Erin Solomon Mysteries, Books 1 - 5

by Jen Blood

  No wonder Diggs loved the Durhams. And hated Jesup Barnel.

  I only had one question: What the hell did George Durham have to do with Billy Thomas?

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Diggs

  03:30:16

  Jenny Burkett came and got me three and a half hours before the world was due to end, trailed by the ski-mask-wearing, gun-toting giant who’d taken me from the hotel. Jenny looked cool and collected, and Danny hadn’t been kidding: she was definitely a looker. Heavily-lashed, wide brown eyes gazed out from a heart-shaped face, her full lips quirked up in a smile that was anything but pious. She came over holding a black hood that was clearly meant for me.

  “Why bother with that?” I asked. “What’s the point of secrecy if you’re just gonna kill us anyway?”

  “Who says we’re killing you, slick? A few lucky guests may just walk out of this without a scratch. We’ll see how it goes.” Her smile was more predatory than I typically associated with Barnel’s flock.

  “So, the reverend’s deciding who lives and who dies now?” I said. “Isn’t that job supposed to go to the man upstairs, according to all the rhetoric?”

  “You’re just full of assumptions, aren’t you.” She knelt beside me, leaning close enough that I could feel body heat and the press of her breasts against my arm. Her lips were close to my ear when she spoke again. “I never said the reverend was making any decisions.”

  That set me back. Before we could continue what was proving to be an illuminating conversation, the giant in black leveled a gun at my head.

  “That’s enough,” he said. “Just put the damn hood on him so we can get moving.”

  I nodded. “Be my guest.” I sounded a lot more cavalier than I felt. Once I was rendered fully blind, the Giant hauled me to my feet and led me out.

  I’m not overly partial to hoods or blindfolds; Reverend Barnel ruined that particular fetish for me early on. Last summer, Will Rainier sealed it. My intestines knotted and the air left my lungs when the cloth fell over my face. I fought to stay calm, the smell of must and sweat in my nose, that claustrophobic blindness I remembered from my youth shutting out everything else.

  I walked with Jenny on one side, her hand cool and delicately feminine on my left arm, while the Giant’s sweaty mitt gripped the other. The floor of the first corridor was dirt, and the place smelled of cobwebs and old earth. They opened a creaking door and we walked up a flight of fifteen narrow stairs. Another, heavier-sounding door opened in front of us. It was warmer here, the floor concrete. I heard music that was either live or broadcast through a damn good sound system, coming from a floor above us. It was Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground”—the original, not the Chili Peppers cover.

  Halfway down the concrete corridor, “Higher Ground” ended and a chorus of trumpets began; that segued into the first strains of “Jesus Children of America.” I felt another surge of excitement. “Jesus Children” is the track after “Higher Ground” on Innervisions, Stevie Wonder’s second album to go gold. There was no way it hadn’t made it into Jake Dooley’s top five records of all time.

  Wherever we were, they were broadcasting WKRO. And there was a network of subterranean tunnels to which Jenny Burkett, Reverend Barnel, and all their foot soldiers had ready access. I didn’t know where that led me, but it seemed like I was getting closer to some answers.

  Jenny and her buddy led me down five steps and opened another door. A blast of hot air hit me like a sunburst. They hauled me over the threshold and inside the room. My heart was hammering—a sound that’s deafening, incidentally, when you’re locked in a pillowcase. I tried to orient myself, dizzy from the movement and more than a slight case of bone-crushing terror.

  “He can sit,” a voice behind me said. I whirled.

  “That’s all right. I’ll stand, thanks.”

  A meaty hand locked onto my shoulder and tried to push me backward. I channeled my inner Jedi, tried to establish some sense of where I was in relation to my captors, and centered myself. I brought my knee up, fast, at the same time that I pushed myself forward. My knee connected with something soft; I heard an oof as the big guy hit the ground.

