Ceremony

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  “You’ve been here since this morning?”

  “Since she was admitted.” Chesapeake pointed to the chair.

  “So I guess CSAB did request an officer to be stationed at the door.” Bernadette turned to Chesapeake. “How’s she doing?”

  “She said she was tired after breakfast. I tried questioning her again, but she said she didn’t remember much.”

  “Has her story changed?” Kep asked.

  “She hasn’t told me anything,” Chesapeake said, “so there’s nothing to change.”

  “Why was she kidnapped?” Bernadette mused. “And why isn’t she dead with a syringe sticking out of her arm?”

  Chesapeake shifted from foot to foot. “That’s a good question. I suppose whoever kidnapped her was planning to come back. Maybe to get information out of her, maybe to kill her.”

  Bernadette nodded and took out her phone. “Let’s see if Lesley Gill has any last insights for us before we go into Annika’s room.”

  Lesley picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Bernadette.”

  “Anything new come up since we last spoke?”

  “I should be getting the footage from Wildlife Specialties this morning. We’ll hopefully be able to see Cecilia Carter and Douglas Rheinstaller together.” Lesley’s keyboard taps could be heard on the other end.

  “Any luck on the blue van?”

  “Not yet. We’ll check the long-term lots near Mitchell Airport next.”

  “Thanks, Lesley.”

  “No problem. Keep me updated.”

  Bernadette sighed as she ended the call. “More footage is coming in, but no new information yet.”

  Kep nodded. “Let’s see if we can successfully stimulate Annika’s memory.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In her hospital gown, Annika looked surprisingly lithe and strong. Her left arm lay on top of the blanket, her bicep well-defined—almost the size of Bernadette’s. Her eyes were closed, but the heart monitor was tracking a strong, steady beat.

  “Annika?” Bernadette said gently. Kep walked to a corner of the hospital room and leaned against the wall, standing. He pushed his glasses up on his nose.

  “I’m tired,” Annika replied.

  “I have a few questions.”

  “I’m too tired to answer questions.”

  “We need to know who did this to you.”

  Annika sighed heavily, the corners of her mouth turning down. “I don’t remember.”

  Bernadette pulled the chair next to the bed and sat. “Let’s start at the beginning. What time did you get home from work?”

  “I’m—I’m not really sure. I left when you were still there.”

  “How did you get back to the dorm?”

  “I walked. Oh—I stopped to get some coffee. I sat inside the coffee shop for a while.”

  Bernadette sat for a moment, organizing her thoughts. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Take me through what happened.”

  “I told you I don’t remember what time I got home.”

  “Do you remember someone coming to your door? Breaking in?”

  Annika hesitated, then nodded.

  “Who?”

  “It was Reverend Roundhouse. And she had Nick LaSalle with her.”

  Bernadette sat up straight and blinked. “You’re telling me both of them came to your door?”

  “That’s right.”

  Bernadette paused. A hundred questions swam through her head. What were Reverend Roundhouse and Nick LaSalle doing together? Had Annika seen them together before? Had Roundhouse been involved in the payment to Nick LaSalle? But she needed to stay on track with the timeline that Annika provided. She leaned forward. “I’m afraid I need more detail, Annika. Did they knock? Or did they simply come in?”

  “I—uh, they knocked.”

  “And you answered the door?”

  Annika licked her lips briefly. “Yes.”

  “Even though the reverend had been by your dorm room on Monday night, and you didn’t want her there?”

  Annika opened her mouth and hesitated.

  “I’m having trouble picturing your version of events,” Bernadette said.

  “I answered the door without thinking,” Annika muttered. “I’m still pretty sad about Tommy getting killed. My brain wasn’t working right.”

  Bernadette cocked her head and looked at Annika’s face. The young woman’s upper lip, with the off-center beauty mark, was still. But Annika wouldn’t meet Bernadette’s eyes.

  “Okay,” Bernadette said, leaning back. “When you opened the door, who was in front?”

  Annika blinked. “Who was in front?”

