Death Du Jour tb-2

by Reichs, Kathy

  The cat lay on his back, hind legs splayed, front paws dangling over his chest. I watched him a moment, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. Then I went to the kitchen, made coffee and a bagel, collected the Observer, and settled at the kitchen table.

  A doctor’s wife was found stabbed to death in Myers Park. A child had been attacked by a pit bull. The parents were demanding the animal be destroyed, and the owner was indignant. The Hornets beat Golden State 101 to 87.

  I checked the weather. Sunshine and a high of seventy-four predicted for Charlotte. I scanned world temperatures. On Friday the mercury had climbed to forty-eight degrees in Montreal. There is a reason for Southern smugness.

  I read the entire paper. Editorials. Want ads. Pharmacy flyers. It’s a weekend ritual I enjoy, but one I’d had to forgo in the past few weeks. Like a junkie on a binge I absorbed every printed word.

  When I’d finished I cleared the table and went to my briefcase. I stacked the autopsy photos to my left and lay Hardaway’s report in front of me. My pen gave out with the first notation. I rose and went to the living room to find another.

  When I saw the figure on the front stoop my heart slipped in an extra beat. I had no idea who it was or how long it had been there.

  The figure turned, stepped up against the outer wall, and leaned into the window. Our eyes met and I stared in disbelief.

  Immediately, I crossed and opened the door.

  She stood with hips thrust forward, hands clutching the straps of a backpack. The hem of her skirt billowed around her hiking boots. The morning sun caught her hair, outlining her head in a copper glow.

  Sweet Jesus, I thought. Now what?

  Kathryn spoke first.

  “I need to talk. I—”

  “Yes, of course. Please, come in.” I stood back and held out a hand. “Let me take your pack.”

  She stepped inside, slipped off the backpack, and dropped it to the floor, her eyes never leaving my face.

  “I know this is a terrible imposition, and I—”

  “Kathryn, don’t be silly. I’m glad to see you. I was just so surprised my brain locked up for a second.”

  Her lips parted but no words came out.

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  The answer was in her face.

  I put my arm around her and took her to the kitchen table. She complied meekly. I stacked the photos and report to the side and sat her down.

  As I toasted a bagel, spread it with cream cheese, and poured orange juice, I stole glances at my visitor. Kathryn stared at the tabletop, her hands smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the mat I’d placed in front of her. Her fingers arranged and rearranged the fringe, straightening each clump and laying it parallel to the next.

  My stomach was tied in a granny knot. How had she gotten here? Had she run away? Where was Carlie? I held my questions while she ate.

  When Kathryn had finished and declined seconds, I cleared the dishes and rejoined her at the table.

  “So. How did you find me?” I patted her hand and smiled encouragingly.

  “You gave me your card.” She dug it from her pocket and laid it on the table. Then her fingers went back to the place mat. “I called the number in Beaufort a couple of times, but you were never there. Finally some guy answered and said you’d gone back to Charlotte.”

  “That was Sam Rayburn. I was staying on his boat.”

  “Anyway, I decided to leave Beaufort.” She raised her eyes to mine, then quickly dropped them. “I hitched up here and went to the university, but it took longer than I’d figured. When I got to campus you were gone. I crashed with someone, then this morning she dropped me here on her way to work.”

  “How did you know where I live?”

  “She looked you up in some kind of book.”

  “I see.” I was sure my home address was not listed in the faculty directory. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Kathryn nodded. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were red and a dark crescent underscored each lower lid.

  “I would have returned your calls but you left no number. When Detective Ryan and I visited the compound on Tuesday we didn’t see you.”

  “I was there, but . . . ”Her voice faded out.

  I waited.

  Birdie appeared in the doorway then withdrew, deflected by the tension. The clock chimed the half-hour. Kathryn’s fingers worked the fringe.

  Finally, I could take it no longer.

  “Kathryn, where’s Carlie?” I placed my hand on hers.

  She raised her eyes to mine. They looked flat and empty.

  “They’re taking care of him.” Her voice was small, like a child answering an accusation.

  “Who is?”

  She pulled her hand free, rested her elbows on the table, and rubbed small circles on each of her temples. Her eyes were back on the place mat.

  “Is Carlie on Saint Helena?”

  Another nod.

  “Did you want to leave him there?”

  She shook her head and her hands slid upward so the palms pressed against her temples.

  “Is the baby all right?”

  “He’s my baby! Mine!”

  The vehemence took me by surprise.

  “I can take care of him.” When she raised her head a tear glistened on each cheek. Her eyes bored into mine.

  “Who says you can’t?”

  “I’m his mother.” Her voice trembled. With what? Exhaustion? Fear? Resentment?

  “Who is taking care of Carlie?”

  “But what if I’m wrong? What if it’s all true?” Her gaze went back to the tabletop.

  “What if what is true?”

  “I love my baby. I want the best for him.”

  Kathryn’s answers were unrelated to my questions. She was probing her own dark places, reworking a familiar discourse with herself. Only this time it was in my kitchen.

  “Of course you do.”

  “I don’t want my baby to die.” Her fingers trembled as they caressed the tassels on the mat. It was the same movement I’d seen her use to stroke Carlie’s head.

