The FBI Thrillers Collection

by Catherine Coulter

  “He’s scary?”

  “Well, sort of, I guess. It’s just that he’s so much into his own particular brand of religion. As I said, Elsbeth calls him only by his last name. It’s always Reverend McCamy this, Reverend McCamy that.”

  “I haven’t run into that before. You mean like some wives did back in the nineteenth century?”

  “Yes. And he calls her Elsbeth. She treats him like he has but to speak and she’ll jump to obey. Whatever he wanted, I can see her jumping through hoops to get it for him. I’d say she was close to worshiping him.”

  Sherlock’s left eyebrow climbed up. “Is that part of what he preaches? That wives should be as subservient to their husbands as she is?”

  Katie shrugged. “Yes. From what I understand of the Sinful Children of God, Reverend McCamy preaches that women, in order to do penance for their huge sin of munching on the Eden apple, have got to give their all to another human being and that human being, naturally, is their husband.”

  “That’s really convenient.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t swear to it, but that’s what I’ve heard anyway. People around Jessborough are tolerant of each other. None of the members of the Sinful Children of God who live locally has ever been arrested or disturbed the peace. They’re good people, respectable, and tend to keep to themselves. I think most of the members come from neighboring areas. Like you said, it’s pretty convenient, at least for all the men in the congregation. Maybe that’s why Reverend McCamy has been so successful. He holds up his own wife as the model all the women should try to copy.”

  “What happens if the wife isn’t interested?”

  “I guess she could refuse to join, but I know he offers some kind of counseling for wayward wives.”

  “Just imagine,” Sherlock said. “He preaches enslavement of women and it’s all tax free.”

  “You’re right. They’re a church, so no taxes.”

  “I wonder if there’s some kind of point system here,” Sherlock said as she looked at a herd of cows spread over a low green hill. “You know, points for bringing the husband a beer during a football game?”

  “Or points for meeting him at the front door at night with a drink?”

  Sherlock laughed. “I can’t believe they’re that many sandwiches short of a picnic.”

  “I have no idea, really. I’ve never been to one of their services.”

  Sherlock shook her head, giggling. “Come on, Katie. You want me to believe a sizable group of women actually buys this stuff? You said the congregation was fifty or sixty people. That means at least twenty-five women?”

  “To each his own, I guess. Like I said, people around here are tolerant of other people’s beliefs, so long as they’re left alone themselves.”

  Sherlock was silent for a moment, drumming her fingertips on the window. “They’re in the middle of a service right now?”

  Katie checked the purple big-faced watch that Keely had given her for Christmas. “Yeah, for another half-hour at least. Then there’s a lunch break.”

  “Good. We’ve got plenty of time to see if there’s any sign of Clancy hanging around their house.”

  Katie took a left onto Birch Avenue, then a right onto Sassafras Road. “Once off Main Street, all our streets are named after local trees. I live on Red Maple Road.”

  “Can spring be as gorgeous here as the fall?”

  Katie smiled, shook her head. “It’s pretty here in April and May, but you’re lucky to be here just now. All the colorful trees with the mountains in the background . . . it makes you feel like there’s something more than just life and death, something that’s endless and beautiful.”

  “Have you lived here all your life?”

  “Oh yes. My father owned the chip mill—Benedict Pulp—until he died two years ago. Now my mom runs the mill for me. We’re coming up on Pine Wood Lane where the McCamys live. I’m going to ditch the truck. We’ll go in by foot, okay?”

  “Sure.” Sherlock pulled her SIG Sauer out of her shoulder harness, checked it, and put it on her lap. “You know, Katie, we’d need a warrant to actually go inside the house.”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  Katie pulled off Pine Wood Lane onto a dirt road, more a path really, that went into some thick woods. “This is good enough. The house is just a bit up the road.”

  Sherlock followed Katie as she wove her way through the pine trees, well away from the road. The air was cold but clear, except for the blue haze forming over the mountains.

