Blindside (15 page)

“Yes, we’ll stay,” Savich said, and got himself dressed. “Don’t worry about a few more days. Mr. Maitland called a little while ago, told me to take it easy, not to worry about the math teacher killings.”

He looked big and tough, much more like himself with his leather jacket slung over his arm. Sherlock beamed him a brilliant smile. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah, but don’t tease me, Sherlock.” He carefully put his arms around her, nuzzled her neck. “You know, I just might be ready for some hair rollers tonight. I wish we had time to check out what’s in that vial, just maybe it’s something we can use.”

At five minutes after three o’clock that afternoon, five FBI agents, one former FBI agent, one sheriff, and two children congregated in Sheriff Benedict’s living room.

If Butch Ashburn wondered why two young children were present during a meeting, he didn’t say anything, just watched the little girl for a moment—the sheriff’s kid—playing with a big-eared rabbit named Oscar. His own kid was now nearly twenty, but he could remember when she’d have been on the floor playing with a stuffed animal. The years just swept over you too fast, he thought, leaving you older and slower, and your little kid a grown-up.

“I’m thinking,” Savich said, “that I want to go to church. Does Reverend McCamy have a service this evening, Katie?”

“Yes, he goes all day on Sunday. The church is really nice, sort of like Paul Revere’s church in Boston. Sooner also does tent revivals—every June, out in Grossley’s pasture, about three miles west of Jessborough.”

Katie glanced over at Miles, who still looked dead on his feet. All his attention was on his boy. After she’d dropped Sherlock off at the hospital a couple of hours before, she’d taken Miles and the kids out to Kmart to buy some clothes. Miles was wearing the black jeans, boots, and plaid flannel shirt he’d bought. He looked, she realized, really good. As for Sam, he looked like a miniature copy of his father, down to the black boots.

“Papa forgot to pack clothes for us,” Sam had confided to her earlier in the truck. “He didn’t think about anything else, he just wanted to get to me as fast as he could.”

“I wouldn’t have packed anything either,” Katie said, smiling at Miles. “Not with a Kmart in the neighborhood.”

Of course, Keely had to have black jeans and black boots, and her mother, knowing when to throw in the towel, had given in.

Butch Ashburn said to Savich, “If you and Sherlock plan on staying in Jessborough for a while, I think Jody and I will head back to Washington. We’re still running checks and interviewing all neighbors and employees, and I want to check Beau Jones’s apartment myself. Also, since Miles is former FBI, we’re checking particularly violent cases he was involved in. I don’t buy the idea of revenge myself, but we’re checking everything.” He looked over at Sam, who’d just taken a big bite of fried chicken. “I’m more pleased than I can say, Miles, that you’ve got such a brave, smart boy.”

Miles swallowed, then nodded, and said sharply, “Sam, don’t wipe your greasy fingers on your new jeans. Use the napkin.”

Life, Butch thought, was always unexpected and even, sometimes, like now, not bad at all. He said, “You guys work on Clancy’s connection from this end and, like I said, I’ll work the other end. Hopefully, we’ll meet in the middle real soon.”

Katie smiled at Special Agent Butch Ashburn_—no wing tips on my neck from this guy._

Fifteen minutes after a telephone call, Katie’s mother, Minna Bushnell Benedict, arrived to take charge of the children. She won Sam over with a chocolate chip cookie the size of Manhattan, and assured both Miles and Katie that she’d keep both Sam and Keely safe, with the help of the two deputies seated in their cruiser just outside the house.

“Butch, you have a safe trip back to Washington. Miles, Katie, we’re off to meet the Sinful Children of God,” Savich said, and took Sherlock’s hand. “Maybe we can talk to some of the congregation before the service starts.”

“Find Fatso,” Sam called after his father as they went out the front door. “Shoot him.”

The church of the Sinful Children of God was on Sycamore Road. Katie was right, it looked like the Old North Church in Boston—a tall wooden spire, painted all white, the roof sharply raked with shingles, the windows small and traditional.

There were maybe twenty cars parked in the paved lot behind the church, which was set back from the road, at the edge of a thick stand of maple and oak trees. And Miles found himself marveling yet again at how many trees there were in this part of the country.