  “Is Carlie sick?” I asked, alarmed.

  “No. He’s perfect.” The words were almost inaudible. A tear dropped to the mat.

  I looked at the small, dark spot, feeling completely inept.

  “Kathryn, I don’t know how to help you. You have to tell me what’s going on.”

  The phone rang, but I ignored it. From the other room I heard a click, my message, then a beep followed by a tinny voice. More clicks, then silence.

  Kathryn didn’t move. She seemed paralyzed by the thoughts that tortured her. Across the silence I felt her pain, and waited.

  Seven spots darkened the blue linen. Ten. Thirteen.

  After what seemed an eternity Kathryn raised her head. She wiped each cheek and brushed back her hair, then intertwined her fingers and placed her hands carefully in the center of the mat. She cleared her throat twice.

  “I don’t know what it’s like to live a normal life.” She gave a self-deprecating smile. “Until this year I didn’t know that I wasn’t.”

  She dropped her eyes.

  “I guess it had to do with having Carlie. I never doubted anything before he was born. It never occurred to me to ask questions. I was home-schooled so what I knew—” Again the smile. “What I know of the world is limited.” She thought for a moment. “What I know of the world is what they want me to know.”

  “They?”

  She clutched her hands so tightly the knuckles grew white.

  “We’re never supposed to talk about group matters.” She swallowed. “They’re my family. They’ve been my world since I was eight years old. He’s been my father and counselor and teacher and—”

  “Dom Owens?”

  Her eyes flew to mine. “He’s a brilliant man. He knows all about health and reproduction and evolution and pollution and how to keep the spiritual and biological and cosmic forces in balance. He sees and understands things the rest
of us don’t have a clue about. It’s not Dom. I trust Dom. He would never hurt Carlie. He does what he does to protect us. He’s watching out for us. I’m just not sure—”

  She closed her eyes and tipped her face upward. A small vessel throbbed in the side of her neck. Her larynx rose and fell, then she took a deep breath, lowered her chin, and looked directly into my eyes.

  “That girl. The one you were looking for. She was there.”

  I had to strain to hear her.

  “Heidi Schneider?”

  “I never knew her last name.”

  “Tell me what you remember about her.”

  “Heidi joined somewhere else. Texas, I think. She lived on Saint Helena for about two years. She was older than me, but I liked her. She was always willing to talk or to help me out. She was funny.” She paused. “Heidi was supposed to procreate with Jason—”

  “What?” I thought I’d heard incorrectly.

  “Her procreation partner was Jason. But she was in love with Brian, the guy she was with when she joined. He’s the one in your snapshot.”

  “Brian Gilbert.” My mouth felt dry.

  “Anyway, she and Brian used to sneak off to be together.” Her eyes went to a point somewhere in the distance. “When Heidi got pregnant she was terrified because the baby wouldn’t be sanctified. She tried to hide it, but eventually they found out.”

  “Owens?”

  Her eyes refocused on mine and I could see real fear.

  “It doesn’t matter. It affects everyone.”

  “What does?”

  “The order.” She rubbed her palms on the mat then reclasped her hands. “Some things I can’t talk about. Do you want to hear this?” She looked at me and I could see that her eyes were starting to water again.

  “Go on.”

  “One day Heidi and Brian didn’t show up for morning meeting. They were gone.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think Owens sent someone to find them?”

  Her eyes slid to the window, and she bit down on her lower lip.

  “There’s more. One night last fall Carlie woke up fussy, so I went downstairs to get him milk. I heard movement in the office, then a woman speaking, real quiet like she didn’t want anyone to hear. She must have been on the phone.”

  “Did you recognize her voice?”

  “Yes. It was one of the women who worked in the office.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She was telling someone that someone else was O.K. I didn’t hang around to hear more.”

  “Go on.”

  “About three weeks ago the same thing happened, only this time I overheard people arguing. They were really angry, but the door was closed, so I couldn’t make out their words. It was Dom and this same woman.”

  She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. She still did not look at me.

  “The next day she was gone and I never saw her again. She and another woman. They just disappeared.”

  “Don’t people come and go from the group?”

  Her eyes locked on to mine.

  “She worked in the office. I think she was the one taking the calls you were asking about.” I could see her chest rise and fall as she fought back the tears. “She was Heidi’s best friend.”

  I felt the knot tighten in my stomach. “Was her name Jennifer?”

  Kathryn nodded.

  I took a deep breath. Stay calm for Kathryn’s sake.

  “Who was the other woman?”

  “I’m not sure. She hadn’t been there long. Wait. Maybe her name was Alice. Or Anne.”

  My heart changed speed. Oh, God. No.

  “Do you know where she came from?”

  “Somewhere up North. No, maybe it was Europe. Sometimes she and Jennifer spoke a different language.”

  “Do you think Dom Owens had Heidi and her babies killed? Is that why you’re afraid for Carlie?”

  “You don’t understand. It isn’t Dom. He’s just trying to protect us and get us across.” She gazed at me intently, as though trying to reach inside my head. “Dom doesn’t believe in Antichrists. He just wants to transport us out of the destruction.”

