by Diane Kelly
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time for war, and a time for peace.
His sermon would make it clear that the time for mourning and weeping and speaking about the tragic loss of Juliette’s child was over. It was now time to heal, laugh, and shut the fuck up.
His radio crackled and Jebediah’s voice came over the airwaves. “Father, that female police officer is on the ridge again.”
Damn it to hell! “What’s she doing?”
“She has a biker pulled over. It looks like she’s giving the rider a ticket.”
Two of his men had encountered the cop and her dog when they’d been fishing earlier in the week. They’d told him she’d asked some questions. How long they’d lived in the refuge, how many people belonged to the People of Peace. Her questions could have been simple small talk, idle curiosity on her part. After all, she hadn’t issued them a citation for the expired fishing licenses, and she’d told them she and her partner enjoyed the lake. The park was the perfect place to let a K-9 out to do its business. Still, she sure seemed to drive by the church on a regular basis. None of the other officers in their area had taken such an interest in them. And the fact that she and that detective had tried to gain entry to the grounds, well, that didn’t sit well with him. He had a feeling something more was going on here, and that the “something more” involved the baby.
He pressed the button to respond to Jeb. “Find Juliette,” he said. “Get her back in the silo out of sight. Take her through the woods so you won’t be spotted.”
“Yes, Father.”
He whipped out his cell phone and placed a call. He hated spending money on lawyers, but he didn’t see another way. Just like there was clergy-penitent privilege, there was an attorney-client privilege. Good thing. He didn’t want law enforcement to find out the truth. Not that he was going to tell the attorney the exact truth, of course. Just something close enough to the truth to get a useful legal opinion.
THIRTY-TWO
MOTHER GOOSE, MOTHER GUESS
Megan
Like the two men with the expired fishing licenses, the biker would get off easy, with just a warning. He’d been going fifteen miles over the speed limit, but his infraction gave me the opportunity to do some extra spying from the hilltop without being obvious. While the biker sat on his ride ahead of me and awaited his fate, I sat in my squad car, focused my high-powered binoculars, and took a quick peek at the compound. I also scratched my cheek. The Nouveau Toi night cream hadn’t done anything for my skin. In fact, when I woke up this morning, my skin felt sticky and raw, like my entire face had become a problem area.
Down below, the People of Peace went about their daily business. The men worked inside their barn, making their furniture and forging their candleholders, napkin rings, and silverware. Meanwhile, inside their own barn, the women set about dipping candles, quilting, and making jams, jellies, and preserves. The younger children played on the school’s playground, while the older ones were presumably inside, attending classes.
Movement at the women’s barn drew my eyes back to the building. As I watched a young woman emerged from the barn with a small ceramic jar cradled in the curve of her arm.
Holy guacamole!
The woman wore a knit cap in the same bluebonnet-blue color the baby had been wearing the night it was dropped at the fire station. Her long hair was the same shiny, dark shade as the baby’s. She wore a knit sweater that was too loose for me to tell if she had a postpartum bump on her belly.
An older woman followed the younger one out of the barn and joined her. The older woman was gray-haired, with a pear-shaped body, her wide hips causing her to waddle like a goose. The older woman walked with the younger one as she made her way across the compound. The two disappeared under a canopy of trees before reappearing on the other side twenty seconds or so later.
The one I’d pegged as the baby’s mother carried the small jar to the garden, opened it, and held it out to sprinkle the contents over a spread of pink lantana. Was it fertilizer of some sort? Seemed a waste to feed lantana this time of year. Though the native, drought-resistant plant had a long blooming season, it was definitely nearing the end.
She’s the baby’s mother, isn’t she? Though I couldn’t know for certain, both the evidence and my gut told me she was. Her gut told me, too. As the young woman shook the jar with her right hand, she put her left hand to the top of her abdomen and ran it downward. The motion caused the sweater to draw tighter over her still-rounded stomach.
I now knew without a doubt that this woman had given birth to the baby.
I barely had time to process this fact before her head jerked up and turned back toward the barns. A young man had run out of the men’s barn and was sprinting toward the garden like his life depended on it. His arm went up in a waving motion and his mouth opened as he appeared to be calling to the women. Wait. Does he have a black eye? It was hard to tell given that he was moving.
Before he could make it to the garden, he was overtaken by two other men, one of whom tackled him to the ground as effectively as the best of the Dallas Cowboys’ offensive linemen. He wrangled the younger man, eventually pinning him to the earth by sitting on his chest and holding his arms down by the wrists. The other man held his legs down by the ankles. I squinted to get a better look at their faces. The man who’d done the tackling was the man from the farmer’s market, the one who’d appeared in the fire station video and police sketch, the one who’d abandoned the baby. The one I now knew as Zeke.
What in the world is going on down there?
“See something?” the biker called back to me.
Crap! He’d turned around and caught me spying.
