“With DuWayne involved he might come after you and do something himself—make a mistake. We might catch the old bear this time. Maybe if he comes calling, you’d call me? Give me something I can make stick.” His eyebrows were suspended in hope.
“He comes calling, I’ll take a message. Let me ask you one question. Are you afraid of him?”
Hungerford searched himself. “That isn’t the point. He isn’t afraid of me.”
“Well, until then.” I knocked off a salute and left. Hunger-ford didn’t look happy.
I picked up my property at the front desk. Wendy was sitting by the front door. I went up to her. She stood up and we went out together.
“We came in together, I wanted us to walk out together.”
I smiled at her. “Nice thought.” We walked down the steps to our cars. Wendy fished out her keys, hefted them, and looked at me. “Listen, I heard what you said about not having a place. How about staying at my folks’ house? It’s got three bedrooms. It’s the least I can do. I owe you a lot.”
“You don’t owe me anything, and thanks. But I’m here on a case actually. I probably ought to stay here in town.” I was trying to figure out how to deal with Bubba Bascomb’s expected visit.
“Look, it’s not just that I owe you, but I’m really frightened and would rather not be alone. And you’re the only person I know in this town. Or at least the only one I know I don’t hate.” She said it quietly and with a finality that I knew she wouldn’t ask again.
I had a hard time saying no to her and I wasn’t entirely happy with that fact. “All right, and thank you.”
She smiled at me and turned up the blue in her eyes.
I got in my car and followed her out of the police lot through the main intersection in town and down the beach road past the clinic and the bar. As we went past the bar, she slowed slightly and tossed a small brown bag of trash over the roof of her car. The contents flew out and rained over the lot. She sped up and we went away from town. After a couple of miles she slowed and blinked a right turn. I followed past a sign: Seabreeze Estates—A private beach community. We went through a gate and turned left down the driveway. On our right half-a-dozen beach houses stood on pilings like storks peering over the dunes at the sea.
They were identical homes: weathered gray boards with wraparound decks and skylights. There was a center courtyard to the development with a swimming pool, bathhouses and showers, and inground gas grills. All the houses were well landscaped. We pulled up to the point house of the phalanx. Wendy stepped out and looked at it.
“Looks pretty nice. Let’s go in. I have to get it checked out before my folks arrive.”
I stepped out and looked at the grounds, dunes, decks, and doors and saw escape routes, high grounds, points of entry. I wasn’t real happy at all. I reached in for my suitcase and then went up the steps to the front door. I walked in and put down the case. Wendy stepped by me and went out to bring in the rest of her stuff. Standing in the foyer, I began a security check. To my left, the first floor laundry room. Before me, a kitchen window with a pass-through to the deck. Sliding glass doors off the dining room and living room. I went down the corridor. To the left, a bathroom, no windows; to the right, two bedrooms with windows and skylights, and damn close to the deck railing. I retraced my steps and went up the spiral staircase to the crow’s nest upper bedroom. No door at all. Wonderful. A skylight and private balcony. The architect must have used Catburglar Construction Company on this job.
“Excuse me.” Wendy came past me and put some things in the bathroom off the bedroom. She came back.
I put up a hand to stop her. “Look, I’m going to call someone to come down and help me. I’ve got to find the guy I came here for and keep an eye out to make sure nobody tries to scare us off from pressing charges.”
“Do you think that’ll happen again?”
“Yeah, I do. In fact, Hungerford just about guaranteed it. That’s why I’m calling this guy to backstop me. Can he stay here if he comes down?”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“Yeah, I like him. I don’t know if he ‘likes’ anybody. But I’d trust him with my life.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
I went over to the bedroom phone and dialed.
Three rings later, “Hello, Bethesda Guns.”
“Sandy? This is Leo Haggerty. Arnie around?”
“Sorry, Leo. He went hunting with Mike and Happy Jack. They left yesterday.”
“Shit. When’s he due back?”
“Saturday.”
“Any phone up there?”
“No. They’re out in tents.”
“Do you know where?”
“No. Wintergreen’s a pretty big state park, Leo.”
“Shit. If he calls at all, tell him to call me at this number.” I read it off the phone to her. “Tell him it’s real important. I needed him here yesterday. Okay?”
“Will do, Leo. Good luck.”
Everything was going to hell. My ace in the hole had gone off to play his own hand. I was going to have to decide to make him a partner. Or rather, to make him an offer. He’d said he’d never work for anyone and he only took my jobs if they interested him. I tried to think of who else I could call. Arnie was in a league by himself.
There was one other person who’d do a good job. I rang him.
“Reverend Brown’s Church of Divine Intervention and Street Justice.”
I knew for a fact that this church worker looked like Donna Summers’ sexier sister. “Is Shafrath Brown or Wardell Blevins in?”
“Reverend Brown is in. May I say who’s calling, suh?”
“Tell him it’s Leo Haggerty calling.”
“Yes, suh.” I went into electronic limbo and waited.
“Leo, blood. What’s happening?”
