Blindside (14 page)

Elsbeth was very pretty, just as Katie had told her, and that hair of hers was glorious. Thick, rich natural blond, in loose waves down her back. She was wearing her Jesus earrings, as Katie called them. When she walked the crosses swung. She was tall and slender, but big-breasted. What made alarm bells go off for Sherlock was that the woman seemed to look at her husband as if he were a god. She looked like she’d jump up onto that marble slab and offer her wrists and ankles for the cuffs, and yell as loud as he wished when he applied a whip. Sherlock couldn’t help wondering how she used that block of wood with one side padded with thick fur.

“I’ve heard that you’ve had some excitement, Sheriff. The little boy who was kidnapped, you rescued him?”

“Yes,” Katie said as she sipped on Elsbeth’s delicious coffee. “He’s just fine now. How were morning services, Reverend McCamy?”

He said nothing, merely nodded, obviously pleased with how the morning services had gone. He took a cup of coffee from his wife, not looking away from Katie. Elsbeth said, barely above a whisper, “Two new parishioners found God this morning. Two.”

Not by so much as a flick of his eyelids did Reverend McCamy acknowledge his wife’s words. He then turned his attention to Sherlock. “I’ve never met an FBI agent before, Agent Sherlock. Why are you here?” He kept his eyes on Sherlock now, all his attention focused on her. When Sherlock purposefully nodded toward Elsbeth, he said, “You asked how services went this morning, Katie. I was pleased and gratified. I’d been counseling this couple for three weeks now. With encouragement and the endless love and understanding of God, they have found their way. By God’s grace, they gave their souls to Him this morning.”

He sipped his coffee. He looked out of place in this lovely living room with its human beings drinking coffee. Rasputin, Sherlock thought, he was a twenty-first-century Rasputin.

“Now, Agent Sherlock, Katie,” Reverend McCamy said, “tell me why you’re here. How may I help you?”

“Actually,” Katie said, smiling toward Elsbeth, who was sitting demurely, her knees pressed together, her face utterly beautiful in the light shining in on her from the tall front windows, her Jesus earrings still and shiny, “we’re here because of Elsbeth.”

Elsbeth McCamy flinched, and the dreamy look fell right off her face. Just an instant, so fast Katie wasn’t certain she’d even seen it. Fear. Her fingers fluttered. “Me? I don’t understand, Katie. What could I possibly know that would help you? Surely, Reverend McCamy—”

Katie pulled out a fax with Clancy’s photo. “Is this your brother, Elsbeth?”

Elsbeth shook her head, back and forth, sending the Jesus earrings dancing.

“Is he, Elsbeth?”

“Yes,” she said, “that’s Clancy. But I don’t understand—”

“We’ve just found out this morning that one of the kidnappers is your brother, Elsbeth—Clancy Bird, now Clancy Edens. We found out he legally changed his name when he was younger. If you have any idea where he is, please tell us.”

Elsbeth didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t betray anything at all. She seemed to be waiting for Reverend McCamy to speak.

And he did. He took the photo from Katie and studied it. He nodded. “No one in Jessborough knows that Elsbeth is cursed with such a worthless brother,” Reverend McCamy said. “Naturally she hasn’t seen him in years now.”

Katie said, “That’s too bad. We hoped you’d heard from him. He’s badly hurt. He could die if we don’t find him quickly.”

“My husband is right, I haven’t seen my brother in a very long time, Katie. I know he turned away from God when he was young, but he was always a support to me when I was a little girl.”

“He protected you from your father?”

Elsbeth only nodded, looking down at her shoes. “He was a very bad man. Clancy protected me as best as he could. It was so many years ago.” She raised pale blue eyes to Sherlock’s face and touched her fingertips to a Jesus earring.

Sherlock said, “When did you last see Clancy?”

“He’d just been released from one of his stays in prison, some six years ago, I think. Naturally he was back in prison for something else after that. When I heard there were two men, one of them named Clancy, I never thought it could be my brother. Are you certain he kidnapped that little boy, Katie?”

Katie nodded. “Yes. We are certain that your brother and a man named Beau Jones kidnapped Sam Kettering and brought him here. They kept him in Bleaker’s cabin until the boy managed to escape.”

Elsbeth’s eyes dropped to her hands, now even more tightly clasped in her lap. “I heard about it, of course. Everyone in the congregation was talking about it. We stopped at the pharmacy this morning and Alice Hewett couldn’t talk of anything else, particularly since she’d sold that other man some bandages.”

