Devil's Playground (22 page)

She waved her arm over the gathering as if she were a magician conjuring a rabbit from a hat. To her right, Sam heard a murmur arise, then spread through the throng. She looked toward the commotion, but saw nothing. Then, as if he had materialized from the Earth’s ether, she saw him. Reverend Billy. He was massive, both vertically and horizontally. Easily six-six and about one of Millie’s biscuits with gravy under 300 pounds, with thick white hair, flashing pale blue eyes, and a smile as big as Texas.

He pushed his way through the reporters as a Great White Shark would part a school of barracuda and ascended the steps. He paused, and then theatrically turned to face the crowd, flinging his arms wide as if to embrace them all.

The bruised clouds cracked and, though the rift was not deep enough to expose blue sky, a shaft of muted light fell on the congregation. It was as if Reverend Billy had opened a doorway to Heaven.

How the hell did he pull that off? Sam thought.

He stood on the top step, towering over the reporters and entranced townspeople, their eyes and cameras turned upward, ensnared by his presence. From their vantage point, he must have looked like God Almighty himself. When he spoke, his voice rumbled up from his cavernous chest like a volcanic mud pool--resonant, powerful, commanding.

“Good people. We of the Holy Church of God have traveled a great distance at great expense to be here with you in your darkest hour. Your children, your friends, your neighbors have suffered and died at the hands of Satan and Richard Earl Garrett, Satan’s instrument of evil, his personification here on Earth, his agent of corruption and pain.”

“So, this is Reverend Billy?” Lisa joined Sam at the rear of the group.

“Big as life and twice as nasty,” Sam offered.

Reverend Billy continued, swelling to full puff, his voice brimming with the power of God, gathering momentum like thunder rolling out of the mountains. The wide-eyed audience looked as if they expected lightning to arc from his fingers into the heavens.

“God and Satan are at war. A war that will decide the fate of mankind. The hour of the Revelation is upon us and each of us must choose sides. Are we to put our trust in God or follow Satan to our eternal damnation? God will help you, but only if you help yourselves. If you turn your back on him, so he will to you. You must come to God, confess your sins, and beg for his forgiveness.

“Your police, your courts, not even yourselves can root this evil from your lives. Only the power of the Lord can win this battle. You must open your hearts and your souls.”

“And your pocket books,” Sam muttered to Lisa.

“Come to God,” Reverend Billy bellowed. “Tonight, the Holy Church of God will hold services. Seven o’clock. All are welcome.”

With that, he descended into the crowd. In the Reverends wake, a pale, waif-like girl, somewhere between fourteen and legal, mirrored his every step. Stringy, straight blonde hair framed a face dominated by innocent blue eyes, which appeared absurdly large above her sunken cheeks. She looked like a New York teenage model with a $500 a day heroin habit.

Worn and torn over-sized jeans hung low on her hips and bunched around her ankles, crowning clunky platform shoes, which anchored her to the ground like the taproot of a wind blown reed. A powder blue sweater, joined across small breasts by a single button, swept open to reveal a flat genderless abdomen. The natural sway of her hips, accentuated by the precarious shoes, revealed her as decidedly female when she walked. A single gold ring perforated her navel.

“Probably his niece,” Sam said.

“That was my first thought,” Lisa agreed sarcastically.

Reverend Billy parted the crowd as easily as a finely honed plow through freshly turned soil. As he neared where Sam and Lisa stood, his eye caught Sam’s. His eyes dropped to her badge, then returned to her face. His smile broadened as he approached.

He possessed a body constructed by indulgence, round, fleshy, protruding. The work of hauling his mass the fifty feet to where they stood, squeezed droplets of perspiration from his pores. He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, then swiped it down each side of his sweaty jowls. His breath squeaked and whistled as his massive chest rose and fell.

A taste for alcohol had lined his bulbous, ruddy nose with a road map of red veins. Sam figured he liked his whiskey older than his women.

Blue Eyes, peering around her mentor, smiled blankly and twirled a finger in her hair. She looked like she was on a school outing.

“Hello, darlins’,” Reverend Billy drawled, stuffing the handkerchief in his pocket. “You must be the prettiest girls in the county. What’s yall's names?”

“I’m Deputy Cody.”

