A Deadly Sin: An epic dark thriller that will have you wanting to leave the lights on.

by Tracie Podger

I watched him visibly relax. “It’s nice to hear you refer to me as your brother,” he said, quietly.

  “Did you hate our mother?” I asked. I’d made a point of saying our.

  “For a long time, yes, I did. Is that so bad?”

  “No, I think I’d have done the same, especially since you had a hard time with your dad. It’s a shame we’ll never know why though. I’m not just saying this, but I don’t believe she would have given you up unless she was forced to. Did your dad ever say why?”

  I leaned forward slightly, relaxing my body.

  “They were in love, he said. She wouldn’t leave your dad because she feared him, and then she got pregnant with you.”

  I nodded as if I understood. I’d never witnessed a cross word between my parents and most definitely didn’t see any evidence of her fearing him.

  “Like I said, he was a tough one,” I lied. “It’s a shame though, she deserved to be happy.”

  “Are you really angry that I took her?” he asked. My skin prickled.

  “I don’t know, is the honest answer. I think I would have liked for her to rest in peace. She had a hard time for a while, which is why I guess she took her life.”

  He blinked, rapidly. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again.

  “How did you end up with her, Thomas?”

  He sighed. “She didn’t take her own life, Dan killed her. I guess there’s no reason for me to hide that. He kept her at the morgue for a while, the old one. But I wanted to care for her, Mich, can you understand that?”

  “I think so, but why did Dan kill her?”

  He fell silent, gently shrugging his shoulders. “I was so angry with her.” His voice had lowered to a whisper.

  “So he killed her on your instructions?” He nodded.

  “Why, Thomas? I get that you were angry with her, but why not make contact? She might have been pleased to meet you, she might have told you why she had to leave you.”

  He gently shook his head. For a moment I thought I saw just a fleeting glimpse of remorse and then his face hardened again, the smirk returned. I decided to move on.

  “Was your dad a carpenter, as well as a logger?” I asked.

  “He was, a master at his craft. He taught me all I know.”

  “I’d have liked to have learned that skill. I can imagine it’s really satisfying to use your hands to craft something. I was impressed with the cross,” I said, again adding a chuckle. “I even knew what a dovetail joint was.”

  He laughed. “One thing my dad always said was, if you’re going to do a job, do it well. Took me ages to make that.”

  “I can just about find a screwdriver. If I move, I’d like a workshop or something. I wonder if I can teach myself some new skills? I need to fix my fence.”

  “My dad’s workshop was like his church. Every tool is perfectly lined up, cleaned after use. I imagined him praying in there,” he said, chuckling.

  My heart rate increased. He’d used the present tense. We needed to look for a workshop.

  “It must have been nice to stand side by side and create something together. I never had that,” I said.

  “It was. There are times when I miss him, there are times when I hate him so much, I feel sick.”

  “Why? Why do you hate him so much?”

  Thomas’ jaw tensed. I could see it work side to side, as if he was forcing it not to open and spill the words I believed he wanted to let loose.

  “My dad beat me black and blue once, I remember it like it was yesterday. I’d been playing ball in the yard, kicked it a little too hard and it went clean through the windshield of his truck. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone so mad,” I said.

  “It stops hurting after a while though, doesn’t it? I mean, the pain becomes nothing; the broken skin and bones heal. It’s the mental cruelty that actually pushed me to become a philosopher, I wanted to understand.”

  “Why not psychiatry?”

  He laughed. “Didn’t get the grades. I think philosophy gives you a greater understanding of life in general.”

  “Does the cult give you comfort?” I asked, changing tact.

  “It’s the only family I have, well, had, for a long time.”

  “I’ve met a few of the elders, I don’t think they like me very much,” I said.

  “No, they don’t. But that was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before they knew we were related. I have influence, Mich, I can secure your safety,” he said, his voice lowered to a whisper.

  I leaned further toward him. “I didn’t know I was in danger.”

  “They blame you for having to move on, for losing precious members.”

  “I guess they would be pretty pissed about that. Do you understand why I did what I did?” I had no idea if he knew the extent of my investigation or not.

  “Well, killing off people probably wasn’t their best idea. I get why they did, we have to protect the faith.”

  “You said that the kids were going to expose you, was that because they knew about the attic or the cult?”

  He smiled. “The cult, Mich, it’s always been about the cult.”

  “How did they figure it out?”

  He leaned back in his chair, away from me. I saw him smirk and the evil glint back in his eyes.

  “Look, you’ve confessed, I’m not trying to get that out of you, I’m genuinely interested. You know me, well enough, I’m curious.”

  He sighed. “Do you know how much money is made from drugs? Thousands, tens of thousands. It’s a very profitable business. Oh, before you get all excited, I’m not a drug dealer. Well, I don’t think so. Those fucking kids stumbled across my attic, for sure, but not my wall of art. The other room. For a little while it was used as ‘storage.’ Instead of doing what they should have, which was to run far away and keep their mouth shut, they decided to blackmail me. They used the room for their ‘fuckfest.’ They caught me watching, so I supplied them from the ‘stock,’ and they kept quiet.”

