“I’ll have four deputies tail them. We can get a warrant as soon as we have the necessary evidence, but a story about the name of their bar, the fact the Helen Wood had new tires, and a report that his father had volunteered with the Forest Service were not going to get us one,” Sheriff Taylor said.
Chad and I drove back to Sedona talking about the case. We didn’t think of any new angles on the way. As we reached the steep cliff above Pumphouse Wash where Kevin Riker was murdered, I pulled over. Across from the pullout on the far side of the canyon was the black hole of an abandoned mine, one of many that dotted the area. This part of Arizona was a backwash from the gold discovery in California in 1849. In the 1850’s, Arizona was filled with prospectors who had failed in California. They failed here in Oak Creek also. There was no gold in the Sedona area.
Looking over the spectacular twilight beauty of Oak Creek Canyon, I realized that it would never look the same. Two people I knew had been killed, and at least fifty other poor souls were murdered over a period of many years. It was impossible to ever think of Sedona the same way. This was the most important case of my life because it was the most personal.
I sat, not speaking, looking out over the canyon. In my mind, I could see Father Sean murdered. I could see nine men and women dressed in long white robes, their faces decorated with blue woad. They sang of fire and death as they circled the juniper counterclockwise. The leader dipped the sacred pine branch into the bowl of water from a secret spring. Malcolm Wood held the handmade ceramic bowl. The chief Druid sprinkled the spring’s water around their victim in the dim light of the red candle and the glow of the harvest moon. The chief Druid set the oak and mistletoe on fire. The white robed shadows listened to the screams as they sang and circled my parish priest.
Chad touched my arm, bringing me out of my dreadful vision. He said, “Mike, we’ll catch those maniacs.” I loosened my white-knuckled grip on the wheel and drove down the switchbacks toward Sedona.
It was dark and gloomy when I reached home. I knew Margaret would have dinner ready to go with her nightly interrogation. After dinner, Margaret and I sat and talked about the case. She made me repeat the incident with Moon Lady several times. Margaret asked, “How could Molly know so much?”
When I described the details of my conversation with de Navarro, Margaret said, “Mike, he’ll tell you if he can find any way. I suggest that you e-mail him every day with a progress report. Maybe you’ll get some sort of reply encouraging you to take one track or another.”
Margaret asked who was on the list that Father Antonio had provided. I showed Margaret the list of fifteen people who Father Sean had tried to convert. She recognized several of the names. Margaret said, “My sweet lover, I would never interfere with one of your cases. You’re an incredibly good homicide detective. I just naturally talk to people all day at the bank and might have fallen into some useful information. People say that the Apple Tree Tavern is almost like a club. The regulars often become very close to the Wood family. Everyone says they are very likable people. That tavern might have been a good way to recruit impressionable young people into a cult, especially if there was liquor and maybe even drugs involved.”
“Several people remembered Walter Wood,” she said, “even though he hasn’t lived in Sedona for ten years. One of my customers was his classmate all through school. He told me that Walter adored his grandfather, old Angus Wood. When Walter was a young kid, he followed Angus everywhere. However, as a teenager, Walter didn’t get along with his father very well. That’s why people think he moved away in his late teens. He got in some trouble in LA a few years ago and his dad bailed him out of it.”
“He was arrested for auto theft in Hollywood,” I said.
“My customer thinks they are reconciled now. He said he saw Walter in the Safeway with his father in late September. Oh, and Walter is much smaller than his dad. He has rather small hands and feet,” Margaret said.
I looked at my lifelong mate, smiling and shaking my head. I was glad that she was on my side. We talked of other things and soaked together in the outdoor spa as we watched the moon rise over Snoopy Rock. That evening was the most relaxed that I’d been since the call from Kevin Riker to report a body on the plateau above the West Fork. I needed this time alone with Margaret to recharge. I had a nice piece of yesterday’s Death by Chocolate cake before we went to bed.
