. “There's something else . . .”

He went over to the chest and dug around in the back of a drawer. He came back with something wrapped in a blue towel and handed it to me.

“How long have you known?” I asked as I took away the towel and stared at what was inside.

“That first week. After you came to dinner. It was in the trash.”

“You could have told me,” I said, and Charlie simply nodded, sorry.

I was staring at a black Nike sneaker.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

S
usan Pollack watched from the woods, smoking. Her car was hidden safely around the block from the apartment house.

At around one
P.M.
, she saw Charlie and his brother pull up.

Chase.

The two of them stayed in the car and talked for a while before going in. Though far away, something in Chase's hanging head and tormented expression gave her a feeling of delight. It was too bad that his nosy brother and his whore of a wife had escaped the little present at the market earlier.

It had made her giddy, watching the two of them fighting for their lives in the flaming car. As it was, just hearing the bitch's screams, seeing the shell-shocked looks of panic and fear on their terrified faces, had almost been enough. She knew there would be other times for them. And soon.

Soon, my darling.
Mags smiled from the woods.

Her blood stirred with an exhilaration she had not felt for many years. Susan, that shell of a dried-up woman, who had dutifully done what was asked of her, was dead now.

But Mags was very much alive.

You never left me, all these years. Not for a single second. Our thoughts have always been entwined. I know it was me all along who nurtured you. The one you truly wanted. The others were just the playthings who threw themselves at you. They were candy to make you smile. But it was me, your Maggie Mae, your Mags, who was your music. Who gave you the will to do what had to be done.

Who was your true music!

She saw movement coming from the car. Charlie and his brother got out and went inside.

Well, wait till you see what the music has in store for you now, Charlie.

Her thighs felt alive, moist for the first time in years.
Isn't that what you said, my love? That nothing could ever be evil, not if it comes from love.

And what greater love could I have shown for you?
This is my gift. I am yours whenever you want me. I always have been.

I know you can hear me
,
Russell. There are walls, but what is between us cannot be kept out. It knows no walls.

“No one knows when the master will choose to come back, or in what manner.”

I have never forsaken you for a second, my love. You gave me the gift of love back then. You protected me.

You left me behind.

Now I give it back to you. In full.

Chapter Sixty

A
short while later, Sherwood knocked on the apartment door and I spotted him through the blinds.

I was glad he had come alone. Charlie had barely moved in twenty minutes, sunk into the couch, his head in his hands, staring into space.

I let him in.

“You all right?” he asked, giving me a look that was different from any I had seen from him before.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I nodded grimly, blowing out my cheeks.

“And Gabriella? I checked at the hospital.”

“She's doing okay too. Take a seat.”

He glanced at Charlie, lowering himself on the threadbare ottoman. “You said you had something important for me to see?”

“I think you'll think so, Sherwood.” I handed him the photos Charlie had shown me of the woman named Sherry. He leafed through them, stoically and detached at first, then wincing once or twice as he grew increasingly somber. “Who is she?”

I looked at Charlie to reply, but he just stared straight ahead.

“Her name was Sherry,” I answered. “She was a friend of my brother's from a long time ago. They were together back then. On the Riorden Ranch.”

“Oh.” Sherwood nodded, putting together what these photos, sent to Charlie, meant. “How did you get these?”

“In the mail,” Charlie said from behind his hands. “Just after Evan was killed.”

“You know who sent them?” Sherwood inspected the envelope. The postmark was local. No identifiable markings. No return address.

He shook his head. “No.”

“You must have some idea.” He glanced through them again, waiting for Charlie to answer. “When was the last time you were in touch with her?” he asked after a stretch of silence.

Charlie shrugged. “Over thirty years ago. We stayed together for a couple of months after we moved on from the ranch. We hitchhiked across California. To Arizona. Sedona, if I remember.”

“If you remember?”

“We were only together for a couple of months. I hitched around everywhere back then. We hung around for a while in the desert. Did a lot of drugs. Then I moved on.”

“You moved on?”

“Picked up.” My brother shrugged. “With someone else. I never knew what happened to her.”

“So only someone who knew you from back then—from the ranch,” Sherwood said, “could have put the two of you together?”

Charlie nodded weakly. “Yes.”

“And how would that same person know where to send these to you now?”

This time Charlie looked up. His face was a beaten blank. “I don't know the answer to that question, detective. These past days, I've asked myself that a hundred times.”

“But you now know
why . . .
?” he pressed, and glanced at me. “
Why
they would have sent this to you?”

“Yes,” Charlie said, moistening his lips. “I know why.”