  They heard a small animal scurrying away from them deeper into the forest. The birds were quiet this morning, with just a few crow calls breaking the silence.

  Katie said, “Sooner inherited his house and property from an aunt who passed on not long after he married Elsbeth. It’s a nice place.”

  “Is he from around here?”

  Katie shook her head, shoved a branch out of the way. “No, he moved here maybe fifteen years ago from Nashville. I really don’t know his background but I’ll make it a point to find out about him now, even whether he puts butter on his popcorn. He went off and married Elsbeth, brought her back here, and then the aunt died.”

  They walked out of the pine trees and stopped a moment. Katie pointed to a big three-story Victorian that stood in the middle of a huge lot filled with birches, oaks, and maples, some of them right up against the sides of the house. The golds, reds, and yellows of the leaves were incredible. It was an idyllic setting, and the house was a gem, the trim painted three different shades of green. There were no cars in the driveway.

  “Just Sooner and Elsbeth live here. Reverend McCamy has money from his aunt, but they don’t have anyone cleaning for them as far as I know. There’s a gardener who comes by, Mr. Dillard, a really old fellow with no teeth in his mouth, but he’s magic with flowers. The place should be empty. Let’s just check it out.”

  Sherlock carried her SIG pressed downward, next to her leg.

  Katie stopped abruptly.

  “What is it?”

  “I think I saw a flash of light in one of the upstairs windows.”

  “What kind of flash?”

  “Like someone was holding a mirror and it caught the sun.”

  “Let’s just see if our guy’s here.”

  They made their way to the back of the house and watched for a few minutes.

  Sherlock said, “Okay, Katie, if you’d stay here for a little while, I’m going around to the front now and ring the front-door bell. If Clancy is in there, all his interest will be on the front door. You can come around the side and look in, see if you spot him. If he’s in there, hey, we’ve got hot pursuit.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Sherlock jogged back into the forest and made her way back around to the road in front of the house, her SIG safely in her belt holster again. She started whistling when she turned into the driveway of 2001 Pine Wood Lane.

  Are you there, Clancy?

  She walked right up to the front door and rang the bell, whistling Bobby McFerrin’s song, “Don’t Worry Be Happy.”

  There wasn’t a hint of anyone coming to the front door.

  She rang again.

  Was that a sound coming from inside?

  She called out, “Anybody home? I’ve got some real great deals to offer you this morning. I know it’s Sunday, but do you want a chance to win a trip to Maui? Stay at the Grand Wailea?”

  She rang again. She heard something, this time she was sure. She could practically see Clancy hovering near the front door, wondering what he should do.

  Open the door, Clancy.

  He wasn’t going to open the door, or maybe he just wasn’t there. Katie should be coming around the side of the house now, looking in through all the windows. Quiet, Katie, be careful.

  Sherlock called out again, “Hey, I can hear you in there. Why don’t you want to talk to me? I’m tired, you know? Could I at least have a glass of water? I’ve been walking a whole lot this morning.”

  Suddenly, the door o
pened.

  15

  Katie and Sherlock faced each other.

  Katie whispered, “I didn’t see him. But you know? The back door was open, I kid you not. Let’s just take a quick look around.”

  “We shouldn’t be in here, Katie. We’re the law and we’re supposed to have a warrant.”

  “I know, but this is personal, Sherlock. This guy threatened me and Keely. Five minutes. Then we can drive the truck up all right and proper into the driveway and wait outside for Sooner and Elsbeth to come home for lunch. This is our best chance, before he knows we’re coming.”

  Sherlock pulled her weapon out and the two women searched the downstairs. It took much longer than five minutes because the house was so big, with old-fashioned nooks and crannies.

  Katie nodded toward the stairs, wide enough for both of them to go up side by side, but they didn’t. Katie motioned for Sherlock to follow her.

  Katie had been in the house a couple of times, knew there were at least six rooms on the second level. They went through each of the rooms. Five were bedrooms and each was empty. There was nothing, not a sign that Clancy had been there.