  “But they kept coming back, I imagine,” I said. He nodded. “So the cult makes its money through drugs?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. “I’ve often wondered how it survived, to be honest.”

  “It’s a very powerful organization, Mich. Not one to cross swords with.”

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt about that. I bet it feels quite good to be involved in something so powerful? Are they happy with what you’ve done?”

  “Of course, Mich, I am my own man. I make my own decisions, choices. I’m not some lowly trainee, you know!” His face showed his indignation.

  “I wasn’t suggesting that, I just wondered,” I said, adding a smile. “Did you get initiated or was it a rite of passage?”

  “A rite of passage, of course.”

  “That’s what the tattoo is, isn’t it?”

  He smiled but didn’t answer. He angled his arm for me to look at it.

  “What is it? It’s very intricate.”

  “It’s a twisted cross, can you see? Those there are two scythes, in gold but the color has faded a little.”

  “What’s the meaning behind it?”

  “The cross is twisted, it’s our version of the religion. The scythes symbolise death and destruction, the way the world is killing itself. Religions kill religions; there’s suppression by governments. And the gold? It’s one of the greatest, hardest, and ancient metals. Used in Heaven, Mich.”

  He sat back, pleased with his description.

  “I wondered where the scythe came in. I mean, it’s a strange weapon of choice. Do you get one? You know, like a gift, or something, when you join?”

  He laughed. “You craft your own.”

  “Wow, so a blacksmith, too.”

  He nodded. “My father was a very talented man.”

  “Did you ever meet your grandfather?” I asked.

  “Yes. He was a visionary, Mich. He saw the future…”

  At that point, Thomas had realized his
mistake. Until then he hadn’t mentioned his real surname, or the fact that he even knew his birth certificate had been altered.

  “Why did your dad drop the Romney? I would have thought he’d have been honoured with that.”

  “You don’t know?” His laughter echoed around the room. Tears coursed down his cheeks and he held his stomach.

  I was tempted to look at the tinted panel in the wall; I had no idea what I’d stumbled on.

  “Oh, Mich. You really don’t know, do you? Romney wasn’t my father’s birth surname. He adopted it. He added the name of the woman he loved to his own.”

  I tried not to react. “I don’t understand.”

  “What was your mother’s surname, Mich?”

  “Simpson.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Your mother was Annie Simpson Romney.”

  My mother was a Romney! Fuck!

  “Why would your father take her name?”

  “Because they were married. They were married in our church, Mich.”

  “But that doesn’t answer why your dad would take her surname. Why did she not take his?”

  “Because her family were the elders. That’s just the way it is.”

  I wanted to take a break. I made the excuse that I needed the bathroom. Thomas was escorted back to his cell with the promise of a hot meal.

  “What the fuck!” I said, when I saw Corey exit the viewing room.

  “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

  “I have no idea. I vaguely remember my grandparents. I think I met them once, when I was young, so my mother couldn’t have had anything to do with them. This needs to be checked out. Did she run? Is that why she gave him up, because she wouldn’t have been allowed to take him?”

  “If what we're being told is true, you know what this means, don’t you?” he said, quietly.

  I nodded. I had a rite of passage straight to the heart of the cult.

  “So how is fake fed Romney related?” My head was spinning trying to work out the family tree.

  Corey and I walked to the incident room. I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote.

  Father Samuel had many sons; Daniel Romney was one of them. I never got to meet him but remembered that Gabriel had described him as being older, maybe ten to fifteen years. Gabriel was about the same age as me. That would make Romney fifty, at the oldest. Was he a younger brother of my mother’s? That would make him my uncle, my mother’s brother. Shit! And who were the people I assumed to be my grandparents?

  Father Samuel fathered children by loads of different women. Some of those women were born into the cult, some brought in from the convent he’d run as children. Others had voluntarily joined.

  “I need a coffee,” I said. My head had started to pound. I rubbed at my temples, hoping to stave off the headache.

  “I don’t know how we’re going to unravel this,” I said.

  I looked at Corey. “His father took your mother’s name because that gave him the in to the cult he needed. But that doesn’t make him an elder, does it? Only the sons of Father Samuel are elders. And their sons. But what about their nephews?” he said.

  I shook my head. “I have no idea but I can play on that, I guess. But if I’m a nephew, then so is Thomas, and he said he didn’t need to go through initiation. Or it’s all bullshit. Some of the elders had that scar, perhaps the scar takes them to another level,” The more I thought about it, the more confusing it became.

  The cult survived on inbreeding, incest. I shuddered to think just how related we all were.

  “I’ve got some of the guys going through all the property records in the state, looking for anything registered to Thomas James Romney, or variations of the name. Let’s see if the workshop comes up. We’re also going back to the sawmill. See if there are any old records stored there that might give us some clues.”

  “What about the daughter, the one who owns the Perry Street property?”

  “We had someone talk to her. She never knew her father and was surprised to learn she had been gifted the house in his will. As far as she knew, her mother, a single parent, wasn’t aware of who her father was.”

  “What is she going to do with it?”

  “She had it up for sale, some years ago, it never sold, obviously. She said she had all good intentions of fixing it up but couldn’t afford to. It was leased for a while. I guess she’s just sitting on it for now.”

