“You know, up until recently I would have laughed in your face.”
“What changed that?”
“That would be between my husband and me.”
“Look, I don’t really care what goes on between you and your husband. I really just want some information, and then I’ll get out of your hair. Someone killed my friend. Your husband’s name was on a list found among his private things. I just want to know why.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. I don’t involve myself in my husband’s other ventures. I’m too busy dealing with the needs of our congregation.”
“I thought you said the church was destroyed after the abuse allegations.”
“As long as one person wants ministering, there will always be a church.”
I didn’t miss the ring of piety in her words, nor could I keep myself from glancing dubiously at her boob job, expensive workout gear, and her hair. “You said you help with the church? What does that entail?”
“I’m his wife,” she said as if that should explain everything. “I take it you’re not a religious woman?”
“I was raised Catholic, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been to church.” I could tell she was mentally adding my name to the list of people that would be “left behind.” She was probably right. I hadn’t seen the inside of a confessional in years.
“I was born and raised Southern Baptist.” A small accent snuck in when she said Southern, and I had to stifle a snicker that threatened to escape. “My parents were always poor, and when my mother got sick it just got worse.”
Why was she telling me this?
“But you know what? The preacher’s wife always made sure that we had something to eat, that our clothes were clean and mended. She organized shifts of the other wives so that me and my older sister could go to school and not have to worry about my momma.”
“So you’re saying these early experiences inspired you to stay active in the church?”
Caroline smiled. “Yes, I decided what I wanted to be when I grew up was a preacher’s wife. The preacher of our church had two boys. Every young girl in that church wanted to be chosen to wed one of them. I knew that with my buckteeth and my hand-me-down clothes, they wouldn’t show any interest in me. And I was right. They both ended up marrying little rich girls with pretty clothes and white teeth.”
I tried to imagine what Chandra would say to such a disclosure. “Men are such asses.”
She smoothed a hand over her svelte hip, no longer the ugly duckling. “It didn’t make any difference that I knew my Bible inside out and never missed a day at church. The only thing that mattered was that I wasn’t pretty enough or a part of the right social groups.”
“So when did you meet Mr. Stein?”
“My daddy always drank too much, but things started getting worse once Momma got better. He even stopped going to church.” She said this with the breathless dismay of a believer who thought not going to church was the true sign of being possessed by the devil.
Hoping this story was leading somewhere, I said, “It must have been hard for your family.”
She sighed. “One day, he just never came home. Momma moved all us kids to Mississippi to stay with relatives. They were already members of a church, so naturally we joined, too. Nathan was the preacher, and it was love at first sight. He was so charismatic, so intent on saving us all that he would sometimes give himself migraines and have to be carried off.”
A small frown appeared on her face as if she was considering something for the first time. “Anyway, I was surprised when he asked my momma if he could marry me. And when he told me he was coming out west to start his own church, I was delighted. I was going to be what those pretty little girls had a chance to be. I was going to be serving the Lord at my husband’s side.”
“But things changed when you got to California, right? Your husband was accused of assaulting a minor?”
“Of course it didn’t change.” Not one iota of mirth reached her eyes as she laughed derisively. “My husband was a religious man, the leader of our church. He would never do something as distasteful as beating or molesting a child. At least that’s what I thought back then.”
Finally, the confession. This was how lots of people worked up to the truth. They wanted you to sympathize and be on their side. Caroline had something to hide and she was ashamed. I could see it the tightness of her shoulders and the defensive angle of her chin.
“You know, I hated that girl for going to the police,” she said. “I know she didn’t pull the trigger, but I really did believe it was a ploy for attention or a prank that went horribly wrong.” She lifted the picture from the mantel. “My son was killed in the raid on the barn where we had most of our services. We weren’t even having a service then. Only the childcare center was open.”
“The raid?” I guessed she was talking about Nathan’s arrest.
“I never blamed Nathan,” she said softly. “I never believed he was responsible. I blamed that girl. I blamed her and the police for my son’s death.”
“I hate to tell you this, but she probably wasn’t to blame. I think she was telling the truth.”
“I know. Terry found the DVDs.” The smile on her lips died a slow death and I felt my stomach churn. Something was going on here that I couldn’t put my finger on. The woman who always looked so calm and collected seemed to be coming apart at the seams.
I shifted my attention to Terry. “You found DVDs? Where?”
“I was trying to get the net to clean out the pool. Reverend Stein wasn’t home and Caroline told me to break the lock. Inside, there were all these DVDs and recording equipment. It was like someone had a little mini recording studio inside.”
“And you never noticed this stuff in there before?”
“Only Reverend Stein had a key to the pool house. Whenever I came to clean the pool, everything was already sitting at the door.”
“Did you happen to see a videotape among everything? An old VHS?”
“No, I don’t think so. But most of them were already boxed up.”
“So did you watch any of these DVDs?”
Terry nodded. “I wish I hadn’t.”
“What was on them?”
