Eyes Wide Open

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.