"You know where the left turn is?" David began.

"Yeah."

"You can only go left unless they've dumped some more development out there in the last couple of years. Turn left on that street at the landmark. You will pa.s.s the wash. It's less visible on the left than it is on the right. You're going to be headed north, okay? On the far side of the washa"on the righta"it's like five, six foot high. Okay, you want to take the north side of the wash. Find a path up there. You will go exactlya"on my odometer on a Nissan pickupa"one and three-quarter miles. Okay. Then you head exactly north again. You may want a small compa.s.s for that because I made sure I was heading due north."

"Exactly north?"

"Exactly one and three-quarter miles. Okay, three-eighths of a mile or thereabouts, you'll see a boulder and a yucca tree. I call it a boulder because it's a heavy motherf.u.c.ker, probably threea"maximum foura"feet around."

"Okay."

"Uma"it's exactly under the boulder. .. . It's on property I owned at one time, but I made sure it's near a survey marker so if anybody was going to fence it in, they wouldn't have any reason to dig or move that boulder."

"Is your property close by this landmark?"

"It's on the other side of the street that you use to get to the wash."

"What's your address?"

David didn't remember the street name, nor did he remember the numbers. "It's five digits long. It's eight eight eight. . . something." The property address didn't matter; the yucca tree and the boulder did.

David Brown's fortune was buried beneath that boulder. He was willing to share it now with Richard Steinhart. "G.o.d, I love you, Richard."

"I love you, too. Anything else I need to know?"

"I did think of something last night that I was going to warn you about."

"Which was what?"

"But apparently you didn't need it."

"Well, what was it anyway?"

"The investigator was armed."

Now David told him. Had David ever intended for Steinhart to survive the two hits? He had forgotten a fairly vital piece of information.

Steinhart's answer was unruffled. "Oh, yeaha"they both were. One had one in his briefcase, and one had one on him."

"I never noticed on the attorney."

"Well, I'll tell you what," Steinhart said sardonically. "It don't matter now, does it?"

It was raining and hailing and the parking lot at Bennigan's in Westminster was almost empty as Richard Steinhart and Det. Bob "Animal" Moran waited in their Camaro for Tom Brown's blue Ford Escort to turn in. At ten-twenty A.M., David's older brother arrived. He remained seated behind the wheel as he handed over the last payment: $11,000 of David's money for whatever it was David was buying. David had him running all over the place on one errand or another.

Suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere, the lot was alive with uniformed and undercover copsa"all pointing guns at Tom Brown, Richard Steinhart, and Bob "Animal" Moran. Bewildered, Tom staggered out of his car and was bent over the hood and handcuffed.

"You're all under arrest for murder," a Huntington Beach officer barked.

"For what?" Tom asked.

"For first-degree murder."

Animal Moran and Richard Steinhart, the two "hired killers" were also cuffed and hauled away. For all Tom Brown knew, David had ordered him into a nest of vipers, and he had been caught with the worst of them. He didn't know what in h.e.l.l this was all about. He was both frightened and furious.

David Brown had now paid $23,400 for three murders that never happened. The "Bo Brothers" were out of business. But David didn't know that yet.

Tom Brown was transported to an interview room at the Huntington Beach Police Department. He sat alone, handcuffed, with a look of total bewilderment on his face for more than half an hour until Jay Newell and Fred McLean arrived to talk with him.

Tom Brown asked repeatedly, "What's going on?"

But Newell could not explain until he had read Tom Brown his Miranda rights.

Then he said slowly, "You're under arrest for murdera""

"For who?"

"Some people got killed," Newell said slowly, "and one of thema"it looks likea"was the wrong person."

Newell could be forgiven this fib. He suspected the news of a foulup would get back to David, who had been having a wonderful time for weeks orchestrating Jay Newell's sudden death.

Tom Brown now looked both incredulous and panicked. All he knew about the two men at Bennigan's was that they were supposed to be protecting David. "David called me last week and told me to take eleven thousand dollars to them today."

Tom explained that he and his father always went to the office of Joel Baruch, David's attorney, to get checks from David's trust account. "He wouldn't tell me nothing. He just said that his life and {Crystal's were in danger and he needed protection."

Tom recalled bringing the two beefy "bodyguards" $10,000 a week before. He remembered too, with some prompting from Newell, that he had delivered $ 1,700 before thata""to show good faith." David had given the orders. Tom had asked no questions. He knew nothing about murders. Nothing. He would have had no part in it. He shouted at Newell and McLean in his rage and fear.

"What would you say if I told you two people got killeda"and one of them is the wrong person?" Newell asked.

