The Sons of Man

by Laura Ellison

  Chapter Ten

  Sonya found the report in her e-mail and started reading right away, the facts matching with Thomas Lang’s book, which she had finished reading over the weekend.

  She shared her interest in The Church of Mankind with her father, and Aron had also started reading A Hundred Lifetimes from his Kindle.

  “Marshall Union served in World War Two,” he said. “A lot of guys came home from the war depressed. Union started seeking answers for himself; hypnosis, holistic medicine before it was really popular. He was an alcoholic and he claimed past-life regression helped him dry out and get rid of his depression.”

  Father and daughter had talked at length about Marshall Union the night before, one of the longer conversations Sonya could remember having with her father.

  “Do you think the sniper could be from The Church of Mankind?” Sonya asked.

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t sound typical of someone in The Church. Spiritual growth is hindered by violent acts, according to Union and most other organized religions.”

  Sonya read all ten pages of the report, getting a more in-depth picture of the lawsuit filed by Timothy Union and his sister Frieda Union-Lang against The Church of Mankind and Lance Hawkins. The Unions were suing for damages amounting to one hundred million dollars. A settlement was offered, but turned down by Timothy and Frieda. They were not able to prove that Lance and his wife Sophie had abused or mistreated their father. The Unions went to court, but they lost. Timothy and Frieda went away, going into seclusion. What they had been doing since was uncertain. Thomas Lang had not heard from his parents and Uncle Timothy in almost two years, although the Church still continued to thrive under the reign of Lance Hawkins.

  Sonya finished reading, taking her laptop downstairs. Bill was napping in his chair, Helga at his feet. He once said that she was more loyal than his two ex-wives combined.

  Sonya found her father in his room, sitting at his bed with his Kindle. The door was open. He looked up, removing his reading glasses.

  “I want to show you something Piper sent me,” Sonya said.

  “Photos of the island paradise?”

  “No. Sorry. About The Church of Mankind.”

  Aron put his glasses back on and skimmed the report on the screen. “This is a legal document. How did Piper get into the file?”

  “She said her mom was doing some work for The Church here. But Piper mentioned something interesting in her e-mail; she’s thinking that the sniper could be with The Church.”

  Aron shrugged. “There’s no proof. Only that the sniper was probably military.”

  “What about Timothy or Frieda?”

  “Those two could be tangled up in litigation for decades. According to this report, their lawsuits could outlive them. So it would make no sense to go on a rampage in Marine, Michigan.”

  “When do snipers make sense?”

  “Good question. Military types are used to order, structure, but the Marine Sniper is probably on some deranged mission, like the D.C. Sniper.”

  “And when have deranged people ever made sense?”

  “Once again, good question.”

  “Maybe Cal would like to read this.”

  “I’m sure he has his own theories. He told me his source was dead and Ben Garcia is being stone-walled by the FBI. No one is making much progress.”

  “Have you heard from the temp agency?” Sonya asked.

  “No. Winter is slow, but I did get another extension on my unemployment. The only offers I’m getting are as a substitute teacher and I’d rather temp in a factory.”

  “Couldn’t you go back to teaching for a little while?”

  Aron had taught high school English and History for fifteen years. Born in the Netherlands, educated in Canada, Aron had met Sonya’s mother Carolyn when they were both teachers. They had both taken early retirements for different reasons.

  “I need to start dinner,” Aron said. “You have any homework?”

  “Already did it.”

  The Blue and White had been down for over a week.

  SkolClik was a mystery, but the student body at East Marine High School didn’t seem to take much of an interest unmasking the blogger, preferring to complain instead.

  Sonya thought about the other sites where she could possibly find SkolClik. The obvious were Facebook and Twitter. FriendsRing was for kids and teens and The Blue and White did not have a page there. Sonya tried Instagram, where she found a SkolClik page.

  Sonya decided to leave a message as a comment to the last photo, a picture of East Marine High School on the day of Danny’s shooting, before the ambulance and police cars left. The photo had looked as if it had been taking through a window.

  Sonya’s message was polite and direct, identifying herself and asking to speak with SkolClik. She had low expectations.

  Sonya tried reading a book, but ended up going downstairs to help Aron with dinner. After eating, she returned to her laptop, finding a new e-mail.

  “Meet me at the school library tomorrow before class-SkolClik.”

  Toon couldn’t believe his luck. Maybe more coincidence than luck, but Popcorn had mentioned that maybe the sniper was target practicing when the psycho shot Waylon in the power lines. Toon had wondered that if someone wanted to target practice indoors instead of the freezing outdoors, where could they go? In Marine, the obvious choice was The Point Blank firing range.

  Toon knew the owner, a friend of the Diamonds. Gary Shackleford was a Vietnam vet who also sold ammunition and hunting equipment in his store, attached to the firing range. Toon knew that not all of Gary’s activities were legal, including selling guns and ammo to The Diamonds in their heyday.

