Raising Cain (13 page)

Brownie hurriedly removed one of the black-light photos. Joseph’s head was barely visible in the darkened print, but his neck
area was clearly outlined in white. Brownie tried to remain calm, detached. This was not his father, he told himself, it was
another case.

He squinted and raised the photo. Across Joseph’s neck was a clear pattern of crisscrossed lines. He grabbed his magnifier
and adjusted the focus.

The lines were enhanced under the lens. They were uniform in length, about an inch to an inch and a half each. Brownie studied
them carefully, moving left to right. Then he stopped. In the lower portion of the neck four lines intersected, forming a
box. Brownie sketched the image on his pad. Then he sketched an identical one next to it, and another, and another, until
he’d created a chain.

Brownie gasped when he realized what he’d drawn. “My God, no!” Brownie stared at his sketch. Daddy did die of a heart attack,
no doubt about it. But it wasn’t a natural event. Something had caused it. Brownie circled the word snake again in the article.
Oils from its skin must have triggered the chemical reaction. That’s what left the marks!

Brownie stood up on shaky legs. He grabbed his jacket and rushed for the door. Brownie knew what had happened. And now he
knew what he had to do about it.

“Reverend Taylor!” Mrs. Driver called.

The reverend pressed his brake and slowed the car. A woman in a lemon-colored derby was flagging him down. He waved back and
pulled into the parking lot of the Blocktown pharmacy.

He lowered his window and she thrust herself forward.

“Gotta talk to you,” she said hurriedly. There was a copy of
Interview
magazine in her hand.

“I saw it,” Taylor said. He looked worried and tense.

“You need to have a council meeting. There was shooting out at the quarry today just after that story came out. I’ve been
trying to reach you.”

“Sorry. I was busy.”

“This is serious,” she continued. “You got everyone carrying guns, and now they’re using them. The children are scared to
go outside, and the old folks are locked in their rooms.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Taylor said. He wasn’t wearing his usual suit. He was dressed in overalls and a leather jacket.

“Please call a meeting.”

“I will. Don’t have time to do it right now, but I will.”

Mrs. Driver checked to make sure she’d stopped the right car. This didn’t sound like the take-charge Taylor she knew, didn’t
act like him, either. This man was preoccupied.

“When?” she persisted.

Taylor looked at his watch; it was three o’clock. “Tonight, maybe. Possibly tomorrow. I’ll have to let you know.”

“The devil is roaming free out there,” Mrs. Driver said. “I don’t think we can wait.”

“We’ll have to,” the reverend replied. “Right now I got something to do.” He nodded politely and raised his window. Then he
pegged the accelerator and roared off down the road.

Frank Davis adjusted his radio receiver. “Say again, dispatch. Your transmission was garbled.” He was behind the ridge at
the north end of the county, not the best spot for reception.

“The chief has just issued a pick-up order on Thomas Ruth.”

Davis turned the volume all the way up. “Has a warrant been issued?”

“No warrant. Detain for questioning.”

Davis spun his car around and headed down the hill. He’d been looking for Ruth all day, but the bastard had somehow eluded
him. Now he was official meat, and he was nowhere in sight.

Davis checked his map as he drove south. Ruth had been a no-show all day at his usual haunts. His car had left the quarry
and hadn’t returned. That much he knew.

The sky was a deep gray now, and the clouds looked like icebergs in an arctic sea, glinting on the horizon. Davis increased
his speed. It would be night soon, and he had a stop to make. Thomas Ruth was up for grabs. And Davis had to get to him first.

“Where is Thomas Ruth?” a follower asked. The CAIN congregation was assembled under the tin roof of the shed for a nine o’clock
prayer meeting, but their leader wasn’t there this evening. Two men approached the platform, but neither was Thomas Ruth.

“I have an announcement,” Nicholas Fairborne said, mounting the dais.

The flock came to attention.

“The meeting for tonight is canceled.”

A moan drifted up from the gallery.

“Please return to your dorms.”

The followers stood and filed out, leaving Fairborne alone with the other man.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” the man asked.

“No need to cause alarm at this stage,” Fairborne replied.