  “Do we have anything we can use?” I asked, referring to my ‘chat’ with Thomas.

  “We have the workshop, if we can find that, I think we might find some of the tools he used. If we can get some evidence from that, we’re there.”

  I nodded. I felt exhausted. Holding in the aggression, the need to wrap my hands around Thomas’ throat and squeeze the real answers I wanted from him, was taking its toll. I had deliberately avoided talking about Eddie, but with the revelation that my mother had been born into that cult, I might have discovered a way to bring it up.

  “Let me take his meal to him,” I said.

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Trust me.”

  Corey sighed. He nodded and we walked toward his cell. “Don’t wear him out, I need to interview him about the Sinner’s case next.”

  I caught up with an officer, balancing a tray on one hand, and trying to open the door with the other.

  “I’ll take that in,” I said. He looked to Corey for confirmation. Corey gave him a nod. “Do me a favor? Grab me a coffee as well.”

  I waited until the second cup was brought back and the cell door was opened.

  “Dinner,” I said, as I walked in.

  Thomas was sitting on his bunk and I placed the tray beside him. I took one of the cups of coffee from the tray and took a sip. I winced.

  “It's not the best but I’m glad to see you get the same shit they’ve been serving up to me. I thought it was some psychological thing,” he said, laughing.

  “No, the coffee really is shit here.”

  Although Thomas was relaxed in the interview room, he was virtually horizontal in the cell. He sat with his back resting against the wall and the tray on his lap. I had no idea what slop he’d been served up, some form of ground beef and mashed potatoes. He was clearly hungry as he spooned it quickly into his mouth.

  “Daniel Romney is our uncle. Do you know what that means?” I said.

  He looked over to me. “I have the same rite of passage as you.”

  His spoon was suspended between his open mouth and the plastic tray. He slowly lowered it.

  “Where do I get the tattoo?” I asked.

  “You do it yourself,” he replied.

  That accounted for the fact we hadn’t been able to find a parlor that recognized the tattoo.

  “You have no chance of getting in, Mich,” he said.

  “Why? It’s my right. Thomas, I’m out of here, the police, this town, my house. I’m done with it all.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “You can believe what you want, I mean, you won’t know one way or the other.”

  I saw a very slight twitch at the side of his lips.

  “Why do you think I haven’t been involved? I’m suspended, Thomas. Soon to lose my job. You asked me a question yesterday, do you remember it?”

  He shook his head.

  “You asked me what it felt like to kill your father.” I shuffled slightly toward him. For the first time, I saw a flash of fear cross his eyes.

  “I fucking loved every single second of it. The smell of blood, of brain matter, and bone, Thomas. That stayed with me. The adrenalin that spiked through my body, causing my heart to pound in my chest, the high I got, I want that. You and I aren’t that different, it’s why I studied you when I walked into that room earlier. I wanted to see a killer’s reflection in you.”

  I heard his soft pants; he had become aroused. His erection strained against the police issue pants he wore.

  “It’s intoxicating. Taking his life, took my breath away. It wasn’t about
revenge in the end. I did it, because I could. If I’d have wanted your father dead because he killed mine, I would have killed him long before I did.”

  “But your mother…”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t the death of our mother, Thomas, that prompted what I did. I went back to Canada to visit my father’s mother. I tracked your father through the woods, like I’d been taught to track a moose. I trained the sight of that rifle on the back of his head many times. I willed him to turn around, Thomas, to see me, to watch my finger slowly close on the trigger. I wanted to watch the fear in his eyes, I wanted to see the light extinguished.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?” he asked, his voice husky.

  “Because I have nothing to lose. I’ll walk out of this station and run. I’ll be free but with nowhere to go, no protection. I’ll be a wanted man. I’ve confessed to my sins, Thomas. And it feels fucking great.”

  I sat up straight, squared my shoulders. “Are they recording this?” he asked, glancing toward the camera in the corner of the room.

  “It’s visual only, no audio. Why do you think I have my back to it? No lip reading, Thomas.” It was a total lie; the room was fitted with a microphone as well.

  “Let me tell you about them,” he said. “Casey, when she was too high to protest, I moved her from the attic to the morgue. She woke tied to the cross. I would have loved to nail her to it but I knew, when I erected it, they wouldn’t hold her up. Dan and I practiced, you see.”

  “Practiced?”

  “We did have access to plenty of ‘volunteers’,” he said, with a chuckle.

  “Okay, go on.”

  “I fucked her with the cross my father fucked me with. There seemed to be some poetic justice in that. All the things I did, Mich, were all the things I wished I’d done to my father. You got there before I could. Dale, he was running to work, I just stepped around the corner and let him run into my father’s scythe. I wished you had been closer to my dad. I wished you had felt the splatter of hot blood and been close enough to see the shock in his eyes, it’s like nothing on earth.” It was as if he was trying to ‘outdo’ my crime.

  “Then there was Vicky,” he sighed with contentment, it seemed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard such screaming, Mich, it pierced right through my eardrums when I took out her eyes. And the smell of burning, melting flesh.” Thomas shuddered, which surprised me. I tried not to react, but my stomach roiled.