CHAPTER 35
Tuesday morning came early. I was in a hurry to get to work and left before Margaret was out of bed. With a cup of stale coffee and a granola bar, I sat in my office preparing for the day by reviewing the questions I’d ask the local residents on Father Antonio’s list of people that Father Sean was trying to convert. I first did a computer search to find their phone numbers and addresses and to see if any of them had a criminal record. I found one man, Richard Jenkins, who had a record of four convictions for fraud in Florida. Mr. Jenkins was a shamanic healer who used various rock crystals to cure every sort of serious illness including cancer and AIDS.
It would be a busy day if I covered all of these interviews. I sent a brief e-mail to the superior general. I styled it as a simple progress report on the search for the murderer of Father Sean.
I called former Sheriff Cook for an update. He had several more Peaks residents to interview, but he had already talked with a man who’d lived on the plateau above the West Fork before World War II. The former sheriff said, “The grove of small trees in a perfect circle was there in the early forties. My informant thought it was something used by the Native Americans. Even back then, he knew it was not natural. It had been planted and was maintained by someone. This same man also knew Angus Wood. The elder Wood worked for the Forest Service in that specific portion of the Coconino National Forest. This was back in the period before the forest was a designated wilderness.” Sheriff Cook said he should have more information by tomorrow.
I was on the phone setting up appointments when Chad came in to my cube. I mentioned that Margaret had learned that Walter Wood was in town the week before Halloween and that he had rather small feet for an adult man. We divided the list of Father Sean’s contacts and decided to meet at the Old Sedona Cafe at noon to discuss what we had learned. By then, we might have information from Los Angeles about the prints on the stolen Navigator’s license plate.
I interviewed six people that morning, two in person and four by phone. All except Richard Jenkins seemed to be upstanding citizens. All were glad to help with the Sean Murphy case. The local pagans seemed to think of Father Sean as a sincere but misguided person. I did not find anyone who had anything critical to say about his mission, except that they really had no interest in being saved by him. They were happy with their current understanding of the world. They thought the Catholic Church was mired in superstition and hollow ritual.
At 10:00, Ian Groves and his son Howard arrived at my office. Ian was a short, bald man with rimless glasses who looked about seventy. His son was also a short, bald man with identical glasses who looked almost as old. Ian Groves started by saying, “My son Howard is a fanatical charismatic literalist Christian. Howard believes all sorts of really weird things. I’m the only one in the family who has a reasonable religious perspective. My Druid beliefs are not nearly as strange as those weird Christian ideas of Howard’s and his shrewish prig of a wife.”
Howard looked uncomfortable but said nothing. The senior Mr. Groves said, “I joined The Ancient Order of Druids while studying at Cambridge in 1948. The main tenets of my order include the promotion of world peace, the sanctity of the natural world, the sense of being one with nature, and reverence for Father-Sun as the giver of all life to the world. We are devoted to protecting the world from over-development and damaging exploitation. Druids look for a way of living in the world without destroying it for our descendants. I believe that this beautiful planet is the only world that humans will ever have, and that we must find a way to not poison our single unique home.”
The conversation continue
d with Mr. Groves answering every question. He seemed to be a generally levelheaded man who was a little eccentric in the British tradition of harmless crackpots. He explained that the Druids were direct heirs to the ancient tradition, and that the Wiccans were a modern creation. The Druids had many common interests with the Wiccans and other Neo-Pagans. Ian Groves maintained that the groups all share the Pagan ethic, “Do what thou wilt, but harm none.”
Mr. Groves described a number of other Druid orders. The best known was the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids. The group has over four thousand active members. They encourage Celtic arts and poetry while they help individuals achieve their spiritual potential. They also promote the protection of the natural world. The Order’s biggest seasonal event is a mid-summer poetry reading, rather than a Halloween human sacrifice. After forty-five minutes of this discussion, I was out of questions, and Mr. Groves seemed very tired. He asked me to call him at any time if I had other questions. Mr. Groves and his non-talkative son Howard headed back to Scottsdale.
