Charon looked over Griffin’s shoulder at the screen. “That’s the guy who runs the church you told me about?”
“That’s him. Down home as all hell isn’t he.”
“Mmm hmm. Looks like he’s been raiding Colonel Sanders’ closet. But I have to say, the look works for him. He looks, I don’t know, natural in those old time clothes. I bet he can preach up the fire and brimstone when he wants to.”
“Speaking from personal experience?”
“My grandmother took me to a couple of big tent revivals when I was a kid,” Charon said. “I know my fire and brimstone. Tell you what. If I have time today, I’ll do a little digging on Reverend Cotton myself.”
“I didn’t think you were interested in modern organized religions.”
“One man’s religion is another man’s cult, Griffin.”
“Good point. By all means, see what you can come up with. I’m going to try and get an interview with the man himself.”
Charon leaned over and kissed him on the side of the mouth. “Okay, well I’m off. See you this evening. Try and stay out of trouble.”
“Don’t I always?”
“No.”
Once Charon was gone Griffin got out his cell and dialed Paul Traylor’s number. He had been putting off talking to Traylor but he owed the man a report.
“Mister Griffin,” Traylor said when he picked up. “Do you have some good news for me?”
“I’m afraid not. I have a couple of leads I’m following but nothing definite. I did have some results from the shopping bag we found, but they weren’t good.” Griffin gave Traylor a brief description of finding Irene Chandler and the circumstances of the discovery.
Traylor said, “Good Lord. You don’t think Lynn has been taken by people like that, do you?”
“I don’t,” said Griffin. “I believe Lynn left on her own and that hopefully she’s somewhere safe. But I thought I ought to let you know what had become of her friend Irene. Also, I have a question. Did Lynn have anything to say about religion recently?”
“Religion? Not that I recall. Her mother is a lapsed Catholic, and I’ve never been much for churches. Why do you ask?”
“Just something Irene told me. One of the leads I’m following. I’ll let you know more if anything pans out.”
Griffin rang off without giving Traylor any more information. He didn’t want the man muddying the waters by perhaps trying to contact Lazarus Cotton himself. A man like Traylor might do exactly that.
Griffin checked the clock. Not even ten in the morning yet. The man, Fry, had indicated it was best to seek audience with Cotton later in the day. Griffin would wait until afternoon before heading back to Cotton’s church. That way, if things didn’t go well, perhaps he could have a look at the dormitory building under cover of darkness. Griffin’s gut was telling him Lynn Traylor was there. One way or another he would find out.
CHAPTER TEN
Ten AM. At the current rate, Carl figured he was good for another week before his completely screwed up sleep schedule caused his brain to shut down. Of course there were plenty of people who would have argued that his brain had faded out a long time ago.
Anyone who needed proof would have looked no further than him driving into Crawford’s Hollow without twenty backup units. Sometimes it’s about who has bigger balls. Carl couldn’t afford to be nervous about the Hollow. He was the sheriff. Even if he was nervous, he could never let it show.
Really, what was there to be nervous about, except for the whole killed-half-the-family-that-lived-in-the-area thing? The Blackbournes weren’t going anywhere. They were the equivalent of cockroaches as far as he was concerned. You could kill as many as you wanted and more of the damned things just showed up to take their place.
Last October he’d been in the unpleasant position of taking down a lot of the family. A lot of them. Sometimes when he was lucky he could go to sleep without seeing some of the less pleasant members of the family in his mind’s eye, parading around to remind him that he had either killed them or lead to their deaths. And if he tried very, very hard he could almost forget about the nightmare that was Frank Blackbourne.
And then there was Siobhan. Yeah. No issues there.
So he was driving down into the verdant hell of the Hollow to meet up with the new leaders of the clan. Or at least the interim leaders. He wasn’t really quite sure what was going on with the clan and that was an issue. Of course there was some question as to whether or not they knew themselves.
All of which just led to the fact that kids were missing and there was a slight chance that they were responsible. He had to check on that or he wouldn’t be doing his job. He also wouldn’t be keeping tabs on the people who were in the best position to make his life miserable.
The house that had been the center of the Blackbourne family’s empire was still in the same place but these days it had an abandoned look. It was just as good a place to check as any, however, and that was where Carl parked.
The sprawling house had been built in stages, and some of the spots where the house had been added to looked different than they had a year ago. They looked lifeless. As far as Carl was concerned that was a good thing.
He climbed from his truck and looked around carefully. Oh, yes, there were Blackbournes around.
One of them approached, a stocky bruiser named Gideon. He had seen the boy before, but not in a long while. Last he’d heard Gideon was off at a private school in England. Apparently he’d come back home.
Gideon Blackbourne was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He sported combat boots and mirrored sunglasses. He was wearing a battered straw hat on his head, not because it was fashionable, but because it kept a little of the sun off his face. Like so many of the clan, Gideon was a bit on the pale side. Unlike a lot of them, he still had actual pigmentation to his skin and his hair was a dark red color. He wasn’t as far from human as a lot of them. That alone made him a decent spokesperson for the family.
