“All of a sudden, she stopped crying. She went into the kitchen and got some plastic garbage bags. She gave Jeff and me each one, and told us to put everything we wanted to take to our new life in them. She grabbed all the photo albums, a file she had with personal records, her jewelry, some clothes, I guess. We didn’t waste time. I bet we were packed and on the road within an hour.
“Before we left, she called Sparrow and told him she was taking us boys to do a little shopping and she’d see him later. While she was on the phone, I went to his office, got into the safe, and grabbed a journal out of the stack. He had a lot of them. I didn’t think too much about it. I just did it.”
“Where is that journal now?” Smoke asked.
“In a safety deposit box at my bank.”
Smoke jotted the information down. “So you got on the road?”
“My mom went to the bank and took out a lot of money. We stopped somewhere in Wisconsin and Mom called a few people—her work, our school, our church—to say something had come up with a critically ill aunt and we were going to Texas to help out. She called my real aunt, her sister who lives in Georgia, and told her we had escaped from an abusive situation, but we were fine. She said if anyone contacted her she should tell them she had no clue where we were. And in truth, she didn’t.
“We drove all night and into the next day. My mother’s mother had a good friend who lived in Vermont. Mom figured since no one in Wellspring knew who she was, we’d be safe there. Her name was Emma. She and my grandma wrote back and forth quite a bit back in the old days. Then my grandma died pretty young. All Mom remembered was Emma’s name and the name of her city. We found her and literally showed up on her doorstep.
Smoke tapped his pen on his pad. “Your stepfather never found you?”
“If he did, he didn’t tell us.”
“I would think he’d want his journal back,” I said.
Gregory nodded. “I was young, too young to weigh the consequences of taking it. I’m glad I did, but I never thought about the fact that it could have gotten us killed. As much as I hate Sparrow for what he did, I think in the end he probably saved our lives.”
“How so?” Smoke asked.
“He couldn’t have told the others we had the journal. He must have thought my mother found it, and that’s why she took us and left. He was obsessed with her. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about Jeff and me, but I think in his own sick way he loved my mother. I have a feeling he was protecting her so the others couldn’t get their hands on her.”
“No one filed a missing-persons report when you didn’t return?” Smoke asked.
Gregory shrugged.
I leaned forward and raised my hand a few inches. “I can answer that. If they did, the file is missing like all the others. Nothing in the system for a missing Manthes family. Wait, your mother’s name was Sparrow?”
Gregory nodded.
“I’ll check under that name.”
“What others?” Gregory asked.
Smoke hesitated then launched into a lengthy explanation.
“My mother got a copy of the reports when my father was killed, so I have that file.”
“Now you’re talking. Tell me they’re in the safety deposit box with the journal.”
“They are.”
“Hallelujah! We’re building a case.”
Gregory and I smiled at Smoke’s enthusiasm.
“We should get a copy of the journal and the reports, but leave the originals in the deposit box.”
“It’s a long drive there and back,” Gregory said.
“Could you ask your mother to take care of it?” I asked.
“No. Mom wants to forget the bad things in our past. I’ve tried to talk to her about Dad’s death and my suspicions, but she’s convinced herself it was an accident.”
“You could fly,” Smoke said.
Gregory lifted his shoulders. “I’ll go out and get them after we find Jeff.”
That reminded me. “Gregory, I looked up Walpurgisnacht. It’s the night before May Day and listed as a night for satanic rituals. Since Jeffrey mentioned it specifically, it might be the night he intends to hurt himself.”
The color drained from Gregory’s face. “The night before May Day? April thirtieth? That’s Jeff’s birthday. His birthday is on Walpurgisnacht. That’s the day he’s planning to sacrifice himself.”
20: The Coven
Noris was on his way to downtown Oak Lea to run a few errands. He drove past the courthouse where he spotted Sergeant Aleckson, out of uniform, getting into Detective Dawes’ unmarked squad car. He was too curious to let it pass. They were up to something. He had his white Lexus SUV, a vehicle he seldom drove. He pulled into the library parking lot across the street from the courthouse and waited for them to leave.
They passed by him and pulled up to the stoplight with the right turn signal blinking. After they turned the corner, Noris stepped on the accelerator, propelling the car forward. He made the right turn before the light turned red, followed them to the motel on Highway 55, and waited in the restaurant parking lot next door.
Dawes and Aleckson got out of his car and went into the motel. Word around the department was that Jeffrey Trippen’s brother was the one who had called in the report on him, the attempt to locate. Noris hadn’t dug deep enough for the information and needed to do that soon. Cyril was impatient for more details.
A few minutes later, Dawes and Aleckson pushed back through the glass entry doors with a big man between them. Noris kicked himself for not having his Nikon camera with him. He whipped out his cell phone, aimed, and snapped. He was too far away for it to mean much, but he’d enlarge it on his home computer.
When the three drove away, Noris steered into the motel lot looking for out-of-state plates. One from Iowa, one from South Dakota, and one from Vermont. Jeffrey Trippen was from Vermont. He memorized the plate as he sped up to catch Dawes’ squad car. He followed it to where it turned into Abbey Lake Park. A meeting place where no one would overhear their conversation.
