After Bob left her office, Sabre finished some paperwork and then packed up her briefcase. She drove to the park and looked for both Cole and Mama T. She found neither one.
41
A man pulled out of the parking spot directly in front of the bar as JP pulled up. JP maneuvered his car into the space, stepped out of his car, and donned his Stetson. A sign nearly as old as the building jutted out from the wall above the door. It had a palm tree on a beach and the words “The Ruins” in lights. At least a quarter of the bulbs were missing. Since it was daylight the sign wasn’t lit, and JP wondered if it worked at all.
He stepped inside a very dark room. It took several seconds to adjust his eyes to where he could see anything. All he could make out at first were a couple of figures sitting at the bar. Although he saw no one smoking, the place smelled of stale cigarette smoke and fresh beer. Within a few seconds his eyes began to adjust to the lighting. Two customers sat at a table against the wall and six more were belly-up to the bar, all with what was presumably an alcoholic beverage in front of them at 9:33 in the morning. A slender fifty-something man tended bar behind the counter.
“Good morning, Tex,” he said, as JP sat down on a corner barstool. “What can I get you this fine morning?”
“Black coffee if you have it.”
“Coming right up,” he said.
From his barstool, JP could see that the room was long and narrow and was furnished with a few tables and chairs and four pool tables. Cheap tropical décor was splattered throughout the room. Several tiki masks hung above a cigarette machine on the wall behind him. In the corner stood a five-foot tiki god with a bobbing head and huge white teeth exposed by a freaky smile. A pineapple was carved into the top of his head. The head took up about two-thirds of the tiki and sat on a huge spring. The bottom half of the tiki was the shape of a man carved out of the trunk of a coco palm.
The bartender returned with the coffee and set it down on the bar. JP handed him a five-dollar bill. When the bartender went to the cash register, JP noticed some old football photos on the wall above it.
“Those yours?” JP asked, pointing to the photos.
The bartender nodded. “A hundred years ago.” He picked up a glass half full of what looked like whiskey sitting next to the register and took a drink.
“Are you Thomas Anthony Martin, III, star quarterback from Monroe High School?”
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
The bartender smiled. “That’s my name, but friends and enemies alike all call me Tony. You can, too. And I wasn’t a star, just second string, but I loved the game.” He looked at JP and read him with all the knowledge of one who had observed people for many years. “So, if you don’t know me, who are you looking for?” Tony asked.
“I’m a private investigator and I’m doing a little work on an old trust case. I’m looking for the Monroe High quarterback with jersey number six. Would that be you?”
“No. That’d be McGill, but I’m afraid he left us many years ago for the big stadium in the sky.”
“Did you know him well?”
“Not really. I played football with him for two years. Damn good player. Much better than I was. But I never hung out with him in any other capacity.” Tony took another drink.
“Did you know any of his close friends?”
“He hung out with the quarterback from Bucher mostly. I can’t remember his name.”
“Did you know a kid named Barney or maybe Billy that McGill hung out with?”
Tony shook his head. “Can’t say as I did.” Tony raised his glass toward JP in a toasting kind of gesture. “But then my brain isn’t what it used to be.”
St. Joseph’s Catholic Church was empty except for a lone woman kneeling in the front row. JP walked about half way up the aisle and took a seat. He checked his watch. It was only five minutes before the funeral was scheduled to begin and no one was there. He didn’t expect a big crowd for Scott’s service, but he didn’t expect to make up fifty percent of the attendance. He glanced around. Two stained glass windows looked out of place in an otherwise plain, almost austere, setting. The casket dominated the space in front of the altar.
JP wondered if the woman was Maryanne. She wasn’t wearing a habit, but he knew the rules for nuns weren’t as strict as they once were. She looked as if she might be about the right age, but he couldn’t tell for sure from where he sat. He would just have to wait until after the service.
A priest walked in from a side door and spoke briefly with the woman. JP couldn’t hear the conversation. Then he began the funeral mass. “Eternal rest give to them, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon them.”
JP had never been to a Catholic Mass before but he found it quite interesting when it first started. Then his mind began to wander. It had been some time since he had been in a church for any reason. He thought back. The last time was probably when his brother married some twenty years ago. He could remember going to church with his grandma when he was young. She’d always take him out for ice cream after the service, which encouraged him to go with her more often.
The funeral service was very impersonal. There was no eulogy, and at the conclusion the priest incensed the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. He then walked over to the woman, touched her on the forehead, and said, “God bless you, my child.” The woman stayed behind after the priest left and continued praying. JP waited for a while and then decided to go stand at the back of the church.
The woman remained on her knees for nearly fifteen minutes longer before she finally stood up and walked toward JP. When she reached him, she looked back at the altar and said, “It was once so beautiful in here. I remember coming here as a child. I thought St. Joseph’s was the most beautiful church in the world. The candles were always glowing. There was lots of gold on a remarkable altar, and the way the sun would light up the stained glass windows all along both sides of the church just brought it to life.” She paused. “Now it’s just … another church.”
JP opened the door for her and followed her out. He reached out his hand to shake hers. “I’m JP.”
She reciprocated but her shake was very light; it barely squeezed his hand. “Sister Mary Agnes.”
“Formerly Maryanne Miconi?”
She looked surprised. “Yes, do I know you?”
“No, but I hope you’ll give me a few minutes of your time. I know it’s not the best time to be doing this, but you may be able to save the life of a fourteen-year-old girl.” JP realized he was being a little dramatic, but the truth was that Bailey could be in danger, especially if she knew who killed Scott. “I’m a private investigator. I work for an attorney who represents a young girl who may know how your brother died.”
“What can I do for you?”
JP looked around. He felt very uncomfortable interrupting her grieving time. “Are you going to Scott’s gravesite?”
