Cat's Eye

by William W. Johnstone

  “We don’t mind,” Dee said with a smile. “And we both understand how you feel.”

  “You might arrest a lot of people,” Gary said. “But they’ll be ready for you. The covens have people in the sheriffs department and the city police. We don’t know who they are. And they also have real fancy communications equipment. They listen to everything the cops say.”

  “Just like dope dealers,” Carl said.

  Janet looked at him. “Who do you think is controlling all the drugs in this county?”

  “That’s something we forgot to tell Mister Hunt,” Gary added. “We’ve—they’ve—gotten a lot of new members by getting them hooked on whatever and then holding it over them, or away from them, as the case may be, to bring them into the various covens.”

  “Adults and kids?” Dee asked.

  “Sure.”

  “What’s in those woods over there?” Gary asked, looking toward the dark timber.

  “You don’t know?”

  “No. Only the top-level people are allowed to enter those woods. But both of us keep hearing that the time is very near for total domination.”

  “They plan to take over the town?” Dee asked.

  “At first,” Janet said. “But what they really want to do is get as many converts as possible, and then destroy the town and the county. That’s the way it always works, so we’ve been told. Destruction is the ultimate goal. A total end to law and order, so anarchy can prevail, all over the world. Those are Linda Crowley’s words, not mine.”

  “It fits,” Carl said. “And that’s just one of the reasons they never succeed. They get too eager and tip their hand.”

  “And the other reasons?” Dee asked.

  “Their final goals don’t make any sense—most of the time. And fortunately for us, this is one of them—I was worried about that. They seem to not know the meaning of being subtle. This very thing has happened in Louisiana, out in Nebraska, New York State, Canada, down in Georgia ... and those are incidents that have occurred over the past eight or nine years. Always with the same results: A lot of people are dead and lives are forever changed. And a lot of selfish, greedy, malcontented loser-types are allowed to go on a rampage.”

  Janet stirred at the words that hit her hard. “Suppose, Mister Garrett, that I was your daughter, and you came in my room and found me with devil-worship material, listening to the type of music that is associated with devil worship . . . what would you do?”

  Carl met her eyes with the coldest stare she had ever seen in all her young years. And Janet knew then that unless something awful happened to Carl Garrett, those she once called friends would lose this fight. She sensed that Carl Garrett had more of the qualities of the Archangel Michael in him than anyone else she had ever before encountered.

  “I would talk to you at first,” Carl said. “I would really try to help you out of your self-imposed abyss. If I failed, I would call a minister or priest. If he or she failed, I would then very carefully and very coldly assess the situation, and most probably take you out on some lonely country road some night and put a bullet in your head for the good of humanity.”

  Chapter 18

  Armed with warrants from the state, every law-enforcement officer Jim could count on hit a dozen homes just before dawn. By the time the undermanned teams struck the third home, Daly summed it up.

  “We’ve been had. Somebody tipped them.” There were no posters on walls that praised Satan, no symbols denoting satanic worship; none of the violent music could be found. The cops found startled-appearing young people and adults who loudly demanded to know what in the world was going on.

  Grim-faced, the cops took them to jail and booked them on a variety of charges, ranging from murder to cruelty to animals.

  Bonds were set in a hurry and by eight o’clock, many of those arrested were free, and those remaining in the bucket sat in their cells and smiled, knowing they would not be far behind.

  But the lid was kept on and only a few members of the press entered the county. It did not take Jim long to see that many of the town lawyers were heavily involved with one or the other covens.

  Sheriff Rodale stayed home, said he was not feeling well. Jim could handle it.

  “The Constitution guarantees an individual the right to worship,” a local attorney told the chief deputy. Jim noticed the man was unshaven and had a strong body odor. “You can’t arrest someone just because they choose to worship the Devil.”

  “We didn’t,” Jim patiently responded. “They were arrested for the charges named on the warrants.”