The boy was maybe drinking age. Not that it mattered. He approached with his arms at his sides and a deliberately blank expression on his broad face.
“Been a few years, Gideon.”
The boy nodded. “Yes sir. It has.” If he had developed any sort of British accent in his travels he hid it well. His voice had grown deeper. A lot deeper. Then again, he looked like he was sporting roughly fifty more pounds of muscle than the last time Carl had seen him. “Eight years since I was home last.” That explained it. Puberty and that whole growing up thing made a difference. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“I just came to ask a few questions of whoever is in charge around here these days. Who would I want to talk to, Gideon?” He kept his eyes locked on the sunglasses. He couldn’t see the eyes behind them but he knew better than to think the boy was looking anywhere but at him. He was also aware, uncomfortably so, of the sounds of other people moving around behind him and around him. Shit. There were a lot of people around him that wanted him dead just now. Carl resisted the urges to run, lick his lips, hide in the truck or even pat his firearm affectionately. No signs were permitted that would show anything like fear.
Gideon looked up at the canopy of trees above them, the light and shadows adding freckles to his face and a dozen different reflections to his glasses.
“Well,” said the boy, “you could talk to me about what’s happening in the Hollow. You could talk to my Cousin Jolene about what’s happening in town.” The boy looked back at him again and a very small smile flickered around his lips and then died. “Or you could ask Lament what’s going on. She’s pretty much in charge these days. Overall, I mean.”
“Lament?” he frowned.
“Not keeping up with things these days, Sheriff? Lament. She came back with me when I got back from London.” That little half-smirk again. The boy didn’t know his place. He’d learn soon enough. Carl couldn’t exactly
teach him right that moment. The other members of the clan surrounding them guaranteed that.
“You’d be surprised the things I keep up with, Gideon.” He gave a little half-smile of his own. “Merle had the common sense to remember that. Don’t go being less intelligent than Merle if you want to stay in charge of things, son. That little bit of advice is free.”
Gideon’s face grew dark, but he kept his tongue.
“Had a murder not far from here last night. A few kids were seen leaving the area where the body was found. According to the eyewitness they were pale. According to what I saw, they were also strong. Very strong.” He let that sink in for a few seconds. “Sound like anyone you might know?”
“Pale and strong aren’t enough to make any real connections, Sheriff. I’ve been gone for a while. What else have you got?”
“Nothing much. That’s why I wanted to ask around. I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea and pointing fingers where they shouldn’t be pointed.”
“How old were the kids, Sheriff?”
“Early teens, maybe.”
“Hazael was out late last night. Said he had business to tend to. Hang on. I’ll send for him.” He gestured with one hand and called out. “Get Hazael over here.”
Carl didn’t bother looking around. He knew well enough what was going on. Somewhere behind him one of the clan was passing on the orders or seeing to them personally.
“So rumor has it Lament has it out for me.”
“Lament heard unpleasant stories about what happened when we were gone. Some of those stories might have put you in an unfavorable light.”
“Mmm hmm.”
There was a rustling to the left and Carl looked that way for just a moment. Long enough to see the rapier-thin boy that showed himself. He was pale, he was plain. He dressed like he’d never left the Hollow in his life. Maybe he hadn’t.
“Hazael, do you know of anyone who was out last night causing mischief?” Gideon looked to the boy with a calm expression.
Hazael looked at Carl with a deep hatred on his narrow face.
“Hazael!” Gideon’s voice was sharp and demanding. The boy looked his way. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”
“But he—”
Gideon raised a hand to silence the boy. “Answer the question.”
“Where?” He directed the question to Carl.
Carl described the area, the local mile marker. Finally Hazael answered, “Not ours. There’s others. It was them.”
“Others?”
Gideon cleared his throat. “The point here is that it’s not one of ours.”
Carl looked at Hazael. “What do you mean ‘others’?”
The boy glared pure venom in his direction. “Figure it out your damn self.”
Hazael turned and stormed away, not looking back. His narrow shoulders locked and his small hands clenched into fists.
Gideon shrugged his broad shoulders. “Hazael has no love for you or yours, Sheriff. His father and his mother were both lost last Halloween.”
“What did he mean ‘others’?”
Gideon smiled and shrugged. “Been out of town for a while. I couldn’t harbor a guess.”
Carl nodded and headed back for his truck. There were a dozen members of the Blackbourne family between him and his vehicle. Most of them looked only a little unusual. The sole exception was Haradah, a man he’d had the misfortune of dealing with in the past. Currently there were four outstanding warrants on Haradah Blackbourne, including one for breaking out of his holding cell last year. Like several members of the Blackbourne clan, Haradah must have been born with the ability to shift between realities. He didn’t break out of his cell the year before; he just stepped away from it. One on one he might well have been willing to go after the man. Certainly if he had the right equipment with him, but just at the moment there were too many possible allies for the man. And then there was the problem of keeping him if he caught him. There were ways, but nothing had been prepared.
He’d have to look into that.
