The powerful sensations grew stronger.
He fought back panic.
He touched the cross around his neck.
He felt better.
He changed direction, walked toward the officers and the girls, and the sensation eased.
He spoke only one sentence, then turned around and walked out of the house, into the warm night.
“I’ve got to see the bishop.”
Leo watched the priest leave. “Now, what was that all about, do you suppose?”
Stanford felt chilly sweat trickle down his belly. “We’re in trouble. Very big trouble.”
* * *
The cops searched the rest of the night for Mark Kelly. But somehow, he had slipped out of the neighborhood.
Maybe out into the desert.
To die.
They hoped.
But no one believed it.
They had all been briefed. They knew what they were up against. But a lot of them had not believed it.
At first.
Until they were shown the pictures.
Lots of true believers in blue then.
That evening, a lot of dusty Bibles had been dusted off, and passages read. A lot of priests and preachers had been visited.
None of the cops had spilled anything. They were all tough and capable men and women. They knew what they did not need was panic. So they just asked for a word or two of blessing.
Then they went back to work.
* * *
Connie had entered the house, taken one look at the wreckage and blood, and had collapsed.
She very nearly fainted again upon hearing who had caused the mess.
But she had waved off the suggestion that she go to the hospital. She preferred to stay in her own home.
Officers were posted outside it, and Leo and Stanford volunteered to spend the night inside.
“You don’t mind?” Mike asked.
They shook their heads.
“You’re going to need some pieces.”
Both men opened their linen jackets, exposing pistols in shoulder holsters.
Mike smiled. “You can get arrested for carrying those, you know?”
The pair returned his smile.
“Good God, man!” Mike was speaking to Leo. “What is that hand cannon?”
Leo slipped his pistol from leather. Smith and Wesson, model 624. Four-inch barrel..44 special.
“Stop a freight train,” Mike said, returning the cannon to Leo.
Stanford carried a .38. Colt. Loaded with the bullets the island priest had blessed.
But he knew, after looking at the face of Gomez, that he’d be lucky just to slow the demon down with the bullets.
Much less stop it.
Killing it was very nearly impossible.
But that howitzer Leo was packing might make the demon think twice.
At least Stanford hoped it would.
Though he knew from personal experience that a gun alone would not kill a devil’s spawn.
And if Paul’s alter self was here . . . ?
Stanford didn’t even want to think about that, didn’t know how to visualize it. Ugly. Awesome. Hideous. Dangerous.
Indescribable.
“Odd look on your face, Inspector.” Mike handed him a walkie-talkie.
Stanford nodded his head absently. He was wondering what Mrs. Kelly’s reaction would be when she learned of his presence in the house.
He and Leo had deliberately stayed out of her sight upon her arrival, and after she had been revived from her swoon.
Stanford looked up the hallway toward Paul’s bedroom. His sensors were not as finely tuned to evil as those of the priest, but he could, nevertheless, sense the raw evil in the house.
He knew the sensation. Had experienced it firsthand.
Could still feel the hot stickiness of blood on his hands.
Blood from the only woman he had ever loved.
He fought back the memories. Fought them back as he had managed to do over the years. Struggled to return his thoughts to the present.
He watched as several officers brought in sheets of plywood and hammers and nails.
“Let’s get busy closing up those windows,” Stanford said shortly. He walked toward the shattered panes.
“I’ll get a broom,” Janis suggested.
“Good girl.”
“He ever tell you how he killed his wife, Leo?” Mike asked.
“No. Not yet. Maybe he never will. He’s a very private person.”
“Children?”
“Two, I think. They’re grown and gone from the islands. He doesn’t give out much about himself.”
“I get the feeling this is a personal thing with him. A vendetta, I suppose.”
“I think you’re right.”
Mike started to walk away. He stopped, and looked back at Leo. “You know anything else about Stanford?”
“No. But I have a gut feeling.”
“And that is ... ?”
“I think he came here prepared to die.”
* * *
Leo, with Janis’s help, was fixing breakfast when Connie walked into the kitchen. Melissa was still sleeping. Paul was in his room.
Connie had not yet seen Stanford. He had taken his morning tea outside, to sit quietly by the pool, alone with his thoughts.
She managed a brave smile and sat down at the table, accepting a cup of coffee from her daughter.
“I haven’t seen you before,” she said to Leo. “Are you new to the force?”
She really wanted to ask about her husband, but was not sure how to bring up the subject.
She was afraid he might be dead.
And somewhat afraid he might still be alive, although she didn’t understand this feeling.
Her thoughts were confused and jumbled. Too much had happened in too short a time, and she did not believe it was due to coincidence.
Leo placed a breakfast plate before her. Bacon and eggs, hashed browns and toast. Set out another plate for Janis and one for himself.
Leo introduced himself and took a chair. “I’m a retired New York City cop, Mrs. Kelly.”
“Connie, please, Mr. Corigliano.”
“Leo. It’ll save time. Takes a minute and a half to pronounce my last name and then people usually don’t get it right.”
She smiled at him. Liked him right off. But he didn’t smile.