  “We don’t believe that,” another lawyer said. “Those arrested tell us that you’re harassing them.”

  Jim resisted a mighty impulse to step close to the guy and give the man some knuckles in the mouth. With an almost visible effort, he calmed himself and said, “We are harassing no one. This crap is over.” He turned his back to the lawyers and walked back into the office.

  The local attorneys smiled.

  While this was going on, Mike Randall was leading the team digging up the area along Flat Ridge.

  “Found it!” a deputy called. “It’s a leg bone; the foot’s still attached.”

  “Don’t touch a thing,” Mike ordered. “I’ll get Doctor Bartlett out here. You people start securing this area and then back off. We’ll let experts from Forensic take it from here.”

  Jim smiled grimly when the dispatcher came into his office and handed him Mike’s message. He punched out Bartlett’s number.

  “How’s the guests?” he asked the doctor.

  “We have them heavily sedated and secured. They’re quiet. For now,” he added. “But we pumped enough Thorazine in them to kill a normal human being.”

  “Mike and his bunch found where Lanny and Dora were buried. I’ll pick you up in five minutes.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “What press is in here is sure to tag along,” Jim warned.

  “Brief me on the way out and I’ll handle them for you, Jim.”

  “I sure appreciate that, Cal. Them reporters and all the local lawyers are about to rub me raw.”

  “Get used to it, Jim. I think a couple of those reporters are going to be here for the duration.”

  * * *

  “How’d Carl get so hard, Miss Dee?” Janet asked. “I never seen anybody that young that hard in all my life.” She carefully buttered a piece of toast. “You think he meant what he told me last night?”

  A late breakfast. Carl had stayed awake all night, on the porch, on guard. He had gone to his room at dawn to get some sleep. At least Dee assumed he had. She had not seen him since the night before, sitting on the porch.

  “He meant it, Janet. Why? Part of it is probably because of what he witnessed over the Ruger County. Don’t forget, he lost his father fighting Satan. And I’m sure he lost several friends too. And he’s penetrated a lot of covens in only a few years. He’s personally seen the evil. Hard? Yes, he’s hard. And now that you’re here with us, aren’t you glad he is?”

  She smiled and slipped Dingo a bit of toast. “Yes, ma’am. I sure am.”

  Dingo nudged her leg with his nose, telling her he’d like another snack, please.

  “What’s in all these boxes?” Gary asked, eyeballing the crates stacked around the den.

  Dee lifted her eyes to his. “Just some things Carl needs for the fight.”

  Gary was wise enough not to pursue it.

  Those in the A-frame had slept soundly the past night, with no interruption of sleep from the song of the dark timber or the mysterious scratching and purring. And Dee was curious about that, wondering what it meant.

  But not certain she really wanted to know.

  Breakfast over and the dishes washed, Dee turned to Janet. “If you’re certain about your parents, Janet, how about some friends you’d like to call and tell that you’re all right? Gary . . . how about you?”

  The two looked at each other. Janet nodded and Gary took the cue. “Of our age, Mis
s Dee, there are three couples I’d trust enough to call. They know what’s going on in town—they’re both pretty sure their parents are part of it—and they’ve resisted. I got to warn you that while we were friends, that was a couple of years ago. Since they began to suspect we were part of a coven, they’ve backed away from us. Nick ordered us to recruit them, but we kind of dragged our feet.”

  “They’re really nice kids,” Janet added. “That’s why Nick wanted them in so bad, anyway he could get them. He, uh, had some pretty, well, disgusting things in mind for the girls . . . and for the boys.”

  “Are their parents involved with the covens?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gary said.

  “When Carl wakes up, well talk to him about it. He may very well say to call; we need all the allies we can get.”

  “I think,” Janet said, “that if Carl ever gets turned loose on these coven members, he’s going to make Rambo look like a peacenik.”

  * * *

  Anya and Pet knew what was going on, but they were powerless to do anything about it. They could make no major moves until the Old Ones surfaced. And there was nothing either of them could do to hasten their arrival.

