In her mind’s eye, Lena pictured Eloise Valetta sprawled on the bed, gun in limp, stiffening hand, blood soaking into the mattress.
The bedroom was empty. On the right-hand side was a black iron bed made up with a thin chenille bedspread. On the left side was a matching iron bed, made up with a blue bedspread that had dinosaurs on it. In the corner was a stack of dirty, worn blocks, a coffee can crammed with broken crayons, and several coloring books—the thin giveaway kind. A pair of threadbare red pajamas was neatly folded in the center of the bed.
Lena checked the bathroom, picturing bodies in bathtubs, slit wrists.
The bathroom was clean and empty. A wooden potty chair with a yellow plastic seat sat opposite the toilet. There were two toothbrushes, one big, one small, on the counter beside a box of Arm & Hammer baking soda.
No one home.
Lena went down the hall to the kitchen and dialed the spouse abuse center.
“Lena?”
“Valerie, have you seen Eloise? Eloise Valetta?”
“Yeah, sure, she’s here now.”
Lena took a breath. She glanced at the front door, which now bowed inward.
“Sorry, Lena, I should have called you. But you know how crazy it is right now.”
“How is she?”
“Hanging in, Lena. It’s hard.”
“How’d you get her to come down?”
“She wouldn’t at first. So I went by. She was baking cakes, dozens of them.”
Lena smiled.
“She taught me how to bake a cake from scratch, and not have it come out crooked.”
“You cooked?”
“Yeah. I did okay. And then I was talking, you know, about how we cook meals around here. Like we assign them to whoever’s living here, you know how we do. To tell you the truth, I don’t think she heard a word I said. But what I kept thinking about the whole time I was talking, was empty arms. How she was waiting for this child of hers that she wanted to hold and love, and couldn’t. And I thought, maybe she needs to bake because she needs to … nurture. Does this make any sense?”
“Sure.”
“I see so little of that. Around here. Most of these women are so burned out, they don’t have an ounce of nurture left. So I thought she might be a help. And I asked her if she would come cook for us. I told her it was dangerous, that we were being threatened. But that some of the women were so upset, that the last thing they wanted was KP. And I was really surprised, but she said okay. Tell you what, she is terrific in the kitchen, Lena. I’ve gained three pounds.”
“Valerie, you are a saint. A brilliant saint person.”
Valerie paused. “She wants to talk to you, Lena. She keeps saying she’s going to call you, and I keep telling her to wait.”
“Just tell her that I don’t know anything yet, but I’m working on it.”
“Don’t you think you should tell her yourself?”
“It’s all I can do, Valerie, to keep my own head above water. Oh, shit. I can’t believe I said that.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“Lena, is it going all right?”
“I’ll make it all right. You keep Eloise cooking. Wear her out in the day, so she’ll sleep at night. I’ll call later, okay?”
“I hope you find her boy.”
“I will, Valerie.”
Lena hung up and rubbed her eyes. She took a deep breath and went to assess the damage to the front door.
42
Lena knocked on the door of Mendez’s apartment, thinking she ought to have called.
“Lena?” Mendez had thrown on a pair of black sweatpants, and was shirtless, barefooted, his hair mussed.
“I know, Joel. It’s early.”
“Come in.”
The window blinds were closed, and the great room had a dusty, unused air. The desk was cluttered with pictures, open files, and a coffee cup.
“Late night?” Lena asked.
He nodded.
She put her arms around him and laid her head in the crook of his shoulder.
“Something happened.” He led her to the couch.
“Melody Hayes drowned.”
“How?”
“She disappeared from Rolling Ridge after supper. She got a call around five-thirty, it was logged in. Someone saw her outside on the grounds, but she didn’t come back.” Lena pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Ted Moberly went down with me yesterday. We found her last night. Sally did, anyway. The dog.”
“Where?”
“Upside down in a creek.”
Mendez pulled away and frowned. “She definitely drowned?”
“Not without help.”
