An Altar by the River

by Christine Husom

  I checked each item of clothing in his drawers. I opened the small drawer in his bedside stand and discovered it was empty. I pulled back the bedcovers and lifted the mattress. Nothing. It appeared the man slept and dressed and showered there. Maybe.

  After an hour, we wrapped up the search. Every inch of Sparrow’s house had been checked. No hidden safes. No trapdoors in the floors. Nothing unusual in either vehicle. Kenner pulled a copy of the warrant out of his back pocket and threw it on the dining room table.

  “It’s like he knew we were coming and removed anything and everything incriminating,” Kenner said.

  “I have weird vibes in here. And touching his clothes, his bed, felt creepy, even with my gloves on,” I said.

  “You three talk to some neighbors, find out about his habits. I’m going to head back to Oak Lea. I have to pick up my son from ball practice. Let’s meet in my office tomorrow at oh nine hundred. Does that work for you?”

  We all agreed it did, and Kenner left. Smoke determined which house each of us should visit. Thirty minutes and seven neighbors later, we met back at his Expedition and settled in. Deputy Holman had moved, and I stole a glance at him when we drove by. The only part of him that moved was his eyebrows when he raised them a quarter of an inch.

  “Holman must be dying of curiosity,” I said.

  “Think how good he’ll feel when we get Sparrow locked up and everything is out in the open, knowing he did his part,” Smoke said.

  Edberg ran his hand through his hair. “I expected to find a helluva lot more inside that house.”

  “Like Kenner said, it’s like one of those Parade of Homes models that nobody lives in,” I said.

  “Think he’s stupid enough to store anything at his office?” Edberg asked.

  “I don’t think he’s stupid at all, but he may be bold enough to think nobody can touch him. And then do something that stupid because he thinks that way. We should try for a warrant for his office, but I wonder if a judge would sign one. My guess is he’s got a storage unit somewhere. But where? No paperwork, no bills, no files whatsoever at his house. He might keep a locked file cabinet with personal papers at his office,” Smoke said.

  “Or in the trunk of his car. Remember that eccentric attorney that kept a bunch of his clients’ files in his trunk? Found ’em after he died when they went to sell the car,” Edberg said.

  “Yeah, not too bright. Sparrow driving around with records in his BMW?” Smoke shrugged. “I’m taking a different route home so we can drive past his Wellspring place, see if there’s any activity.”

  Smoke reached for something tucked in between his seat and the middle console. He tugged, came back with a ball cap, and put it on his head. He pulled the bill down to his eyebrows. He reached down again, found another cap, and tossed it over his shoulder to me. “Put it on.”

  “None for me?” Edberg asked.

  “No, but you’re on the other side of the car, not as easy to identify. Not that I expect Sparrow to be there looking out the windows anyway.”

  Smoke slowed down slightly. “It’s the tan one on the left. Number six thirteen.”

  “Grass is mowed,” Edberg said.

  I studied the house and property. “Almost looks boarded up, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s been kept up over the years since he moved, but no signs of life around—kids’ toys, lawn furniture, wheelbarrow,” Smoke said.

  Edberg leaned forward to get a better look around Smoke. “Kinda like his other place.”

  “Shades or blinds on the windows, even on the garage windows, so we can’t sneak a peek to see if there’s a car in there,” I said.

  “He seems to be pretty good at keeping things well hidden.”

  45: The Coven

  It would be over at the stroke of midnight Friday. Walpurgisnacht. The final sacrifice. Where was Jeffrey? Sparrow’s instructions were clear, and Jeffrey had agreed.

  “Come home to the altar.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Sparrow picked up the framed photo and studied it a long time. Jody. He hadn’t known it was possible to love a human being the way he loved Jody. That had astounded him for years.

  When Sparrow started his practice at Little Mountain, Harlan Manthes had invited him to his house for a home-cooked dinner. He walked into what looked like the set of a 1950s television program. Comfy house, nicely decorated. Two happy, healthy boys playing a board game on the living room coffee table. Harlan handed Sparrow a bourbon on the rocks and told him to sit, to make himself comfortable.