  The last door on the second level was the master bedroom, and it was something else. Katie and Sherlock, after checking every corner, stood in the middle of the room and stared.

  “Preacher likes his comfort,” Sherlock said.

  “I’ll say.” Katie stared at the huge bed with the white fur cover, and four pure white pillows. The only other color used was black, and that was just a single leather chair and hassock.

  Sherlock raised her eyebrow. “White and black—good versus evil?”

  “I guess it’s an endless struggle, even in the bedroom.” Katie checked the closet. It was small, too small, nothing much in it. She stood in front of it, frowning. Then she saw a small, nearly hidden latch on the back wall, and pressed it down.

  Another door opened and she stepped into a room that was nearly as big as her dining room. “Sherlock, come take a look.”

  Katie said, “This is the biggest walk-in closet I’ve ever seen. And look at that marble slab in the middle—what do they use that for? Look here, Sherlock, there are drawers under it, with underwear, her sweaters. And he’s got his shirts piled on top.”

  “Oh my,” Sherlock said, stepping into the room, “you’re right. This green marble slab, isn’t it gorgeous, looks Italian. You know, this is odd, but I’d say that marble slab looks more like an altar than some place to stack your freshly laundered shirts.”

  Katie walked around the large six-foot marble slab that was about three and a half feet off the white-carpeted floor. It was a lovely richly veined green, quite expensive. She saw something tucked under one corner of the marble. She easily flipped up an open stainless-steel cuff. A cuff? She found a cuff on each corner.

  Katie raised an eyebrow.

  Sherlock said, “I’d say they were for wrists and ankles.”

  “Oh my,” Katie said, fingering one of the cuffs. “I’m kind of embarrassed. I was thinking Elsbeth was a regular garden-variety kind of subservient wife, but would you look at these cuffs? I can’t imagine it would be very comfortable lying on that hard marble.”

  “No. I wonder what they do once he cuffs her down?”

  Katie shuddered. “You know, maybe that’s not any of our business. This is creepy. Let’s check the rest of the house for Clancy, then we can come back here. Just maybe I can bust Reverend McCamy for something.”

  “Nah, forget it, we’re actually breaking and entering here, Katie. Hang on just a second. What’s this?” Sherlock pulled two tie racks aside. She found a button and pushed it. A cabinet opened up. It was deep, maybe five feet high. On the left, there was an array of whips, artistically displayed. Next came a block of wood topped with thick fur, a netful of small silver balls, nearly a dozen dildoes of different sizes, shapes, and colors.

  Near the top of the cabinet was a wide shelf with at least a dozen vials neatly lined up on it. “Illegal drugs?” Katie said, reaching for one. “If so, maybe I can figure out how to get a warrant.” She read the label. “Tears.”

  “Tears? What could that be?” Sherlock reached out for the vial. She unfastened the round top and sniffed the liquid. “Phew!” Immediately she started to tear up. She swiped her fingers across her eyes. “It makes tears all right, Katie. Essence of onion?”

  “Probably, but for what?”

  “Well, maybe if she’s not crying enough while she’s being whipped, he gives her a whiff of this.” She refastened the cap and set the vial back on the shelf. She picked up another. “Look at this one. Of all things it’s called Man’s Instrument. I guess that says it all.”

  Katie opened the lid and sniffed. “I wonder if a guy drinks it or rubs it on.”

  Sherlock said, “Probably drinks it. Here’s one called Woman’s Gift. Pills, big red pills. I wonder what they’re for?”

  “Maybe these pills assist the Man’s Instrument?”

  “Viagra?”

  “Could be.”

  Katie said. “Well, it looks like there’s more to this than I’d ever imagined. Nothing illegal, though.”

  “Even if we’d found a ton of cocaine, we couldn’t arrest him for it. Let’s go, Katie. I’d just as soon not be caught here by either the reverend or his wife.”

  “There’s a thought that makes me shudder.”

  Sherlock said as she closed the cabinet doors and rearranged the tie racks, “I guess everybody has their own version of hair rollers.”

