Raising Cain (10 page)

A cassette tape fell out of the folder. “Interview with Jackie Frey,” it was labeled.

Davis placed it in his recorder and fast-forwarded. Then he hit play.

“Go over it again,” he heard himself say. “What time did Mr. Brown leave?”

“Just about dark,” Jackie answered. Her voice was weak, barely audible.

“Speak louder.”

“Dark.” Her voice level was the same.

“Which direction did he walk?”

“Don’t know.”

“How drunk was he?”

“Don’t know.”

“What sexual activities did you perform?”

Silence.

“I know you screwed him. Describe what happened.” Silence.

“Jackie, I have a vagrancy charge just waiting to file against you. The only way to stop it is to get your damn mouth in gear.
Now tell me about the sex!”

There was a blubbering sound on the tape, and Davis hit the stop button. “Nigger bitch!” he snorted. Then he crumpled the
beer can, popped another, and pulled a county road map out of his desk drawer.

“Quarry,” he said, tracing his finger along the mountain road until he found the CAIN compound. Then he took a marking pen
and circled several spots along the route west. Maybe Thomas Ruth did fuck up Old Man Brown, and maybe he didn’t. Only he
and the Lord knew for sure. But there was more than one way to get the bastard to talk. He’d tried one approach out at the
quarry. Now it was time to try something else. Now it was time to improvise.

Sallie moved quietly in the darkness, trying not to awaken her bunkmates. It was two in the morning, and the camp had slipped
into silence. She eased open the screen door and stepped down into the gravel street. Tomorrow was her last day. Her research
was almost complete. It was time to wrap it up.

Sallie tiptoed beside the dorm and ducked behind a bush. From there she had a clear shot of the administration building and
parking lot. A pole lamp lit the scene with a cone of yellow light. She counted the cars in the lot: eight, all accounted
for. Everyone was tucked in for the night.

Sallie kept low and walked toward the granite pit. She’d put most of the pieces together by now, but the weapons question
was still open. She’d observed some strange activities down there the last few days: a van backed up to the shed several times.
But she couldn’t see what they were doing or why. Tonight she was going to try to find out.

The air was chilly, and the dew lay heavy on the grass. The sky was clear and moonless, the stars intense. There was just
enough contrast for Sallie to discern the jagged blocks of stone that lay on either side of the path.

The story was partially outlined in Sallie’s mind. The CAIN cult was destined for destruction. They talked peace and love,
but that was just a cover. They were bigots at heart, bigots with a sinister leader, a sinister mission.

The path began to steepen, and Sallie knew she was close. The shed was at the end, in a flat area on the lip of the giant
pit. Just beyond was a dizzying plunge into the quarry lake. Sallie slowed.

The outline of the shed emerged. Sallie stopped and listened. All was silent.

She took a step.

“Halt!” a voice ordered.

Sallie froze.

“Who’s there?”

Sallie gulped. She’d been caught.

“Identify yourself!”

Sallie considered her options. None was any good. “
Me
,” she finally ventured. Maybe she could plead ignorance.

“
Sallie
?”

“Uh-huh.” Her heart was palpitating.

“These cliffs are dangerous.”

Sallie recognized the measured cadence. “Thomas Ruth?” She tried to sound calm.

“What are you doing out here?”

Sallie’s instincts took over. “I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d take a walk.”

“Really?” Ruth sounded skeptical. “You
know
that’s forbidden.”

Sallie could now make out a human form on a rock outcropping just above her. “I… I forgot. Please don’t be angry.” Sallie
saw a hand reaching down. She grabbed it, and Ruth pulled her up.

“Careful,” he said, “a fall could be fatal.”

She made it, and soon she was beside Ruth on a narrow ledge of stone extending over the lake.

“I couldn’t sleep, either.” Ruth sat and wrapped his arms around his knees.

Sallie studied him in the starlight. He was still an enigma, standoffish and private. Everything about him was a contradiction.
There was no vacant stare in those bright blue eyes. The man had depth. He’d obviously seen a lot in his life, done a lot.
But what?

They sat in silence for several moments.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” Sallie finally said. As long as she was here, it might as well be as a reporter.

“Peaceful,” Ruth repeated.