“What happened between you two earlier?”

“What?”

“I thought I heard Thomas yelling. Were you having a disagreement?”

Fairborne looked over his shoulder. “No.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

Fairborne shook his head. “It was nothing.”

The man put his hands on his hips. “So what do we do now?”

Fairborne pointed to the administration building. “We try his car phone again. Maybe it’s back on the air.”

“And if he still doesn’t answer?”

“Then we sound the alarm.”

The Allegheny State Park cut diagonally across the northern end of the county. It was a lush swath of pine forests, rock gorges,
secluded meadows, and rushing streams. Hikers and campers trekked its trails day and night, and they always got a workout.

Randy Allison and his two sons had driven up from Baltimore. They’d arrived at the park’s south entrance at eight
P.M.
, signed the register, and begun hiking to the campsite they’d selected on the map. The trail was steep and demanding. It
wound over two high ridges, past the electrical substation, and down a sharp grade into a hidden clearing. Most campers avoided
the route as too dangerous. But Randy wanted his fifteen- and sixteen-year-old sons to exert themselves, so he’d picked the
most challenging path.

They’d been out for over an hour. The trail was very dark and deserted, and they’d seen no one since they’d left the parking
area. Tom and Brett Allison were up front with the flashlight, and Randy was laboring behind. This was much harder than he’d
anticipated.

“Power station,” Tom called. It was a checkpoint on their route.

“Okay,” Randy replied, as the light disappeared over a rise. He was proud of the way the boys were taking to the trip.

“Dad!” Tom suddenly yelled from the darkness ahead. Randy ran forward, stumbling and slipping on the rocks.

“Dad!” It was a cry for help.

Randy crested the rise and raced down toward his boys. They were standing by the deserted substation, staring in.

“Dad, look!” Tom hollered. He shined his light through the open gate.

Randy was breathless from his run. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and tried to focus on the spot where his son had rested
the beam. “My God,” he gasped.

A man was slumped against the high-voltage panel, handcuffed to the sparking grid. He was tall and shoeless. And he was dead.

C
HAOS

A chain saw ripped the predawn air as the police team cleared a pathway to the power station. The Allisons had fled to the
parking area and alerted the authorities after encountering the body. And that set into motion the response sequence: a patrol
officer first, then a medical unit, then the backup cops. Now, finally, at five in the morning, the lab van and paramedic
truck were moved closer to the rocky site.

Officer Billy Hill had been the first man to answer the call. He’d met with the Allisons and instructed them to remain at
the ranger shed. Then he’d sprinted out alone to find the body. Hill had not been long on the force; he was a freckle-faced
twenty-four-year-old strong on enthusiasm but weak on experience. When he reached the grid he’d tried to follow procedure:
confirm the condition of the victim, secure the scene, locate evidence. He was moving fast, trying to get it all right. But
this was his first encounter with a corpse.

Hill had radioed the power company to shut down the electricity. The grid was still smoking and spitting out sparks, making
access to the body impossible. The juice was cut, and the fireworks stopped. Then Hill lowered the dead man to the ground
before anyone else had reached the site.

Now Gardner and Jennifer held hands as they struggled over the slippery stones. They’d been alerted and advised to come out
to the scene.

In the darkness, the trail was hazardous. The slimy dew had made the flat shale as slick as ice. They skated across the slate
and soon saw the glow of portable floodlights beyond the rise.

It looked like a movie set. Five beacons lit the empty grid with harsh white beams while police, medics, and park rangers
milled in and out of the shadows. Gardner spotted Lieutenant Harvis on the periphery, talking to Frank Davis.

Harvis ran over when he saw the prosecutors.

“What’s the word?” Gardner asked.

“Pretty sure it’s Ruth,” the lieutenant replied. “Davis has ID’d him, but there’s some charring on the body and the face is
messed up. We’re waiting on someone from CAIN to make a final identification.”

Gardner glanced at Davis. The officer shrugged sheepishly as if he’d screwed up his assignment. “When did
he
get here?”

“Frank arrived when we did. Billy Hill was first on site, Davis and the rest of us got called in when they ran the alert roster.”

