“Ossining got back to me just a little while ago, and sure enough, Clancy Edens had enjoyed their hospitality until about eight months ago—conspiracy to commit kidnapping. It turns out one of the kidnappers got cold feet and ratted out his friends.
“They faxed me his photo, and he’s our boy. I had copies Xeroxed and plastered all over town. Problem is, I just haven’t found any connection between Clancy Edens and someone local.”
Savich smiled. “You’ve got a good brain, Katie. No reason to wait. Sherlock, hand me MAX. Let me see what he can find out.”
Once the modem was plugged in, Savich booted up MAX. While they waited, Miles told Katie about MAX, sometimes known as MAXINE, the laptop he used to access the data-mining software he’d worked on for years. “Bottom line is that either MAX or MAXINE could probably find out what kind of deodorant the president smears in his armpits if it’s on a database somewhere. He’s even better with computers than I am,” Miles added, “and that bums me, it really does.”
“Be quiet, Miles,” Savich said, not looking up. “You can do everything else better. I wouldn’t know a night guidance system from a bowling ball.”
Sherlock said, “I remember you took Dillon down to the mat a couple of weeks ago.”
Savich looked up. “That was an accident, Sherlock. I must have been dehydrated or something.”
Katie smiled as she said, “Sam, I can see you’re fretting. I don’t want you to worry about Fatso. We’ll get him, no doubt in my mind. We’ve got his photo nailed up everywhere and special flyers are being printed up as I speak. But do you know what? Your uncle Dillon is going to find out why they brought you here real soon.”
“He’s got a big stomach, Uncle Dillon,” Sam said as he settled in on his father’s lap.
“I know, Sam,” Katie said. “His belly nearly fills up the photo we’ve got out there.”
Miles said, “Keely, this is the only chair. You want to climb up here, too?”
Keely didn’t hesitate to climb up on his other leg. Miles said, “They’re still so excited they can’t think straight or talk about anything else. Okay, kiddos, just lean on me and listen for a while, okay?”
Sherlock said, “Sam, I meant to tell you, you look cool. I really like those jeans and your Titans sweatshirt. I wonder what all your Redskins friends are going to say when they see it. Are those Nikes I see on your big feet?”
Katie said as Sam preened, “Mary Lynn Rector—believe it or not her father’s the local Presbyterian minister—brought them over about seven o’clock this morning. She’d heard Sam didn’t have anything except my sweats, said it was Sunday and even Kmart didn’t open until ten. As for Miles, at least his clothes are clean, no new ones yet for him.”
Sam said against his father’s chest, “I’m cool.”
Keely looked at her mother, frowned, and stuck her thumb in her mouth, something Katie hadn’t seen her do in at least six months. On the other hand, Keely hadn’t seen a van blow up or a man shot not ten feet away from her in the last six months either. She would have to ask Dr. Sheila Raines what do to about this. Sheila, a childhood friend, was the only shrink in the area that Katie trusted. She moved to stand beside her daughter when Sherlock said, “Mr. Maitland wanted the other FBI guys to fly here with me, you know, the ones working with us, Miles, but I convinced him to let me come out right away. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Butch Ashburn showed up here today. He’s a bulldog, Katie.”
“Is he like Glen Hodges?”
“More so,” Savich said, still not looking up. “I can just hear her now, Katie, telling Maitland that she’d get things all cleaned up herself, no reason to load the helicopter down with unnecessary personnel.”
At that moment, Glen Hodges and two other agents stuck their heads in the door. Two of them had huge grins on their faces, the third looked really down. “We knew you’d be here, Sherlock. Hot-diggity, I just won fifty bucks off Jessie here. The poor stiff said you wouldn’t show up until two o’clock this afternoon.” There was a boo and hiss from Jessie.
“Well, of course I’m here,” Sherlock said to Glen Hodges. “Where else would I be?”
“Jessie here,” Savich said to his wife, “just didn’t realize that you were perfectly capable of moving a mountain or two to get what you wanted.”
There was a bit of laughter, then Agent Hodges said, “Sheriff, Mother’s Very Best is just excellent. You wouldn’t believe the breakfast she gave us. You’re not looking too bad, Savich. The sheriff said you’d just be sore for a week or two. I see you’re working on MAX.” He eyed Sam and Keely, then said, “Do you still want to belt me, Sheriff?”