  Josh Taft and his followers had taken refuge in a farmhouse a few miles outside of Butler. They had hidden in the timber around the house and watched while highway patrolmen searched the place and cautioned the man and woman who lived there to be on the lookout and to keep a weapon close by. As soon as the highway cops had left, Josh and his men had moved in. They had killed the man and were now busy taking turns raping the woman. None of them were aware of what they had become and what their victims were to become.

  Ralph Geason slept in the basement of the Butler High School, waiting for the night to bring the kids.

  Champ Stinson feasted upon the stiffening carcass of his wife, then covered the remainder of the torn body with brush and leaves, moved off a distance, and laid down to sleep.

  Linda Crowley sat in the den of the Geason home and smiled. There had been some setbacks to the plan, but all in all, it was looking pretty good. She sensed that in three or four days the Old Ones would surface; once that happened, nothing could stop them. They had all grown stronger and wiser in the years since Ruger County, and the plan was perfect. Carl Garrett was not the man his father had been. They really had nothing to fear from him. He could be dealt with. Once the Old Ones surfaced, they would . . .

  Her thoughts were interrupted by something cold being pressed against her head. She knew what it was: the muzzle of a gun.

  * * *

  “Does Carl always sleep this late?” Gary asked, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost noon.”

  “I’d better go check on him,” Dee said, rising. “I haven’t heard a sound from his bedroom.” She glanced out the side window. His car was gone.

  She returned grim-faced, a piece of paper in her hand. “He left us a note. Listen. ‘Dee, I don’t think the warrants are going to accomplish a damn thing. I’ve got to get us a toehold on this situation. Be back around two. Carl.’ ”

  “What does it mean, Miss Dee,” Janet asked.

  “It means he’s gone hunting—by himself.”

  * * *

  Jim put his crews back to work, digging up the grisly remains of the young people. They found a leg bone here, a foot there, a hand in another place, and then a skull. Jim had dug out the old files on the two kids and was reviewing the papers when Mike called out.

  “What kind of ring was it Dora was wearing?”

  Jim lifted the papers. “Fourteen-carat-gold friendship ring. The initials L.G. engraved inside. Dora wore braces on her teeth.”

  “Here’s the ring,” Mike called.

  “Here’s the skull,” another deputy called. “Braces still on the teeth.”

  “Now all we have to do is prove Nick and the other coven members killed them,” Tolson said. “And we really have nothing that will hold up in court.”

  “I know it,” Jim replied. “They’ll just lie for each other. Carl said it would be this way. He’s out doing something; called me at the office early this morning. Before dawn. Said he was at least going to find out for sure who was in the covens and their plans.”

  “How?” Daly asked.

  “Same question I asked He said I really didn’t want to know. So I didn’t ask.”

  “That boy is as hard as a concrete nail,” Tolson said. “I believe he’d go to any lengths to crack these covens wide open.”

  “That’s the impression I got,” Daly agreed.

  “I don’t give a damn how he does it,” Jim said, his tanned face hard. “I just want it done. These people are evil. They’ve murdered, raped, tortured, mutilated, and the Good Lord only knows what else. I don’t care what Carl does to them, or how he does it. Just as long as he does it in time.”

  * * *

  Linda asked, “Carl?”

  “You got it, Linda.”

  “You going to kill me, Carl?”

  “Not yet. I have plans for you, Linda. Get down on the floor, face down. And do it slowly.”

  On the floor, she felt the bite of the handcuffs as the steel clamped around her wrists and Carl locked them in place.

  “They’re too tight, Carl.”

  “Get used to the pain, Linda. I assure you, it’s minor compared to what you’ll soon be feeling.”

  She felt a twinge of fear. “You don’t have the courage to do anything like that. You’re too much like your pukey father.”

  “My father had the courage to die well,” Carl reminded her. “Do you?”