The church was nearly full, maybe as many as fifty, sixty people. Men were in suits, women in dresses, hats on their heads. Children sat quietly beside their parents. The four of them sat down in the back. A couple Katie didn’t recognize scooted farther down the bench, not speaking to them.

Katie realized, as she looked around at all those well-dressed people, that she didn’t know very many of them. She wondered from how far away they came. It took her a while to recognize Thomas Boone, the postman, because he looked different in a suit. There was Bea Hipple, an expert quilter, sitting only shoulder high to her husband, Benny, a local mechanic. For the life of her, Katie couldn’t imagine Bea being all that submissive.

She knew maybe twenty-five of the adults in the congregation, no more than that. The organist finished “Amazing Grace.” Throats cleared, papers rustled, and then the church fell quiet. Hearing “Amazing Grace” played in church always made Katie, hard-assed sheriff or not, get tears in her eyes.

Reverend Sooner McCamy rose from his high-backed chair to walk up the winding stairs to the pulpit that was set on a six-foot-high dais. He stood there for a few seconds, looking out. He was wearing a lovely white robe over a black suit and white shirt.

Reverend McCamy wrapped his large hands around the corners of the beautifully worked pulpit. They were strong hands, nicely formed, with short buffed nails, black hair visible on the backs even from a distance. When he spoke, his voice reached to every corner of the room, forceful and deep. Katie was aware that people were sitting at attention now, leaning forward a bit so as to not miss a word.

“I welcome all of you back again for our evening service. It has been a full, rewarding day, and a very unusual one as well. My wife and I spoke with Sheriff Benedict and an FBI agent at our home at noon. It seems that Elsbeth’s brother, Clancy, is wanted for questioning in the kidnapping of the little boy who managed to escape. Yes, Clancy Edens is indeed my wife’s brother. I would ask that if any of you know of this very man’s whereabouts to call the sheriff. I’ve been told there are posters of him all over Jessborough.”

He never broke eye contact with Katie while he spoke. She found herself nodding as one by one, the congregation turned to look at her.

Reverend McCamy paused a moment, looking, it seemed, at each of his congregation. He said finally, “Our spirits need constant nourishment, just as our bodies do. We recognize this need even if we don’t understand how to bring deep into ourselves the nourishment our souls require. We must pray that Clancy Edens finds the nourishment tonight.”

“Amen. Amen.”

“We must all first realize there is a common bond among right-thinking men, men who recognize there is something more to living than being a part of the human herd, something beyond us. It is something more precious than life itself, something that can bring us all infinite understanding and peace. And these men know that this something is our beloved God, and that it is He who is our spiritual nourishment, He who brings value to our lives, He who makes us know the path we must tread. Let us pray for him tonight, brothers, pray that he seeks this path with us.”

“Amen . . . amen . . . amen.”

“It is we men who must lead, who must show these sinners, as we show our precious helpmates, the way to grace and salvation, ensuring God’s forgiveness for their eternal sin. All of you seated before God and His messenger here this evening know that we each have a role in this life, some of leadership and some of submission. Both will free us. I exhort all of you: Seek always to understand what it is you must be and what you must do. Let nothing stop you from attaining what it is God wants you to have, what God wants of you.”

Only men can understand God? Sherlock felt Dillon lightly touching his fingertips to her arm. When she turned, he was smiling. Then he winked at her.

“There are special graces that God grants a few men on this earth that allow them to be special victims of God’s grace, to actually experience his own sacrifice for all of our sins.”

Victims of God’s grace? What did that mean? Sherlock tuned him out until some five minutes later, when Reverend McCamy said suddenly, “Now it’s time for us to divide into our Sunday evening study groups. Our topic for discussion this evening will be ‘Submitting to the Path of God’s Grace.’ ”

Katie looked at Miles, her head cocked to one side. His dark eyes were glittering, narrowed on Reverend McCamy’s face. His hands were fisted, one on his thigh. She smoothed his fisted hand with her own, feeling the tension slowly ease. She would ask him what he was thinking later. It had been smart of the reverend to be up front about Elsbeth McCamy’s brother, very smart indeed. She wondered if the good reverend would have said a word about Sam’s kidnapping if the four of them hadn’t trooped into his service.