“Who’s in charge down there?”
“Some sheriff. It wasn’t in Nashville proper, and this Sheriff Butcher is handling it.”
“What’s he say?”
“He thinks she just wandered off. Some coincidence, huh, Joel? Gives me the list and turns up dead.” Lena frowned. “You done anything with the names she gave me?”
Mendez went to the desk. “Names matched with license numbers.” He handed Lena a computer printout and leaned over the back of the couch and pointed. “That column is names and numbers from the clinic. Those are from Valetta’s funeral. And that’s the list you brought me. The yellow—that’s where they match.”
“Mendez, you got a match here from the funeral to one on Melody’s list.”
“Yes.”
“But no match from the clinic and the funeral. But look. A match on Melody’s list and the clinic list. So there is a connection.”
“We’ve checked and rechecked the doctor. Put her under surveillance. Nothing to lead us to the boy.” Mendez put a hand on Lena’s shoulder. “I’ve thought about going to the people in LaRue County. Asking them about their association with the clinic. But to do that, I’d have to have a local cop along. And permission. And it’s a small town. I’m afraid if I start asking around, whoever has Charlie—”
“Will kill him,” Lena said.
“It’s a hard call, Lena.”
“Maybe we should of run the picture, Joel. Somebody must have seen him.”
“If we alert them, they’ll either kill him, or move him out of the area. Either way, we’d never find him.” Mendez squeezed her shoulder. “How about coffee?”
“Yes. Think maybe you should give that Sheriff Butcher a call?”
“Maybe.”
“Listen, Joel, can we get a copy of this list to Moberly? See if he gets any matches on cars parked in the recreation area?”
“Yes.” He went to the kitchen and opened the freezer. “You had breakfast?”
“I had—”
“Potato chips don’t count. I’m making omelets.”
The phone rang.
Mendez held a sack of coffee beans in one hand and a measuring spoon in the other. “Get that.”
“Where is it?”
“On the desk.”
Lena picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Is this the Mendez residence?” Woman’s voice. A familiar woman’s voice, Lena thought.
“Yeah, it is.”
“This is Detective Casey from Louisville PD. Is Joel in?”
“He’s still asleep.” Mendez stopped measuring coffee and looked at her. “This is Lena, Anita. Hold on and I’ll get him.” Lena held the receiver out to Mendez. He cocked his head sideways, then put the coffee on the counter. “I’ll start the omelets,” Lena said, handing him the phone.
“Mendez. Yes, Anita. No.” He glanced at Lena. “It was time I got up anyway.”
Lena opened the refrigerator door. “Mendez, where are your eggs?”
“… did you … Lena, they’re in the door. No, sorry.”
Lena opened and closed one cabinet, then another.
“I’m sorry, Anita, what was that?”
Lena saw a large metal bowl on the top shelf of the cabinet near the stove. She got a stool from the countertop bar and dragged it across the kitchen floor
.
“Lena, be careful.” Mendez set the phone down. He took Lena’s hand, led her to the couch, and handed her a rolled-up newspaper. “Be still.”
Lena waited until he was back on the phone.
“Sorry, Anita, go on. Did you get an actual face-to-face meet? What was the date?” Mendez rummaged on the top of the desk. “April thirtieth? Let me look at my calendar. This is the twenty-first. That’s nine days. Tuesday night. I wonder if there’s a full moon?”
Lena unrolled the newspaper. Mendez put a hand over his ear.
“Thank you, Anita. Yes, I got them. Have you picked anybody up? I see. Thank you. Yes. Yes.”
Lena rattled the front section of the newspaper.
“Thanks again, Anita. Yes, we will. Good-bye.”
Mendez hung up the phone. “Anita’s heard from the informant. Mr. Enoch’s group is meeting on April thirtieth.”
Lena let the paper drop. “For sure?”
“The informant called in. Got the date from one of the higher-ups. He’s sure.”
“I need to call Walt Caron. You got a phone book?”
