Marcie's Murder (8 page)

“
P
retty small-time
around
here
. You must be bored out of your skull.”

“Not really
.
”
S
mile lines creas
ed
the corners of his eyes as he waited for a break in the oncoming traffic. “It’s a nice spot.
T
here’s not a whole lot of crime to handle, but the p
eople aren
’
t bad. I do most of the administrative stuff for the department, including the budget,
shift
schedul
e
, that kind of thing. I wanted
the
experience because it’ll help my career if I want to go
s
tat
i
e again
at
a
higher
level
down the road.”

“
You responsible for t
raining
, as well
?”

“
Ye
ah
.”

“Well, your boys need a refresher on firearms care and maintenance. Louden’s carrying a Beretta 92 that needs to be scrapped before he hurts himself with it.”

Branham
said nothing,
concentrat
ing
on his driving.

“Where’d you go to college?” Karen asked.

“Eastern Kentucky.”

Karen nodded. “EKU
is good
for police studies, I’ve heard.”

“You heard that, did you? Well, it’s true.”
He glanced at her again. “What about yourself, Detective Stainer? What’s your story?”

Karen shrugged. “Not much to tell. Been
a cop for
sixteen years, the last year in Homicide. Before that there was a long stint in Family
-
Related Crime, and before that I rode in a patrol car like everybody else for what felt like an eternity.”

“Family
-
R
elated? That must have been a chore.”

“You could say that.”

“What’s your case load in Homicide like?”

“Heavy. There’ve been
fifty-two
h
omicides in the last six months
.”

“
Wow. I’m surprised you could spare the time to come down here.
”

“
Latest case wrapped up quickly. S
uspect
got
his sorry fucking ass
shot
.”

“
Oh?
”

She didn’t really want to get into it.

The sun was shining brightly through the windshield as they rounded a bend in the highway.
Karen
grabbed
a pair of sunglasses from
her
bag and put them on.
A few minutes later Branham slowed
and turned
right
onto Highway 623. “This take
s
us up Rich Mountain
.”

“So who’s this guy we’re going to see? Brother Charles
Baker
?”

“
He’s the head of
the Monastery of
God
in
Burkes
Garden.”

“
G
reat. Religious fanatics.
Hopefully they won’t start
a shootout
while
we’re here.
”

“Not
likely
,” Branham
said
. “They’re pacifists. Although you look like you’re ready to fight the next world war all by yourself.”

“
N
o idea what you’re talking about.”

“Now now,” he chided, “full disclosure.
Collins mentioned the
P-226
you’re carrying.
Y
ou like
it
, by the way?”

“Love it.”

“
A f
riend of mine is a SIG enthusiast and he particularly likes the P
-
226. Which
one
is
it
?”

“The Elite Dark,” Karen replied. “I fire the .40 S and W through it.”

“With the short reset trigger or whatever they call it
?
”

“That’s right. ‘Faster trigger return during high speed shooting,’ as the brochure says.
I used to carry a Px4 Storm as my off-duty but I doubled up on the 226 instead
and
I leave the Px4 at home.
”

“Hmm.” Branham glanced in the direction of her feet. “So what do you carry in the shoulder bag?”

“A Kel
-
Tec P-11.
I had it for a while as my
oh-shit backup
,” Karen said, “but I tried a P-32 and
it
was
better
, so that’s what I
’m
carry
ing
in my boot.” She made a face. “Since I knew you were going to ask.”

“You a mouse gun fan or something?”

“Hell, no. If I ever have to fire anything in the line of duty other than this baby on my hip then I’m in deep shit, but I wanted something a little more comfortable in my boot and the P-32 is a quarter inch thinner and half as heavy
as the P-11
, so I
put
the P-11
in
my
shoulder bag when I’m hauling it around and go with the P-32
as my
primary
backup. I know it’s only a .32 compared to the
9 mm
P
-
11, but what can you do
?
”

“An in-your-ear gun.”

Karen laughed. “That’s right. Stick it in some guy’s ear and it
might as well be a cannon
.”

“So that’s it?” Branham asked. “That’s everything you have to declare today?”