After the congregation split into groups, Sherlock made a request to join them. Reverend McCamy looked infinitely patient. “I’m sorry, Agent Sherlock, but you must be a believer and member of this church before you can attend our study groups. Why did you come?” He looked at all of them in turn, one very black eyebrow arched up, a bit of a satyr’s look, if he but knew.

Katie introduced Savich and Miles Kettering.

Reverend McCamy said nothing, merely nodded at them. He gave Miles a long look, then he looked down at the ring on his third finger—an odd ring, thick, heavy-looking, silver with some sort of carving on top. The carving was deep black. Sherlock couldn’t make out what it was. Surely this monstrosity couldn’t be his wedding ring.

Reverend McCamy said, “Special Agent Savich. You appear to be hurt.”

How had he known that? No, that was easy, Savich thought, likely everyone in town was talking about how the federal agent got his back sliced open by a flying piece of van. Savich removed his hand from the reverend’s. “Just a bit.”

Reverend McCamy said, “I will direct all our congregation to include you in their prayers. Sheriff, you’ve known some of these folk all your life. You know they’ll help if they can. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my children.”

Katie looked over toward Thomas Boone and remembered a scene in the post office between him and a Mr. Phelan. They’d been arguing about the church and Reverend McCamy. She wanted to speak to Mr. Phelan.

After Katie dropped Savich and Sherlock off at Mother’s Very Best, Savich looking like he was nearly ready to drop in his tracks, she and Miles went for a cup of coffee at the Main Street Cafe. Beverly, with her lovely, big smile, served them. Bless her heart, she didn’t say a word about the kidnapping.

“It’s an amazing thing,” Miles said as he sipped his black coffee. “In the space of a day and a half, I went from absolute despair to euphoria to something like dread. Do you think Clancy is still here?”

Katie nodded as she stirred some cream into her coffee. “He’s hiding somewhere.”

“You think the reverend and his wife know where he is?”

“I wish I could say yes, but actually I haven’t the slightest idea if they do. You’re a former FBI agent. What do you think?”

“As I said, I’ve only been here for a day.”

“What field office were you assigned to?”

“Actually, I stayed in Washington along with Savich after we met at the academy. I was in the Information and Evidence Management Unit.”

“You dealt with forensics.”

He nodded as he looked through the big front windows out onto Main Street. “My father wasn’t pleased with my choice of career, but to his credit, he encouraged me endlessly. When he died, I realized that it was time to make a change. Fact is, I was getting burned out. I remember reading John Douglas’s book and being struck to my gut when he wrote about his wife cutting her finger. He wrote that what he paid attention to was the way the blood splattered, not his wife’s injury. It could have been me. So, when my father died, I resigned and took over my father’s business. I’ve been doing it now for five years.” He paused a moment, sipped his coffee, closed his eyes, and said, “Fact is, I like it, and I’m good at it.”

“What is it?”

“We design and build parts for helicopters, like guidance systems, primarily for the army, but we’ve built components for all the other branches of the military as well. I’ll tell you though, after some of our negotiations with the military agencies, I’ve thought life was easier at the Bureau.”

She laughed, and realized she liked this man. It had been so very long since she’d even looked at a man and actually saw that he was male, a male to admire and make her laugh. It felt rather good, actually. Carlo had burned her to the ground, the bastard.

The house was quiet. All was well. Katie had made coffee for the deputies, double-checked all the locks, and looked in on Keely before sinking down beneath three blankets on a bed so soft she was convinced her mother had ordered it for her from heaven. Miles was with Sam, who had on his new, spiffy red Mickey Mouse pajamas. Miles hadn’t bought anything so she guessed he was sleeping in his shorts. Now, that was a strange thought. She hadn’t thought about a man’s shorts in a very long time. Boxers? Katie grinned and nodded. Yeah, she’d bet he wore boxers.

Miles lay on his back, feeling Sam’s heartbeat against his side, and his soft hair smooth against his neck. He still wasn’t over the debilitating fear he’d felt for those endless hours before Katie had called. He wondered if he’d ever be over it. They’d been lucky, so damned lucky. He pulled Sam tighter and felt him wheeze a bit in his sleep. No nightmares, so far. He’d have to keep a real close eye on that.

Miles was so tired he felt like his skin was inside out and his brain was in a fog bank. Yet he couldn’t seem to shut down and sleep. So he lay there, listening to his boy breathe.