the time frame,” Max said to Harry. He turned his attention back to Walsh. “This Rolf guy, what’s his job here?”
“He helps locate church members who we’re having trouble reaching.”
“You mean he brings them in whether they want to come or not?” It was Harry this time.
“No, nothing like that.” Walsh leaned forward, elbows on his desk; hands together, the index fingers forming a steeple. “He would be sent out to contact someone we had been unable to reach by phone, e-mail, or letter.”
“Was he sent out to locate Mary Kate O’Connell?” Max asked.
“Not to my knowledge. But feel free to ask others in the department. They might know something I don’t. I suggest you start with Ken Oppenheimer. He’s my assistant and he basically runs day-to-day operations. His office is just down the hall.”
Harry doubted that Oppenheimer would provide anything new. Despite Walsh’s claims, he was certain nothing happened in this department that escaped his notice. “Do you have an address for Mr. Rolf’s mother?” Harry asked.
Walsh offered a regretful shrug. “I do not. But again, feel free to ask others.”
“Do you have Rolf’s address?” Max asked.
“That I’m sure we can give you. I’ll have my secretary look it up now.” He picked up his phone and asked for the information. “We’ll have it in just a moment,” he said. Then Walsh peered at Harry. “You’re the officer they call the dead detective, are you not?”
Harry gave him a hard, unwavering look. “You’re well informed.”
“It’s something I always strive for. Is it true . . . that you can speak to the dead?”
The secretary entered the room, interrupting them, and handed Walsh a piece of paper. He rose from his chair and passed it to Max. “This is the address we have on file for Mr. Rolf. He may have moved and not informed us. That does happen from time to time.”
Max and Harry started for the door. Halfway through it Harry turned back to Walsh. “Sometimes they speak to me,” he said.
“What?” Walsh said.
“The answer to your last question,” Harry said. “There are times when the dead speak to me.”
When the elevator doors closed, Max turned to Harry. “Why’d you tell him that . . . about dead people talking to you?”
“He was trying to spook me out by letting me know how much he knew about me,” Harry said. “I thought I’d return the favor.”
* * *
They decided to put off questioning others in the church office and go directly to the address they had for their white-haired suspect, Tony Rolf. The address, which was only a few blocks away from the church compound, turned out to be a two-story house that was within walking distance of the marina where Mary Kate O’Connell had been murdered.
The landlady, who occupied the first floor, was a heavyset woman in her late fifties with a world-weary look in her eyes. She identified herself as Ruby Lee Dixon, and told them she owned the building. Max showed her his shield and asked if Tony Rolf lived there.
“Upstairs. But he ain’t here now.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Don’t have a clue,” Ruby Lee said. “Came by early this morning and told me he’d be away for a while. Said he’d mail me next month’s rent.” She shifted her weight and put a hand on her hip. “Long as I get the rent, I don’t care where he goes or for how long. It’s his apartment until the rent stops comin’ in.” She paused. “He in trouble with the cops?”
“Not that we know of,” Max said. “We think he might have witnessed a crime. It’s kind of important that we talk to him.”
“Can we take a look at his apartment?” Harry asked. “There might be something there that’ll tell us where he is.”
Two cats eyed him suspiciously from two corners of the room.
Ruby Lee also seemed uncertain. “Well, I don’t know,” she said. “It’s his place, after all—when the rent’s paid, that is.” She paused again as if arguing with herself.
One of the cats approached Harry purring loudly. Ruby Lee watched it as if it were some type of omen. Harry bent down and scratched the cat’s neck. The second cat came to him to get some of the same.
Harry looked up at Ruby Lee. “You can come up with us, make sure we don’t take anything.”
Ruby Lee continued her internal argument. Finally she said: “Well, I suppose it’ll be alright. My cats seem to trust you. Shoot, if you can’t trust your local police, who can you trust? The entrance is around back. Let me show you.”
She led them through the first floor and into the kitchen, where she took a key from a drawer and then continued out to a rear porch, where wooden stairs led up to the second floor. She handed Harry the key. “Them stairs is too much for me. You go ahead.”
When they entered the three-room apartment both men stopped and took in the small living room, then moved on to the single bedroom, the eat-in kitchen, and the bathroom. Each room was more immaculate than the one before it.
“I’ve never seen a bachelor pad this fucking clean,” Max said. “I bet you couldn’t pull a single print off anything in this place.”
Harry looked carefully at each room as they worked their way back to the living room and wondered if that was the reason for such cleanliness, or if Tony Rolf was simply a neat freak who chose to live this way. He thought of his boat and the house he had lived in over the previous five years. Clean, yes; immaculate, far from it.
“Let’s toss the place, just in case,” Max said. “I’ll start at the back with the bedroom and bath. You start here in the living room and we’ll meet up in the kitchen. Be thorough, but let’s not make it obvious the place was searched.”
“You got it.”
Harry started with a small desk in a corner of the living room. There was a stack of blank paper on the desktop, a pen, but no computer. Harry searched the desk drawers where he found two Scientology texts, one appearing to be a bible of sorts, the other dealing with unacceptable behaviors. He leafed through the latter and found several dog-eared pages dealing with homosexuality. According to the book, Scientologists considered homosexual contact of any sort the most aberrant of behaviors, one that called for intense and long-term auditing, a form of counseling that involved confessing one’s missteps. If auditing was successful, meaning that the church member banned homosexuality from his or her life, a return to normal church activities was permitted. If auditing failed, the member would be banned from the church for the remainder of his or her life.
He picked up the bible-like book and opened the cover. Inside he found a manila envelope that held half a dozen eight-by-ten photos that appeared to have been taken without the subject’s knowledge. Harry flipped through them. They were all the same person: Mary Kate O’Connell.
Harry left the photos on the desk and started on the rest of the room. There was little to search, a handful of books, all written by L. Ron Hubbard, including a heavily underlined copy of Dianetics, which detailed the principles and practices followed by Scientologists.
Max gave Harry a thumbs-down gesture as he returned to the living room, indicating he had found nothing of value. Harry pointed to the pictures on the desk.
“They were tucked away in a Scientology bible that was in the desk,” he said. “It ties our boy directly to the murder victim.”
Max flipped through the photos and his face broke into a smile. “It sure as hell does. I’ll get a subpoena to seize them, along with anything else that looks even vaguely suspicious.”
Harry left