  Of course, less than a second later I crumpled into a cool metal chair after the Giant retaliated with a ruthless rabbit punch to my left kidney. The whole thing had been an exercise in futility, but I felt better for at least having tried.

  Jenny pulled the hood off my head.

  I was in the same boiler room the others had described, a low-end digital video camera mounted on a tripod at eye level about five feet away. A couple of professional photography lamps were pointed in my direction, with a cheap white backdrop behind me. Barnel sat in a folding chair behind the camera equipment.

  “Cecil B. Demille, I presume,” I said.

  “You never get tired of hearin’ yourself talk, do you, Daniel?” Barnel said.

  “That’s rich coming from you. What do you want?”

  “Same thing I’ve always wanted.” He nodded toward the door, and Jenny and her fella stepped outside. I was alone with the master himself. “I just wanna save your soul, son.”

  “And I’ll tell you the same thing I told you thirty years ago: keep your hands off me and my soul. I’m all set. Thanks for your concern.”

  He stood and produced a sheet of paper from his bag of tricks, then set it up carefully on a music stand just behind the video camera. My confession was two paragraphs long, written in 24-point Arial type. With the margins widened to half an inch on all sides, the writing covered the bulk of the page. I scanned the contents silently:

  I, Daniel Jacob Diggins, am here to solemnly confess a lifetime of mortal sin.

  I looked up. Despite the gravity of the situation, it was hard to keep a straight face. “Seriously?” I asked. “You expect me to say this shit?”

  He paced the room, hands clasped behind his back. “You’re gonna say every word of it, son.”

  “If torture didn’t work on me when I was twelve, what makes you think anything you say will make an impression now?” I asked.

  He stopped pacing and looked at me. There was a fever in his eyes—that religious fervor that had terrified me about him from the first time we met, now coupled with what I took to be chemically induced mania.

  “You want that nephew of yours to walk out of here?” he asked. “And what about George? You want me to let George Durham, that father you never had, gather up his things and limp out of this buildin’ intact? Because I got that power, son. You confess your ways, accept the Lord’s punishment for the sins you done and the life you led, and maybe not everybody you love has to die.”

  I froze. “George isn’t with us.”

  “He’ll be in there when you get back, boy. The two of us had to have it out first—that man’s almost as stubborn as you. But he saw the error of his ways by the end, just like you will.”

  “I thought the world was ending,” I said. “If the planet’s getting swallowed into hell in a few hours, how will my confession save anyone?”

  For the first time, he hesitated. A flicker of uncertainty washed over his florid face. “The end of the world means different things to different people. You’ll understand when all’s said and done.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So, I read this bullshit you’ve written for me, and you let George and Danny go. And then, what happens to the tape? Are you and your minions headed to Sundance when this is all over? Or does it just get added to your twisted archive?”

  “People see it,” he said, to my surprise—I thought he would have just put me off. “They watch, and they know who I was. What I done. The souls I saved before the Lord took me home.”

  It wasn’t what I expected—not by a long shot. The biggest surprise, however, was the preacher’s obvious exhaustion and the agony in his eyes. I could use that exhaustion.

  “Fine,” I said.

  He looked at me in surprise. “What?”

  I shrugged. “Screw it. You took the time to write it—I can take a cou
ple minutes to read it. What the hell? It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

  His eyes welled. He nodded, pulling the stand a few inches closer so I could see more easily.

  I looked into the camera and read his words—all of them nonsense, the gist of the message having to do with betraying God and embracing my inner demon for most of my life. When I came to the end, I looked up and noted that the preacher stood by with his hands folded, silently mouthing the words along with me. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “Can I say one more thing?” I asked when Barnel shut off the camera. He looked at me suspiciously.

  “What?”

  “I’m assuming these are my last words,” I said. My chest went unexpectedly tight at the thought. I pushed past that, maintaining eye contact. “If they are, I’d like to make my own peace, if I could.”

