Devil's Kiss (8 page)

Best shook his head stubbornly.

Jimmy balled his fists, anger flushing his face a deep red.

“Easy, Perkins,” John stopped him. “You see, Best, I took an impression this morning in Janey's back yard, by the shattered door. An impression of a nice, fresh footprint with a pyramid-shaped cut in the heel of the right shoe. If you don't have a cut like that on your heel, then you're off the hook. It couldn't belong to Perkins—I measured the imprint. It's a size ten and a half. Your size. Perkins wears a nine.”

Best whirled, slamming a shoulder into Jimmy, knocking his partner sprawling on the floor. Best ran out the side door of the den, jumped in his car, and roared away.

“That bastard!” Jimmy hollered, struggling to get to his feet. His face crimsoned when he looked first at the ladies, then at Sam. “I'm sorry. I forgot for a minute.”

Sam helped the young cop to his feet. “Something's not right here. You just don't behave like a person who would do what Jane Ann said you did.”

“I didn't do it, sir. I swear to God I didn't.” He looked at Jane Ann. “Janey, you used to babysit me, when you were in the seventh grade and I was in the second grade. I wouldn't do something like this to you!”

“All right,” John said. “Let's just all sit down and talk this thing out. Be calm. We'll get to the bottom of this.”

“I'll get some coffee,” Fay said.

Over coffee and Faye Stokes's homemade donuts, the mood relaxed in the den. Jimmy Perkins looked stunned and very confused.

“Okay,” John said. “Let's get to it. We can assume—but not prove—from Best's actions here, that he did what he is accused of doing. I can assure you all that he will never wear another badge on my department.”

Sam suddenly thought of Walter Addison. He thought: Not on your department, John, but I'll bet you a nickel Best will wear another badge—and soon.

“Now, then, Jimmy,” John leaned forward, “I want you to tell me exactly what you and Best did last night. Think! I want every round you men made. Every street, every call. Then I want you to tell me why you were with Best—it was your evening off.”

As trained cops almost always do, Jimmy called the previous evening's activities out by rote, ending with,
'Bout eleven we called in for a coffee break. As to why I was with Best, I—uh—don't know, Chief. I guess there must have been a reason, but I can't remember. That sounds stupid, doesn't it?”

“Have you received a bump on the head lately, Jimmy?”

“No, sir.”

“You ate at the drive-in at about eleven o'clock—or had coffee?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And after that?”

The patrolman looked more confused than ever.
Why—uh—there is no after that, sir. I guess George must have taken me home. The next thing I remember is you, pounding on my door this morning.”

“You looked and behaved as if you'd been drinking the night before.”

“No, sir! I don't drink. Never have. But I'll admit, I did feel kind of funny this morning.”

Benton stared at Perkins for several very long seconds, his gaze not wavering. He was not sure if Perkins was a liar or a fool or both. “Did you talk with anyone at the drive-in?”

“Sure! Always the same fellow. He's there every Thursday night at eleven. Been there every Thursday night for weeks; lots of people talk to him. But I don't like him.”

“What fellow?” Sam asked.

“You know, that fellow with the funny medallion around his neck. From out at the Dig.”

The Chief's expression was that of extreme exasperation. “Perkins, what in the devil are you talking about?”

“Very apt choice of words,” Sam said.

Jane Ann smiled, but her smile was tight and strained.

“The director,” Perkins said. “Dr. Black Wilder. He's always there on Thursday nights. I thought everybody in the whole town knew that.”

 

After Perkins had left the Stokes' home, John Benton, Chester and Faye, and Sam and Jane Ann sat drinking coffee and talking.

“I'll bet money,” John said, “that Jimmy is telling the truth.”

“I agree,” Sam said, glancing at the Chief. “He was with Best. But he doesn't remember it. Next question is, why doesn't he remember it?”

“And,” Chester spoke, “why Jimmy? And why doesn't Jimmy like this Wilder fellow?”

Jane Ann abruptly tossed the book on devil worship and possession on the coffee table. It landed title-up, startling them all.

The Chief laughed. “No, Janey, not that. I'm a Christian man—I think. Most of the time. But that,” he glanced at the book, “is going way out in left field.”