“I’m up to my ass in alligators, Rev. That’s what.”
“What you need?” He chuckled.
“I need some backup. Give you a chance to terrorize a bunch of crackers. You and Blevins can do your Mau Mau routine.”
“Where you at?”
“Cowpie, North Carolina.”
“You shittin’ me?” He said punintentionally.
“Yeah. It’s Bogue Beach, North Carolina. A little beach town.”
“Okay. Sounds good. What’s in it for me?”
“Five hundred a day.”
“Sheeit. That per man, right?”
“Total.”
“I don’t do charity work.”
“Seven fifty, Brown. That’s it, and all the ribs you can eat.”
“Hey, that’s white of you, bro. All right. When do we be there?”
“Now. ASAP.”
“No can do, Leo. I’m out five gees on a bond. Broke my own rules. Cunt was a working girl. Should’a knowed better, but she had legs up to her throat. Twitch her buns like a pair of maracas. Woo-wee. I gotta find her first, Leo. That’s my bread I’m out. She in town, I’ll find her in forty- eight hours max.”
“What about Blevins?”
“He’s with me on this one. The girl was one of Fat Rufus’ chippies. He’s got bad manners. Blevins be Emily Post, heh heh.”
Piss. “All right.” I repeated the number. “Call me if you’re free. I’ll tell you how to get here.”
“Be seein’ ya.”
I sat on the bed looking at the ocean, wanting it to carry me away from here. I had to go look for Justin Randolph and Herb Saunders and keep them apart. And keep Bubba Bascomb away from Wendy. Unless we had an immediate breakthrough in cloning, I’d have to keep her with me. Well, she’d be an extra pair of eyes. I shoulda done better at school. You were right, ma. What can I say. There was a hand on my shoulder. “I’m gonna take a shower. Try to get clean. Anything I can get you?”
“No thanks. We’ll talk when you get out.”
Chapter 14
Herb Saunders had let his fingers do the walking all day. All he had to show for it was a colossal phone bill and some few facts o
f omission. Justin Randolph had no telephone, did not subscribe to the local paper, and did not use his house as a rental property. The banks and utility companies refused to talk to him. The office of land records had no record of a sale in 1977 to a Mr. Justin Randolph. The girl had patiently told him, that Randolph could have also bought it under a corporate or foundation name and the officers or at least the managing trustee would be listed and there were no such listings either for that name. Her final bit of good news was that while Bogue Beach was a small incorporated area, the unincorporated areas for ten miles to the west used it as a mailing address and the property could be located out there. And if so, the records wouldn’t be here, but in the county seat, sir. Saunders was barely able to thank her. A repeat performance at the county seat only left him with the clear understanding that Randolph did not want anyone to know that he was here.
It wasn’t until three o’clock that Herb Saunders realized with a start and a smile that he was in this town as a history lesson. And if that was true, perhaps Justin Randolph was here for the same purpose.
Saunders splashed some water on his face, grabbed his note papers and pen, and after confirming the address, went to the public library.
The library was a small one, and the only one. After asking for the reference section and receiving directions to that area, he found himself standing before a woman concentrating intensely over a crossword puzzle. Saunders cleared his throat, “Ahem. Excuse me, but I wondered if you might help me?”
She looked up at him, but he could tell she was still half-thinking about the puzzle. “Yes?”
I’m a writer researching the history of eastern North Carolina. I wonder if you’d be so kind as to get me the town newspapers dating back to 1977.”
“Oh, my lord. Do you want every issue? That would be thousands. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
Saunders wavered between telling her, a move that might save precious time, and plugging on in secrecy so that no one could later connect him with Randolph. That was a concern only if he caught up to Randolph. He tried another approach. “Is there a yearly index for the paper?”
“Why yes, there is. Let me get it for you.” She pushed back her chair and disappeared into an alcove. When she returned she held a large book out to him. “Here you go. There isn’t one for 1981 on. This is the 1975 to 80 index. If I can do anything else to help you, please ask.”
Saunders thanked her and went to a nearby table. Under a slow turning ceiling fan and a clock that went too fast, he searched for the records of an unsolved horror. Looking under CRIME, POLICE, DEATHS he turned up nothing that leaped to his attention. He slowly pushed the book closed and as the pages fell together, he could feel Randolph, and further off, his daughters, slipping away from him down that ever-diminishing crevasse. The thought was paralyzing, the task too big, and for the first time in years Herb Saunders began to cry.
He had not chosen his seat with an eye for seclusion, and his crying, as muffled as it has been, brought attention to him.
Herb pressed down on his eyelids, wiped his nose, and looked up to see the librarian sitting next to him. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
She smiled. Whether it was empathy or pity he couldn’t tell. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No. I didn’t.” And with that he half-told her why he was there. “Actually, you see, I’m not a writer, I’m a detective. I’m here looking for similarities between a case I’m on and something that might have happened here a long time ago. Frustration, I guess, or just one dead end too many got to me.”