  He wrestled with the idea for a few seconds before he eventually nodded. “You gotta be quick about it, though,” he said. “We ain’t got much time for what needs doin’.”

  I didn’t question that, as much as I wanted to. Instead, I waited until he’d turned on the camera, and began.

  “Since this is apparently my last will and testament,” I said, my eye on the little red button blinking at me. “I wanted to say one more thing.” I hesitated for a second, working past the lump in my throat. It wasn’t fair, what I was doing—if this was indeed all that would remain of me after the fact, it wasn’t right to put Solomon through this. But if it were me in her place… As horrible a thought as that was, I knew I’d want those last words from her. I hung onto the memory of her eyes and went on.

  “Erin,” I said. I wet my lips. “I know I’ve made more mistakes in this life than most ten men. I stand by a lot of those mistakes. There are only two that I’d change. The first is that day I convinced a ten-year-old kid to follow me off a cliff. The second is the morning I walked out on you.”

  I took a long, deep breath. Barnel moved to turn off the camera. I shook my head and he stopped, waiting. I continued.

  “I hope you get what you’re looking for, kid. You’re an amazing woman... even if your best record is Original Soul. You’ve made my life better in a thousand ways. I’ve always loved you, Sol. Even when it wasn’t smart. Even when I had no right. I think I always will.”

  I stopped, trying to maintain control. Barnel turned off the camera. He looked very old, suddenly.

  “Why are you doing this, Jesup?” I asked. “You’ve lost your family. Your congregation. Your friends. You clearly don’t believe the world’s really ending at midnight. So…why? You honestly believe this is what your god would want?”

  He scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “The end may not be comin’ tonight, but it’s on its way. The Lord’s been walkin’ softly too many years. My time’s up—and I ain’t leavin’ those I love for the hell that’s to come. There’s nothin’ keepin’ me here. Once I know I done my duty for Him, I’m taking my loved ones and we’re gonna retire to those streets of gold.”

  “And you don’t think any of this goes against those messages of peace and good will other followers of Christianity preach?”

  His face darkened like a storm cloud had fallen. “There ain’t room for mercy or coddlin’ anymore. No room at all. The Brigade taught me that.”

  There was a light knock on the door. I thought about his words as Jenny came in without waiting for a response from Barnel. The storm cloud on his face darkened.

  “We need to get moving, Reverend,” Jenny said.

  He glowered at her. “I ain’t finished here—I told you I’d come for you when I’m good and ready. Your people might not think so, but I’ve still got the reins.”

  She ignored him and looked at me, a spark of interest touching those deadly brown eyes. Everything I thought I knew about what was happening had turned upside down.

  “Don’t get testy, Reverend,” she said. “I just wanted to keep you in the loop.”

  She left. Barnel stared at the door for a second afterward, seething.

  “Looks like they’ve got you on a pretty tight leash,” I said. “Just who, exactly, are Jenny Burkett’s people? What’s this Brigade you just mentioned?”

  He looked shaken for a moment. “It ain’t none of your concern. You’re gonna be long gone. Trust me, son. I’m doin’ you a favor.”

  He took the video camera off the tripod and went to the door, refusing to answer anymore of my questions. “Everybody’s got an agenda these days, boy,” he said as he stood at the threshold, eyes on me. “I reckon the best you can hope is that you find somebody willin’ to foot the bill for yours till you can bow out of the whole dang mess.”

  He pulled the door open viciously and left, slamming it behind him.

  I was more confused than ever, except for one sobering thought: I was suddenly positive that Jesup Barnel’s private battle in Justice, Kentucky, was just one front in a much larger war.

  Chapter Twenty-Six - Solomon

  02:45:46

  Since no one seemed to have any better ideas, I convinced Juarez to come out with me to talk to Ashley Durham. Blaze agreed—which was proof positive to me that they were out of leads. No way would she have sacrificed one of her best agents if she thought there was somewhere better he could be used.