  They checked the third floor—former servants’ quarters, what looked like an old schoolroom, and an unfinished attic, filled with enough old stuff for a garage sale, but no Clancy.

  As they let themselves out the back door, Katie said, “Whatever I saw in that window, I guess it wasn’t Clancy. I was just hoping for a sign of him, anything.”

  “I know. I wonder what you did see.”

  Katie shrugged. “Thanks for breaking the law with me, Sherlock.”

  “No problem. Let’s just keep it between the two of us.”

  They were back in Katie’s truck and in the McCamy driveway a good ten minutes before they saw Sooner and his wife drive up in their white Lincoln Town Car.

  Sherlock said, “You’ll note that the car’s white, not black.”

  “These people,” Katie said slowly, “aren’t exactly your garden-variety preacher and spouse.”

  “You’re right about that. Savich isn’t going to believe this.”

  “I hope he doesn’t laugh so hard he bursts his stitches. Okay, you up for a chat with Reverend McCamy and his sex slave?”

  16

  Sherlock was fully prepared to greet Rasputin. She wasn’t far off, except that Rasputin had been ill-kempt with long black matted hair, and evidently didn’t bathe often. Reverend Sooner McCamy was dark, those eyes of his nearly black, as a matter of fact. He was charming, if on the aloof side, and that was a surprise to Sherlock. He made eye contact, shook her hand firmly. He was courteous, offering coffee and some cheesecake his wife had made that morning, before church. But somehow he just didn’t seem to be quite all there with them. He was away somewhere, in his head. And what was he thinking? He had a smooth deep voice—charismatic, that voice, it compelled you to listen. It was hypnotic, almost, and after hearing him speak for a few minutes, Sherlock understood his power over people.

  This man appeared to have boiled himself down to the very essence of what a man of God should be. He frightened her for the simple reason that she could imagine some people hanging on his every word, maybe doing things they wouldn’t normally do. Or maybe he gave them permission to do things they shouldn’t want to do. Did disobedient wives listen to that voice and jump back on the straight and narrow?

  Or was she over the top here? Sherlock didn’t know. But he sure didn’t seem like a man who would open any of those vials and apply the contents to either his wife or himself. He didn’t look like a man who would whip his wife with one of those riding crops
with their beautifully braided handles. If he was a Rasputin, if he was evil on the inside, he kept it hidden real deep. Sherlock had to remind herself that there were more layers to people than you could ever guess.

  As for his looks, she could only say that if one believed in a handsome Satan, then Reverend McCamy would fit the bill. His black hair was a bit on the long side, a bit curly, and he had a heavy growth of beard, noticeable in the early afternoon.

  He looked like a monk whose thoughts were so different from hers that they weren’t even in the same world. He was in his fifties, but there was no white in his hair. Did he dye it? She didn’t think so. He was slender, but that was all she could tell about his body. He was wearing a black suit, a very white shirt, and a black tie. He had good teeth, straight and white.

  Elsbeth was very pretty, just as Katie had told her, and that hair of hers was glorious. Thick, rich natural blond, in loose waves down her back. She was wearing her Jesus earrings, as Katie called them. When she walked the crosses swung. She was tall and slender, but big-breasted. What made alarm bells go off for Sherlock was that the woman seemed to look at her husband as if he were a god. She looked like she’d jump up onto that marble slab and offer her wrists and ankles for the cuffs, and yell as loud as he wished when he applied a whip. Sherlock couldn’t help wondering how she used that block of wood with one side padded with thick fur.

  “I’ve heard that you’ve had some excitement, Sheriff. The little boy who was kidnapped, you rescued him?”

  “Yes,” Katie said as she sipped on Elsbeth’s delicious coffee. “He’s just fine now. How were morning services, Reverend McCamy?”

  He said nothing, merely nodded, obviously pleased with how the morning services had gone. He took a cup of coffee from his wife, not looking away from Katie. Elsbeth said, barely above a whisper, “Two new parishioners found God this morning. Two.”