Gardner looked toward Davis again, but he’d wandered off. “Where’s the body?”

Harvis pointed into the darkness. “Medics have him. They cut an access path on the south side so they could drive up. They’ll
hold him until we get a confirming ID, then transport to the medical examiner’s for autopsy.”

“Who removed the body from the grid?”

“Hill. He shut off the power and laid him down.”

Gardner looked at Jennifer. The rule was to leave the body in place until the investigators completed their preliminaries.
“Did Hill take photos?”

Harvis shook his head. “No.”

“No photos?” Exact body position was crucial in determining what happened.

“Sorry.”

Gardner sensed irony. “Really? You don’t seem sorry.”

Harvis checked around for eavesdroppers. “This isn’t a
normal
situation. There’s a complication.”

“What?”

“Looks like an
inside
job.”

“Inside the church?”

Harvis looked over his shoulder again. “No. Inside the
department
.”

Gardner’s eyes met Jennifer’s, then moved back to the lieutenant’s.

“What do you mean, Harv?”

“I mean we might have a problem here. A real
problem
.’

Gardner began to understand. “An officer is implicated?”

“It’s possible.”

“What evidence do you have?” Jennifer asked.

“One item in particular. Take a look at the body.” Harvis motioned toward the grid with his chin.

“What
item
?” Gardner asked.

“You’ll see,” Harvis replied.

The body had been placed in a plastic bag before being laid on the gurney. It was unzipped, awaiting the arrival of a person
from CAIN who could confirm its identity.

Gardner stared at the gruesome face emerging from the dark green bag. The sky had lightened now, and the features were visible.
There was charring on the forehead and cheeks, and the pale hair had been burned away, leaving a Mohawk of blackened scalp
down the center of his skull.

“Ugh,” Jennifer groaned.

“That’s what a couple hundred thousand volts will do to you,” Gardner pointed out as he zipped the bag open. The zipper was
at waist level now. “Look.” Gardner lifted the plastic.

Jennifer glanced inside the fold. The hands were laid across his abdomen, and the wrists were handcuffed. The logo of the
county police department was imprinted in the shiny metal.

Gardner quickly zipped the bag back up to the neck.

Voices echoed behind them. “Over here, sir.”

Gardner and Jennifer moved aside as two officers escorted a man to the gurney. He was about Ruth’s age, bearded and dressed
in denim. As soon as he saw the ravaged face, he nodded. “That’s him.”

“You’re certain?” an officer asked.

“Yes, no question.”

Gardner introduced himself. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

Nicholas Fairborne eyed Gardner cautiously. “Yesterday morning.”

“When did he leave the quarry?”

Fairborne stared. “I’m here to identify a body, sir, not to be interrogated.”

Gardner was surprised. The man was being uncooperative, almost defiant. “Don’t you
want
to help?”

Fairborne turned and walked away.

“Want me to detain him?” one of the cops asked.

“No,” Gardner finally said.

“What’s his problem?” Jennifer asked.

“Maybe he knows something.”

“You think they killed their own leader?”

“It’s happened before. Cults are dangerous businesses.”

Jennifer studied his face. “But you don’t think that’s what happened here. You think one of our cops might be involved, like
Harvis said.”

“Could be,” Gardner whispered.

“That’s why they’re buttoning down the investigation. No photos, no rush to judgment.”

“Yeah.”

“So who do you think did it?”

Gardner put his lips to her ear. “There’s only one cop on the force with a motive.”

“Brownie?”

Gardner nodded.

“Brownie couldn’t do it,” Jennifer said, “wouldn’t do it….”

Gardner glanced east. The sun had just breached the horizon and filled the forest with saffron light. It was the beginning
of another stunning autumn day. But Gardner barely noticed.

Nicholas Fairborne sat at a computer terminal in the CAIN administration building, feverishly fingering the keys. He was running
the files of Thomas Ruth, looking for references to money.

Fairborne selected a title from Ruth’s personal menu: “CASH.” He keyed the file name and hit enter.

The “CASH” file booted up, and Fairborne scanned the page.