“Ron, with all due respect, you didn’t know that your man had flipped his fucking lid?”
“Brady, same respect, did you?”
“Three months, Ron. That’s how long this kid was under my command. But he worked under you for what? Four or five years? And in all that time, there wasn’t so much as an inkling that he might’ve been non-functional?”
“He wasn’t non-functional though, was he? Yeah, the kid was under my command, but I wasn’t looking in his windows at night and you weren’t either. He never tripped our triggers, son. That’s the bottom line.”
“Seems there’s only one way to interpret this. Johnson’s telling us that there are others in Forest Grove just like him.”
That was a foregone conclusion, but Nate wasn’t going to get any further than this. They, whoever they were, wouldn’t allow it. The bothersome thing was that they were becoming bolder now. With the exception of that incident years ago, the grove had been quiet. They had their own beliefs and practiced them in private—without incident. Now they were angry with Trish.
He had to get to her, but this required a delicate balance. Nate couldn’t know about the threatening phone call because it would set off uncontrollable panic. Knowing him, he’d start arresting people by the busload. And the grove wasn’t ever coming back from that. It was in this town’s best interest to handle this quietly.
When Sleighton realized he’d gone silent for too long, he said, “I wouldn’t be so anxious to take his words literally. Look at this babble…the guy was cracked.”
“Johnson was our guy. He’d be dead to rights if he wasn’t already hollowed out. He had photos of Trish, that Holden girl, and me in his place, so it’s likely that he was the one trying to scare her off. But who killed him? At this point, I’m ready to believe Holden when she tells me it was Cyrus Hoyt.”
“Forest Grove doesn’t need boogeyman bullshit. It needs this to go away, ASAP.”
“Did you know that Hoyt’s body isn’t buried at Eternal Walk?”
Sleighton was never more thankful for his deadpan expression. He shrugged the question off like it hadn’t been asked. “I can’t think of a single person who might’ve disliked Johnson. That’s why this isn’t adding up.”
“And you’re sure you don’t know what he’s talking about in those pages?”
“Gibberish.”
“What about this?” Brady dropped a folded slip of paper in his lap.
It was a photocopied land deed from a local attorney. It signified that the ownership of Camp Forest Grove had been transferred from the Dugan family to Alex Johnson.
“You’re shitting me,” Sleighton said. He had a sinking feeling as to why Johnson might’ve wanted that land, but how the hell could he afford it? As disturbing as this was, it still wasn’t at the top of the list. “Say, the Holden girl told me she found a name for you.”
“She did. Pulled it out of thin air over at Jed’s Last Mile.”
“What was it?”
“Tullus Abblon. Ring any bells?”
“No. Never heard of…it’s a him, I presume?”
“I think. I sent Melanie on a road trip. Figured it would be good to get her out of town. One less thing I have to worry about. Ernie Oviedo coughed up Tom Lawson’s address out in New Hampshire. She’s going to run that name past him and see what he knows.”
“A lot of help he’ll be.” Sleighton’s poker face was unable to hide his disdain for Lawson.
“That’s why I’m sending a pretty face. He wouldn’t tell Oviedo anything in all the years they worked together. But someone like Melanie Holden knocks on his door…maybe it’ll be a different story.”
“He’s nothing but an asshole. He won’t help her any more than he helped this town.”
Brady cracked the door to leave. “Since we’re going to be at this all night, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind checking in on Trish.”
“Happy to.” If Johnson had pictures of them, it meant they were all in danger. With one woman out of town, he had only to worry about his daughter. She was all he had left.
He started up the pickup and did a three-point turn in the middle of the street. Someone stood on the corner, well removed from the tumult. A guy whose name he couldn’t recall, but had seen around plenty. Didn’t he work custodial up at the elementary school?
Sleighton drove past him slowly, rolling his window down for a better look. The guy rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, waving. “We’ll see you and your beautiful family soon, chief.”
Then he headed for the crowd.
