The Scientology Murders. William Heffernan
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Some claimed that resistance at times turned violent, although church officials vehemently denied it. Yet to many the separation was clearly visible and unmistakably aggressive. It was as though an impregnable wall had been built around the majority of downtown Clearwater.
Harry turned to the patrol officer who had been assigned to watch over Maria. She was in her early forties, tall and slender, with a plain, unremarkable face and the look of a cop who had seen more than she cared to remember. Her name tag identified her only as Moore.
“Patrolwoman Moore, where did they find Jocko?” Harry asked.
“Like your mother said, he was in the water in this small marina just west of that old elementary school on Osceola Avenue. The school was shut down a couple of years ago and the Scientology people are supposed to be buying it. Rumor is that the marina’s part of the deal. Anyway, it was a guy who keeps his boat there who heard the shots and found your dad. The detectives and forensics are still at the scene and will probably be there for quite a while. They could give you more info.”
The doctor, still in surgical scrubs, came out half an hour later and sat with them. His name was Josephs and he spoke directly to Maria.
“The surgery went well and your husband is in intensive care. He’s in critical condition mostly because of the extensive loss of blood he suffered. In addition to the bullet wounds he also had a collapsed left lung and some broken ribs, but I have every confidence he’s going to survive. The next twenty-four hours will be critical.”
“Can I see him?” Maria asked.
“Yes, but I can only allow one visitor.” He turned to Harry. “Are you his son?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” Dr. Josephs turned back to Maria. “You should go home after you see him. Get some rest and we’ll call you if there’s any change.”
“No. I stay,” Maria said.
Harry saw that her jaw was set and knew the doctor was wasting his breath. He had seen that determined look too many times, all the way back to his childhood. He turned to the doctor. “It’s no use arguing with her. Trust me.”
Dr. Josephs studied the floor and nodded slowly. It was a situation he had faced before. “I’ll want someone to stay with her . . . just in case he takes a turn for the worse.”
“I’ll stay with her.” It was Patrolwoman Moore. She held Harry’s eyes. “Jocko was a mentor to me, and a friend. I know you want to get to the scene. Let me do this for you.”
* * *
Clearwater detectives were still canvassing the surrounding area when Harry and Vicky arrived at the marina. The lead detective was a sergeant named Max Abrams. He was a contemporary of Jocko’s and knew Harry well. He was also a transplant from the New York City Police Department who had left that job after ten years of service and opted for warmer climes. He still carried the Brooklyn accent of his birth.
“Hey, kid, how’s the old man doin’?” Abrams was a short, stocky man with receding salt-and-pepper hair, a wide nose, and large lips. He looked totally ineffectual until you noticed the steel in his hard gray eyes.
“He’s out of surgery, still critical, but the doc thinks he’ll make it,” Harry said. He inclined his head toward Vicky. “This is my partner, Vicky Stanopolis.”
Abrams nodded to her, then turned back to Harry. “It’ll take more than two slugs in the back to take Jocko out. You have any idea what he was doin’ down here?” He waved his hand, taking in the largely unoccupied marina.
“He was doing a favor for Joey O’Connell.”
“What kind of favor?” Abrams asked.
“He was trying to locate Joey’s daughter. Seems she joined up with the Scientologists, and Joey was worried they had some kind of hold on her. Supposedly she had told her parents she couldn’t have any contact with them because they didn’t belong to the church. Joey asked Jocko to find her, see what was going on, and try to get her to come home.”
“You have any idea what brought him here specifically . . . to this marina?”
“Just one thing and I can’t verify it.” Harry glanced around the sparsely occupied marina. “The cop staying with my mom said the Scientologists were trying to buy this place, along with the abandoned school up on Osceola Avenue. That’s the only connection I know of.”
“You ever meet the daughter?”
“Once, but it was quite awhile ago. She was just a teenage kid. I met her at Joey’s house but didn’t pay much attention to her. She just sort of breezed through while I was there with Jocko. Her name is Mary Kate.”
“I’m sure Joey could give us a picture of the kid,” Abrams said. “I don’t expect much cooperation from the Scientologists if she did hook up with them. They never cooperate with the cops unless it’s in their interest. They just shut you down whenever you ask any questions about their church or anybody who belongs to it. You ask me, they’re an overall pain in the ass.” Abrams hesitated, and then looked Harry in the eye. “You plan on looking into this yourself . . . on your own time . . . kind of unofficial like?”
“I’m thinking about it. Will that be a problem for you, Max?”
“The department won’t like it, but it won’t bother me. Just do it quiet like and don’t get me in trouble with my bosses. If you can do that I’ll share what I get with you, and you do the same. Where do you want to start?”
“I’d like to talk to the boat owner who found Jocko.”
Abrams inclined his chin toward two men farther down the dock. “He’s talkin’ to Jimmy Walker, my bright young partner.” He grinned, turning the sarcasm into a joke. “Come with me and I’ll introduce you.”
Abrams led Harry and Vicky down the dock. When they were twenty feet away he called Walker over and introduced him. “Harry is Jocko Doyle’s son,” he explained. “He’s also a homicide dick with the sheriff’s office. He wants to look around a little bit, just to put his mind at rest, and I told him it would be okay.”
Walker was tall and thin with a hooked nose and protruding Adam’s apple. His brown hair was cut in a high and tight military buzz and Harry guessed it hadn’t been long since he’d started on patrol.
“Fine with me,” Walker said. His brown eyes narrowed. “But the captain ain’t gonna like it, he finds out.”
“You’re right,” Abrams said. “So we won’t bother him about it. Understood?” He waited for Walker to nod agreement. “Any problem comes up, I’ll take the heat.” Abrams gestured toward the man Walker had been interviewing. “Whatshisname, he give you anything new?”
“His name’s Edward Tyrell,” Walker said. “He’s a stockbroker and his story’s pretty much what he told you. He had just brought his boat back in and was washing it down when he heard what sounded like two shots. So he goes to see what’s up and he spots Jocko in the water hanging onto a ladder. He hauls him out and calls 911. End of story.”
“Okay, you go back to the car and write up your report. Harry wants to thank this guy for saving his dad. I’ll introduce him.”
Harry grinned as he watched Walker head off. “Nice maneuver.”
“Hey, what can I tell you? I only inherited the kid a week ago. Everything’s a learning experience for him. Today he learned when to mind his own fucking business.”
* * *
Edward Tyrell was a tall, trim, well-built man who clearly put in plenty of time at the gym. He had sandy brown hair, a straight nose, blue eyes that could only be described as vibrant, and very white, capped teeth. Vicky immediately dubbed him “the movie star” in her mind. Harry thought he looked too slick by half.
“Mr.