Noris slowed his vehicle, pulled over on the shoulder, and stopped. He found a pen in the middle console, then searched for a piece of paper but came up dry. Not a receipt or gum wrapper to be found. He opened the glove box, grabbed a map, tore a small piece from the corner, and jotted the license plate number on it.
His instincts told him the stranger at Abbey Lake Park was Jeffrey Trippen’s brother, fresh in from Vermont and spilling his guts to the detective and his sidekick sergeant. About what? Where was Aleckson’s report on Jeffrey Trippen, anyway? Was she waiting until after meeting with the brother to write it? What was his name?
What was the brother telling them, and why weren’t they meeting at the office? Had he figured out Sparrow had killed his father? Sparrow was very powerful, but he’d made a mistake—a stupid, nearly fatal one—all those years ago. The coven was still covering for it. And it would be back to haunt them if the case was reopened.
It was a mess, all right. On second thought, it might be a relief. If they hauled off Cyril and Dieter, Noris would be second in command behind Roman.
What was he thinking? Those two would never confess to being accomplices to a murder. And with no reports? No evidence? The sheriff’s department had nothing to charge them with.
Noris turned around and drove back to town to finish his errands. He’d run the Vermont plates when he got to work.
21
Smoke stuck his pad and pen in his pocket. “That gives us a date and a deadline. We need to find your brother between now and the thirtieth.”
“Two weeks and a day,” I calculated.
“I think Jeff wanted me to know his plans so I’d know what happened to him. But he should have figured I’d do everything I could to stop him.”
I leaned closer. “Gregory, the first time we talked, you said you never wanted to come back to Winnebago County. Jeff knew that, right?”
“Sure. I made the statement a lot. That I’d never go back.”
“Maybe that’s what he was counting on if he’s determined to follow this through—that you’d never go back, no matter what.”
“I guess.” Gregory stood, walked to the edge of the enclosure, and looked out on the lake. “Jeff. What could I have done differently? How could I have stopped him from getting to the point where he believed his own brother wouldn’t be there for him? And how could he know names like Walpurgisnacht and when it is? We were little kids.”
“Either someone told him—maybe Sparrow did on one of those nights when he took Jeff, but not you. Or he read about it and it stuck in his brain,” I said.
Smoke and I got up together. He walked over and stood beside Gregory. I went to his other side.
“He’s suffering from mental illness and not thinking rationally,” Smoke said.
I touched Gregory’s arm. “When we find him, there’s a doctor, the psychologist I mentioned earlier, who’s had good success helping victims like Jeff. And you.”
Gregory’s eyes widened. “How?”
“She’s got a few techniques she can tell you about. She’s dedicated her career to victims of abuse, especially those with dissociative identity disorder, which may be what Jeff has. I think you should meet her.”
“Maybe I will. I’ll think about it.” He turned toward me. “I will talk to her. I’ve been thinking, back to Jeff. If he’s looking at April thirtieth to . . . you know . . . I’m probably going to have to go home to take care of some things. My business. My house. I left on the turn of a dime. I’m not a guy that can sit around and wait very well. I’ll drive home tonight, do what I gotta do, and come back in a week or so.”
“You’ll go to the bank?” Smoke said.
Gregory nodded. “I’ll make copies of the journal and the accident report.”
“You haven’t talked about a wife. Kids. Not married?” I asked.
“Nope, never been married. No kids. Too much baggage. Too many demons.”
He meant that literally.
We dropped Gregory off at his motel with promises to contact each other with any new information. If Jeffrey showed up anywhere on our radar, Gregory would return to Winnebago County immediately. We hoped Jeffrey would appear long before April thirtieth.
Sara phoned me on our drive to the sheriff’s department.
“Don’t be mad.”
“About what?”
“Well, I was talking to Ray Collinwood about Alvie Eisner, and how a few of us were getting together, and he said that was a great idea, could the county attorneys join us as a tribute to Arthur Franz, and that the public defenders would probably like to come too, in honor of Marshall Kelton. I said I’d clear it with you since we’re having it at your house. What do you think?”
Sara spoke loud enough for Smoke to hear.
“You’re having a party?” he asked.
I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “You’re invited.” I pulled my hand away. “I have to think for a second here. So we might end up with a pretty big party? You know what, why not? They lost good friends, colleagues. Tell them it’s fine. They can spread the word in their offices.”
“It’ll be good for everyone, Corky. I’ll say it’s potluck and BYOB.”
“In addition to the ones we talked about inviting, I suppose I should put an invite on the board in the squad room in case a few more are interested.”
“Want me there earlier than six? I can come right after work.”
“Nah. Six is fine.”
When I hung up, I explained our last-minute plans to Smoke.
“Sort of a celebration slash memorial slash wake?”
“Slash thank you to you Smoke, personally, and to the other deputies who rescued us. That’s how it started out. Sara and I are very grateful you all got there in time to save us from probable death. And we’re happy Alvie Eisner can never harm anyone again.”