“And you’re just helping Mike out, Leo?” She tasted her eggs and found that they were good and she was hungry.
“You might say that, Connie. Donna Mansfield was my sister.”
For a moment, that didn’t register. When it sank in, Connie laid her fork on her plate and stared at Leo.
He met her gaze. Really a very pretty lady, he thought. Classic beauty. Delicate bone structure. Looks like Catherine Deneuve.
Connie picked up her fork. “I wish we had never taken that trip.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference, Connie.” Leo knew he was now treading on dangerous ground. But he felt he had to know where the woman stood; how much she knew and how much she suspected, if she suspected anything.
And would talk about it.
Janis sat at the table and kept her mouth shut, just listening to the exchange. She liked Stanford a lot, but there was something about this quiet New York City man that she liked even more. She got the impression that Leo was hard as Charles Bronson and tough as Clint Eastwood if he ever got going.
“Odd thing to say, Leo.”
Leo decided to let that cool. “No sign of your husband yet, Connie.”
But she wouldn’t let it drop. “Does our trip to the islands somehow tie in with all that’s been happening around here, Leo?”
“I think you know it does.”
Connie noticed that Janis kept cutting her eyes toward the pool area. She rose from the table and walked to the window over the sink. Glanced out and saw Stanford just getting out of the deck chair.
She narrowed her eyes and walked back to the
table, taking her seat. She looked at her daughter.
“You might have told me he was here, Janis.”
“He’s been here for several days, Mother. I mean, not here in the house, in town.”
“I ... see. And you chose not to tell me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why, Janis?”
“I, uh, we made a deal.”
“A deal. How nice for you both.” Connie picked at her food, eating a bite of this and that. As she nibbled on a piece of buttered whole wheat toast, she lifted her eyes to Leo.
“You believe my husband killed your sister and her husband, Mr. Corigliano?”
Lost ground. Back to Mr. “No, I don’t believe that, Connie. ”
Now she was puzzled. Before she could ask anything else, Stanford came in and poured another cup of tea.
He smiled at her. “Good morning, Mrs. Kelly. How do you feel?”
“Inspector. Taking into consideration all that’s happened, and the mystery surrounding certain events”—she looked at first her daughter and then at Leo—“I’m feeling rather well, thank you. Please sit down and join us.”
“Thank you.”
“Want some breakfast, Inspector?” Janis asked. “Leo and me fixed plenty.”
He smiled at the girl. He liked her. “That would be very nice, Janis. Yes, please.”
“The plot thickens with your presence, Inspector.” Connie tried a smile that almost made it. “Should I be taking all this down in anticipation of a book?”
“I’m afraid none of this will ever be made public, Mrs. Kelly. Or should I say, it should not be made public?”
“As a writer, I don’t believe in censorship.”
Stanford smiled. He thanked Janis as she placed the breakfast plate in front of him.
“Really, it isn’t a question of censorship, Mrs. Kelly.”
“Connie, please.”
“Thank you. Stanford, here.” Awkward, he thought. Very awkward. How does one go about telling a mother that she has conceived a demon-child? That she has bathed and burped and powdered and changed a devil-child? “Are you a religious person, Connie?”
“To some degree. We attend church. Not as often as we should, I’m sorry to say. Why do you ask, Inspector? I really do not understand where all this is leading.”
“What church?”
“Episcopal.” There was a note of impatience in her reply.
“Ah! Very good. Yes, indeed. Is your priest in town?”
Connie sighed and stared at the man. “No, he isn’t. He’s on a sabbatical this summer. Area priests are taking turns filling in while he’s gone. Why are you asking these things, Inspector? And what in the world has all this to do with my husband?”
“Well, I merely felt that in this moment of personal anguish and crisis you might like to consult with your minister, that’s all.”
“Really?”
“That is correct, Connie.”
Connie stared at him. Narrowed her eyes. Smiled. Stanford dropped his fork when she said, “Inspector, that is a great big crock!”
Janis giggled and Leo managed not to choke on a mouthful of hash browns.
Stanford regained his composure. Blinked at her a couple of times. Then a smile creased his face. “Yes. Yes, it is, Connie. Quite right . . .”
Before he could say anything else, Paul walked through the huge den and up the steps, past the main dining area and into the modern and gleaming kitchen. His expression did not change when he looked at Stanford. Mantine had been at the hospital when the inspector had made his appearance.
The boy kissed his mother on the cheek, surprising her, for he had not done that in a long time.
“Any news about Father?” Paul asked, in thatodd-sounding, deep, and well-hollow voice.
Stanford had not heard the boy speak since just before he’d left the islands.
Now Paul’s voice chilled him. The evil cold penetrating to the marrow. He placed his fork on his plate and put his hands in his lap. He did not want the demon-child to see them trembling. Looking at the devil in human form, Stanford literally felt his flesh creep and crawl. His skin felt soiled.
“No, dear. No news as yet. Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.”
Paul patted his mother on the arm. “Keep your seat, Mother. I’ll get it myself. I’m really not very hungry. It’s the tension, you know.” He looked at Stanford. “Good morning, Inspector. This is quite a surprise.”