“On the desk.”
The phone rang eight times before a sleepy male voice answered.
“Walt Caron? This is Lena Padget.”
“Yeah, Lena. How’d it go with Melody? Go okay?”
“You haven’t heard, then.”
“Heard what?”
“Walt, Melody’s dead.”
“What?”
“Drowned. We found her late last night. In a creek out back of the institution.”
“But … how?”
“The sheriff thinks it was an accidental death.”
“And you don’t.”
“No.”
“Jesus. Oh, Jesus.”
“I did get to talk to her first.”
“How was she?”
“A little rough around the edges.”
“She could have done it herself,” Caron said.
“I don’t think so. Listen, I need to ask you. Is there anything special about April thirtieth? You were telling me, when I talked to you, about a special holiday coming up.”
“That sounds right. Hang on, let me check my notes. It may take a minute, can you hold?”
“Sure.”
Lena watched Mendez slice mushrooms into thin slivers. Every few minutes he looked at her. He didn’t smile, and neither did she. But they were very much together in the room.
“Lena?”
“Yeah, Walt, what did you find?”
“April thirtieth is Walpurgisnacht—one of the two biggest holidays, if you could call them that. It’s supposed to be a counter to Easter Sunday, and it requires … a sacrifice. That’s what I read, anyway.”
“What kind of sacrifice?”
“There seems to be a preference for … a pure white male.”
“Oh.”
“Here’s what I have. Let’s see, have I got anything else? Mmmm … mmmm … okay. On April thirtieth, 1966, Anton Szandor LaVey shaved his head and proclaimed the date to be I Anno Satanas—the first year after Satan regained the earth. A lot of groups, most of them I think, date their activities from sixty-six.”
“Did you say shaved his head?”
“Yes.”
“Who was LaVey?”
“Is. Quite a showman, actually. The big daddy of Satan worship, starting in the trendy sixties and seventies. Publicity hound, skirting the legal, a lot of celebrity do’s.”
“I see. Okay. Thanks, Walt.”
“Any progress on the little boy?”
“Hard to tell, at this point.”
“Keep on it, Lena. Good luck.”
The smell of coffee was strong. Mendez held up a cup and Lena went to it like a moth to flame.
“Walpurgisnacht,” Mendez said.
“Looks like the informant was right. Did he know where?”
Mendez ate a piece of mushroom. “LaRue Lake. Somewhere in the south fork, near Croom’s Landing. There’ll be flashlights hanging in the trees, lighting the way.”
“This is almost too easy,” Lena said.
43
Benita’s Shoppe of Beauty was crowded. Eight plastic chairs, aqua, were arranged in a semicircle at the front of the shop and occupied by men and women who read magazines and checked their watches. All four hairdryers were going, all three barber chairs full. People frowned when Lena walked past them to Benita’s work station.
“Lena?”
“Hi. I got your message.”
Benita handed a package of thin roller papers to the woman who sat in her chair. “Be right back, okay? You be okay?” Benita headed to the storeroom. “I got you what you want.” She glanced over her shoulder.
“Good,” Lena said. She closed the door behind them.
“In my purse.” Benita opened a narrow closet and retrieved a large cloth purse. “Alexander, he got these for me.” Benita glanced at Lena over her shoulder. “You not find the little boy yet?”
Lena shook her head.
“I hope this help.” She dug in the purse, grimaced, and began unloading—a wallet bulging with coins and dollar bills, a wad of tissue, a comb, a blue makeup pouch, a checkbook, a granola bar, a Band-Aid box full of something that rattled, an appointment book.
“Here,” Benita said, opening the appointment book. She flipped to the back, tore out a page intended for addresses, then turned the book to a calendar.
“We got seven appointments of people on the list. Five at one place; two at another, out of the city. Alexander, he is very good. And very curious. I had to tell him about the little boy, Lena. He thought I might be up to something, otherwise. Stealing clients, you believe? That okay?”
Lena nodded.