“Agent Hodges,” Katie said to the rest of the group, “didn’t bother telling me about Clancy not being in the van, just took charge himself. The proverbial Fed with big wing tips.”
Sherlock said, “Are you serious, Katie? You’re telling me that Glen didn’t call you immediately when they found out Clancy wasn’t in that van?”
“Well, yeah, I did call her just a bit later.”
“Actually, I was the one who called Wade. Nobody called me.”
“Do you want me to belt him for you, Sheriff?” Sherlock was standing nearly en pointe.
Katie knew Sherlock was thinking Hodges was a sexist jerk, and maybe he was. In the short term, it really hadn’t mattered, but she was the sheriff of Jessborough, and yeah, she was still low-level pissed at him. “I’ll deal with him, Sherlock, thanks just the same.”
“Ah, if neither of you is going to hit me right away, then there’s some more stuff you and I need to go over, Sheriff. Then it’s out again to look for Clancy. Strange how that guy could move so fast with all that weight on him.”
Savich said, “Glen, call Butch Ashburn at home, fill him in if he’s still there. He’ll get out here right away since he was the lead on the investigation. I know he’ll really want to hear from you. Actually, he’s probably nearly here by now, but give it a try.”
Katie said, “Okay. Dicker is out with his dogs, and we’ve got a good thirty others hunting him as well. I’ve had Wade expand the call to all law enforcement offices in a fifty-mile radius. Any reports from them will come immediately to me.”
“Er, Sheriff, despite my not telling you about Clancy, despite everything, well, you know, since this is a federal crime, it is in my jurisdiction. Do you think these reports could also come to me?”
“Now he’s thinking the way he should,” Sherlock said. “There’s still hope for you, Glen. Tell your wife to call me.”
“Why?”
Sherlock gave him a fat smile. “Just girl stuff.”
“You’re going to tell her to torture me, aren’t you, Sherlock?”
“Good guess,” Savich said, and smiled at his wife.
Glen said, “Sheriff, you got Wade all in a knot last night when you said there was something else and that you wanted to talk it over with everybody this morning. I’m here. What’s that about?”
Miles said, “The sheriff started wondering why Beau and Clancy came to Jessborough, which one wouldn’t necessarily consider the kidnapping center of the world. Was it a coincidence or was there someone here connected either with Beau and Clancy or just maybe connected to someone in Colfax? Well, I think maybe we’ve got something.”
“Got it!”
Katie stared at Savich. “Not even fifteen minutes and you’ve got something?”
Savich said, “Sometimes things just pop. Okay, Clancy Edens was in Ossining from 1998 to about eight months ago where he shared a corridor with a Luther Vincent of Kingsport, Tennessee, which is, if I’m not mistaken, only about fifty miles from here, right? To the northeast?”
“Right,” Katie said and tapped her knuckles against her forearm.
“Do you know any Vincents?”
Katie frowned, tapped her foot, and finally, shook her head, sighed. “No.”
Savich said easily, “No big deal. We’ll just make a note of him and I’ll keep checking. I should have anoth
er one of Clancy’s files in a minute.”
Savich looked up a few minutes later, grinning like a bandit, and said, “Guess what? Old Clancy Edens changed his name some twenty years ago. Turns out his daddy was a real loser—beat his wife, beat his two kids indiscriminately, from the looks of it. Clancy joined the army when he was eighteen, was dishonorably discharged two years later, changed his name and commenced his life of crime.”
Katie said, “Come on, spill the beans. What name did he change from, Dillon?”
Savich smiled at her. “I sure hope you’ve heard of someone by the name of Bird.”
Katie blinked, looked down at Keely’s perfect small fingers, then said, “Bird. There aren’t any local Birds, at least I don’t think there are. But, Bird sounds familiar.” Katie smacked her thigh. “Yes! I’ve got it! I remember now, her name was Elsbeth Bird.”
“Elsbeth Bird?” Sherlock was standing on her toes, she was so excited. “Talk, Katie.”