“Her name was Sherry,” I said, picking up the photos, “but she went by the name Katya back then. You remember how Susan Pollack said everyone had their own names on the ranch? Susan was Maggie, short for Magdalena. Houvnanian was what?” I looked at my brother.

“Paul,” he said softly.

“Paul,” Sherwood said. “You mean like from the Gospels?”

“No.” Charlie sniffed with a slight smile. “McCartney. He thought he wrote directly to him.”

Sherwood smiled drily too. “So who is this woman?” The detective looked at Charlie and then at me.

“Initially, the police were led to Houvnanian by the threats he had made against Riorden,” I answered. “And by Riorden's sister. Also, the ranch's white van was spotted in the vicinity of the crime scenes. He and a few of his inner circle were picked up and held in the local jail on trespassing and minor drug possession charges. Walter Zorn and his team went around the ranch and questioned people there. Some of them closed ranks. Others apparently decided to talk. It's all in Greenway's book. Katya—
Sherry,
” I said, correcting myself, “was one of them.”

Sherwood fixed on Charlie, the truth starting to settle on him. “I guess what I'm about to hear is that you were another, huh, Mr. Erlich?”

“Yes.” Charlie rubbed his beard. “I was.”

“And what was your name back then?”

“Chase.”

“Chase . . .” Sherwood let out a breath. “So what was it you told them, Charlie?”

“It's all detailed in the book,” I said. “Walter Zorn and Joe Cooley conducted the initial interviews. Katya first revealed the identities of those who went along with Houvnanian to Santa Barbara. Charlie led them to a pond on the property where some of the evidence had been buried. A bandana. A poncho. Articles of clothing worn during the murders. Ultimately they found the murder weapons there too.”

“So you testified against them, Mr. Erlich. You were part of the trial?”

“No. Once the evidence against Houvnanian and the others became overwhelming—they had prints, the murder weapons, their own incriminating confessions—the names of those followers who talked were concealed. Their testimonies weren't needed at trial.”

Charlie looked up. “We were only there for the damn music. And the drugs. Russell had this ring around him. People gave him whatever he wanted. He made it feel like you were blessed to be in his graces. We weren't into what took place down there. When it happened, we just wanted to get out.”

“You and Katya,” Sherwood said to him. “Sherry.”

Charlie nodded.

“You see it now, don't you?” I asked Sherwood. “How it all fits. Susan Pollack was with Evan when he went up to that rock. And I have the proof.”

“The proof?
” Sherwood said, furrowing his brow.

I showed him the sneaker. Evan's sneaker. Sherwood's gray eyes widened. He knew exactly what it was, because he had seen the other one, on Evan's body.

“When did you get this?” He stared at Charlie.

“Last week. It was left in the trash.” He sat there with his elbows on his knees, ashen.

“This is all about Charlie,” I said. “They're torturing him. Just like they did to that woman. They tried to kill Gabby today. And me. They're trying to make him bleed for what he did. Zorn knew they had found him and tried to warn them. That's why he reached out to Evan.”

“So you knew about this?” Sherwood fixed on Charlie.

“Evan said the police had been talking to him. He said they wanted him to help us. To make us safe.” Charlie cradled his forehead in his hands. “My son was off his rocker—just like me, right? It sounded like more of his ramblings . . .”

“It probably was ramblings by that point,” I said. “He probably didn't know what was real and what wasn't.”

“Instead I let them kill him,” Charlie said. “I let them take him away . . .”

I placed a hand on my brother's back as he sobbed, forcefully, into his beard.

Sherwood picked up the top photo. “Can you give me any information about her? Where she might have been living lately? Her family? Even a last name?”

“Myers. Sherry Ann Myers.” Charlie looked up glassily. “At least that was her maiden name. She was from Lansing, I think. In Michigan.”

Sherwood fit the photos back in the envelope. He wrapped the sneaker up in the towel and stood up, meeting my gaze in a corroborating stare.

He went over to the door. “I don't think you could have helped your son, Mr. Erlich, if that's what's on your mind. We still don't know what happened to him up there. But you damned well could've helped the investigation. By sharing this earlier.”

He gave a final look to me and left.

Charlie waited awhile until we heard his car start up outside. “You can go now, Jay,” he said, still hunched over.

Gabby was still in the hospital. I didn't want to leave him. “Maybe I should stay.”

He lifted his head and looked at me with swollen, bloodshot eyes. “No, I mean tomorrow. It's all out now. You can go back home.”

I squeezed his shoulder and said, “We'll see.”

At that moment, I thought he was simply caring for me. For the time I had spent there, away from my family. Now that the truth had come out.

A day later, I wished I'd heard him more clearly.