“No. I’m finished here. I’ve done all I can except for my future prayers, which I will continue to say for him as I have for the past thirty years.” She looked up at JP. “Come, we can go into the hall and have a cup of tea.”
He followed her inside. There was a little table with two glass coffee pots sitting on the burners. One held coffee, the other hot water. “They had a class in here earlier, but there won’t be another one for an hour or so,” she said. She fixed herself a cup of tea while JP poured his own coffee. Then they sat down on metal chairs in front of a folding table.
JP began. “Sister, I really appreciate this. Again, I apologize for the timing.” He realized how uneasy he felt questioning a nun.
“It’s okay. I can use the distraction, but somehow I don’t think I’m really going to like what I hear. It’s about Scott, isn’t it?”
“Yes, of sorts. It’s about how and why he was murdered. I’d like you to tell me what you know about Ric Cavitt.”
“Do you think Ric killed him?” She asked with little surprise in her voice.
“I don’t know, but I do know they were involved in some rather unusual dealings in San Diego. And our client, the young girl I spoke of, knows more than she’s telling. Now she’s in hiding and I need to figure this out before it’s too late. And we have reason to believe a baby may be in danger as well. Can you start by telling me what the relationship was between Scott and Ric Cavitt?”
“I hadn’t seen Scott in many years. I know he was involved with drugs and some petty criminal activities, but I didn’t know he had any contact with Ric.”
JP thought she seemed either hesitant to explain or didn’t know where to begin. He decided to lay it out for her. “This is what I know. I know that Dr. Ric Cavitt and your brother were involved with a place the news reporters are referring to as the ‘Devil House.’ It’s a house that was filmed and provided to the media. It had a hospital bed with a circle around it in blood, albeit animal blood. A huge tree was painted on the wall along with the numbers 66. A couple of pig hearts were found on the premises. There are juvenile cases of ritual abuse popping up all over the city, and I can’t help but think Ric and Scott were involved with those cases. Our client, Bailey, has a DVD of Scott and Dr. Ric at the ‘Devil House.’ She has another disc that I have reason to believe includes others or is more incriminating, but I don’t know for sure what’s on it. Bailey, the fourteen-year-old girl is involved because her mother was living with Scott and he was supplying the mother with drugs.”
Maryanne shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“What I don’t know is just how Scott and Dr. Ric were connected or who else was involved, but I believe whatever they’re involved in all leads back to Fontana. I realize Scott was a lot younger than Ric, but I can’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with whatever happened to Ric, Rob, Craig, Barney, and you in high school.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I know that something awful happened the first weekend of school. Something so awful it broke you and Rob up and sent you into a downhill spiral; it made you extremely worried about your little brother; it ruined your friendships; and it affected the relationship of two very close brothers.”
Maryanne stood up, walked to the coffee pot, and poured more hot water into her cup. She returned to the table and sat down. “I’m not sure how it’ll help, but I’ll tell you what happened. I’ve never told anyone before except once in confession. They say confession is good for the soul, but when I confessed it didn’t make me feel any better. I’ve lived with this sin all my life, but perhaps this information will help that young girl and give me a little peace.”
42
Maryanne took a deep breath and then started her story. “They called themselves the Route 66 gang. It wasn’t really a gang, but they liked the way it sounded. There were four of them—Rob and Ric Cavitt, Craig McGill, and Barney Fife.”
“Barney Fife?”
“Fife wasn’t his real name. I’m not even sure Barney was. That’s what they always called him because he was tall and thin and clumsy. He was smart as a whip, but didn’t have much common sense. I’m quite sure he wouldn’t have been part of the group if he hadn’t been Craig’s cousin. He was just so odd. The four of them did everything together.”
“Who was the leader?”
“It’s hard to say. Rob and Craig were star quarterbacks and used to having the attention and calling the shots, but sometimes Craig would go over the line. Barney was the brains, and Ric was there because Rob wouldn’t have it any other way. Rob was the muscle. He wouldn’t back down to anyone.”
“Even his father?” JP asked.
“You know about that?”
“I know his father was abusive.”
“Rob never wanted to leave Ric behind because he knew his father would mistreat him. The older Rob got, the more he was able to defend himself, but Ric couldn’t so Rob had to do it for him.” Maryanne looked pensive. “Anyway, when I first started dating Rob he spent a lot of time with me, but he soon went back to hanging more with the Route 66 gang and I’d see him on Friday nights. We hung out at school all week and I never missed his games, but he spent the rest of the weekend with his group. He’d try to make it sound like he needed time with his buddies, but I think it was about protecting Ric.”
“Did you ever go anywhere with the gang?”
“A few times, but the other boys didn’t have steady girlfriends so I didn’t fit in very well. I don’t think Ric or Barney ever had a girlfriend and Craig was a player; he was with a different girl every week. So, it was fine with me. I was involved in a lot of school activities and trying to maintain an ‘A’ average.”
“So why were you with them on that particular weekend when ‘whatever’ happened?”
“It was the end of our first week of school. My parents were out of town for the weekend and they left Scottie with me. Rob had a scrimmage on Saturday afternoon so I took Scottie with me to watch it. He was eight years old at the time and loved to tag along with us. He thought Rob was ‘rad.’ He really looked up to him. In fact, Scottie thought all those boys were cool, and that night they treated him like their little mascot. Craig even gave him a Route 66 sticker.”
“So the other boys were at the scrimmage?”
“Ric was. He sat with us. The plan was for Rob to come to my house after the game, but Craig and Barney showed up in the last quarter. Craig was angry because Rialto had lost their scrimmage. He was complaining about how his defense had let him down. He had been sacked several times and he wasn’t happy about it. Anyway, I took Scottie and left and Rob was to come along shortly. We were going to have a movie night, eat popcorn, and watch Scottie.”