***
“Would you slow down, Dad?” Trish watched her father walk around the house, stuffing random things into an open tote bag without reason: Mismatched clothes from a freshly folded laundry basket, men’s deodorant, and three containers of lipstick from the bathroom. It would’ve been hilarious if wasn’t so disconcerting.
“There isn’t any more time, so grab anything else you need and let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m calling Nate.”
Sleighton threw the bag onto the oak table where it slid across the pledged surface. “Your…husband…let this town go to hell. Just like I said he would. He’s trying to pick up the pieces but it’s too late.”
“I’m calling him,” she said.
“Why do you think I’m here? Nate asked me to look after you.”
Trish breathed a sigh of relief. She heard about all the time he’d been spending with Melanie Holden and was beginning to worry. She wasn’t a jealous person, but a few of the friendly small town yentas told her that Nate was running around as if he was her own personal concierge service.
She felt guilt over mocking her husband’s efforts to comfort her a few nights back, realizing now that she might’ve started his grass is always greener train of thought where Mel was concerned. But wasn’t she entitled to a little anger? He was, after all, the fucking reason she was living this nightmare.
The house was dark and cluttered. The hallway end table was stacked high with two piles of leaning mail. A bunch of cardboard boxes—art supplies she’d ordered from Amazon but never used—sat beside it.
Now her father was looting the kitchen, tossing canned goods and bottled water into a second duffel. She’d never seen him this erratic.
If only she could take her mind off Nate and Melanie long enough to think straight.
Does my husband like her more? The problem was that she liked Mel a lot. Granted, she didn’t know her beyond a few conversations, but they were practically sisters in misery where Forest Grove was concerned.
She didn’t want to think that the woman was trying to snake her husband out from underneath her. Trish knew she hadn’t been the most pleasant person of late—and maybe Mel was filling that void in Nate’s life.
Dammit.
Trish knew she was in trouble, because even she found Mel pretty sexy. At 42, she had nice long legs, a curvy waist and a flatter stomach than most girls in their 20s. There was a near-flawless quality to her milky white skin, and her face wore a chiseled and unique bone structure. Beautiful blue eyes and wicked eyebrows made her look more seductive than a reclusive trauma victim deserved.
If there were flaws, it had to be her gigantic forehead. She masked it beneath blonde bangs, but it was there. Their tits were probably the same size—Nate had a thing for petite frames. Worst of all, it was too easy for her to imagine them discovering common ground in the wake of personal tragedies.
Dad reappeared with another bag. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Not until I talk to Nate…”
“Call him from the road for all I care,” he snapped, “but get your ass outside, girly.”
Night fell on Forest Grove. The streetlights flickered, and cone-shaped patches of light lined the road. A cool wind blew the curtains aside, and the neighborhood was so quiet that not even that dog with the annoying kennel bark was yelping.
“You said something happened tonight. Tell me what or I’m n
ot going anywhere.”
Sleighton took her in his hands, his face was almost crazed. “Why can’t you just trust me?”
“Because you’re scaring the shit out of me! What am I supposed to think when you come in here like a man possessed, treating me like your fucking property. How about telling me why you’re so spooked?”
“One of our guys went on a killing spree before getting himself clipped. Turns out that Alex Johnson killed Steve Maylam. We don’t know who killed Johnson, but…there’s reason to suggest the killer might be after you next.”
Trish stifled a laugh. Could Nate break any news to her? It was Dad who called to tell her about Maylam, and now he couldn’t even pick up a phone to warn that she was in danger?
“What the fuck did I do?” she asked, knowing full well the answer. Lots of folks around here were unhappy with her rage against the dark ages. She never thought the grove would take it this far, though.
Fuck this place.
Last year, the Bradys were savoring a New York way of life. When Nate got booted from the force, she felt like a leashed dog being yanked away from a meaty bone. Her bartender’s income wasn’t much where bills were concerned, and so they had to be realistic about where they hung their hats. There was a good gig opening up in the grove—one that Nate was suited for, and that she could help him get. It offered safety, financial security, and lots of political mobility. She wasn’t happy about it, but what choice did they have? It’s what Nate wanted, after all.