  They were making small talk and watching the boys when the most stunning woman he had ever seen came in from the kitchen. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun, but curling tendrils had pulled loose and framed her flushed face. One look and he knew she was his reward for being sent to Wellspring to assume a position of leadership in the local coven.

  The only thing that stood in his way was Harlan. Jody loved her husband and had not picked up on any romantic hints Sparrow had thrown her way. Harlan had to die, and the hunting accident was easy to stage.

  Sparrow had counted on Miles Walden being the first officer on the scene. That was the arrangement. Walden was waiting in a nearby park, listening for the call on the radio so he could tell Communications he was close and would respond to the scene.

  The problem: Walden had a flat tire. Armstrong and Edberg had shown up before Walden did. It had been a thorn in Sparrow’s side ever since. Sparrow wanted Armstrong and Edberg eliminated, but Walden said that would make it worse. If two cops on a case disappeared, or got killed, everyone in the department would get involved, and Walden would lose control. He said he’d handle the cover-up.

  Sparrow had gotten Jody, but only for a year. The memories of their time together still kept him going. The thoughts were a pleasant distraction while he was dealing with coven responsibilities, or performing surgery after surgery.

  That was all coming to an end.

  Where was Jeffrey?

  Jeffrey and Gregory were part of the package. Jody worked overnights, and Sparrow got the boys. He’d instructed them and taken them to the temple, enlightening them about the real truth. The boys had to learn to endure and appreciate the rituals so they would prosper and be awarded power someday. Like they all did.

  Sparrow was shocked when Jody took the boys and left him. He was beside himself when she didn’t return that night. The next day he went to get the key for his safe. It was in the front part of the drawer bottom. He’d always put it at least halfway back. When he opened the safe, it was obvious someone had been in there. A few of his journals were pulled out, not lined up with the rest of the pile. He checked and discovered one was missing: the month of February, from his first year in Wellspring.

  He didn’t know how Jody had found his key, or why she had taken that particular journal. The weeks, months, and years of rituals ran together, and he didn’t remember what was in that one journal. Sparrow had deliberated for a long time and decided the only way to keep her safe from the others was to let her go.

  There wasn’t a word for almost twenty years. Then last month, when he had answered the phone, he thought it was Jody calling. It was a woman who sounded exactly like Jody had. She said her name was Samantha, and she was calling for Jeffrey Trippen. He was having problems and needed Sparrow’s help. Satan’s angels were surrounding him and telling him the time to sacrifice himself was near.

  “I’m afraid I don’t recognize that name,” Sparrow had said.

  “You knew him as Jeffrey Manthes.”

  After all those years. “Where is Jeffrey now?”

  There was a pause then a male said, “I’m here.” His voice had the same quality as Samantha’s, only deeper. His sister? Did Jody have a daughter after she left him?

  “Jeffrey, who’s Samantha?”

  “Greg’s talked about her, but I don’t know her.”

  “Is there a woman with you now?”

  “No, I’m alone. Who’s this?”
/>   “Royce Sparrow, your stepfather.”

  “Oh.”

  “I understand you need help. Satan is calling you home,” Sparrow said.

  “The angels told me that, but I don’t know how to get there.”

  “Yes you do. A fine dagger works well.”

  “I don’t have one,” Jeffrey said.

  “I will send you mine. I haven’t used it for years.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where do you live, Jeffrey?”

  “Nowhere special. I’m in New York City now.”

  “What’s your address?”

  “I only have a box number.”

  “All right, give it to me and I’ll get the package in the mail. Call me as soon as you receive it.”

  Sparrow had carefully laid the custom-handcrafted dagger in its case, then into another box, addressed it, took it to the post office, and mailed it.