“Worth celebrating, all right. So you’re saying spread the word?”
“Within reason. Oh, no!”
“What?”
“I suppose I’ll have to clean my house.”
“Will your mother be there?”
“She doesn’t know about it yet, but of course I’ll invite her. And the sheriff.”
“Then just tell her ahead of time you’re cleaning your house. Otherwise she’ll show up after work today armed with supplies.”
I laughed. “Yes, she will launch into a spring-cleaning frenzy and go at it all night long.”
“Probably bring the sheriff along to help.”
I laughed again.
My work cell rang. “Sergeant Aleckson.”
“Hello, Sergeant? It’s Nichole Jaspers. You were at our house a few days ago.”
“Of course. How are you doing? I saw your husband made his first court appearance and was released from jail. Everything all right?”
“Yes. Um. Okay.”
“What can I do for you?”
“It’s not about the other night. I mean, in a way it is, but not in the way you might think.”
“What is it?”
“Doctor Fischer talked to me and asked me to talk to you. As a victim of SRA. We both are. Victims. Collin and me.”
I was momentarily dumfounded. “Well. Thank you for calling me. This can’t be easy for you.”
“Um. When Doctor Fischer said it was you who was looking for some information, that made my decision easier. To talk to you. But I really can’t right now. I was wondering, maybe we can meet sometime to talk in person.”
“Of course. That would be great. When?”
“I work at a factory job. My next day off is Sunday, but we could get together before then if you want.”
“Sunday is just fine. What time?”
“Anytime.”
“How about four in the afternoon?”
“That works well for me.”
“Four o’clock, at the sheriff’s department.”
“Is it safe?”
A common concern, it seemed.
“We can surely meet just about anywhere. Your house, or—”
“No. That’s fine. The sheriff’s department.”
“Come to the south entrance on the lake side. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know if something comes up, if I can’t make it.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
When I hung up, Smoke said, “What was that all about? She had such a quiet voice, I couldn’t hear.”
I gave him the rundown.
“A whole separate secret world.”
“You said it. The occult. Hidden. Secret.”
22: The Coven
Noris stopped by the sheriff’s department office when he thought it would be deserted, and it was. He went to the squad room, sat down at a computer terminal, and navigated to Vermont’s vehicle registration records. He typed in the plate number of the green Forester he had seen in the motel parking lot. It came back to Gregory Leon Trippen.
Gregory. The name he couldn’t think of. He remembered him from that year Sparrow had brought him and his brother to the gatherings and rituals at the temple. He was a tough kid, right from the start. With time, and the right training, Gregory could have become one of us, Noris thought.
He searched Gregory’s driving records, and when his picture appeared on the screen, Noris knew without doubt it was Gregory Manthes. He printed the photo and the records with his statistics and home address.
He disagreed with Cyril on the matter of whether or not to discuss the case with Sparrow. Sparrow was the most connected priest he knew and was bound to discover that their coven had known about Jeffrey Manthes and his dagger for a while. The pictures were on the squad room wall at the Winnebago County Sheriff’s Department, and every deputy was on the lookout for him. It was impossible to deny their knowledge.
Noris snatched the papers from the printer, took one last glance at the dagger photo, and left to go back on patrol.
23
We went into an unexpect
ed holding pattern after many tension-filled days looking for Jeffrey Trippen and his dangerous dagger, and trying to uncover who had stolen the death reports on Harlan Manthes. Was that person still active in the cult and lurking in the sheriff’s department?
I phoned the deputies who were on the same work rotation as me and invited them to the party. We were on days off, and they wouldn’t see the posting in the squad room or get the department e-mail I had sent.
Expecting a house full of people was the push I needed to attack the nooks and crannies I always avoided as long as possible. Luckily, my mother was the only worker at her shop on Fridays and couldn’t help me clean. I greatly appreciated her help, but she had too many commitments the way it was.
My maternal grandparents had given me twenty acres of land from their 1,600 acre farm to build my house. When they’d downsized into a smaller rambler, they’d given my mother their old farmhouse. After Gram died, Gramps had continued to live there, with considerable help from my mother. All three of us lived on Brandt Avenue, three miles from downtown Oak Lea.
Grandma and Grandpa Aleckson also had a farm on Brandt, but spent their winters in Arizona and a month every summer at a lake resort in northern Minnesota. They were in their seventies and tired of maintaining their large farmhouse for the few months a year they spent in Oak Lea. They had been talking about selling it and getting a condo in town and hoped either I, or my brother who lived in Colorado, would want their house if they moved. I loved their home, but it required much more upkeep than my newer home, so it was a tough decision.
I had built my house on the crest of a small hill. In the summer it overlooked acres of cornfields, golden wheat, and soybeans. The back of my land dropped down to Bebee, a small lake. From late fall, when the maple and birch trees shed their leaves until they budded and leafed out again in the spring, I had a full view of the lake.
I opened windows, and the cool fresh air blended with the smells of wood oil soap cleaner and white vinegar as I washed windows and polished woodwork and furniture, hour after hour. I finished with my loft bedroom a few minutes before six.
An Altar by the River Page 11