Trish loved her husband. The ‘beauty’ of marriage was seeing how well you maneuvered through the nightmares. She agreed to rote suburban life because it was the best thing for her partner. Stepping away from the city was like going cold turkey, and there would be no more whiskey sips at the corner bar while talking about whatever indie movie was playing at the IFC in Greenwich.
“You can drink whiskey here…and we’ve got Netflix,” Nate had said. Doing those things in your own home felt—lame, for the lack of a better word.
But what choice did she have?
She felt like one of those soccer moms that had fallen headlong into a midlife “is this all there is?” crisis. She saw them around town, practicing half-hearted hobbies out of desperation as opposed to desire—something to pass the menial hours of their empty days. More shambling zombie than human being, Trish’s greatest fear was becoming one of them.
Across the room, Dad watched her. “Come with me…just for tonight. We’ll see where we’re at tomorrow. Fair enough?”
“Okay,” she said, “just let me get some things.” She picked the duffel up off the table and dumped it out, heading upstairs to grab a change of clothes. A pair of comfy sweats hung off her dresser and she stuffed them inside on the off chance she managed to get some sleep tonight. Then she looted the bathroom for a few exfoliating essentials—anything to help her relax.
Dad was raring to go when she came back, offering to take her bag as she walked past.
She shook her head and hurried out.
“That’s right,” he said, “I forgot my daughter doesn’t allow gallantry.”
The truck’s electronic locks snapped down as soon as they were safely in the cab. The headlights flashed on in time to catch a figure push through the trees dividing her yard with the neighbors’.
“You sure you don’t want to leave town for a while?” Dad asked as the engine roared.
“If two police chiefs can’t protect me, what chance do I have?” Her levity was punctuated with a gulp.
Dad backed out into the street and floored it as three shadows darted forward.
Trish saw the glinting steel from their blades in the streetlight as the figures came into the center of the street to watch their escape.
***
Major Thomas Lawson had seen better days.
The retired state trooper was wheelchair-bound with an oxygen tube running into his nose. Thick globular wheezes came from his chest but his face remained hard—even with sunken features. It was easy picturing him as militant law enforcement in his yesteryears.
Brady had asked Melanie to drive most of the night to get here. She wasn’t stupid—he wanted her out of harm’s way while he looked for Johnson’s killer. If that’s what it took to find Cyrus Hoyt, then she was happy to go.
Because they also needed to hear what the old state trooper had to say.
A liver spotted hand reached up to greet her in the doorway. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up.”
“I hope it’s you who’ll excuse this intrusion, sir. I drove all night to be here. Chief Brady talked with Captain Oviedo and asked for your address so we might have a chat. I know it’s impromptu…”
“Horseshit is what it is. But at least your lawman had the good sense to send a looker. Rather see a face like yours over some asshole’s tough-guy stubble any day.”
The old man ushered her into a room so bright that Melanie’s eyes fell into a permanent squint to keep the sun’s rays out. Cigar odor hung heavy in the air and she felt like gagging.
“Goddamn doctors.” He cleared his throat and wheeled in front of the room’s largest window. “For years they demonize the sun. ‘Stay out of it’, they said, ‘or you’ll get the cancer.’ Know how much jib I took for keeping a bottle of sunscreen in my fucking cruiser? Now I’m retired and my doctor starts telling me that sun is good. That I need as much Vitamin D as I can get. One of the reasons we built this room. Soaks up the sun like a sponge. I sit here with my cigar and take it all in.”
He stopped speaking and broke into a raspy cough, wracking his throat to force a mouthful of phlegm into his mouth. He grabbed the nearby ashtray and passed a gob of yellow mucus from between his lips before fishing a cigar out of a bureau drawer.