At 11:00, I received a call on my cell phone. It was Rose transferring a call from the captain who managed the police station nearest LAX. He had a match with a print on the Navigator’s license plate and Walter Wood. I called Sheriff Taylor. He said he would meet us with a warrant at the campground near the Woods’ place at 1:00. I called Chad, and we met at the office. We both put on protective vests under our sports coats and armed ourselves with shotguns in addition to our service revolvers. I was anxious to get a look into the Woods’ house. Would we find white robes and jars of woad?
Chad and I met the sheriff and four Flagstaff deputies at the campground. The four officers would serve as backup. The Sheriff, Chad and I drove under the overhanging apple tree branches to the tranquil clearing of the Woods’ cabins. As we pulled in front of their rock house, Chad pointed at three figures rushing through the oak trees toward the tavern. It was the Woods.
We raced after them; demanding that they halt. The three figures ducked behind trees. They zigzagged as they sprinted toward the tavern. Malcolm carried a shotgun. They had a good lead. The family was in the tavern when we reached the giant oak tree in front. We ducked behind the rock picnic table, knocking the park bench that served as a seat out of the way. The sheriff called for the backup officers. He yelled for the Woods to come out. There was silence. We had seen them enter the tavern, yet there was no answer.
Chad stood up to approach the tavern. A shotgun blast tore through the front window, shattering the glass and the Budweiser sign. Pellets pinged against the rock table that sheltered us. Chad ducked back behind the stone barrier unhurt.
We waited. I heard a pop. A puff of smoke appeared high above the tavern on the sandstone wall of the canyon. A strange grinding sound began far above us on the cliff face. In slow motion, a massive slab of the pink and tan sandstone cliff slid down crushing the Apple Tree Tavern and the Wood family. As the sandstone slab flattened the old rock building, huge boulders broke free, rolling and flying toward our shelter. One smashed on the top of the stone table ricocheting over our crouching bodies. The noise grew to an astonishing roar. Dust surrounded us.
When the noise of flying rocks subsided, we looked from behind our protective stone barrier. The Apple Tree Tavern was gone. The Wood family was gone. An automobile size sandstone missile had shattered the huge oak tree behind us. There was an enormous pile of stone, eighty feet high, where the Woods had sheltered in their bar.
I was enraged, anger of a level that I had seldom experienced. We were cheated. With the Wood family gone, how could we ever find the rest of the murdering bastards? We had no other suspects. We stood gaping at the massive rockslide, not speaking. It was so quick. It was so final.
CHAPTER 36
I was considering how to start over with our investigation. Our suspects were dead. I leaned on the stone slab that had saved us from the flying debris. My mind suddenly brought forward a vivid image. It was an imprint of the etchings that Margaret had found in her research. A group of white-robed Druids held a victim prostrate on a stone altar. The Druid chief held an ebony knife ready to disembowel the helpless man to read the future in his entrails. I removed my hands from the stone structure. Looking more closely, I noticed that the top did not extend over the stone base. It would not make a useful picnic table. I wiped my hands on my pants and looked more closely at the reddish-brown stains on the sandstone top. This altar was even situated under a giant oak, like the Druid altar in the etching.
“What do you see on the table, Mike?” Chad said.
In a calm voice I replied, “I don’t think this is a table Chad, and I don’t think these old stains are from acorns or picnics.” The sheriff and Chad both took a step back from the stone structure that had saved our lives.
The sheriff nodded toward the huge rock pile and asked, “Suicide?”
“I don’t believe it could be a coincidence. They may have known we were closing in on them. I think I saw an explosion high on the cliff before the rocks started to move,” I said.
“There must have been more than three people involved in these crimes. We need to find the rest of this nest of murderers,” Chad said. Both the sheriff and I nodded, not really knowing yet what to suggest.