  Gary was a very large man, his white hair cut military short. His small dark eyes widened at the sight of Toon, knowing the man’s reputation.

  Gary shifted his bear-like girth on to a chair behind the counter. Toon took in the impressive selection of rifles, pistols and equipment that filled the small store. The Point Blank was popular with local hunters and gun nuts, so Toon figured Gary might know something, no matter how small.

  Toon didn’t bother with introductions. “Hey, man. Anybody weird come into the store lately?”

  Gary shrugged. “How weird?”

  “Sniper weird.”

  Gary grinned and nodded. “”The Marine PD have already been here. FBI assholes, too.”

  “You wouldn’t tell them anything...”

  “They’ve threatened to take my firearms license away so many times, that I had nothing to share. But, when a customer comes in that’s a little odd, I keep the security footage for a while.”

  “Good idea.”

  “A few days after Waylon got shot, a young guy comes in, browsing in the store. I wasn’t here, but my wife was. I had a few carbines in their boxes on the counter over there-“ he pointed to a glass case “-and one of the carbines came up missing. The cameras are taping all of the time. I didn’t notice the missing carbine right away, not until after I came back. The wife felt bad, so she starts to look through the discs to find someone walking off with the carbine. She found him, but that was before the kid got killed, then the father and son. It might mean nothing, but my wife held on to the disc.”

  “She was going to give it to the police?”

  “We don’t deal with them, and I would just be out of a 35 inch carbine.”

  “A hunter?”

  “Maybe. But I don’t get as many hunters this time of the year. The store has been slow, even the range. Too cold and icy to do much.”

  “Do you still have the disc?”

  “Yes, I do. I’ll get it for you. But like I said, it might not be much help.”

  Toon’s good luck continued. Gary played the disc for him with a portable player at the counter. Gary’s wife brought them coffee as they gazed at the small screen.

  Gary fast forwarded the footage until he came to a young man with fair hair and a puffer jacket, a knitted cap on his head. He almost
looked into the camera, his eyes pale. He looks down at the carbines in the glass case.

  “This is where the little fool grabs the box,” Gary said.

  The young man turns his back to the camera, easing the box, now in his hand, to his front. He walks out of the doorway, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. A vehicle can be seen passing the front window.

  “Can you slow it down?” Toon asked.

  Gary slowed the footage, so Toon could try to make out the vehicle. Then he paused it.

  “What does that look like to you?” Toon asked.

  “A car, painted a dark color. This shit’s in black and white, so that’s all I got. Probably parked right at the front to get away fast. Did you see how he was walking? His legs were moving faster than the rest of him.”

  “Someone else was in the car.”

  “Likely.”

  Toon had license plate numbers for each stolen Chevy Monte Carlo, but only two were dark blue or black. Popcorn wanted him to follow up at Lakeshore Apartments, where the Jeep was stolen.

  The apartments were his next stop.

  Toon parked the Ford truck he borrowed from Popcorn at a space next to the unit where the stolen Jeep had been parked.

  The freezing cold wasn’t enough to make Toon stay inside the warm truck. He wanted a cigarette. He shivered while he smoked in the parking lot, taking in the huge piles of snow that had been plowed to the sides of the lot. Toon took another puff, the cigarette between his stiffening fingers. He kept the heat on in the truck, ready to crawl back in as soon as he was done smoking.

  He had thrown the smoldering butt down when he saw two men leave the unit. Both walked to a truck parked close by, one carrying a zip-up rifle case, the other a square-shaped box by a handle. They stood for a moment under a light, Toon getting a good look. The man holding the box was tall and fair-haired, his eyes pale. He could not have been any older than eighteen.

  The young man put both cases in the truck. He wore the same puffer coat, walking back into the building.

  Toon got in his truck, waiting for the other man to leave. Soon, he pulled out and Toon followed.

  Toon hoped his luck would hold out as he kept a safe distance. The guy with the rifle drove to a highway on-ramp. Toon hoped the guy wasn’t going out of town, but Toon followed for several miles before the man pulled off, somewhere west of East Marine.

  He came up to an old STARCO gas station. He turned on to the lot. Toon slowed down.

  The man parked at the front of the store and stayed there, the engine on. Toon made a show of buying some gas. He went inside to pay, seeing a woman at the register, reading a newspaper. He paid for his gas, bought a pack of cigarettes, and went back to Popcorn’s truck.

  The man was still there. Toon pulled away from the single gas pump, a car waiting patiently behind him. Toon parked to the other side of the building, but still had a view of the other truck.

  The man at the pump filled his car with gas. Toon was growing frustrated. He didn’t want to scare the guy off, but he couldn’t follow him all night.

  The door to the man’s truck swung open. Toon saw the barrel of the rifle and heard the popping noise. The man at the pump fell backwards, landing on the pavement. Toon put his truck in reverse, but the other truck was already speeding out of the lot. Toon chose not to follow, but he knew he was a witness to a sniper attack. He went in the opposite direction. When he felt there was enough distance, he called Popcorn