  “Yes. Was the reverend standing in front of your door with Nick LaSalle behind her, or the other way around?”

  “I—I, uh, I guess the reverend was in front of the door.”

  “Okay. What were they wearing?”

  “Wearing? Um—they were both dressed in black.”

  “Were they dressed for the cold weather? Heavy jackets? Winter hats?”

  “Ah—no. Neither one had a hat.”

  “What did you do?”

  A confused look swept over Annika’s face. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—”

  “Listen,” Annika snapped. “They surprised me. I opened the door, they pushed me into the room, then they put a hood over my head. The next thing I knew I was in that warehouse. I managed to get my arm free and then I pulled myself to the door.”

  “You didn’t hear the reverend or Nick LaSalle talk about anything?”

  “No.”

  “How did they knock you out?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you feel pain? A bang on the head, or maybe a cloth over your nose and mouth through the hood?”

  “I already told you, I don’t know.”

  Bernadette leaned forward again, this time with her hands on her knees. “You’re saying you lost consciousness as soon as the hood went over your head?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so.”

  “Who put the hood over your head?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “But when you woke up in the warehouse, you didn’t have the hood on?”

  “No.”

  “Who else was in the warehouse?”

  “No one. I was by myself.”

  “Do you know—” Bernadette paused. “You told me in the warehouse that a man left an hour before I got there. The IT guy from the Freshie.”

  Annika stammered. “Yes. He was leaving when I woke up. I was groggy. Maybe he wasn’t there.”

  “Was he there or not?”

  Annika looked confused. “I—I don’t know. I thought he was.”

  “Okay.” Bernadette resisted the urge to fold her arms. Annika still wouldn’t meet her eyes. Kep cleared his throat—Bernadette almost jumped in her seat; she’d forgotten he was there.

  “You must understand,” Kep said evenly and calmly, “that we are having difficulty piecing together these events.”

  Annika stared at Kep blankly.

  “We can’t establish a timeline that makes sense,” Kep said.

  “None of this makes sense!” Annika roared. Bernadette leaned back, away from her. “My boyfriend gets murdered and suddenly I wake up in a warehouse tied to a chair! Why are you treating me like I did something wrong? Those two psychopaths kidnapped me!”

  Kep nodded slowly. “I can see that you’re frustrated,” he said. “I understand. We have a lot of conflicting information.”

  “I think,” Bernadette said, “it’s time for you to tell us what Reverend Roundhouse said to you on Monday evening when she came to your dorm room.”

  “She’ll deny being there,” Annika said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter,” Bernadette said. “She kidnapped you.”

  “No one will believe me.”

  “We’ll believe you.”

  Annika lifted her head and stared Bernadette in the face, then raised her chin as if to p
oint to Kep. “He won’t believe me.”

  Bernadette smiled. “Then you can tell him ‘I told you so.’”

  Annika frowned. “She told me to repent. That I was destroying the natural order of things. That I was using the sacred iboga for worldly gain.” She paused. “She told me I’d be sorry if I didn’t ‘heed her warning.’”

  Bernadette nodded slowly. “Did she mention anyone else she had to give this warning to?”

  “Well—I told her that I was only an intern there. And she told me if I didn’t make things right, I’d get kicked out of the church.”

  “But,” Bernadette pressed, “did she mention anyone else? Kymer Thompson? Maybe Eddie Taysatch?”

  “She said I was lucky that I had just started there. That I still had time to get out. That others had to make harder choices.”

  Bernadette clenched her teeth.

  “She said,” Annika continued, “that there would be a reckoning. That’s the word she used, too. Like it would be the day of the rapture.” Her voice broke, and she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “I have to get out of here. Tommy’s anchor ceremony is in a few hours, and I can’t miss it.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “A word, Becker?” Kep said.

  Bernadette looked up at Kep. His eyes were creased at the corners, his mouth set in a hard line.

  “No problem,” Bernadette said.

  They both stepped out of the hospital room and closed the door. Officer Chesapeake glanced at Bernadette.