Benita crooked her finger, and Lena leaned over the book.
“See? We got one who has a weekly regular for Thursday afternoon. She come in on the eighteenth. And four of them were in last Friday and Saturday. Nineteen and twenty.”
“Do they come in every week?”
“I don’ know. But Alexander told me if it was a regular weekly thing, and he didn’t on these. So likely not.”
“Okay. What else?”
“This one here. She say Tuesday at latest, but her girl, she very busy and can’t fit her in. So lady say, okay, how about Wednesday morning? Can be no later than that, she say.”
Lena caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Wednesday? That’s the twenty-fourth.”
“Day after tomorrow,” Benita said seriously. She looked at Lena, then back to the sheet of paper. “And this other one. She say she want perm, but her lady too busy too, for perm. And she try to schedule her for Thursday, but the girl say no. Just comb out. Maybe trim. And that too, made for Wednesday morning.”
“Anybody past that?”
Benita frowned. “The one wants the perm schedules it for a couple weeks later. Mid-May, I think.” Benita pointed back at the calendar. “But you see the cluster. It is the twenty-fourth. They all are around and before, nobody past. That is the night you want.”
Lena frowned. The informant had said the thirtieth.
“You don’t see it?” Benita asked.
“Yeah, I see it.” Lena shrugged. “Benita, can I have your notes? And thank you for your help.”
“Alexander, he do so good. He talk to the stylists. Get them to tell what the women say. Pretty good, huh?”
“Pretty damn good, Benita.” Lena patted the woman’s shoulder. “Listen, I know you’re booked solid out there, so I’ll let you get back to work.”
“You tell me, okay? When you find the little boy?”
“I’ll tell you.”
44
Lena went through the heavy glass doors of the central library onto the city sidewalk and into the wind. The air was lush with humidity, and a raindrop spattered on her head. She tucked the brown, mildewed library book under her shirttail, and looked up to get her bearings. She headed to the right.
It was a short walk to the police department.
She barely got wet.
She went inside, almost in a daze, bypassing the front desk, heading up the stairs to the second floor. Her air of knowing what she was about kept her from being stopped.
Mendez was on the phone. His sleeves were rolled up, tucked neatly at three-quarter length. He looked up at Lena, and pointed to a chair.
As usual, his conversation was terse and to the point. It was impossible to figure what he was talking about. Lena sat very still. She kept the book on her lap, finger holding her place.
Mendez hung the phone up. “Did you come to return my handcuffs?”
Lena blushed.
“You all right, Lena?”
“Mendez. Do you know anything about this informant Anita Casey is relying on?”
Mendez cocked his head sideways.
“Look, Joel.” Lena took a breath. “I’m not asking you to violate a confidence. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want to know if you know anything. Do you know enough about him—if it is a him—to feel confident about his information?”
“Personally?” Mendez said. “No. Anita gave me a few background details, not many. More than she should have. More than I would have given her. But she has a lot of confidence in this one. And I trust her judgment.”
Lena nodded.
Mendez leaned back in his chair. “Everything is going. Getting set up.”
“Meaning?”
“When the time comes, we’ll be ready for these people. And if—” Mendez leaned closer and talked in low tones. “If they have Charlie, we’ll catch them. In the act.”
“Mendez, you have to keep this quiet, you can’t have a big police to-do.”
“Lena, I can’t just show up one night. I have to coordinate with the locals, with Louisville. We’ve got, what, a little over a week? This is a bureaucratic nightmare. Everybody has budget constraints, they have to get approvals. Police departments just don’t move this fast. I’ve called in favors and—”
“Joel.” Lena gritted her teeth. “If you tell the locals what you’re up to, word will get to the people involved. You don’t even know if law enforcement people are in on it. This is a small town.”
Mendez nodded. “It’s set up as a drug bust. I’ve given out the wrong location. We’ll change it at the last minute. In the cars, on the way.”
“Oh.”
Satan’s Lambs Page 20