“Then, you must be the law around here?” He offered his hand, which she reluctantly took. It was soft, puffy, sweaty. She wanted to go shower.

“Part of it,” Sam said.

“And you’re responsible for Richard Earl Garrett?”

“Mr. Garrett is responsible for himself. We merely keep the keys to his accommodations.”

He laughed a deep wheezing laugh that ended with a fit of coughing, which engorged his face with purple blood. Blue eyes clutched his arm protectively.

“And who might you be?” he asked Lisa.

“Lisa McFarland.”

“Oh, yes. The prosecuting attorney. You must be quite proud of yourself?”

“We’re pleased with the verdict, if that’s what you mean?” Lisa said.

“That’s only half the battle, darlin’”

“And the other half?” Sam asked.

“Why Richard Earl Garrett must be exterminated, of course.” Billy spoke as much to the crowd that pressed in around him as he did to Sam and Lisa.

“We’ll leave that to the State of California.”

“Only God can rid this Earth of the likes of Mister Garrett.” Billy beamed as if he were on a pulpit.

“What do you propose?” Sam said. “That we throw a rope over a tree and hang him?”

“My, my. You are a feisty one, aren’t you, darlin’?”

Sam glared at him. “Look Reverend, I’m not your darling and I’d appreciate it if you would break up this little revival meeting. You’re blocking traffic.”

“Honey, the revival meetin’ ain’t until tonight. Why don’t you come and hear the word of God?”

“Oh, I’ll be there. It’s God who might not show.”

His smile evaporated. “It’s this mocking of the Lord that has brought this evil to your community.”

“Really. I thought Garrett fell off a Trailways that was bound for Hell.”

“I assure you, Deputy Cody, on this Earth, our troubles are of our own making.”

“That’s one thing we can agree on.”

His piano-like teeth reappeared. “I knew we could be friends. Would it be possible to have a word with your prisoner?”

“Not up to me. You’ll have to ask his attorney.”

“Perhaps I shall,” he smiled. “That would be Mister Levy, I believe.”

He just got into town, Sam thought. How does he know so much? “That’s right. But, before you do that, get these buses out of here. They’re blocking traffic and taking up all the parking spaces.”

“Whatever you say, officer. We must go prepare for this evening anyway.”

He gave them a half bow, turned, and pushed his way through the reporters, ignoring their questions. Blue Eyes shuffled along behind him.

A reporter approached, but before he could ask a question, Sam fixed him with a cold stare. “Don’t even think about it.” He backed away.

“Is this guy for real?” Lisa asked, nodding toward the departing Reverend Billy.

“Afraid so. Nathan says he can be real trouble.”

“I see you and Mister GQ are on a first name basis. What’s the deal?”

“There is no deal,” Sam scowled.

“Just asking.” Lisa held up her hands, palms out, in a defensive posture. “He is rather easy on the eye though.”

“True.” Sam flashed on their brief kiss, then her dream. “I’d better get to the office.”

When she entered the office, Thelma was on the phone but held up one finger. Sam hung her jacket on the corner coat rack as Thelma finished her conversation.

“That’s right. About a mile north of town...Seven, I think...No problem.” She dropped the phone in its cradle. “That’s the third call in the past twenty minutes. Everybody wants to know where Reverend Billy is preaching tonight. They must think we’re the Chamber of Commerce.”

Most people in Mercer’s Corner knew that Thelma was THE source for information. If she didn’t know it, it didn’t exist. And Thelma relished the role, even if she did complain from time to time.

“Where’s he putting on his show tonight?”

“Up near Dry Creek Road. Are you going?”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing the good Reverend,” Sam said sarcastically. “Any messages?”

“Oh. I almost forgot. Cat Roberts called. Said you could talk with Walter anytime.”

“Great. I’ll head right over. Let me have the evidence room keys. I promised Ralph Klingler I’d bring the knife over for him to do some wound comparisons. Meant to do it yesterday, but never got the time.” Forgot, she said to herself.

“Here you go.” Thelma tossed the keys to Sam.

Sam unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. She slid Garrett’s evidence box off the shelf and shuffled through the contents.

“Jesus F. Christ! Thelma!”

Thelma appeared in the doorway. “What?”

“The knife. It’s not here.”

“What?”

“Not here.”

Thelma looked into the box. “I don’t believe it.”