  “What is it, Kep?” Bernadette murmured.

  “I have doubts about Annika’s story.”

  Bernadette nodded. “The timeline of the kidnapping.”

  “In addition, we haven’t uncovered any evidence even hinting that the reverend was working with Nick LaSalle.”

  “But,” Bernadette said, “Reverend Roundhouse doesn’t have a good alibi for anything. She could have killed Kymer Thompson. She could have shot Eddie Taysatch. She could have stolen the TFM from Douglas Rheinstaller’s shed.” Bernadette shook her head. “If Annika had told us about her conversation with Roundhouse earlier, we would’ve had a motive. And maybe we’d have picked up Roundhouse before she kidnapped Annika.” Bernadette sighed. “We may have our doubts, Kep, but we can’t ignore what she said. You heard her—‘there will be a reckoning.’”

  “The reckoning happened already, though, didn’t it? With all the lampreys killed—surely that was the reckoning.”

  Bernadette shook her head. “The man who was behind all of this—all of the need to make money off the ‘sacred iboga’—he’s still out there. Jude Lightman.”

  “No one’s even tried to kill him yet.”

  “Maybe that’s because we’ve had an officer on him.” Bernadette tapped her chin. “Do you think maybe someone will try to kill him during the anchor ceremony tonight?”

  “Lightman will be there?”

  “Of course he will. One of his top researchers was killed. He can’t miss the memorial service.”

  “True.”

  “I’m not confident I’m right. But I don’t think we can ignore the possibility.”

  Kep pushed his glasses up on his nose. “What about the payments from the shell corporation that’s owned by Parr Medical?”

  “I agree,” Bernadette said, “that doesn’t fit. But it’s a long way from corporate espionage to murder. You said so yourself.”

  “If Nick LaSalle accepted a bribe to install the keylogging program on Kymer Thompson’s PC, why would he also work with Vivian Roundhouse? I fail to see a plausible scenario.”

  “Not from where we stand,” Bernadette said, “but maybe there’s something to tie all this together.”

  Kep exhaled sharply. “I don’t like this.”

  “You mean you don’t trust Annika.”

  “No, of course I don’t. You shouldn’t either.”

  Bernadette put her hands on her hips. “I’m skeptical of everything she says,” she said in a low voice.

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Good. Maybe that means I fooled her too.”

  A nurse hung up the phone at her station, stood, and walked toward Kep and Bernadette. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to slip past them into the room.

  “Hold up,” Officer Chesapeake said.

  The nurse turned to look at him. “The doctor is releasing Miss Nakrivo. I’ll need to get her ready.”

  “How soon will she be leaving?” Bernadette asked.

  “And you are?”

  Bernadette pulled out her identification.

  The nurse scanned it and nodded. “I’ve called for a wheelchair. That usually takes at least forty-five minutes.” She opened the door.

  Officer Chesapeake stepped over to Bernadette. “She’s been talking about leaving for that memorial service ever since I arrived. It’ll be hard to protect her in a crowded chapel.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “Yes. She said she doesn’t care.”

  Bernadette shook her head. “I’ll talk to Maura, but I don’t think we’ll be able to prevent her from going to her dead boyfriend’s anchor ceremony.”

  “Do you know anything about this ceremony? A big crowd? Will there be low lights and candles at the front of the chapel?”

  “What? Low lights and—”

  Chesapeake cut in. “We need to see what we’re supposed to be protecting.”

  Bernadette thought for a moment. “I wonder if Annika’s statement gives us enough to arrest Vivian Roundhouse before the ceremony.”

  “If Roundhouse is the one who wants Annika dead,” Kep said, “she won’t be able to touch her while she’s conducting the ceremony.”

  “But if Roundhouse is paying off someone like Nick LaSalle to kill people for her, she won’t have to do it herself. And,” Bernadette continued, “we need to tighten security on Jude Lightman as well.”

  Kep rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure that we have enough to get an arrest warrant for Vivian Roundhouse.”