Carl kept his eyes locked on Haradah the entire way back to the truck and then climbed in and backed away from the old house. He was almost certain the house was empty now, but there were things that had happened there he still didn’t like to think about.
He drove very carefully away from the house and up the winding road that led out of the Hollow.
He tried not to hyperventilate on the way up.
He succeeded, but it wasn’t easy. Mostly he kept seeing the hatred in Hazael’s face. Sometimes people died. That didn’t make him feel any better about leaving a kid no older than twelve without parents.
* * *
A little after four in the afternoon Griffin started for the mountains. It didn’t take long once leaving Wellman proper to hit the foothills. During the time he had lived in Gatesville he had forgotten how the mountains informed everything about living in the northern part of Georgia. They loomed in the background and after a while, you didn’t notice them but they were always there, permanent and implacable, and he had been reminded all too recently of the secrets they could hide.
Traffic thinned the farther north he traveled, and that made it easy to pick up the tail. A black four-door Lexus matched him turn for turn.
Griffin accelerated and the Lexus picked up speed. They weren’t being careful about it, which meant they didn’t much care if he spotted them or not. Not a good sign. For a moment he considered using his cell to call Carl, but a second later rejected the idea. Best to see what was what.
The Lexus put on a burst of speed as the vehicles reached a straight and lonely stretch of mountain road. Griffin knew his truck couldn’t outdistance the Lexus, so he concentrated on his driving. Checking his side mirror he saw the Lexus was close on his rear bumper and someone was leaning out the passenger side. Griffin gave the brakes a light touch and heard the squeal of tires as the Lexus’s driver adjusted his speed. A second later the truck’s rear window exploded. Griffin hunched low and steered off the road, hitting the brakes again so the truck skidded to a halt on the gravel shoulder. Griffin went out the passenger side, out of view of the Lexus, unholstering his 9mm Beretta as he went. He dropped to the ground behind the truck as the Lexus backtracked.
He had spoiled the gunman’s aim by putting on the brakes and the Lexus had had to swerve around him. Now the car was stopped a few yards up the road and by looking under his truck Griffin could see three men getting out of the car. They came his way quickly and in a few seconds he could only see their feet. Griffin shot the closest one in the ankle. The man screamed and fell to the ground and Griffin shot him through the head.
He saw another pair of feet leave the ground and he realized that shooter had vaulted into the bed of the truck. Griffin rolled to his back and as the man peered over the edge of the truck, Griffin shot him in the mouth. Blood, brains, and teeth splattered as the bullet tore through. The third shooter was coming around the front of the truck even as Griffin shot the man in the bed and he fired at Griffin’s prone figure.
The shot went wild, kicking up gravel and sand near Griffin’s head. Griffin took his time and aimed at center mass. He squeezed off three rounds, all of which slammed into the last man’s upper torso. The gunman slumped against the side of the truck and slid to the ground.
Griffin stood but remained crouched behind the truck. The shooters had left their doors open and now he could see that there was no one left in the car. The driver had been one of the shooters.
He considered his options. His truck was still drivable, so he could just drive away and get rid of the Beretta. No way the bullets in the dead men could be traced to him then. However, he was on a public road and someone could come along at any moment. Besides, he had acted in self-defense and the evidence would bear that out. Better to call Carl this time. Griffin got his cell out and made the call.
An hour later, Carl Price stood leaning on his unmarked car. Two lab guys had finished bagging and tagging, and now they were getting the bodies ready to go. Carl had dutifully looked at the crime scene and taken Griffin’s statement.
“I’m surprised you didn’t just disappear, Wade. Looks like you could have.”
“Considered it. But it was a righteous shooting and I figured you didn’t need the grief on top of everything else.”
“You got that right. The DA would love an unsolved homicide about now. Me and the lab boys figure things went down just like you said, so as you say, this one’s righteous enough. They shot first and you defended yourself.”
“Of course. I am a law abiding citizen these days.”
Carl snorted. “Let’s not get carried away. I don’t suppose you recognized any of these boys?”
“No, but you can bet that when you ID them, they’ll be some of Pete Blankenship’s men.”
“No doubt. Guess Pete hasn’t forgiven you for busting up one of his operations.”
Griffin said. “Guess not. But if he’s going to keep making runs at me, I may have to talk some sense into him.”
“I’d just as soon he didn’t turn up dead anytime soon, Wade.”
Griffin shrugged. “We’ll see how things go. Maybe he’ll call it even now.” But even as he said it, he knew, and he knew Carl shared the knowledge, that Blankenship wouldn’t just let this go. The man couldn’t afford to.
“Anyway,” Carl said. “Got some other weird things going. Found a body last night that had been folded backward like a cheap jack-knife. Someone broke the guy’s spine like a broomstick.”
In the hot, August sun, Griffin felt something cold slide across his own spine. “The Blackbournes?”
“They say no. Said it was someone else, but they wouldn’t say who.”
“Who else could do something like that?”
“No one I know of, but I got the feeling the Blackbournes weren’t lying, you know?”
Congregations of the Dead Page 9