Katie said, “He hasn’t contacted either of you for help?”

“Oh no,” Elsbeth said. “Why would he do that? Surely he must know that Reverend McCamy wouldn’t help him. Why, he’s a devout man of God. He feels deep pain at the actions of sinners.”

Sherlock said, “All right, Mrs. McCamy. I can certainly understand wanting to help a brother just as I can understand a sister not wanting to help the police find him.”

“Oh no! Lying is a sin. I wouldn’t do that, ever. Just ask Reverend McCamy. I don’t ever lie.”

Reverend Sooner McCamy said, “I assure you, my wife doesn’t lie. Now, Agent Sherlock, Clancy hasn’t called either of us. If he’s guilty of kidnapping that little boy, both Elsbeth and I hope that you catch him and send him back to prison.”

Sherlock said, “If he wouldn’t call you, Mrs. McCamy, then do you have any idea whom he might contact? Does he have any friends close by? Family?”

Elsbeth shook her head. “Clancy doesn’t know anyone in these parts.”

Except you,
Sherlock thought.
Only you.

“How do you think he knew about Bleaker’s cabin?”

“I don’t know, Katie.”

Katie said, “Thank you for speaking with us. If Clancy does contact you, Elsbeth, if he does ask you to hide him, if he does ask you for money, I hope you will call me immediately. You heard, I know, that his partner, Beau Jones, died last night.”

“We heard that you shot him, Katie,” Reverend McCamy said. “You killed him.”

Sherlock heard the cold disapproval in his voice, no chance of missing it. Why?

“Hurting a man, actually killing a man, it’s very bad,” Elsbeth said, clearly distressed.

Katie said, “There wasn’t a choice, Elsbeth. He would have killed someone else if I hadn’t stopped him. Now it’s Clancy who’s in danger. There’s a huge manhunt going on right now for him, as I’m sure both of you know. I really don’t see this ending well for Clancy if you don’t help us find him.”

Elsbeth said, her voice shaking, nearly on the verge of tears, “I’m sorry, Katie. I don’t have any idea where Clancy could be. I don’t understand why he would kidnap a little boy and bring him here to Jessborough.”

Sherlock said, “Obviously Bleaker’s cabin is a good out-of-the-way place to store a kidnap victim. But it has to be more than that. Most likely someone locally wanted Sam Kettering brought here.”

Katie said, “It’s all quite a mystery. There was no ransom note left, no calls made in the two days he was gone from his home in Virginia.”

Sherlock said, “Do you have any idea at all why your brother would bring Sam here, Mrs. McCamy? Other than to use Bleaker’s cabin?”

Elsbeth looked from Katie to Sherlock. Then she said to her husband, “Reverend McCamy, you know that I know nothing about any of this. Could you make them believe me, please?”

“Well, the thing is, Elsbeth,” Katie said before the reverend could jump in, although, truth be told, he didn’t look like he was even very interested. No, fact was, he looked like he wasn’t really here. “You’re the only one Clancy knows in the area. Someone also reported seeing a man who looked like him near your house. I think that’s enough to have a judge issue a warrant to search your house, unless, of course, you give us permission to look around right now?”

Sherlock saw that Reverend McCamy was back, all of his focus, all of his brain was back in the living room, and he knew he had a problem. He stood, looking like an avenging prophet. “You may not search my house, Agent, Sheriff. Get your godless warrant, but I really doubt you’ll be able to talk a judge into it.” Of course, he realized that any search would turn up his party room, and the good Lord knew that would never do.

Their chances were about nil for getting a warrant and the good reverend knew it.

For just an instant, Katie was reminded of Carlo Silvestri, her ex-husband, standing there all arrogant and righteous, just like Reverend McCamy, looking at her like she wasn’t worthy to polish his shoes.

“You mean,” Katie said, rising as well, “that Benson Carlysle won’t grant a warrant. His brother’s a member of your church, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He’s a good man, a fair man. He and his wife are devout members. His brother won’t allow you to harass my wife and me just because someone thought he saw her brother near here.”

Elsbeth said, every muscle tensed, desperate to convince them, “Even if Clancy was here, hiding, naturally, he’s certainly not here now, and we knew nothing about it in any case. He’s got to know that I can’t have anything to do with him.”

“I see,” Sherlock said, and rose to stand beside Katie.