“You sound like
c
ustoms
.
” Karen
smiled
. “
Yeah, that’s it. I left the rest
of the arsenal
at home.” She shifted in the seat to look at him. “You were telling me about Brother Charl
es
. What’s the deal with th
e
garden hideout
?
”

“
Burkes
Garden
is
the name of the place. It’s a historical district,
the highest mount
a
in
valley in the state. Ten miles across. From the air it looks like a moon crater but it has some of the most fertile soil in the area. The Appalachian Trail follows the ridge so they get a lot of hikers and
tourists
up here
. Plus there are some organic farmers with pretty good retail operations, that sort of thing
. This brotherhood, the Monastery of
God
, has a fifty-acre property. They have a small farm operation, a residence and chapel, and they also operate the best free medical clinic
in the county
.
”

“Come into town a lot, do they?”

“
No,
actually,
they don’t
. They usually do business in Tazewell
or
Bluefield
. Occasionally I see a few of them in Harmony and I’ve talked to Brother Charl
es
once before.
I came out here to represent Chief Askew at a charity event and talked to him for maybe five minutes.
Other t
han that
. . .
”

“So Brother Charl
es
being seen twice in Harmony inside of seventy-two hours is an unusual thing, then.”

“A little.” Branham paused, choosing his words. “My take on him? Quiet guy, very polite, intellectual. He’s the abbot of the
m
onastery,
so he doesn’t do the manual labor around the place
. H
e’s the spiritual leader.”

“Gay?”

“If I had to guess I’d say not. They’re not celibates,
as
I understand
it
, but he didn’t come off like somebody with a raging libido, gay or hetero.”

“It’s the quiet guys you gotta watch,” Karen joked.

“I’m just saying I’m not really sold on him as a suspect in a strangulation homicide, that’s all.”

“So you’re just driving all the way out here as a special favor to me.”

“I’m driving out here because it’s a beautiful day,
Burkes
Garden is
a pretty spot, and a good-looking
woman wanted to go sight-seeing
.”

Karen snorted.

The road
wound its way up
the mountain
, trees lining each side, the sun green and yellow as it filtered through the leaves. Branham slowed at each
hairpin turn
and accelerated through very short straight
-
aways, slowing again as the road bent once more, right then left, then right. Two lanes only, with a faded solid center line and no shoulders
.
Karen prayed they wouldn’t find themselves behind a slow-moving vehicle or it
’
d take Branham forever to pass.

Before long they
swung south and
drove
through an opening in the ridge. The road clung to the foot of the mountain slope on the right. On the left through the trees Karen could see a creek and beyond that the slope on the far side.

“This is called The Gap,” Branham said. “It takes us into
Burkes
Garden.”

It was pretty scenery, she had to admit.

The Gap began to open up and they reached an intersection where a road on the
left
crossed a bridge over the creek. “That’s Back Road. It loops around the east
ern
rim of the valley. We’ll stay on 623 here because it’ll take us
directly
to the monastery.”

After several miles they turned off
into a driveway
through a large open gate with a sign that
said,
“Monastery of
God
: Everyone Welcome.”
Just inside the gate was a large
campus
map
and
another sign that said: “Visitors please report to Reception. Patients may proceed directly to Clinic.”

The driveway ran straight for about a hundred feet and then slope
d
upward. Karen looked at page wire fencing on either side and saw a couple of horses loitering in the field on the left. Ahead there were typical farm buildings
:
barns, two silos, several sheds
, then
the driveway branched off to the right
.
Karen saw a two-story structure with a sign that said
Clinic
, a long, three-story building behind the clinic that was accessed by cement sidewalks, and a typical Virginian farm house
on the right
with a sign that said
Reception
. Branham eased into an open spot in the visitor’s parking lot.

“These people are exemplary citizens as far as
we’re
concerned,” Branham said
, shutting off the engine
. “No records, no reports of anything illegal, no traffic stops, no nothing.”

“I ge
t it,” Karen said. “Reclusive w
ackjobs who fly under the radar.”

“What I’m getting at—”

“—is that you want me to keep my mouth shut.” Karen
smiled
at him. “Your play, Deputy Chief. I’ll be good.”

“Thank you.”

They got out of the car and Karen followed him through the front door. The exterior might look like a typical farm house, but the interior, Karen saw, had been completely redesigned. They stood in a large reception area that was furnished with
armchairs and love seats in an Amish-looking style, coffee tables with magazines, a bookcase filled with books, reading lamps and a side table with a coffee machine, coffee cups, and the fixings. A man
wearing a full length white cassock
got up from a desk and approached them.

“Deputy Chief Branham, isn’t it?” he asked, smiling. “We met
last year
. Brother Miles.”