  The next day, the results of the medical tests Sparrow had taken at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester came back. He was more than surprised by the news. The cancer in his body had metastasized to his brain, lungs, and liver. He had not anticipated that. He thought Satan would want him on earth for many more years.

  The decision was easy. He wouldn’t wait for the disease to take him. He would go willingly, as a sacrificial offering. It was time to see his Master, to discover what position of leadership in hell awaited him.

  Sparrow chided himself for sending his dagger to Jeffrey. What a fool. Had he known the day before, he would have sent him another. Sparrow hadn’t known he’d need it for himself. He’d waited two days without a word from Jeffrey, or Samantha. He’d tried the number Jeffrey had called from, but there was no such number. Probably one of those disposable cell phones that was used up.

  Sparrow had paced around his Saint Cloud house, deliberating what his next step should be. He’d scratched out a note telling Jeffrey he needed to return to his home in Winnebago County and to call him immediately. Sparrow had left his home, driven to the post office, mailed the letter, then kept driving until he was home in Wellspring.

  He always came and went in the dark. He had disabled the light by his garage door opener so no one would see him drive in. His yard was full of trees and bushes, and the other side of the street had never been developed, so it was very private. He was certain his neighbors hadn’t seen him in years.

  Jeffrey had called three days later, crying. He said he’d gotten the package, but didn’t know what to do next. Sparrow told him to come home. Jeffrey said he didn’t have any money to get home. Sparrow wired enough for a bus ticket and plenty more for food.

  “We will perform the ritual on Walpurgisnacht. You need to be home before then. Come home. You will sacrifice yourself on Satan’s altar, then I will take the dagger and do the same.”

  “Okay.”

  “Will you be all right, traveling all the way here?”

  “We’ll be fine,” a woman’s voice answered.

  “I can come and get you,” Sparrow had offered.

  “No, we’ll be fine,” Jeffrey said again.

  Jeffrey had turned out to be worthy, after all.

  Walpurgisnacht was the next day. And where was Jeffrey and the dagger he carried? Sparrow wanted more than a single day to prepare the two of them for the journey. It was their final triumph, their step into eternity. It should be done well, and done right.

  46

  The sheriff called a meeting for eight a.m. Friday morning to brief the officers working on the cult case, which trumped the one the chief deputy had planned for nine.

  “It’s time to get everyone together for a progress report. We’ve been looking for Jeffrey Trippen, so far without success. It’s April thirtieth, and there’s been no sign of him.

  “His brother Gregory got into town later than expected last night. He’ll be here in an hour and will watch the videos we took of the officers when they were getting their pictures taken for their ID badges. He’ll have a close listen, see if he recognizes anyone’s voice. And we’re sending out a department-wide e-mail informing everyone that Jeffrey Trippen was involved in a satanic cult and his brother thinks he is planning to kill himself tonight, as a sacrifice on his birthday. Every deputy should be on high alert.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. So be it if our dirty cop reports that to the cult,” I said.

  The others nodded.

  Twardy looked at Kenner. “Chief Deputy?”

  “I’m working on warrants for Dieter Munden and Cyril Bishop. Search warrants for their homes and businesses and arrest warrants for them, as well as for Royce Sparrow. So they’ll be ready to be signed and executed as soon as Sparrow rolls into town, sometime between now and Monday morning when he’s due back at work.

  “We had chats with Sparrow’s old neighbors in Wellspring. One of the kids, a few houses away, takes care of the yard and removes the snow from the driveway in the winter so it looks like someone lives there.”

  “Someone should tell Sparrow it’s not working. Place looks deserted,” Smoke said.

  Edberg and I nodded.

  Chief Deputy Kenner continued, “He mails the kid a check every month, drawn from an account at a Saint Cloud bank. Nobody in the Wellspring neighborhood has seen him in years. When he moved out, he told the guy next door that he wasn’t ready to sell quite yet. We’ll see what turns up when we bring Sparrow in, then we’ll decide about a search. I hate to waste man hours going through an empty house. That’s all I got for now.”