Melanie tried masking her revulsion, and looked at the oxygen tank hooked onto the back of his wheelchair.
“I know, I know. You sound like my wife and you ain’t opened your yap yet.” Lawson waved the topic away with a flick of his wrist. “Talk to me. I don’t know this Brady guy, but Oviedo says that he’s got a mess on his hands.”
“You might say that. I’m staying in Forest Grove and…”
“That tells me all I need to know.”
“I guess I’d like to know why you feel that way, sir. For starters.”
Lawson blew a puff of smoke overhead and studied her. “You a reporter?”
“I was at Camp Forest Grove the night Cyrus Hoyt killed those people. He tried getting me too, but…I got him first. I went back recently to try to get some thoughts down on paper…for my memoirs. And things started happening.”
Lawson gargled up another wad of phlegm and spat it out the corner of his mouth. The elongated string of mucus dangled before plopping into the ashtray on his lap. “Then you were dumb to go back. And why doesn’t your chief know what’s going on in his backyard?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I’ll tell you this…I hate that town. You had the right idea, staying away from it. It’s part of the reason I moved as far away as I could. Only you’re makin’ me realize I didn’t go far enough.”
“Major Lawson,” Melanie said. “I need that information. The only way things get better is if I can understand what’s happening.”
“You’ll never figure that out,” he said, his voice was quiet and almost tortured.
It was obvious that Lawson didn’t intend to offer anything useful. The only thing left to do was to try to bluff it out of him. Make him think she knew more than she did to get him talking. “Tell me about Tullus Abblon, sir.”
“Who?”
“You must remember.” Lawson might’ve been old and sick but his eyes remained sharp and thoughtful. He wasn’t giving up what he knew on a name alone. “Part of the Church of the Obviate…you strike me as a man who knew what was going on in his backyard…”
Lawson’s eyes hardened. “I don’t know where you got that name. We erased that prick’s existence off the face of the earth. It’s on me that we did
n’t figure out what he was doing until it was too late.”
“How’s that?”
“Abblon was like Jim Jones…had a ridiculous cult at his beck and call. They followed his orders to the letter.”
“Right,” Melanie said. It was time to volunteer the last of her knowledge in the hope that it would inspire him to continue. “They were out on Lake Forest Grove.”
“Yeah, and no one wanted them there, but Abblon somehow got his hands on that property. Then the grove started seeing loads of hippies trekking through town…they didn’t like those religious wackos flocking to their little Roman Catholic community.”
“Culture clash?”
“It wasn’t so bad at first. They kept mostly to themselves. Once in a while, they went into town to preach. Occasionally, Abblon and some of the women ventured out for supplies, but they were out of sight and out of mind. Until…” Lawson’s face went solemn.
“Please,” Melanie said.
“At some point they flipped out. Killed a few necking teens in the woods, a local drunk, a drifter…enough to raise suspicions. We had about twelve disappeared persons in that vicinity over the span of a year. Local law suspected them right off. Was one of Forest Grove’s own cops that saw the depraved shit they were up to…orgies, necrophilia, murder…all of it in the name of God. That cop, Sleighton, told us and we ran it up the governmental chain. Got our orders…”
Melanie hung on every word like a child at story time.
“Well, just so you don’t think we made the decision lightly…I got called into a meeting with the State Police Superintendent and the governor…all of it off the books. I have to know that you’ll respect that too. I’m giving it to you straight, but this ain’t the kind of thing you get to regurgitate. I don’t give a shit about me, mind you...my best years are long gone. But the guys under me were just doing their jobs. What they thought was right. Clear?”
Melanie nodded. Lawson’s admissions could be translated into a vague documentation. ‘Something’ happened out there. Maybe people took justice into their own hands. Or the cult was destroyed by infighting. It was impossible to say now, and she didn’t want to ruin any lives—especially when this was a case of a community protecting itself from pure evil. At this point, she only wanted to know the truth.
Under The Blade Page 20