Sallie held her breath. It
was
silent up here. There were no creatures chattering, no wind sounds, no sounds at all. She could almost hear her heart thumping.
“Can I ask you something?”

“Ask.”

“Why were the police here?” There had never been an official announcement, only rumors about trouble.

“It’s… nothing, a misunderstanding.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“I could help you resolve it.” Her tone was silky.

“The
Lord
is my shepherd.” His hands still gripped his knees.

“I’m
a good listener, too.” That was more throaty, more sensual. Ruth didn’t stir.

Sallie gritted her teeth. She decided to try again. “Tell me what you want. I’m
very
flexible….” She touched his back. The muscles were tense, taut.

“Don’t,
” Ruth said.

Sallie quickly withdrew her hand. Three strikes, that was it. Time to switch to religion. “When did you receive your calling,
Thomas Ruth?”

“My calling…” His words drifted over the ledge.

“To establish your church.” Sallie’s background file was blank. The group had sprung out of nowhere.

“The Lord spoke to me.”

“When?”

“In a dream.”

“What did he say?”

“To strike out in the wilderness like the tribe of Israel, to seek out evil…” His voice dropped off.

Sallie waited, but the master had stopped. “Where did you get the money?” The Lord might have told him what to do, but the
cash came from humans.

Ruth’s body suddenly went rigid and he lowered his arms. “Who
are
you, Sallie?”

Sallie’s heart began to race. Shit! She’d just committed journalistic suicide: one question too many. “Who?” she asked shakily.

“You’re
not
a believer!” Ruth was out of his trance.

“I believe.”

“Your eyes betrayed you in the valley of death. You do
not
believe.”

“I was afraid.”

“Why are you asking questions, sneaking around? Why are you
here
?”

Sallie tried to stay cool. “I want to be part of CAIN.”

“No, you
don’t
! You have another reason for being here. What is it?”

Sallie tried to stand up. “No. I told you. I want to follow CAIN.” She felt for the edge of the rock with her toe.

Ruth seized her arm. “Where are you going?”

Sallie tried to twist away, but the grip was like iron. “Back… to my cabin.”

Ruth held firm. “Have you ever been
baptized
, Sallie?”

Her heart did a cartwheel. “Yes!” Her throat felt tight. The closest water was three hundred feet below.

“God washes away sin!” Ruth pulled her toward the precipice.

Sallie fell back, kicking with both feet. That forced Ruth to release her arm. She rolled across the ledge and leaped down
to the trail. Then she took off through the rocks.

“Sallie!” Ruth called from the darkness.

She froze midstep.

“I’m
talking
to you, Sallie!”

She held her breath.

“Good night!”

Sallie gasped and ran down the path at full speed, bouncing off stone walls, slipping, falling. Ruth was a mysterious, dangerous
psycho. He’d discovered her intent and almost dumped her in the lake. To hell with leaving tomorrow. She was escaping tonight!

A strategy session convened at 7:00
A.M.
sharp at the State’s Attorney’s office. After the fireworks at the funeral, Gardner wanted to assess the status of the Brown
case. Present were Gardner, Jennifer, Lieutenant Harvis, and Officer Bobbie Thompson, a black cop who patrolled Blocktown.
Gardner stood by the drawing board, readying his chalk.

“Before you get started,” Lieutenant Harvis said, “you need to know something. There’s been a new development.” He handed
Gardner the latest Davis report. “Frank’s located a possible suspect.”

Gardner scanned the four-page document. “Ruth?”

“That’s the name he goes by,” the lieutenant replied.

Gardner walked back to the conference table, sat down, and read the report more carefully. Then he passed it to Jennifer.

“This is mostly speculation,” he said. “I don’t see any direct tie-in to Joseph Brown.”

The lieutenant withdrew another report from his folder. “There’s more.” He shoved it across the polished mahogany. “Frank
confirmed the purchase of shotguns, rifles, ammo, and a whole lot of rope from the Dixie Hardware Mart. All signed for and
paid for in cash by one Thomas Ruth.”

Gardner scratched his ear. “I still don’t see the tie-in to Joseph’s death.”

Harvis laughed. “You’re making a joke, right?”