  Her voice had grown tremulous and short gasps punctuated the spaces between her words. She rose and crossed to the window.

  “It’s the others. It’s her. Dom wants us all to live forever.”

  “Who?”

  Kathryn paced the kitchen like a caged animal, her fingers twisting the front of her cotton blouse. Tears slid down her face.

  “But not now. It’s too soon. It can’t be now.” Pleading.

  “What’s too soon?”

  “What if they’re wrong? What if there isn’t enough cosmic energy? What if there’s nothing out there? What if Carlie just dies? What if my baby dies?”

  Fatigue. Anxiety. Guilt. The mix won over and Kathryn began to weep uncontrollably. She was growing incoherent and I knew I would learn nothing further.

  I went to her and hugged her with both arms. “Kathryn, you need rest. Please, come and lie down for a while. We’ll talk later.”

  She made a sound I couldn’t interpret, and allowed herself to be led upstairs to the guest room. I got towels and went down to the parlor for her pack. When I returned, she lay on the bed, one arm thrown across her forehead, eyes shut, tears sliding into the hair at her temples.

  I left the pack on the dresser and pulled the window shades. As I was closing the door she spoke softly, eyes still closed, lips barely moving.

  Her words frightened me more than anything I had heard in a long time.

  26

  “‘ETERNAL LIFE’? THOSE WERE HER EXACT WORDS?”

  “Yes.” I clutched the phone so tightly the tendons in my wrist ached.

  “Give it to me again.”

  “ ‘What if they go and we’re left behind?’ ‘What if I deny Carlie eternal life?’ ”

  I waited while Red considered Kathryn’s words. When I switched hands I could see a print where my palm had sweated onto the plastic.

  “I don’t know, Tempe. It’s a tough call. How can we ever know when a group will turn violent? Some of these marginal religious movements are extremely volatile. Others are harmless.”

  “Are there no predictors?”

  What if my baby dies?

  “There are a number of factors that feed back on each other. First there’s the sect itself, its beliefs and rituals, its organization and, of course, its leader. Then there are the outside forces. How much hostility is directed toward the members? How stigmatized are they by society? And the mistreatment doesn’t have to be real. Even perceived persecution can cause an organization to become violent.”

  He just wants to transport us out of the destruction.

  “What types of beliefs push these groups over the line?”

  “That’s what concerns me about your young lady. Sounds like she’s talking about a voyage. About going somewhere for eternal life. That sounds apocalyptic.”

  He’s just trying to protect us and get us across.

  “The end of the world.”

  “Exactly. The last days. Armageddon.”

  “That’s not new. Why does an apocalyptic worldview encourage violence? Why not just hunker in and wait?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. It doesn’t always. But these groups believe the last days are imminent, and they see themselves as having a key role in the events that are about to unfold. They’re the chosen ones who will give birth to the new order.”

  She was terrified because the baby wouldn’t be sanctified.

  “So what develops is a kind of dualism in their thinking. They are good, and all others are hopelessly corrupt, totally lacking in moral virtue. Outsiders come to be demonized.”

  “You’re with me or you’re against me.”

  “Exactly. According to these visions the last days are going to be characterized by violence. Some groups go into a sort of survivalist mode, stockpiling weapon
s and setting up elaborate surveillance systems against the evil social order that’s out to get them. Or the Antichrist, or Satan, or whatever they see as the perceived threat.”

  Dom doesn’t believe in Antichrists.

  “Apocalyptic beliefs can be especially volatile when embodied in a charismatic leader. Koresh saw himself as the Lord’s appointed.”

  “Go on.”

  “You see, one of the problems for a self-appointed prophet is that he has to constantly reinvent himself. There’s no institutional support for his long-term authority. There are also no institutional restraints on his behavior. The leader runs the show, but only as long as his disciples follow. So these guys can be very volatile. And they can do whatever they choose within their sphere of power.

  “Some of the more paranoid respond to perceived threats to their authority by becoming oppressively dictatorial. They make increasingly bizarre demands, insisting their followers comply in order to show loyalty.”

  “Such as?”

  “Jim Jones had tests of faith, as he called them. Members of the People’s Temple would be forced to sign confessions or suffer public humiliations to prove their devotion. One little ritual required the participant to drink unidentified liquids. When told it was poison, the testee wasn’t supposed to show fear.”

  “Charming.”

  “Vasectomy is another favorite. It’s said that the leadership of Synanon required some of the male members to go under the knife.”

  Her procreation partner was Jason.

  “What about arranging marriages?”

  “Jouret and DiMambro, Jim Jones, David Koresh, Charles Manson. They all used controlled coupling. Diet, sex, abortion, dress, sleep. It really doesn’t matter what the idiosyncrasy is. As a leader conditions his followers to abide by his rules he breaks down their inhibitions. Eventually this unquestioning acceptance of bizarre behaviors may habituate them to the idea of violence. At first it’s small acts of devotion, seemingly harmless requirements like hairstyles or meditation at midnight, or sex with the messiah. Later his demands may become more lethal.”

  “Sounds like the deification of insanity.”

  “Well put. The process has another advantage for the leader. It weeds out the less committed, since they get fed up and leave.”