“Elsbeth Bird married Sooner McCamy back in the early nineties and moved here. So Clancy Edens is her brother?”
“He’s in his forties, so I’d say yes, brother it is.”
“Thank you, Dillon. Since you’re already taken, maybe I can move in with MAX. Glad to meet you, Sherlock. I’m out of here.”
Sherlock said, “Hey, wait a minute, Katie. You’re not going to see this Elsbeth Bird who married Sooner McCamy alone, are you?”
“It’s Sunday,” Katie said patiently.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Reverend McCamy just happens to be a local preacher. He has a small congregation who worship him and God, probably in that order. The members pretty much keep to themselves around here. I’ve never been to one of their services. I wouldn’t say they’re a cult, but sometimes you wonder. The women are supposed to be subservient and if they’re not subservient enough, rumor is the husbands are encouraged to discipline them. His church is called the Sinful Children of God.”
“What?”
“Yep, that’s what they’re called. I know Reverend McCamy will be preaching all morning—and again this afternoon and evening. Just time off for lunch. The reverend has charisma from what I’ve heard, and can hold an audience in the palm of his hand. I haven’t witnessed the charisma when I’ve seen him around town. He’s quiet, pays his bills on time, hasn’t ever caused any trouble, and is considered quite respectable.
“Reverend McCamy is very intense—you know, he looks all dark and broody, thin, tall, like he spends a lot of time on his knees conversing with God. I’ve never heard of him being involved with any of the women in his congregation. Besides, Elsbeth, his wife, is one of the most beautiful women around here—long blond hair, slender, soft-spoken, does whatever he asks. It’s sure hard to see either of them being involved in this.”
“Hmm,” Glen Hodges said, and Katie waited, just waited, for him to make some sexist remark, but he didn’t. Indeed, he was frowning. “Doesn’t sound true to type,” he said finally.
“You’re right,” Katie said. “He’s always polite, always pleasant, but there’s just something about him, something that makes you want to take a step back, if you know what I mean.”
“How many people in his congregation?” Sherlock asked.
“Maybe fifty, sixty, I’m not really sure. I’m thinking I’ll just swing by their house, you know, check it out a bit, see if just maybe Clancy is hanging around out there. He’s her brother, after all. Where else would he hide?”
“I’m going with you, Katie,” Sherlock said and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “No way are you on this little sightseeing visit by yourself.”
“What about me, Mom?”
“You stay here. Oh dear.” She stared blankly at Miles, who was giving her a crooked smile.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” Miles said. “Keely, you and me and Sam are going to stay and play gin rummy with your uncle Dillon and maybe have some lunch in the cafeteria. Whatcha think?”
“I don’t know how to play gin rummy,” Keely said.
“I want to go, Papa.”
“Sorry kid, not this time. They serve who also wait, or something like that. Keely, you’ll learn real fast. Now, say good-bye to your mom.”
“Good-bye, Mom.”
“I’ll see you soon, sweetie.”
“Take another pain pill in exactly thirty-one minutes, okay?” Sherlock said as she kissed her husband’s whiskered cheek. “And find out if it’s at all possible the McCamys could be behind Sam’s kidnapping.”
“A preacher wanting Sam?” Miles said as he settled Sam back onto his lap. “I can’t begin to imagine why.”
Katie shrugged. “I’ll bet Clancy has visited Elsbeth here in Jessborough, knew about Bleaker’s cabin, and that’s why they took Sam there. You ready, Sherlock?”
Could Elsbeth McCamy be involved in this? Katie just didn’t think that could be right. Elsbeth was a wuss, a woman who worshiped her husband, and was utterly and completely dominated by him. She never even referred to him by his first name.
Glen Hodges said, “I should go with you, Sheriff. Like I said, this is a federal case and—”
Sherlock said mildly, “I’m a Fed last time I checked, Glen. You keep heading up the search. Welcome Butch Ashburn when he arrives, wing tips polished. The women are going to the preacher’s house.”
14
As Katie turned onto Boone Street, she said to Sherlock, “That’s Town Hall, where Mayor Tommy hangs out. I’ve got about six messages on my voice mail from him already this morning. And that’s the combination Police Department and Fire Station. We’re coming up on Main Street, Jessborough’s main drag. You’re in for a treat.”