I leaned to my left to call to him through the open cruiser door. “We’ve had a rash of people fishing without licenses lately,” I told him. “Exceeding the daily limit, too. I thought I saw a boat I recognized on the water.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
He seemed to accept my explanation. By the time I put the binoculars back to my eyes, the two older men were dragging the younger one back into their barn. He tried to look back over his shoulder once, but Zeke grabbed the boy’s chin in his hand and forcibly turned his head back to face forward. The baby’s mother and her chaperone stood over the flowers, the older woman’s arm draped over the younger’s shoulders, which were heaving. I wasn’t sure exactly how to interpret what I’d seen, but it was highly suspicious.
Was the younger man the baby’s father? I’d assumed it was either Zeke or Father Emmanuel, that one of them, like many cult leaders before them, had engaged in deviant sexual behavior and had abandoned the baby to get rid of the evidence. But maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe the baby hadn’t just been taken from her mother, maybe she had been taken from her father, too.
I set the binoculars aside, whipped out my pad, and wrote up a warning for the biker, ripping it from my sheet and climbing out of the car to hand it to him. “I’m sure it’s fun to drive fast along these country roads,” I told him, “but I’d hate to see you get hurt. Stay within the speed limit, okay?”
He made no promises, nor did he express proper appreciation for the fact that I’d cut him quite a bit of slack. Policing is often a thankless job. “We done here?”
“Yep. You’re free to go.”
He folded up the citation and tucked it into a pocket on his leather vest. He started the engine on his Kawasaki, revved it in defiance, and motored off with a loud putter.
I returned to my cruiser and raised the binoculars to my eyes again. Both the young man and the baby’s mother
were out of sight now. I laid the glasses on the passenger seat and retrieved my cell phone, pulling up Detective Jackson on my contacts list and placing a call to her. “I just saw something disturbing in the compound.”
“What was it?”
“A young woman, around twenty I’d guess, came out of the barn. She has dark hair, just like the baby, and was wearing a knit hat that looked just like the one the baby had on. Same color and everything. She had a baby bump, too.”
“The baby’s mother, then,” Jackson said.
“That’s my thinking, too. An older woman walked with her to the garden. While they were there, a young man came running out of the men’s work barn and was waving to try to get their attention. I can’t be certain, but it looked like he might have had a black eye. Zeke ran after him and tackled him before he got very far. Another guy helped hold the young man down. It seemed like they were trying to keep him away from the girl. They forcibly escorted him back to the barn. I was in the middle of a traffic stop so I missed what happened next, but when I looked again everyone was out of sight.”
“You think the young man could be the baby’s father?” she asked.
“Sure seems that w-way. If he’s not, he’s someone who seems concerned about the baby’s mother, at least. And it looks like he’s being controlled by the others, kept away from her.”
“We’ve got to get in there,” she said. “Lives could be in danger. But we need some protection and a warrant first. We can’t risk going in alone or without legal safeguards in place. I’m at a crime scene now, but let’s meet at the magistrate’s office in an hour. In the meantime, get some backup.”
“Will do,” I replied. “See you then.”
I started my engine and drove down the road to the lakeside park. I parked, let Brigit out of her enclosure, and headed quickly down the path that ran alongside the settlement’s walls. When we reached the wall, I stopped and cupped a hand around my ear to listen, see if I could hear any noises coming from inside. There was a faint buzz of a table saw, followed by the clang-clang-clang of hot metal being beat into submission, just as the young man had apparently been. I heard no wails, though, no shouting, no cries for help.
Brigit and I scurried back to the cruiser. I jumped on the radio. “Detective Jackson and I will need backup in an hour. We’re going into a cult compound. Who can help out?”
Derek’s voice came over the radio. “Count me in.”
It figured the Big Dick would respond. Any time a situation called for muscle, he threw himself into the thick of it. Derek was the kind of cop you wanted to have your back when things could get violent, but he was also the kind of cop who could give the police a bad name. Simply put, he was not only capable of kicking ass, but he also enjoyed doing it.
“I’m available,” said Officer Spalding.
Good. While Derek often didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, Spalding was the strong, silent type. Suspects often found his quiet demeanor unnerving and intimidating. That could come in handy today.
The voice of Summer, one of my fellow female officers, came over the airwaves, too. “I can help, too.”
“Great. Thanks.” I told them where the compound was located, and suggested they wait for me and the detective at Benbrook Burgers, Beer, and Bait.
I started my car and drove out of the park, past the compound, and headed up the hill. At the top, I met a Mercedes going in the other direction. The driver was speeding, but I didn’t have time to worry about that right now. I needed to get that darn warrant and get into the compound.
I’d driven a quarter mile when the Mercedes zipped up behind me, the driver flashing his headlights and honking his horn to get my attention. He must’ve turned around on the other side of the hill. Was he having some kind of emergency?
I applied the brakes and eased over, momentarily pondering the irony of a police officer being pulled over by a civilian. The situation seemed a little off, so I was extra careful when I exited my vehicle, keeping my body turned to provide the smallest target should he pull a gun.
The driver must have sensed my concern, because he raised his hands where I could see them and stuck his head out his open window. “I’m a lawyer for the People of Peace!” he called. “I need to talk to you.”
Ugh. One of the men in the watchtower must have seen me on the hill. Hard to miss a cruiser with flashing lights.
