“Mr. McMullen,” she started, “we’d like to talk to you about your business dealings in 1985.”
McMullen sat and smiled, and the effect was not pleasant. “That’s one way to put it, Detective, but the Lord Jesus says that the truth will set me free—how apt—and we both know that in 1985 I was a foul, violent, unremorseful man who’d hurt anyone who got in his way and who made his money stealing it from others.”
“The Lord Jesus?”
“Yes. I had a heart attack two years ago, and when I woke up, the world around me had changed, because I had changed. I had accepted His Word, the only Word that matters.”
Madison felt Kelly shifting in the chair next to her.
“I will not ask you if you have been saved, Detective,” McMullen continued. “After all, that’s none of my business, and you’re not here to talk about my spiritual journey.”
“No, but thanks for sharing,” Kelly commented.
“We’re here because in 1985 the kind of felonies you were involved in meant you extorted money from small businesses and made sure they knew what would happen if they didn’t pay,” Madison said.
From the first moment, she had been checking him for any signs of apprehension and concern, anything that might tell her he had been expecting their visit and knew what they wanted to ask him. She saw none. He was calm and collected, and his hands rested on the table before him.
McMullen frowned delicately, as if the effort of thinking back to those times and the person he was then was physically painful. “Go on,” he said.
“Are you aware of a restaurant on Alki Beach called The Rock?”
“Yes. Is it still there?”
“Yes, it is. Did you approach the owners at the time? Did you ever speak with them, or did any of your men ever speak with the owners to indicate that you would hurt them and hurt them badly if they didn’t pay you protection money when you asked for it?”
McMullen nodded. “I understand. You’re asking me if I had any part in the kidnapping and death of that poor, poor child.”
“No, I’m asking you if the foul, violent, and unremorseful man you were then paid four men to snatch three boys. And it wasn’t an accidental death; it was murder.”
McMullen shook his head. “It was terrible thing.”
“Well, that’s what you say now with the benefit of a heart attack and your ongoing spiritual journey. What would you have said then?”
“I can tell you that it would have been right up my ‘business’ alley, and the reason I didn’t approach the owners was because the kidnapping happened before I had a chance to. And afterward, you couldn’t have gotten anybody to go near The Rock. As far as I know, no one ever approached them, and, of course, in more recent years no one would, anyway, considering who the present owners are.”
“John Cameron and Nathan Quinn.”
“Yes,” he replied, and the brown eyes traveled to the fading scar on Madison’s brow. “But I don’t really need to tell you anything about them, do I?”
“Do you have friends in the outside world, Mr. McMullen? Family, people who will help you when you’re out—should you get out—to restart your life?”
“My path was not one that encouraged friendships or the loving support of a family. I will do everything I can to make things right with my children, and I hope to join a volunteer group that creates gardens and positive environments in areas that need them.”
Madison felt Kelly practically combust next to her.
“Gardening sounds nice. Have you ever met a man named Timothy Gilman?”
McMullen narrowed his eyes in concentration, his mind evidently flipping through a mental Rolodex of names he’d rather forget.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Did you order the kidnapping?”
“No, Detective, I did not. And I don’t think I could live with myself if I had done so.”
“Now what do you think?” Kelly asked as they reached their car in the parking lot.
“That weasel could find whatever funds he needed to pay off Conway,” Madison said. “If we don’t get to the end of this in time, he will be out on parole breathing free air and potting azaleas in community centers for as long as his probation lasts. After that, he’s in the wind.”
“Azaleas?” Kelly snorted.
“Whatever,” Madison replied.
Chapter 47
August 29, 1985. Ronald Gray waited in the shade of the alley opposite Timothy Gilman’s front door. He had been there since 8:00 a.m., and it was almost midday. It was nearly impossible to get into the squalid block and into Gilman’s apartment to search it while he was out, and Ronald didn’t like his chances. With the kind of luck he’d had recently, Gilman would double back for whatever reason, find him in his rooms, and end his pathetic excuse for a life there and then.