Sherlock was already craning her neck to see everything. The sky had cleared after the heavy rainstorm of the night before, and the fall leaves were in full color, with spectacular reds, yellows, and golds. Beautiful old buildings lined the brick sidewalks. Sherlock saw half a dozen churches, with spires rising above the brilliant trees.
Katie said, “There’s Keely’s favorite stop, The Lollipop Store, and on the right is Nancy’s coffee shop, called The Cranberry Thistle.” There were antiques stores and galleries, a saddle shop, several gift shops, including a quilt shop that Sherlock would have liked to visit, and an enclosed marketplace. Small restaurants were dotted in among the shops, ranging from burgers and fries to Italian cuisine.
“This is lovely,” Sherlock said, turning in her seat to look back down Main Street. “Does one of these churches belong to the Sinful Children of God?”
“No, that one’s out on Sycamore Road, in an old church that used to be Lutheran before Reverend McCamy took it over some three or four years ago.”
“I see some gift shops. You have a lot of tourists?”
“More during the summer. We’re a little off the beaten track.”
“And those mountains,” Sherlock said, waving her hand at them. “It feels like you could reach out and touch that blue haze. They’re solid and eternal, and that’s comforting, I suppose.”
Katie smiled. “The Appalachians change a lot with the seasons. Fall is the most beautiful time, but they’re sort of like a good neighbor who stays put, you can count on them always being there under that blue haze—well, that’s why we call them the Smokies. I’ll tell you, it still sometimes makes my heart skip a beat when I look up and see them.”
“This is a beautiful town, Katie. No exhaust fumes, no gangs of teenagers with bolts through their noses. It’s so peaceful.”
“You get all those things just up the highway.”
“But you’re tucked away all safe and sound. Until yesterday, anyway.” Sherlock rolled down the truck window and breathed in the clean crisp air.
“Yes, it’s always been peaceful, until now.”
“I brought my big hair rollers,” Sherlock said as she watched a horse-drawn carriage pull onto Main Street.
Katie, who’d been thinking the last thing she needed was this FBI
character, Butch Ashburn, trying to out-wing-tip Glen Hodges with his heel on her neck, blinked, turned to look at Sherlock, and said, “What?”
“A while back Dillon and I were in Los Angeles on a case. There was this crazy guy murdering people, copying a TV show—”
“You were involved in those TV show murders?”
“Well, yes. As I was saying, Dillon and I discovered quite by accident that he really likes to roll up my hair on those big hair rollers and then have me pull them out of my hair, one by one, and sort of toss my head and string my fingers through my mane. So I brought them along with me to cheer him up. But I think it’s going to have to wait a couple of days before he’s up to playing again.”
Katie laughed. “Hair rollers. Hmm, I never thought of that.”
“I hadn’t either until I met Belinda Gates,” Sherlock said. “Boy, could she pull out hair rollers. It was enough to make Dillon sweat.”
“She’s that actress who starred in The Consultant, isn’t she?”
“Yep, she’s the one, a real piece of work. Actually, I liked her when I didn’t want to punch her out. You wouldn’t believe some of the people we met in Hollywood. They were so crooked you wondered how they could walk. You’ve got a cute kid. What is she—five?”
“Yes, she just turned five last month. She’s all mine, thank God.”
Sherlock wanted to know what she meant by that, but it was too pushy to ask, at least this soon. “Tell me more about Elsbeth Bird McCamy.”
Katie turned her truck off Main Street onto Poplar Drive, checked the old Ford coming up on her left, and said, “The very first thing you notice about Elsbeth is how beautiful she is—she’s got this fall of very light blond hair, all the way to her waist. She always wears it loose, tucked behind her ears so you can see her Jesus earrings.”
“Her what?”
“I call them Jesus earrings. They’re silver—Jesus on the cross—and they hang down about an inch and a half. When she moves, they move. I’ll tell you, it makes me shudder. I think she’s about thirty-five now, which isn’t all that young, but given that Reverend McCamy is well over fifty, it’s a bit on the creepy side. Like I told you, he’s very intense—his eyes blaze and nearly turn black when he looks at you.”
The FBI Thrillers Collection Page 70
