Chapter 14
By the time Cash reached the inner sanctum of the Battery Club in San Francisco, she was irked and, truth be told, intimidated.
This was exactly the kind of exclusive club whose pretentious existence irritated her, and as soon as she was inside, she realized she had dressed wrongly, looking frumpy and out of place in her muddy sneakers, black jeans, and a collared shirt she had spilled a spot of coffee on earlier in the day.
The excessively neutral looks she got from the doorkeepers—-as if they were struggling to hide their disdain—-further annoyed her.
She had wanted to meet in a coffee shop, but Castillo had insisted on meeting her at “his club.” He explained it was “for security purposes,” because the club had strict no--photo and no--video policies in place, and there was a record of everyone who was signed in.
As if a UFO crankologist had to worry about being overheard spilling world--shattering secrets.
A uniformed club attendant directed her to the billiards room.
The room was a busy space with two beige--colored pool tables, unconventional art, and loud wallpaper.
Crimson benches that appeared as if they were made from fluffy tiramisu biscuits rimmed the space and made up a sitting area.
There was only one person there, a man shooting pool by himself: Castillo.
She had seen pictures of him online, and now she paused in the doorway to take his measure in person.
He was a lanky man, mid--thirties, trimmed beard, a black turtleneck, skinny pants, and pointed black shoes.
The one imperfect note was his radar ears.
And his pool game. Cash could see he was bad at it—-really bad.
She could’ve beaten him with one hand tied behind her back.
But his movements were smooth and full of confidence, even if he was missing every single shot he tried to make.
He finally looked up from the shot he was lining up—-she could see he was going to hit it wrong—-and gave her a big smile, his immaculate white teeth gleaming in the light.
Putting down the cue, he strode over, hand extended.
“Javi Castillo,” he said. “So good to meet you, Agent Cash.”
Cash wasn’t used to this warm a greeting from an interviewee, especially one who had hung up on her, and it threw her off--balance. “Thank you, Mr. Castillo. We appreciate your cooperation,” she said, more formally than she intended.
“Please call me Javi,” he said.
She didn’t reciprocate the offer, and there was a brief silence.
“Shall we sit?” She gestured toward the seating area.
“I have a better spot, one that’s a little more … secure.” Javi beckoned Cash to follow, and limped up some stairs to a higher floor. Cash followed, a little in awe at how big the club was. Only a handful of people milled about, and most of them appeared to work there.
“Doesn’t usually get busy during the day,” Castillo said, “but there’s a nice out--of--the--way room where we can talk. Here’s the Musto Bar.” He gestured grandly around them as they entered yet another extravagant room. “Everything you see was designed by Ken Fulk.”
She didn’t know who Ken Fulk was and couldn’t care less.
Passing to the back of the bar, they entered a lounge area with a pink piano sitting in the corner.
The walls were painted swaths of dark forest green and black.
A rather handsome guy who looked barely in his thirties, wearing a funky shirt with martini glasses and sporting a man--bun, greeted Castillo by name, nodding at him over a glass he was polishing.
“Hey, Jared, my man,” Castillo said, and grinned in response.
They approached a bookcase in the far wall. Castillo rubbed the head of the bust of Woodrow Wilson set into the bookcase, and a panel swung inward to reveal a hidden room with two couches and musical instruments affixed to the walls.
“The Green Room,” Castillo explained. “Fun, right? Nobody comes in here during the day. I like to hold meetings in here. It’s quiet.”
Cash settled into one of the couches and placed her cell on the little table between them. “Mind if I record?”
“As long as it’s kept confidential.”
“We keep a tight lid on all evidence and interviews,” said Cash.
“Very well, you may record, but you might get scolded by the staff if they notice.” He crossed his legs, in so doing revealing that he had a prosthetic lower leg, gleaming in titanium and steel. She quickly covered up her surprise.
“So,” he continued, “I was terribly shocked to hear about Willy Grooms. What a sweet old man. What can you tell me about the murder?”