“You know what was on them.” Caroline Stein’s voice dripped venom and disgust. “That girl was telling the truth. And if it wasn’t the truth, it was a lie based on truth. Because of him, because of my husband, the police raided our land. They raided our land, shots were fired, and my child was killed. Do you understand me? He was responsible for killing my child, and he lay down with me every night. He lay down with me, and he never said a goddamn word.” The last two words cut through the air like shards of glass.
I watched as Terry tried to console Caroline. This was real, not a show put on for my benefit. The composed woman I had talked to before was gone, and in her place was a mother, distraught over the senseless death of her child.
“When I found out what he was doing, what he was storing in our home, on our property, I told him to get it out of here or I would go to the police myself. That’s why that van was here. They were moving every remnant of that filth from my home.”
“Where is your husband now, Caroline?”
“In hell, where he belongs.”
Terry shushed Caroline and settled her on the couch. “I think you should leave now.”
“Answer one more question for me. All of that happened years ago, and it’s between Caroline and her husband. Why are you involved? If it were me, I wouldn’t want any part of it.”
“I’ve always been a part of it. I lost my mother in that raid.”
I looked him hard in the eye. “Do you know where Nathan Stein is, Terry?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “He’s in hell, just like Caroline said.”
As I left the Stein home, I took the tape from my recorder and thought about dropping it in the garden trash bin. Caroline and Terry had all but said Stein was dead, and there was only one way they coul
d both be so sure of that. I opened the car door, took a Ziploc bag from the dash, and labeled my evidence.
If Nathan was dead, who killed Michael Stratford? I thought I finally knew why he was killed. Michael Stratford was the “cop” who’d visited Motel 6 before Smitty and I got there. He’d taken the missing videotape, and someone wanted it back very badly.
*
I slammed to a halt next to Riley’s Land Cruiser, glass protesting under the Blazer’s tires. I couldn’t wait to tell Riley what I’d discovered. “Shit,” I grumbled as the sun tried to burn through the hair on top of my head. I stood back and looked around the building. I could hammer all I wanted, there was no way that Riley would hear me even if she was awake. I could have kicked myself in the ass for not taking Riley’s keys.
“Use the lock picks, stupid,” I said out loud after staring at the door angrily for a few seconds. I dropped to my knee and went to work. It took me a bit, but finally I was in the cool theater. I needed a shower.
Pulling my damp T-shirt over my head, I stumbled into the apartment. “Hey, baby, it’s just me. How are you feeling? You’re not going to believe this, but I think Caro…”
Chills swept across the fine sheen of sweat on my back and stomach, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. I stared at the rumpled bed and overturned chair. I stood frozen, my T-shirt imprisoning my wrists, my breath echoing in the emptiness.
Somewhere in the background, a faucet dripped.
“Baby?” I called out, though I knew she wouldn’t answer. Riley would never leave a chair turned over; it wasn’t in her nature to be untidy. She also would never leave a faucet dripping. I dropped the shirt back down over my head. My eyes would not allow me to turn away from the bed.
“Riley? Sweetheart, please, if you’re here, please answer me.”
I stumbled to the room that used to hold her weights. It was completely empty. Even though I knew she had left her weights at the cabin, the bareness of the room almost doubled me over. I ran through the rest of the theater, calling her name and losing hope with each step.
Maybe she’s out front. Maybe she got tired of being inside and went for a walk. I burst through the door, sending it crashing back against the wall. The parking lot was as deserted as what I could see of the street beyond. I looked around frantically. The only movement I saw was the glint from the broken glass that littered the asphalt. Maybe she needed some air. Maybe she needed to walk, or she saw something. My heart started a low, deep thumping. She’s not gone. She’s not gone.
I approached the Land Cruiser. The window was still down from the last time we were in it, the water bottle she’d been drinking from still lay on the seat. I curled my fingers around the partially raised window for support. I backed away and started to run. I opened my mouth to call out her name, but there was nothing.
My first thought was to bang on doors. But there were no doors to pound on, no neighbors to question, no one who could help me find her. Riley had said that her place was quiet, and she was right. There was nothing for a half mile in any direction, just the theater. Someone could have taken her in broad daylight, and no one would have seen a thing.
I stopped in the middle of the lot and stared hard at Riley’s Cruiser. If I stared long enough, maybe I would see something. Some clue, something, because I couldn’t seem to think straight.
“Riley?” I yelled, turning in a slow circle. “Riley?” Nothing moved. Not a single bird chirped, no breeze to soothe my frazzled nerves.
My heart contorted painfully in my chest. I squatted down next to the passenger side door, unable to keep myself upright. The burning heat of the metal seared through my T-shirt and clawed at my back. I put my hands over my head and shivered violently in the ninety-nine degree heat. Suddenly I was seven years old, crouching in the corner of the bathroom, my hands over my head, as my father tried to tell me through the door that it wasn’t my fault my mother left.
I did that to you too, didn’t I, baby? Every time things got tough or I got scared, I hid in the bathroom. It’s been over twenty years and I’m still hiding in the bathroom, making promises to God that if I could just have her back, I would be a good girl.