  She said nothing. But the hate shining from her eyes was like twin beams of Hellfire.

  “We’ll see, Linda. Now get up!” He jerked her to her feet and slipped a light sweater over her shoulders, hiding the handcuffed hands behind her back.

  “We’re going on the back way,” Carl told her. “At the edge of the yard, by the oak, cut to your right, through the neighbor’s yard, and then it’s a short walk to my car. You got all that?”

  “Yes. I think you’ve done this before, Carl. I think you are not a very nice person.”

  “What would you know about being nice? I do what is necessary to combat the evil that people like you try to bring into this world. Now move your ass, Linda!”

  She moved. “Where are we going, Carl?”

  “Out into the country, Linda. I think you know where.”

  She laughed as they walked out the back door. “You’re a fool, Carl! You would dare to take me out there? You’re playing right into our hands by doing so.”

  “That’s right,” Carl said cheerfully.

  Linda looked at him curiously, thoughts racing through her mind as they walked. She had known Carl all her life, and had never thought of him as a ball of fire when it came to intellectual ability. What if she had misjudged him? What if he turned out to be like his father? And why was he taking her right in the middle of ground considered sacred by those who worshipped the Dark One?

  The muzzle of the 9-mm punched her in the back, cutting short her silent questions. “Move, bitch!”

  * * *

  “Phone’s for you, Harry.”

  Deputy Harrison walked to a desk as far away from the central receiving area as he could get and punched the blinking button. His hands were trembling. He had been expecting this call, and he was not looking forward to getting it.

  “Yeah?”

  The District Attorney’s voice filled his ear. “The Old Ones are ready, Harry. Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. It’s time for you to do your part.”

  “It’s not going to be easy,” Harry whispered. “Jim’s a tough old bird.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  “I don’t know if I can pull it off.”

  “How do you feel, Harry?”

  Harry knew what he meant. He felt lousy. He needed a line or two—bad. Three or four lines would be even better.

  “Your reward will be waiting for you, Harry. Enough to make you very, very happ
y. Just get the job done.”

  “Where will the stuff be?”

  “It’ll snow in the usual place, Harry.” The line went dead.

  Harry sat very still for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he stood up, hitched at his gun belt, and walked out of the office.

  He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he knew it had to be done. All over the town, others were receiving phone calls. Calls concerning the mayor, the ministers around the area, the chief of police, and other civic leaders. Harry and the others had twenty-four hours to carry out their orders. Phase one had just received the green light.

  Harry licked his dry lips. He needed some dope bad. He maybe had enough for a couple of lines at his house. He’d do one now, just as soon as he could get to his stash, and save the other one to snort right before he did what he had been ordered to do. It always made him feel so much better. Made him feel like a brand-new man.

  Just thinking about it made him feel better.

  He drove straight to his house.

  He never had liked Jim Hunt. Jim never would drink or run around and chase pussy with the rest of them. Mister Goody-Goody.

  It would be a pleasure to kill him.

  The Master would be pleased, and would reward Harry handsomely.

  Then Harry had another thought. He knew that no one had been assigned to kill that outsider, Carl Garrett; he’d come in too quickly and unexpectedly. Killing Garrett would really be a feather in his cap. And would be as much fun as icing Jim Hunt—maybe more fun. Carl Garrett really thought he was hot stuff. Big-time private cop and all that crap. Yeah. Maybe he’d go after Garrett first. Why not? He had twenty-four hours. Maybe he’d kill him in front of that snooty Conners bitch, and then Harry could dip his wick into some really prime stuff.

  Just the thought of that got him all excited. He pulled at his crotch. She’d be one of those who’d cry and beg and promise all sorts of stuff if he please wouldn’t stick it to her.

  Money! Yeah! Money. She had lots of money. She’d give him lots of money, and then Harry could split from this town and head for the city. Richmond wouldn’t be big enough; he’d have to head for New York or L.A.