Reverend McCamy said, “Good day, Agent Sherlock, Sheriff Benedict. You do not believe what I believe. You do not behave as women should behave. I would like you to leave. I don’t want my wife tainted with your presence, your suspicions, your lack of grace. However, if Clancy does contact Elsbeth, rest assured that I will call you.”

Katie dug a card out of her shirt pocket and gave it to Elsbeth. “Good. Understand, Elsbeth, if Clancy does call you, you might be able to save his life. If he doesn’t turn himself in he probably won’t survive. You don’t want him dead.”

Elsbeth’s eyes filled with tears, beautiful sparkling tears. She began to moan and rock back and forth on her chair. “Of course I don’t want him dead. It’s a sin to want somebody dead. And he’s my brother.”

Katie fanned her hands in front of her, so impatient she snapped out, “Elsbeth, I’m not planning on gunning for Clancy at high noon, but I’ll do what I have to do to bring him in. Now, thank you for the coffee. Remember, the chances of Clancy living through this decrease by the minute.”

Sherlock and Katie walked themselves to the door, Elsbeth’s sobs echoing behind them. Sherlock couldn’t help herself. She turned a moment to see Reverend Sooner McCamy standing in the middle of the light-filled living room, a portrait in black and white, his face impassive, his dark eyes burning.

Sherlock said to Katie as she started up her truck, “He never asked who it was claiming to see Clancy near his house.”

“No, he didn’t, did he?”

He’s Rasputin.”

Savich had popped a pain pill ten minutes before so he was easily able to smile at his wife.

“Yes, but what did you really think?”

“He’s scary.”

“In what way?”

“He’s not quite here. It’s like he’s into an inner self where there’s only his God and what he owes his God and what he can do to get other people to worship his God. The thing is, I’m not sure he includes women or if it’s just men’s souls that interest him.”

Savich said, “An otherworldly sexist. He sounds too preoccupied with himself to be a kidnapper.”

“Yeah, you’re right, he does. But I haven’t heard much condemnation about his ideas out of you yet.”

“Hmm.”

“Why don’t you yell and holler that it isn’t fair, that you denounce it, that you spit upon such notions?”

“It’s not fair,” Savich said. “I can’t spit because it would hurt my back. This guy sounds very strange, sweetheart.”

“Yes, he is. He’s very intense, as I said, like Rasputin or, more to the point, some descendant of Rasputin. Now, since Katie and I didn’t have a warrant, we just sort of wandered around outside their big Victorian house, which is really quite beautiful, and would you just look at what fell out of a window.”

“Fell out of a window? Yes, if I close my eyes I can see it falling right at your feet. Come on, what have you got?”

Sherlock tossed him a vial and told him about the hidden room off the small bedroom closet.

He read the label. Salvation. He blinked, unscrewed the top and sniffed the liquid, which had a faint almond scent. “Sex with a religious theme? Are you planning on drinking this, Sherlock? Have things gotten this bad?”

She laughed, hugged him very carefully, kissed his mouth. He fastened the cap back on the vial and handed it back to her. “When all this dies down, let’s send it to the lab and see what’s in this salvation stuff.”

“Maybe we can find out if it’s manufactured or if the reverend makes it himself. There were about a dozen other vials, all with charming names like this one. I know I shouldn’t have taken it but I just couldn’t resist.” When she finished telling him about the whips and the green marble altar and the wooden block, he said as he looked down at his fingernails, “You wonder what that wooden block with the fur on top is for?”

“Well, I’m not going to chew off my fingernails if I don’t find out, but yeah, I’d like to know.”

“It’s to pad your stomach.”

“What? To pad . . . oh goodness, I see now. You know, Dillon, big hair rollers are one thing, but being propped up on a wooden block is quite another. No, I don’t think so. Has Dr. Able been around to see you? I want to get you out of here.”

“Yes, he has. I’m fine, just need to sit forward for the next year or so. Stitches come out next week. You ready to break me out of this place? I was just waiting for you to get here.”

Sherlock said over her shoulder as she fetched him the clothes she’d brought from home, “Yes, but we’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t we? We have no idea why Sam was brought to Jessborough and we don’t know yet who hired Clancy and Beau to bring him here. The investigation is just starting. Clancy’s still out there and we need to help. I think, too, that Sam and Miles probably need to remain with us. It’s dangerous for Sam and Miles to go back home alone, don’t you think?”