  The investigation was at a standstill.

  On the way, I bounced my knee and looked out the window and tried to ignore the minutes flying by.

  “Did you have any dinner?” Juarez asked, after we’d been riding in silence for some time. I had to think about it.

  “I grabbed something for lunch. I’m all right.”

  “Lunch was nine hours ago. You should eat something.”

  “When we get back,” I said. I ran my thumb over the scar on my wrist, something that had become a nervous habit in the past few months. Juarez reached across the console and put his hand over mine. He has good hands: strong but soft, warm and gentle.

  “Worrying yourself sick won’t help Diggs.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. I leaned back in the seat. “Since I don’t know what else to do, though, it seems to be my only option.”

  “Tell me about Ashley Durham,” he said. We were on the main stretch in Justice. He took a left onto a back road that presumably led to Ashley’s place, while I continued to stare out the window.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “I don’t really know the woman.”

  “You’ve met her before, though,” he said. I thought of George Durham’s whole proclamation about me being the only reason Diggs married Ashley in the first place. I wondered if Ashley had ever heard that theory.

  “She came to Boston with Diggs a few times while I was still married to Michael. We had a couple of dinner parties, that kind of thing.”

  “That doesn’t seem like much of a reason for her to dislike you.”

  “Who said she dislikes me?”

  “Diggs may have mentioned something.”

  Somehow I’d known he would. “It might have something to do with one of those trips,” I conceded. “And the fact that two days into it, he holed up in my apartment for the night while he helped me with a story I was working on.”

  “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who’s been relegated to third wheel while you two do…whatever it is you do.”

  Ouch. “You’re the one who told me to come here,” I reminded him darkly.

  “I know that.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “And I think I was right—it’s been important. And good for you to be out in the world again.”

  “Even if that world’s ending?”

  He laughed dryly. “I guess I could have done without that part. I’m just saying that if Ashley truly isn’t crazy about you, she may have a good reason for that.”

  “Point taken.”

  He slowed down in front of a pretty brick house with a landscaped front yard and flowers in window boxes outside all the windows. I could imagine Diggs living on Jupiter before I could imagine him living in a pl
ace like this.

  I started to open the door before Jack had come to a complete stop, anxious to get on with things. He stopped me with a hand on my arm. “You don’t need to go in there with guns blazing—wait just a second.”

  Once he’d finally parked the car, I hopped out and waited impatiently for him to join me. I knocked, Juarez beside me.

  Ashley’s husband answered. He was good looking in a not-terribly-interesting way: fine blond hair, receding hairline, eyes that weren’t quite green but weren’t…not green, either. He had a sleeping Angus in his arms, bouncing the toddler gently. He put his finger to his lips as he opened the door.

  “Is Ashley here?” I whispered.

  He nodded toward a swinging door that presumably led to the kitchen. To my surprise—and borderline dismay—Juarez told me he was gonna hang out with Terry and the kid, leaving me to deal with Diggs’ ex.

  “If I’m not out in ten, send reinforcements,” I said under my breath.

  “Got it.”

  I went into the kitchen alone.

  Mae and Ashley were sitting at the kitchen table playing cards with Rick and Ida. At sight of me, Ashley put her cards down and looked at the kids coolly.

  “Do you mind helping Uncle Terry with Angus?” she asked them. Ida hopped up without argument—one of the benefits of kids before they hit that angsty tween/teen stage. Rick didn’t look nearly as happy about it, but he followed his little sister out of the room. I took Ida’s spot at the table, facing off against Mae and Ashley.

  “You heard about them taking Diggs?” I asked.

  Ashley nodded.

  “They still don’t have any ideas where he might be?” Mae asked.

  “No,” I said. “Not yet. The prevailing theory is that they’re taking all these people to a single location, though: Danny, Diggs, Casey Clinton, and whoever else they’ve hauled away.”

  “So, they think everybody’s still alive,” Ashley said.