“Where’s Charlie?” Sam stormed out of the room. “Get somebody over here to change the lock on that door,” she shot over her shoulder. “Have them put a couple of dead bolts on the damn thing and lock the Goddamn keys in Charlie’s safe.”

After talking with Charlie and calling Ralph Klingler, informing both that the knife had once again grown wings and escaped, Sam drove to Mercer Community Hospital. She entered the ICU, trying to ignore the cacophony of smells that greeted her, and walked to the nurse’s station, where Rosalie Meyer sat. Rosalie looked up as she approached.

“Morning, Sam. You here to see Walter?”

“Yeah. How’s he doing?”

“Amazingly well, all things considered. Dr. Roberts did a hell of a job, as usual. Go on in. He’s in number three.”

Sam stood at the door to Walter’s cubicle. He looked nothing like the Walter Limpke she knew. He didn’t look like a murderer either. Thin, pale, sickly, he appeared to have been sick for years, not hours.

He lay in bed, his head slightly elevated. A plastic tube filled with a material that looked like used coffee grounds, protruded from his nose and hung over the side of the bed, where it emptied into a bag that held three inches of the same black-flecked liquid. Two IV poles, each decorated with several bags of fluids, stood like sentinels on either side of the bed. The wall-mounted cardiac monitor above his head emitted a steady beep.

His eyelids fluttered, then as if they hoisted the weight of the world, lifted sluggishly. Glassy eyes peered from beneath the droopy lids, scanned right, and then left, unfocused, before locking on Sam.

“Hello, Walter. How you doing?” Sam asked.

“Been better.” His voice was lifeless, raspy. He cleared his throat, then swallowed, wincing in pain. “I feel like one of your punching bags.” He smiled weakly, then hiccoughed, grimacing.

“I hate to bother you right now, but I need to ask a few questions. OK?”

“I have a few thousands questions I’d like to ask, too. But, I wouldn’t know who to ask.”

“Such as?”

“About...last night. Was it last night? I’ve lost all sense of time.”

“Night before. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I was dreaming. At least, I thought I was. It was like a nightmare. Only more real. I woke up and there was...Roberto.” He sobbed, clutching his abdomen, trembling against the pain.

“It’s OK, Walter. Tell me about the dream. Before...Roberto.”

“It was bizarre. I don’t remember much. There were colors. Bright colors. Unnatural. Not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

Sam’s skin prickled, hairs standing erect like cactus spines. Her dream had been colorful. Unnaturally colorful.

“Can you describe them?” she asked.

“I only remember flashes. Like the road was silver, the sky orange, and Roberto’s trailer...I remember now...was bright red. Like a light. It was so bright it hurt, but I couldn’t look away. I wanted to...but I couldn’t.”

The Garrett/reptile’s eyes in her dream were red. Bright, flashing red. The prickly feeling crept up her back.

“Let’s start at the beginning. What happened first?”

He told her of going to bed and awakening in a swirl of scintillating hues. How he fought the compulsion to leave his bed, his house. But, he could not resist and entered a world of colors within colors. Chaotic swirls and incomprehensible images and Roberto’s trailer, emitting a seductive red beacon. Then, as if he had “dropped out of a dream” he was standing before Roberto.

“Do you remember seeing Roberto alive?”

“No.”

“Did you kill Roberto?”

“I don’t know. I must have. I had the knife.”

“Did you stab yourself, Walter?”

His lips trembled, then he softly said, “Yes.”

He lifted his eyes to hers and she saw a mixture of confusion and sorrow and fear. She wanted to hug him, tell him everything was OK, that she understood. But that was impossible. Everything was not OK and she didn’t understand. Besides, his descriptions echoed her dream, thickening her own fears. Was she going crazy like Walter obviously had?

“Why?”

“Why? You saw him. What I did to him. I don’t know how or why, but I know I did it. I can’t live with that image of Roberto and of...” His voice trailed off as if afraid to continue.

“Roger and Miriam Hargrove?”

“Yes.” Again he sobbed, clutching his belly. “That must have been me, too.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Only colors. And the same red light. And Miriam’s face.” He swallowed back tears. “Why did this happen? Am I going crazy? I must be. To do that, someone would have to be.”

“I don’t know, Walter. Not much makes sense right now. I need to ask you something else.”

“Yes?”