“He was found in his cabin in the Flat Tops five days ago. I’m afraid I can’t share most of the details, as they’re still confidential, but it appears …” She hesitated, wondering how much she should share with him. “He may have been tortured.” She looked closely for the reaction.
Castillo appeared confounded. “Tortured? By whom?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mr. Castillo.”
“How?”
“That’s confidential, for now.”
Castillo ran fingers through his hair in distress.
She could see that Castillo made an effort to pull himself together. If this was an act, Cash thought, it was a damned good one.
He crossed and uncrossed his legs several times and then said, “Tortured? Hell, I need a drink. And you?”
“I could use a cup of coffee. Instant coffee, if they have it. Cream and sugar.”
Castillo crossed the room and pushed a button in the wall to open the panel, and disappeared for thirty seconds to speak to the bartender.
Cash shifted on the uncomfortably soft couch as she waited, and busied herself, studying the chandelier made out of lollipops that hung from the ceiling.
Curious decoration for a social club, she thought.
Castillo quickly reappeared, explaining he had ordered himself a vodka martini and her a coffee.
Cash went through the preliminaries and then asked, “What was your relationship to Mr. Grooms?”
“If you’ve done any background research on me, you’ll know that I have a PhD in exobiology, from UC Berkeley, and I am one of the world’s foremost researchers on UAPs.
I founded an organization that has amassed an encyclopedia of UAP activity—-video, witness reports, you name it—-that is second to none. ”
“UAPs?” Cash pretended not to know the acronym, despite her prior research.
“Unidentified anomalous phenomena. Formerly known as UFOs. As you know, there’s a great deal of controversy on the subject—-”
“How did you meet Grooms?” Cash tried to keep the conversation focused.
“I never did actually meet him. I heard rumors that this old guy in the mountains claimed to have seen a UAP crash. I spoke to him on the phone several times, and he sounded legitimate.”
“The reason for my visit to you, Mr. Castillo, is that the last calls
Mr. Grooms made from a satellite phone were to you. Can you tell me what those calls were about?”
“I certainly can. Again, this is confidential?”
“You have my assurance.” Of course, she could assure no such thing if it became evidence necessary for trial, but no point in discouraging a witness unnecessarily.
Cash paused as the waiter arrived with her coffee and Castillo’s vodka martini. Castillo made sure the panel was closed again before continuing.
“Mr. Grooms is—-was—-a very important witness. A rare witness to UAP activity.”
“Meaning?”
“Like I said, he claimed to have witnessed a UAP crash. In the wilderness where he lived. As the world’s foremost UAP researcher, I naturally wanted to know more about it.
That is the reason for our many phone calls.
I was trying to organize an expedition into the Flat Tops—-which Mr. Grooms said he would lead to the site of the crash. ”
“Okay,” said Cash. Her heart was sinking—-were the phone calls really only about UFOs? “And you’re aware that Mr. Grooms was diagnosed with schizophrenia?”
At this, Castillo leaned back. “I’m well aware of that. Schizophrenics are just as capable of witnessing a UAP crash as anyone else.”
“But much better at seeing things that aren’t there.” Cash sipped her coffee—-not Bustelo but not bad. This club was perhaps growing on her.
“That’s always a possibility. Agent Cash, I am a skeptic. Don’t mistake me for one of those UAP nutjobs. I spoke many times to Mr. Grooms. I am absolutely convinced he witnessed the real thing.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Details. Nuances. My previous in--depth research. Trust me, I can smell a phony UAP story a mile away. What Mr. Grooms witnessed lines up with so much of my research—-things he couldn’t possibly know. He saw the real thing—-I promise you.”
Cash nodded. “Okay. What else did you discuss in those calls?”
“He liked to talk about his gold mining and his sculptures, that sort of thing. Oh, and the monster in a lake. There’s your schizophrenia at work. I’ve no interest in those things—-only the UAP crash.”
“So you never met Mr. Grooms in person?”
“No. I was hoping to.” Castillo shook his head again, looking down at his lap. “I can’t believe he’s gone. What a shock.”