No child left in him, Stanford thought. He neither walks or talks or behaves as a child. He’s shed the first layer. He is a thousand years of sin. Old as time.
“Paul. Terribly sorry about your father.”
“Yes. A tragedy, to be sure. I’m really quite upset about it.”
“I’m sure you are. Wish there were something I could do.” Other than taking out my pistol and putting a bullet between your eyes.
Do it! he told himself. Right now! Kill him while he’s vulnerable. Do it!
But he could not.
Stanford fought back primitive emotions. Calmed himself.
He noticed that the mark on the boy’s arm had enlarged, reddened. What he could see of it, that is. And he knew the boy was growing stronger by the hour.
To wait much longer might well mean the end for them all.
Leo turned in his chair to look at Paul. Smiled at him. The smile was not returned. The boy’s eyes held an unfathomable darkness. “That was a very brave thing you did last evening, Paul.”
“Thank you. Do I know you?”
“I’m Donna Mansfield’s brother.” Leo dropped that on him and watched for a reaction.
Paul’s left eye twitched. His cheeks flushed just a bit. His small fingers tightened on the edge of the plate he was holding.
That was it.
Leo could feel the hate shining at him. It was so intense it almost burned his flesh.
Then Paul’s lips curved in a slight sneer. “Is that supposed to mean something to me, sir?”
Connie stepped in, even though she did not understand the tangible friction between the man and the boy. “The lady who was murdered on the island, Paul.”
“Ah! Certainly. Now I recall. Well, what brings the two of you to this part of the country?”
Like Stanford, Leo had noticed that the boy now spoke like a well-educated adult.
“You might call it curiosity, son.”
The sneer changed to a knowing smile. “I’m not your son. And curiosity got that cat in trouble, didn’t it?” Paul turned and fixed his attention on his plate.
His mother gently admonished him. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. These gentlemen guarded us last night. Volunteered their time.”
Paul said nothing.
Melissa wandered into the den, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “How come you didn’t wake me up, Janis?” she called.
Janis laughed, and the laughter felt good to her. She hadn’t had very much to laugh about in the past few days. “ ’Cause I didn’t know which end to grab to shake you. You were burrowed under the covers like a mole!”
The adults smiled at that.
Paul did not.
He took his plate into the den, passed Melissa without acknowledging her presence, and sat down, as far away from the others as possible.
The TV news was on. There had been a terrible plane crash. A hundred or more people killed. Paul smiled at that. To him, that was good news.
Maybe he could arrange for something like that to happen closer to home. That would be fun.
All those ripped and mangled and torn and smoking bodies.
He’d work on that for sure.
His mother rose to answer the ringing of the doorbell.
Chief Mike Bambridge.
“ ’Morning, Mrs. Kelly.” He smiled at her. But she noticed the smile did not reach his eyes. They looked very tired and very serious. “I’ve got some good news for you. My people found your husband about an hour ago. They took him alive. He has a few bumps on his head. I�
��ll level with you. They had to club him down. But he’s alive. He’s at the hospital.”
“Thank God!”
Stanford was watching Paul. He saw the boy’s lips form a sneer of pure disgust.
ELEVEN
Mike drove Connie to the hospital, advising her on the way not to expect too much at first from her husband. He was in restraints and had been sedated.
Leo and Stanford stayed at the house with Janis and Melissa. Paul had gone to his room. By the set of his shoulders, Stanford knew the boy was highly irritated, and he knew why.
Paul’s plans had not worked out. Stanford felt sure the boy had counted on the police killing his father, with no suspicion placed on him.
Stanford also knew that Sheriff Sandry and Chief Bambridge had given firm orders to their forces to take Mark Kelly alive—if possible.
Just don’t get yourselves killed in the process, both men had added.
Stanford felt it would be most interesting to see what the little demon would do next.
Dangerous and quite possibly deadly, but still interesting.
Paul certainly was aware by now that his every move would be observed. He was under a magnifying glass.
Leo answered the doorbell, admitting Father Gomez.
Both men noticed that the priest seemed much more relaxed than the last time they’d seen him.
Gomez carried a small box in his hand. He sat down, was introduced to Janis and Melissa, and opened the box.
Gold crosses and chains.
“I had them blessed last night,” the priest explained, giving each person a cross. “Give these to your friends, Janis. Make certain you do that. And give this one to your mother. You, personally, place it around her neck. Will you do that?”
“OK, Father.”
The priest leaned back in his chair. “That coffee smells good. Could I possibly beat you out of a cup?” He smiled at the girl.
“You got it!”
Melissa went with Janis, to make some toast.
When the girls were out of earshot, Leo asked, “Did you come to meet Paul?”
The priest nodded. “If he’ll meet me. It’s time. I want to see his reaction when we come face-to-face.”
“And what do you anticipate that reaction will be?” Stanford inquired.
Gomez shrugged. “Who knows? This early in the game, I doubt it will be anything dramatic. But then, he may decide to kill me and have done with it.”
Sandman Page 16