The librarian clamped her hands on the table in front of her and asked him what he was looking for. After all, she’d lived in this town all her life. Without hope, Saunders said, “I’m looking into the disappearance of children in this town, since 1977. Anything unsolved, where the kids were never found. Not runaways or kidnappings, but stolen—gone without a trace.”
The librarian sat back and as she did, Saunders saw her name tag: Mrs. Titus. Her sandy blond hair was shoulder length and turned under with a straight line of bangs low across her forehead. He was sure that had been stylish once, but he couldn’t remember when. Neither could he remember when he’d last noticed or thought about style or its absence. Her face was composed like a geometry lesson. The thin line of her nose neatly bisected the perpendicular and equally thin line of her mouth. Riding low on that nose were a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Saunders saw the same intensity on her she’d shown doing the crossword puzzle.
“You know, this is a small town. I can’t think of any disappearances like that, where the kids were never found.”
“Okay, what about unsolved crimes against children, murder or rape. It would be something horrible. You’d remember it.” Herb wondered whether children had always been the victim. All of the Ripper’s disciples had been killers of women. The only thing he knew for sure was that the crimes were unsolved.
“When you say that, the first thing that comes to mind is the Bryson boy.”
“Tell me, tell me.” The phoenix of hope was testing its ash-laden wings.
“Let’s see. It was about the time you were looking for, late 1977, I think. David Bryson disappeared. There was a ransom demand though, if I remember all this right. Well, the parents both went with the money to where David was supposed to be. Nobody ever showed up. His parents went home. They were just crushed. Well, they got home and there was David. I mean they thought it was David. They saw a boy sitting on the swing in their yard and it looked like David. Apparently they ran across the lawn to him thinking he was okay. They were crying and everything. But when they got to him, they saw that he was dead. His body had been propped up with wires to stay in the seat. It was terrible.” A shudder went through Mrs. Titus. “It was clear that the ransom was a ruse to get everyone out of the house. Whoever it was never intended to return the boy. That’s the only thing I can think of that’s like you described.”
Herb Saunders could see Randolph’s handiwork in the Bryson boy’s death. “Where does the Bryson family live?”
“Oh, they don’t live in town any longer. A couple of years later they moved. Back to her hometown. She was from Rocky Mount, I believe. I’m really not sure.”
“Was anyone else involved or contacted by the killer that you know of?”
“Let me see.”
Saunders stewed in his own juices.
“Well, there was one other person. The Bryson’s priest. He organized a lot of the efforts to help them. He made appeals to the killer. I think he even spoke to him, but I’m not sure.”
“What church was that?” He was getting to his feet.
“Uh, Holy Redeemer.” She was startled at his move to leave.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” With that he abruptly turned and hurried from the library. Mrs. Titus thought him a strange man. Whatever he had said, she was sure he was also something other than he claimed.
Chapter 15
Father Shannon still had no idea how the man had found him. Was there an aura, a stench he gave off? But then the man had seemed possessed, inflamed, perhaps, with a heightened sensitivity to the presence of evil. He came in the late afternoon and pulled off the road with a screech. He strode into the church clutching a black bag. One of the volunteers met him and got the priest. They said a man with wild eyes, a stranger, wanted to see him. Father Shannon went to meet him. The stranger radiated energy compressed into himself. A star on the edge of going nova. Later, Father Shannon pressed his eyes closed and the entire scene would reappear as fresh as the instant it occurred. It was a brand upon him.
“May I help you?”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Bullshit. This is his lair. This town. He contacted me, so he’d contact you. About the Bryson boy. You’re the only one left. The family’s gone. He’s feeding off all of us. Digging up the
past, feasting on it. He needs us. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.” The stranger calmed down in the presence of the priest’s bafflement. “That’s why the sermon. Out there. I saw the sign: The Devil in Our Midst: Drawing Strength from Evil.” His voice grew even calmer trying to ease the priest into an alliance. “You’re marked. You can’t contain it. It’s too much. That’s why you need to share it. Tell me where he is. Let me help you. I know. Don’t you see. I know. He touched me. He took my girls. I’m here to get them back. Help me.”
Father Shannon looked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do. I know it. You can’t look me in the eyes. You know I’ll see the truth. You’re afraid of him. I’m not. I fear nothing. I can help you. Let me. Tell me where he is. I can bring him down. Stop his reign.”
“I can not help you. I just can’t.” Shannon was pleading.
“Why not? You’re a man of God. He’s the devil.”
“He’s not the devil. He’s a man. He’s still one of God’s children.” Shannon’s voice grew even quieter. He was exhausted just finding the words, and they escaped him without conviction.
“We’re all God’s children. He’s a cannibal, a wolf in the flock. Give him to me.”
“I can’t. I took a vow unto God.”
“To do what? Hide the enemy? You’ve broken your vow already. You’ve told me he’s here and he came to you. Give me the last little bit. Where is he?”
“I can’t. I’ve said too much already. I must protect the confessional. He came to me to repent. To confess. To find his way back.”
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