The sheriff called the governor. I could hear him asking for financial and technical help. I had no idea how much it would cost to recover these bodies, but we had to do it. If they had been involved in more than fifty murders, I wanted DNA proof that they were dead. I’d moved here from one of the country’s largest cities. I hadn’t thought of the financial strain on Coconino County’s 150,000 residents: fifty murders to investigate, an expensive body recovery effort up at Pagan Point, and now a huge mound of rock to be carefully removed to uncover these bodies.
The sheriff had two of the backup deputies secure the area around the rock fall. The other two went to interview the guests in the Woods’ rental cabins. The sheriff, Chad, and I went to examine the Woods’ house.
The front door was unlocked. The sheriff placed the warrant on the hall table and we began a search of the premises. There were no jars of woad, candles dyed with madder root, or white Druid robes. We searched for false doors and basement hiding places. We found nothing incriminating. I noticed an oval handmade clay bowl on the dining room table. It was filled with fake fruit. The size and shape reminded me of the one in my vision of the Father Sean murder, but there was nothing to actually connect it to the crimes.
Sheriff Taylor received a call from Governor Garman about an hour into our search of the Woods’ house. A state highway crew would begin the removal of the rock debris tomorrow. They estimated from our description that the project would take at least two weeks. If we wanted to preserve evidence in the tavern, it would take even longer.
We spent all afternoon searching the house, rental cabins, and grounds. We found nothing useful to connect the Wood family to the crimes. We found nothing remarkable about the motel guests.
The Woods might have realized that they were suspects after Chad and I visited them last week. That gave them plenty of time to dispose of evidence. I took the guest registration book and some financial records when we left the area after nightfall.
I was still astonished at the loss of our principal suspects. While Chad and I drove back to the Sedona office, we discussed the best way to proceed with our investigation. Chad suggested that he continue to investigate the Wood family trying to find their friends and associates. I planned to check among the New Age community for information about Father Sean and to investigate Father Antonio’s list. When we reached the office, I called the Riker family in Honey Grove with an update on the case. It was a difficult call, but it was my duty to keep them informed. After the thirty-minute call, I locked the financial records and guest registry in the evidence room and headed home.
CHAPTER 37
Over dinner I updated Margaret on the events of the day. She listened attentively, not commenting until the meal was over. As I had my second piece
of chocolate pie, Margaret stated her opinion. ”Mike, this is much too neat and simple. All the evidence leads you to the Wood family and then suddenly they’re all dead. My guess is that Malcolm would never kill himself. He would fight or flee, and I don’t think there’s any chance that he would take the life of his wife and only son. Maybe those folks you saw were not the Woods or maybe someone else set off that explosion to stop the trail that might have led to the rest of the Druids. You and Chad had already asked a number of people about the Wood family. Quite a few people knew that you suspected them.”
Margaret reiterated her point. “You’re certain that there were more than three people involved in killing Father Sean, but the Wood family was the only way you had to reach the others. The other members of this cult are murderers too. I don’t think they would stop at killing some of their own members to protect themselves. Mike, I know you’re good enough to solve this case no matter what the Druids do to stop your progress.”
We talked for another hour of other things before going to bed. I had trouble falling asleep. I dreamed of Malcolm Wood. In my dream he was hiding in darkness, waiting for other victims. The nightmare was not over when I woke. We still had over fifty murders to solve.
In the morning at the office, I retrieved the Woods’ financial records from the evidence room and began to study them. I started by trying to track down people who had stayed at the Woods’ cabins during the week of Halloween. They did not exist. Not one of the written records corresponded to a real person. The records were normal for the rest of the autumn months. When I checked the previous five years, I got the same result. Every record for each Halloween week was false.
I crosschecked against the banking records and found that the revenue for the month of October was always about 20% less than a normal month. We needed to fingerprint every inch of every cabin. The Druids have gathered at the Woods’ cabins for their rituals every autumn. I called Sheriff Taylor and explained what I had discovered. He would ask the state crime unit to begin the fingerprint test of all of the cabins. We both knew it was a long shot.
The Dead Priest of Sedona Page 16