  “We have a victim’s statement.”

  “Yes, but the victim has only specified that Roundhouse was at her door. We can’t prove that Nick LaSalle involved anyone else in the kidnapping.”

  Bernadette pursed her lips. “I think we have enough to pull her in and hold her for forty-eight hours.”

  “Right before she leads the memorial service of the murder victim?” Chesapeake shook his head. “That would be a bad look for CSAB—even if people think Agios Delphi is a cult. And you know the Milwaukee Police Department would get blamed for it. We’d be accused of religious persecution.”

  “Then,” Bernadette said, “we have to keep Annika Nakrivo from showing up at the ceremony tonight.”

  “And I’m telling you that won’t happen,” Chesapeake said. “There’s no way she’ll stay away.”

  Bernadette pulled out her phone. “Damned if we do, and damned if we don’t. I only know that we can’t have anyone else murdered on our watch.”

  The phone buzzed in her hand.

  She glanced down at the screen, then covered her mouth with her hand.

  “What is it?” Chesapeake asked.

  Bernadette swallowed hard. “Eddie Taysatch. He died about a half hour ago.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  In the dim light of the clumps of candles placed around the chapel, Bernadette could barely make out the shape of Jude Lightman’s head in the third row on the right-hand side. Annika Nakrivo was across the aisle, in the second row from the back—an odd place for the girlfriend of the deceased to be. But it was far from Vivian Roundhouse, and if Bernadette didn’t expect her to be so far toward the back of the chapel, she doubted Nick LaSalle—or anyone else who wanted to hurt Annika—would look there either.

  Officer Chesapeake had been clairvoyant: the low light and candles—and the packed service—weren’t conducive to keeping either Nakrivo or Lightman visible, let alone safe.

  In front of the pews, on the stone floor, a four-foot tall metal anc
hor—it looked like dull silver or brushed nickel—was fastened to a large stand made from five thin black poles. The anchor hung off the ground, the bottom a few feet from the floor, the top of the anchor uncomfortably close to the ceiling of the chapel.

  On a stool at the side of the right pews, a young woman played a guitar and what sounded like an old Tudor-era hymn.

  And Kep had been right, too: the anchor ceremony was a big draw, and the media surrounding the murder hadn’t hurt attendance. Bernadette glanced up to the front of the sanctuary. Vivian Roundhouse was sitting, head bowed.

  The hymn finished, and Vivian Roundhouse stood and took her place behind the lectern. She took a breath.

  “Like as the armed knight,” Roundhouse recited, her voice strong in the small stone church, “appointed to the field, with this world will I fight, and faith will be my shield.”

  “And faith will be my shield.” About twenty voices rose around Bernadette to repeat the last line—she almost jumped in the pew.

  When the voices ended, it was silent. Bernadette suppressed a shiver.

  “In this life,” Roundhouse said, “we are often unmoored, adrift. The tides of this secular world push and pull us, throwing us into reefs, pitching us into dangerous waters.” She looked around the room, the candlelight casting eerie shadows up from below, almost like a flashlight illuminating a camp counselor telling a scary story around a crackling fire. “We are here to anchor the life of Kymer Thompson to this church, as he was a shelter from the storm, an oasis of smooth water in the terrible yawning maw of the ocean.”

  Thunk.

  This time, Bernadette did jump in her seat as the heavy metal anchor dropped about eight inches on its stand with a loud metallic noise. She wasn’t the only one shocked by the sound; several other people, including Jude Lightman, were looking around in mute alarm.

  Bernadette gritted her teeth. As if it weren’t difficult enough to keep Nakrivo and Lightman safe in the candlelit chapel, she had to deal with a metal-on-metal boom that would drown out a gunshot, never mind a deadly injection of ibogaine.

  “Faith is that weapon strong,” Roundhouse continued, “which will not fail at need. My foes, therefore, among, therewith will I proceed.”

  “Therewith will I proceed,” repeated a smattering of people in the pews, although more voices joined in this time.