"Nothing. I don't know anything about it."

Tom Brown was held for four hours and released. Gearly, he had been his brother's dupe and had no idea that he was delivering money intendeda"at least by Davida"to pay for three murders. Newell asked him not to tell anyone about what had happened, knowing that Tom would tell, and that it would get back to David.

Newell now had twenty-six audio and/or video tapes that tied David Brown irrevocably to solicitation to commit murder. In David's own words. In David's own voice.

When Tom Brown was dismissed after questioning, still confused and angry at the mess David had dumped him into, he apparently went right to his parents, who called Joel Baruch's office. They didn't know much. They knew only that someone had been killed, and that it was the wrong person....

Later that afternoon, Tom Borris received a breathless call from Joel Baruch's partner, Jack Early. "Is Jeoff Robinson dead?"

"I can't discuss it," Bonis answered tensely. "You've called right in the middle of our investigation."

Actually, Robinson was alive and well and working in the office next to Bonis. But until all the pieces came together, Bonis preferred not to announce that.

At nine-thirty on the night of February 13, David Brown had an official visit from his attorney, Joel Baruch. Deputy Dan Vazquez could not hear what the two were saying, but he saw Baruch wave his anns emphatically, and he could tell that the discussion was an extremely emotional one. David lit one cigarette after another, heedless that he was in a no-smoking area.

Vazquez caught fragments of sentences: ". .. just got the most terrible news .. ."

When David's attorney left, David headed down toward Irv Cully's cell. He was shouting, "Cully! Cully! Goldie f.u.c.ked up! Goldie f.u.c.ked up."

David had been nervous as a cat all day, and now he had just learned that the plan hadn't gone down smoothly after all. That d.a.m.n Richard must have gone and shot the wrong guy!

David learned far worse news on Valentine's Day, February 14, 1989. Goldie hadn't shot the wrong man. He hadn't shot anybody. His beloved Goldie had set him upa"had even cooperated with his bitterest enemies. Jeoff Robinson and Jay Newella"and Patti Baileya"were all quite alive. David, who considered himself the maestro of exploitation, had fallen completely for Richard Steinhart's gift of gab.

Without Steinhart's help, it was likely that all of David's designated victims would have been dead. But Steinhart had stalled David long enough for Newell and Borris to get solid evidence that a murder plot did, indeed, exist.

When David frantically tried to call his attorney, he found no comfort in that direction. Joel Baruch had left for Florida that morning to celebrate his wedding anniversary.

On February 15, David was charged with three counts of conspiracy to commit murder, three counts of solicitation to commit murder, solicitation to commit perjury, subornation of perjury, and conspiracy to commit arson. Jack Early, one of David's attorneys, described him as "surprised, shocked, and distraught."

An understatement perhaps.

No more shocked than Patti Bailey. When she learned that her husband had thoroughly intended that she would be dead by sundown on Valentine's Day, she told reporters that she figured, "Oh, come on."

But the next day, Jay Newell filled her in on all the details. She began to cry and to shake uncontrollably. "I'm hurt," she finally whispered. "But it's to be expected. Anything is to be expected. I believe it. I guess he likes to repeat history."

There was a new brittleness about Patti. She had seen all of her dreams evaporate. She had read her fifty letters from David and found he could no longer make her believe. They were full of lies, designed only to persuade her to protect him. She had no one. Rather than expecting anything, Patti expected nothing. Her family had cut her off. "But I understanda"killing my own sister. I still have to live with that."

Paradoxically, Patti bravely told reporters she was experiencing a kind of freedom. She had been bound to David for so many years. Jail let her be more her own person. Patti, who had been forced to drop out of high school, pa.s.sed her GED test while she was in the Orange County Jail. "I feel a lot freer. I'm in jail, but I can do what I want."

Not really. Patti tried to hang herself in jail.

Irv Cully was moved to a different jail location and so was David Brown. The man without a home was Richard Steinhart. He needed a secure location. Not only was he waiting to testify in one trial, he would now be a witness in David Brown's trail. He was a target. His enemies branded him a "jailhouse snitch," which was not precisely accurate. He had been snitched off and then had agreed to cooperate with the District Attorney's Office because he deplored David Brown's morals and methods.

Steinhart had gained nothing and lost a good deal. He had no place to go, and he was not safe on the street. David was enraged, and the Hessians were still looking for him.

"I found him a place," Newell recalled with a wry smile. "The one thing you might say about it is that it was secure. Apartments and motels were expensive and vulnerable. So I rented him a bank vault. It wasn't fancy, but it had a window and it only cost six hundred dollars a montha" including breakfast."