I started to rock as more chills passed through my body despite the merciless sun.
You ever wonder if, before you die, you get an early warning sign?
Chapter Twenty-Three
I walked back into the theater and down to the apartment, a part of me still expecting to find her sitting at the table, drinking her water or eating a fucking celery stick. Another sob left my throat when I found the place exactly as it was before. I righted the chair and turned off the water faucet. Should I call her family? Dani? I’d seen the numbers on her cell phone countless times when I called Chandra.
“Okay. Okay, you have to get it together.” Though the first words were a sob, the last few sounded stronger. I owed Riley so much. The thought that I might never be able to tell her how I felt, how much I wanted to be with her, was making it hard for me to breathe. “Okay, just sit down and figure this out, Foster. You can do this; this is what you do. Remember? Just figure it out.”
I pulled the 9 mm’s from their holsters, laid them on the table, and sat down with my head cradled in my hands. I felt rage. Rage so hot and dangerous it burned through my heart and came out my mouth in the form of a sob that probably sounded more like a scream. And then there was hatred. I hated whoever had taken her. I hated them with a passion I had never felt before. I hated them for taking her, and I hated myself for letting it happen. Tears streaked down my face, and as I reached up to brush them away, I smelled her scent on my hand. The faintest trace from when I stroked her cheek as I kissed her good-bye just a couple of hours ago.
Should I go to the police? No, they won’t look for her until tomorrow, and by then it may be too late. There was also the very real possibility that I would be arrested and no one would listen to me.
“Please, God, please.” I tried to calm myself. I had no idea where I needed to go, or what I needed to do. I was scared, and I was without the one person in the world I could admit that to. And somewhere out there, someone might be hurting her. I wanted to kill them.
I weighed the guns, one in each hand. Michael Stratford’s killer had removed his tongue. Not a subtle warning. The question was, who were they trying to warn? He had worked for Stein, who was now missing. I couldn’t prove it, but I was sure his wife and her boyfriend had something to do with his disappearance. Did they have something to do with Michael’s death as well? My gut told me no. Whoever had killed Michael had been cold-blooded and calculated. It didn’t seem like a crime of passion.
I flipped open my file and flipped through paperwork, telling myself that if I could just solve this case I would find Riley. Panic would get me nowhere.
I stared at the sheets of paper that held the info on Harrison Canniff. I had avoided looking at them for the obvious reasons. I didn’t realize until now that everything was connected somehow. The case file was a painful reminder of how I had almost ruined my life and possibly why Smitty killed himself. Had Smitty figured out what was going on? Had Marcus? Maybe I was going at this the wrong way.
I shuffled through the reports until I came to the paperwork on Smitty. This, too, I’d avoided. I traced the picture of him with my finger. It had been taken years before, when he was promoted to detective. He was thinner then; he hadn’t yet acquired the beer belly he had when I became his partner, and he didn’t smile like the Smitty I knew. He looked older than he had when he’d died. I turned the page and continued to read. Smitty and his partner had received many commendations when he was in San Diego, something I knew but that Smitty rarely talked about. Smitty’s partner took early retirement at about the time Smitty moved back to Los Angeles. The dates coincided with the time I became his partner.
I fumbled with the cell phone. Riley’s cell phone. I couldn’t seem to remember if I’d told her that I loved her.
“Whoever this is, you better talk or hang
up the damn phone.”
“Chandra…Chandra, it’s Foster.”
“Damn, take it down a notch. I can hear you. What’s wrong?”
“I can’t explain right now. I need you to look up something. I need you to go on the Internet and see if you can find anything on Joseph Smith in the San Diego papers. Cross-reference Monica’s name, too. I’m looking for something that would have happened about five years ago. Hell, check Chief James, too, while you’re—”
“I’m going to have to get back to you. I do have a job, you know.” Her voice had that bitter sharpness that people get when they’re busy.
“God damn it, would you stop being a bitch for two minutes. They’ve taken Riley. Please, can you help me? I need your help, okay?”
“Who took Riley? What are you saying, girl?”
“Please, just hurry.”
“Okay. I’m pulling it up now.”
I heard fingers hitting the keys viciously. Please, I begged any power that was listening, she’s a good person. Don’t let anything happen to her.
“Okay, the first article just quotes Smitty in reference to a case about some church. I don’t think this is what you’re looking for.”
“No, tell me what it says.”
“It’s called the Church of the North Star. Says here the police thought the church was set up as a scam. They would entice these women to join them in phony prayer meetings and the like, then they would either use them or their kids in porn. They had themselves a regular casting couch. Let me scan this…Okay, anyway, its founder was…Holy shit.”
Into the fuzzy phone silence, I yelled, “What? Holy shit…what?”
“Holy shit, it was a man named Nathan Stein,” she said slowly and succinctly. “He was never indicted because the police entered the place illegally.”
Wall of Silence Page 28