Chester said nothing as his eyes caught Sam's, holding them for several seconds. Chester had something to say to the minister, but not in John's presence.

Faye looked worried, and, Sam thought, perhaps just a bit frightened. She, too, had something on her mind.

Sam left the others chatting of things of no importance, excusing himself, going to the bathroom. He passed by the bedrooms in the hall, the kids' bedrooms, Jack and Ruby. An odor hung faintly in the hall. Where had he smelled it? Then he remembered. Michelle's bedroom had the same odor.

On the way back to the den, Sam thought, what am I doing? Adding two and two and coming up with five? So there is an odor in the house. So what?

But why the same odor?

He had no answer.

“John?” Sam asked. “How is the membership at your church holding up?” The Chief was a member of the Episcopal Church.

Why—” the man hesitated, “come to think of it, it's down. Yes, down by quite a bit.”

Sam looked at Jane Ann. “I don't want you to press charges, Janey. Just let this incident drop. I think it would be best. John has cautioned Jimmy not to say anything about it. Best won't mention it. But I've got a hunch Best will be behind another badge by this time tomorrow.”

“Not on my department, he won't!” John said.

“No,” Sam agreed. “He'll be working for the Sheriff's Department.”

“Walter?” John was startled. “Why would Walter hire Best after I've fired him?”

Sam toyed with his empty coffee cup for a moment. “I'd like to ask you a few questions, John—if you don't mind. You have a few minutes to spare?”

“Fire away, Sam. I'd like to hear what's on your mind.”

“The sheriff is telling everyone that the FBI came in here, investigating the disappearance of Larry and Joan. Did they talk to you?”

The Chief shook his head. “No, Sam, they did not.”

“Don't you think that strange?”

“Very. But I've kept my mouth shut about it.”

Why?”

Because—well,” his face tightened for a moment. “You ask your questions, Sam, then I'll tell you my opinions, okay?”

“Deal. Now then, Bill Mathis says the FBI talked with him, at length, in his office at school. But Jane Ann knows that to be a lie. Mathis was clear across the state, at a meeting. So that makes him a liar. Why would he lie? Add this up, John: Joan was a student of Jane Ann's, yet the FBI didn't question her. Joan was a member of my church, but they didn't talk to me. Larry worked part-time for Chester, yet they didn't speak to Chester about it. Larry was a member of your church, but they didn't question Father Haskell or you. Your addition is as good as mine, John. The FBI didn't come in because they weren't notified.”

For a time, the Chief kept his eyes downcast, looking at the coffee table. He was deep in thought. Finally, he nodded his head. “Yes, you're right, Sam—it stinks! It's bothered me for weeks; things I just can't seem to get hold of. And it's not just the kids. It's all these grave robbings, too. And nothing is being done about it. Then there is the general mood of this town. I've got a very bad feeling that something awful is going to happen. Call it a cop's hunch, if you will.”

“I know, John.”

“There's something else, too,” the Chief said. “Walter told me a barefaced lie the morning the kids were reported missing. He told me he'd been to a sheriff's meeting the night before, just got in that morning. That's not the truth, Sam. There was no sheriff's meeting—I checked.”

“What made you check, John?”

“Because he volunteered the information to me, Sam—for no reason. His answers were too pat, and too quick. I never asked for any of them. It was as if he was
trying
to convince me of his innocence. But why should I even suspect he'd done anything wrong?”

“There's something else,” Chester spoke. “I overheard Walter talking to one of his deputies yesterday. I was standing by my door at the store, just behind that display to the right of the front door. They were walking past, stopped, and didn't see me. I didn't catch all the conversation, but what I did hear froze me. Walter said, ‘Does the Coven meet tomorrow night?' The deputy, Harris, said, ‘Yes, at full dark, as always.' Excuse me, ladies, Sam, but Walter said, ‘Joan had some good pussy.' The deputy laughed and said, ‘Prime gash.' Then they walked on. I didn't know what to do, or even if they were talking about the missing Joan. I didn't sleep much last night. Tossed and turned. I'm glad I've got it off my chest. But Sam, what's a Coven?”