The vault was in a defunct bank. Steinhart decorated it to suit himself and for the moment, called it home.

With spring burgeoning in the desert, Steinhart headed out one day, seeking a certain monument that said either "29 Palms" or "Joshua Tree." He took a buddy with him, a borrowed pickup truck, and digging tools. David had told him repeatedly that there was a fortune buried up there, much of it in small bills, a fortune hidden from the IRS. It might be as little as $300,000 or it might be $5 million.

They found the left turn and they found the wash, and they followed their compa.s.ses due north as David had instructed. And they found a boulder next to a yucca tree.

"We dug, and we dug." Steinhart grimaced, remembering. "It was hot. We got a spot hollowed underneath, and my buddy was holding the boulder up, kind of, with wrecking bars. I was digging under it."

The wrecking bars gave way in the sand and the boulder came crashing down, catching one of Steinhart's middle fingers beneath it. "It squashed that finger like an empty banana peel," he said, holding it up to show scars. "And then it plain took it off. My buddy was all gung ho to keep digging, and I was trying to hold my finger on by a shred of flesh. I told him I didn't think we should pursue the projecta"at least not then."

Emergency room surgeons were able to reattach Steinhart's flattened finger, but his enthusiasm for treasure hunting was vastly diminished.

Richard Steinhart had never really beaten his addiction to cocaine. On May 14, 1989, Officer R. Reinhart of the Huntington Beach Police Department was staked out on Commodore Circle, a notorious area for drug dealing. He had made at least fifty drug arrests there. He spotted a slow-moving pickup truck driven by a young woman. As the officer observed the two occupants wheel around on Commodore Circle, he saw a young Hispanic man walk up to the truck and show the male pa.s.senger two plastic bags with white powder in them. The bearded pa.s.senger gave the man some money and accepted the Baggies. The officer didn't know Richard Steinhart, but he recognized a drug deal when he saw one going down.

Steinhart was busted again.

He went back to the Orange County Jail, but this time his life changed completely. "I was in total sep [separation]." He had his reputation as a physically powerful man, but that was all he had. He saw that "Charles Manson and ma.s.s murderers are heroes in prison." But he didn't want that.

Steinhart found what he wanted at chapel call on the evening of June 22, 1989. There are scores of men behind bars who "find G.o.d" because it is expedient. No one who talked to Richard Steinhart believed that he was among them; he became a man totally committed to his religion. "I'd been going three times a week to chapel call when some of it began to sink in," he said. In chapel that night, he experienced a jolting spiritual awakening. It never left him.

Indeed, he wasn't even in chapel for religious reasons. "I was only going to find out what was happening in the modsa"'cause I was in total sep, or maybe to bully the kids out of their candy bars, their commissary packs, their peanuts and stuff, bully them to put money on my books and stuff. But the Holy Spirit came upon me. The Reverend Win Barr asked if anyone wanted to accept Jesus Christ. My hand just shot up, and I didn't realize it was up. Everybody's going, 'Steinhart's tryin' somethinga"look!' They figured I had an escape plan, 'cause they knew me, and they asked me afterward how I was going to do it, 'cause they wanted to ride on my coattails. .. .

"I went back to my cella"three concrete walls with a gla.s.s front, and a twenty-four-hour guarda"and I tried to find the smallest corner of my cell so the bull in the bubble couldn't see me, and I got on my hands and knees and I started crying and I begged G.o.d for mercy ... and forgiveness. I got off my knees a new creature."

At breakfast the next day, Steinhart suggested that his fellow prisoners say grace. Bewildered, they did. And then he led them around the table, singing "Amazing Grace." Most of them thought he was crazy, and some believed this was all part of a master escape plan.

There was no escape plan. Steinhart was, for ever after, a changed man.

He still worried, however, about his power to control his addiction when he was on the street again. He called Jay Newell for help. Newell found Set Free, a drug rehabilitation program that would waive its long waiting lista"only if the patient came directly from jail. The day Steinhart was released, Newell picked him up and took him to the program. After that, he went to a church-sponsored rehabilitation program at Lake Elsinore, California.

Steinhart no longer cared about David Brown's elusive treasure. It was quite possible that the half million dollars, even 5 milliona"if it did indeed exista"still waited under some boulder, near some yucca tree on the way to Barstow, California.

Patti Bailey believed that David had a hidden cache of money in the desert. Although she never went with him, she saw him leave the house with bags of money many times. He told her he was going to bury it so that the tax men wouldn't find it.

There was no trial for David Brown in March 1989. The new charges virtually demanded a postponement. His case was becoming more and more complicated. It seemed likely that it would be autumn before a trial could get under