I retrieved Brigit from her enclosure, not because I thought her skills might be needed, but because she, like Derek and Spalding, intimidated people. A little intimidation might come in handy right now.
Together we stepped over to the lawyer’s car. He climbed out and met us on the shoulder of the road. He wore a suit in a dark gray that matched his hair, a starched white dress shirt, and a stylish tie that probably cost more than I made in a month.
Brigit stuck her nose in his crotch by way of greeting. Hello, boys! I didn’t stop her.
The attorney scowled down at my partner and took a step back. Undeterred, she lowered her nose to sniff at his expensive tassel loafers. She gave one a swipe with her tongue. Given her history of chewing up my shoes, I half expected her to take the man’s loafer in her mouth and yank it off his foot.
“How can I help you?” I asked.
He jerked his foot back, away from Brigit’s prying mouth, and stood on one leg like a well-dressed flamingo. “My client tells me that you and a detective attempted to gain entry to the compound and that you’ve driven by their grounds repeatedly over the last week or two.”
I arched a brow that said And? Nothing we’d done was remotely illegal. We were just doing our jobs.
When he began to wobble, he put his foot back down to balance himself. “My client also tells me you’ve interrogated church members in the park by the lake.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Asking to see a fishing license is hardly an interrogation, sir.”
He frowned. Evidently he’d expected me to be a little more conciliatory. He didn’t know me.
“Your behavior constitutes harassment,” he insisted. “Abuse of power.”
Abuse of power? Seriously? I lost the fight with the eye roll, giving him the full Anderson Cooper treatment. “If I’d intended to harass those men, I would’ve issued them citations. Both of their licenses had expired weeks ago.” I pointed back to the hill. “That rise up there? It’s impossible to see over, yet people don’t even bother to slow down. Speeders could be putting themselves or others at risk. It’s my duty to keep the people out here safe.”
He gave me an eye roll right back, his pupils traveling the full socket. The only thing missing was an accompanying slide whistle sound. “Let’s cut the crap, Officer. You’re out here because of the baby, aren’t you?”
My head jerked back reflexively. Well, that admission was unexpected.
“Look,” the attorney said. “It’s perfectly legal to leave a baby at a fire station. There’s been no crime. The purpose of the safe-haven law is to protect children by allowing their parents to turn them over anonymously. What you’re doing here? Spying on the baby’s father? That type of behavior will put infants’ lives at risk.”
He sounded just like the judge and, truth be told, I agreed with the theory of his argument. It was the facts of this particular safe drop that were problematic. In that vein, I noticed he’d said only “father,” not “parents.” Hmm.
“When babies are left at safe places,” I said, “it’s almost always the mother who leaves them.” Heck, it was a reasonable assumption in most instances that the father wasn’t in the picture. “Why did the father surrender the baby? Why didn’t he and the mother do it together?”
“Because the mother ran off right after the baby was born,” the attorney said without hesitation. “She hadn’t wanted a baby, didn’t see it as a blessing. The baby’s father knew he’d have a hard time raising a child on his own, and that their baby would have a better life with both a mother and a father.”
The explanation seemed
highly questionable. With everyone living communally in the People of Peace settlement, the baby’s father would have had plenty of women willing to help him care for the child. Plus, if their particular brand of religion was so important to these folks, how could one of them send their child away, where it would not have the benefit of the teachings and lifestyle they embraced so wholeheartedly? I also doubted whether anyone could “run off” from the compound. With the high walls and locked gates, only someone highly skilled in pole vaulting or a human spider could escape.
No, I didn’t think this man was telling me the truth. Oddly, though, I believed he thought he was.
“Who gave you this information?” I asked. “The baby’s father?”
“It’s not important who told me.”
“It is to me.” When he said nothing further, I decided to hazard a guess. “It was Father Emmanuel, wasn’t it? Did he tell you he was the baby’s father?”
The man replied only by handing me his business card. It wasn’t a cheap, run-of-the-mill card with white stock and black print. Nope, this card was ivory, embossed with raised gold leaf that spelled out the firm’s name in a fancy font. I ran my finger over it, but said nothing. There didn’t seem to be much point. It would only lead to a time-consuming argument and I was eager to get out of there and over to the magistrate’s office. Of course I had no intention of giving him a heads-up that we planned to seek a search warrant.
He gave me his best stern look. “If this harassment doesn’t stop, we’ll be forced to take legal action. That won’t be good for either the Fort Worth Police Department or your career.”
My Irish temper flared, but despite the heat inside me I managed to stay cool on the outside. “Understood.” I tucked his card into my pocket, signaled Brigit to heel, and returned to my cruiser.
He drove past me as I was loading Brigit in the back of my cruiser. “What’s that in your mouth, girl?” Something brown hung from her teeth. A leaf? I reached out and wriggled the thing out of her mouth. It was a brown leather tassel. If I hadn’t worried she might choke on the thing, I would’ve let her keep her little souvenir. But since I didn’t want to take the risk, I exchanged the tassel for a liver treat. “Here you go, girl.”