  “Dawes, Edberg?”

  Edberg shook his head.

  “Nothing new since we saw each other last night. I haven’t uncovered anything incriminating on any of our deputies. I’ll be interested to see if Greg Trippen remembers anything when he watches the videos,” Smoke said.

  “If that’s it, then the meeting’s over,” Twardy said.

  Kenner stood. “I’ll call you when Gregory’s done.”

  Kenner phoned later that morning to report that Gregory Trippen had gone over the video tapes several times and could not match a voice from any on the tapes to the deputy that was at the rituals.

  When we finished our conversation, I called Gregory and asked if he could meet me for lunch. “That’d be good,” he said.

  We agreed on a Chinese restaurant. He was waiting in the parking lot and got out of his car when he saw me walking toward the door. “Sergeant Aleckson.”

  I turned around and waited for him to catch up. I wanted to hug him, offer some comfort for all he was going through, but settled on a handshake instead. We went inside and found a table in the back corner next to a window overlooking Bison Lake. We didn’t say much until we’d finished eating.

  “Is there anything else I can do?” he asked and threw his napkin on the table.

  “I’ve been asking myself the same thing for two weeks.”

  He nodded. “Something might have happened to Jeff on the way here. If he was hitchhiking and got into a car with the wrong person . . . or if he started acting like he does sometimes, you know, when I said he talks like a girl.”

  “Yeah, if someone thought he needed help and called authorities, and then they found that dagger, who knows? He might be in a hospital somewhere.”

  “Why hasn’t he called?”

  “I wish I could answer that. But we’re not giving up. The whole department is on alert.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll tell my mom if he dies. She blames herself for marrying Sparrow, not knowing who he really was.”

  “That happens to a lot of people. I mean, maybe not marry a guy as evil as Sparrow is. But each of us has had some experience where you think a person is one way and they turn out to be another.”

  Gregory nodded.

  I laid my napkin on the table. “I better get home and get ready for work. Oh, I meant to give you Doctor Marcella Fischer’s contact information.” I handed him her card. “She’s an excellent resource and may know doctors in Vermont who specialize in helping SRA victims.” I reached over
and put my hand on his. “I wish I could promise a good ending for all this, but I am praying for one.”

  “Me too.”

  47

  Deputy Holman tracked me down in the squad room Friday afternoon. “Zubinski hasn’t shown up for her shift. She call in sick?” Holman had covered the 135 area for the day shift, and Mandy Zubinski was his replacement for the evening one.

  “Not that I know of. Let’s go ask the chief deputy.” Kenner had so many things going on a shift coverage might have slipped his mind.

  Kenner hung up his phone when we knocked on his door frame. “What’s up?”

  “Did Mandy Zubinski call in?” I asked.

  “No.” He looked at Holman. “Didn’t report in yet?”

  Holman shook his head. “The latest she’s ever been is ten to, and it’s ten after.”

  Kenner glanced at his watch. “Can you stay until we get you covered?”

  “Sure,” Holman said, then left.

  “That’s not like Mandy. Where would she be that she wouldn’t at least call us?” I asked.

  Kenner lifted his desk calendar and pulled out a sheet with names and phone numbers from underneath it. He picked up his phone and punched in a number, then left a message. “Work cell. I’ll try her personal number.” He left another message when it went straight to voicemail. Either it wasn’t charged, or it was turned off.

  “I’ll run over to her apartment,” I said.

  “Good. Meantime, I’ll get her shift covered.”

  I drove to the Hillside Apartments, located on the northwest side of Oak Lea, and pulled into a guest parking spot in front of the middle building. Mandy’s squad car was parked in the back row. I gave Communications my location, got out of the car, and walked to the entrance. The outer door was unlocked, but the inner door was locked. I punched Mandy’s apartment code into the buttons on the intercom panel and waited. No answer. I tried again. Still no answer. I found the manager’s number on the menu and tried that one.