“No.”

“
Rope
? Tie-in?”

Gardner got the picture. “Jeez, Hary…”

“We got a group of flaming
all-white
holy rollers, stocking up on weapons and
rope
. A weirdo priest with a cellular phone, an attitude problem, and no alibi, and a secret hideout that just happens to back
up to the spot where the old man died. In
my
book that’s a connection.”

“It’s still speculation,” Jennifer interjected. She’d just finished reading the report. She looked at Gardner.

“She’s right,” Gardner said. “There’s no direct evidence of any kind as far as I can see that connects this Ruth person to
Brown. No witnesses, no physical evidence. And there’s no
medical
confirmation that the heart attack was somehow induced.”

“So what are you saying?”

Gardner stood up and returned to the chalkboard. “I’m
saying
we still have nothing as far as launching a prosecution is concerned. Suspicion? Yes. Speculation? Yes. But the level of
proof we have so far doesn’t even reach probable cause. Davis said that himself in his report.”

“So we hang it up?” Harvis looked disappointed.

“No. You keep investigating.”

Harvis sensed a “but” coming.

“But we have to keep security tight. If the word gets out who we’re looking at, there could be trouble. You saw the emotion
at the funeral. We could get a real nasty backlash out of this.” He turned to Officer Thompson. “What’s happening in Blocktown,
Bobbie?”

“Quiet now,” Bobbie said. “They had a meeting at the church about six
P.M.
… Broke up about eight.”

“Taylor’s church?”

“Yes, sir.” Bobbie had been on the force for nine years. He was tall and thin, and well-liked by other officers and the community.
In Blocktown they’d nicknamed him “the whip.”

“Any idea what went on at the meeting?” Gardner wrote “TAYLOR” on the board.

“No, sir. I was patrolling.”

“Any activity
after
the meeting?”

“Taylor and about ten others hung around in the parking lot talking. The rest went on home.”

“Bobbie,” Gardner said solemnly, “I want you to be brutally honest. You know Blocktown. What’s the mood out there?”

The officer shook his head slowly. “Tense,” he said. “Never seen it quite like this. They’re setting up a neighborhood watch
program and buying guns.”

“Guns? What kind of guns?”

“Handguns.”

Gardner grimaced. That was great. “Where are they getting them?”

“The church. Taylor’s hawking them out of his basement.”

“
Taylor
? The preacher?”

“That’s what I understand.”

“Is that legal?” Jennifer asked.

Gardner leaned against the chalkboard. “It sure as hell
isn’t
.” He looked at Bobbie. “Where are the guns now?”

“People already bought ‘em as far as I know.”

“So the deed is done?”

Bobbie nodded.

Gardner slapped chalk off his arm. “That makes it tough. If we make an issue of it, it’ll look like
we’re
the bad guys, that we don’t want them to protect themselves. Have you heard any rumors?” he asked Bobbie. “Anything about
who
they
think might have killed Joseph?”

“No. All I heard was that they think he got, uh, kinda
lynched
by somebody. Haven’t heard any names mentioned.”

“Do they think it was a racial attack?”

Bobbie looked down. The county relied on racial harmony.

“Bobbie?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That
does
seem to be the attitude.”

Gardner crossed his arms. So that was it: supposition on speculation on innuendo on rumor, and they had a potential race riot
on their hands.

Gardner turned to Lieutenant Harvis again. “So Davis got nothing out of Ruth? Nothing at all?”

“Correct. He was evasive as hell, impossible to interrogate.”

“What about a background check? You ran one, right?”

“
Attempted
is a better word. We ran name checks, social security checks, driver’s license checks, the whole ball of wax.” He opened
another folder. “Thomas no middle name Ruth, birth date unknown, current address 8890 Quarry Road, current telephone number
599-6664, prior address unknown, prior employment unknown, prior everything unknown.” Harvis shut the folder.

“What about fingerprints? Did you run his prints through the computer?”

Harvis frowned.

“Frank
did
ask Ruth to submit to a print check…”

Harvis twisted in his seat. “No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because it’s not
normal
procedure. We usually get identification information through other channels… didn’t think we’d have this much trouble. Frank
was not directed to get prints.”