“Did Grooms have any enemies that you know of? Someone who might wish him harm?”
At this, Castillo fell silent.
Cash waited as the silence stretched on. Finally, she spoke. “If you know anything relevant to the homicide, now would be the time to tell me.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Was the cabin searched by the killer?”
“It was.”
“Carefully and thoroughly.” He said it more as a statement than a question, seemingly deep in thought.
“Yes.”
“Ah. Well, that confirms my initial suspicions.”
“Which are?”
“Well, I hesitate to share with you my thoughts in this area.”
“Why?”
“Because you won’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
Castillo took a deep breath. “Okay. Here’s what Grooms told me. He saw the UAP crash—-”
“When was this?”
“Ten years ago, plus or minus. He was a little vague.”
Cash nodded.
“He immediately went up to the site of the crash … and found something.”
“What did he find?”
“An alien artifact. And he took it. Later, he said, the aliens cleaned up the crash site so you’d never know anything had happened there.” Another silence.
“So …” Cash said slowly, stopping an exasperated breath. “An alien artifact. See any proof of this artifact?”
Castillo shifted uncomfortably, seeming to note Cash’s cynicism. “No.”
“What was it?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Did Grooms often make things up, or claim something existed when it didn’t?”
Castillo leaned back, irritation playing across his face.
“Well … I’m not going to lie to you. Yes, he did.
But this felt different. Usually, his delusions were scattered and nonsensical.
When he spoke about this, it was a coherent story, and the details fit with other UAP observations I’ve seen throughout the years. ”
Cash rubbed at her temples with pointer fingers. Jesus, this was all too much bullshit to sort through. “So … if Grooms had the alien artifact, is it possible that others might have wanted to get their hands on it—-and kill him for it?”
“That’s a possibility. But I think it’s a lot more likely that the aliens themselves would want it back and come after him.” Again, Castillo hesitated and then said, in a rush, “I think that’s exactly what happened.”
Cash stared at Castillo. She could already hear Colcord’s cynical laugh when he heard the outcome of her trip. “Killed by aliens,” she said, deadpan.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe it.”
“And this was what you talked about on those phone calls? Grooms told you all this—-about seeing the crash, finding the artifact, and so forth?”
“Yes.”
“And nothing else? No discussion of money, disputes, personal conflicts, anything of that sort?”
“Only chitchat about searching the mines for gold, finding jasper, making sculptures. His hobbies, basically.”
“No discussion of who else might have contacted him about wanting that artifact?”
“No.”
“Did you ever discuss his friend Margie Brooksfield?”
“He mentioned her from time to time. Nice lady. Brought him food. She arranged to have him baptized. I spoke to her once on the phone when she was visiting Willy.”
“What for?”
“Ah, no reason. Wanted to meet one of Willy’s friends, I suppose.”
“How did he feel about being baptized?”
“He said he’d recently had a strange religious experience and he figured it was worth hedging his bets.”
“What kind of religious experience?”
Castillo shrugged. “No idea. Nothing that made sense, I’m sure. As you know, the guy was schizo.”
“Anything about how Brooksfield handled his finances, managed his money?”
“Nothing about that.”
“Did you know she handled his finances?”
“I … didn’t know that.”
“No idea who might have killed him—-besides aliens? I know it’s not as exciting, but we have solid evidence that humans were responsible.” She wasn’t going to tell him about the embalming and the Spanish boot. The investigation was keeping that information strictly confidential for the time being.
He looked at her steadily. “I don’t know about your evidence. As far as I know, he was a harmless old coot who didn’t have an enemy in the world—-at least, a human one.”
Cash shook her head, reached over, turned off her cell phone recorder, shut her notebook, and stood up.
And Castillo looked so normal—-proof that you never could tell with these conspiracy theorists.
“Thank you, Mr. Castillo, I appreciate you meeting with me and sharing your thoughts.” She hesitated and took out her card, giving it to him, but not without misgivings.
“If you have any further thoughts on humans who might have wished him harm, will you please let me know?”