Satan’s Lambs (2 page)

Mendez sat forward. “Good to see you taking this so well.”

Lena rarely smiled, but when she did it made her seem hugely vulnerable. “Quit. Don't make me laugh when I don't want to.”

“Don't you ever want to?”

She would not meet his eyes.

“Lena, I don't think you need to worry about Valetta. He was in Eddyville before Jeff killed your sister. He was never part of that.”

“He was Jeff's partner.”

The white paw shot sideways and batted the cuff of Mendez's pants.

“They're convicted felons, both on parole. Any association, and the parole will be revoked.”

“So
you
say.”

Mendez dropped a potato chip in front of the couch. The white paw shot out, cupped the chip, and dragged it out of sight.

Mendez frowned. “Hayes is another matter. He made a lot of threats. He was white hot about the insurance settlement.” Mendez met her eyes steadily. “I want to know if he calls, comes around,
anything
.”

“Worrying won't keep Jeff from killing me, Joel. He told Whitney he'd kill her; he did it. He'll come after me if he wants to.”

“Take steps.”

“You think a restraining order will stop the bullets?”

“It's foolish not to accept help.”

“What's foolish is depending on it.”

He glanced at her left hand. “Are you living alone?”

“I'm not married anymore. Rick didn't want to come live here. He thought it would be bad for me.”

“He was right.”

“Funny, I don't remember asking him or you for an opinion.”

“You shouldn't stay here wallowing in memories.”

“God, Mendez, you make me sound like some kind of mournful Pig.”

“What's your interest in Valetta?” Mendez waited. She was capable of great stillness.

Lena swung her legs over the side of the chair. “They made me look stupid, didn't they? They dug into all that old stuff.”

“Who?”

“The parole board. They got into the case files and made me look dumb.”

“The subject matter makes anybody look bad, until the consequences become overwhelming. I told you that when you and your sister were in my office, that first day.”

Lena closed her eyes, and she was back in Mendez's office, smelling stale cigarettes and scorched coffee. She could see the sun slanting in through white venetian blinds, making precise horizontal rows of light on the tile floor. Mendez had met her eyes steadily, hands flat on his desk. It was the image she remembered most, except for the bad ones.

“I told Whitney not to go in telling all that Satan stuff. She wouldn't listen, she said somebody better know what's going on. And it was all true. She never said he had power, or he sicced the devil on her. She just said he—”

“I know, Lena.”

She nodded. She had always wondered what would have happened if Mendez hadn't been there—the only cop with any experience of occult crime, the only cop who had heard the ring of truth in Whitney's complaints.

My husband is a Satan worshiper, officer, and he supplies drugs and dirty pictures to other Satan worshipers, and I think he maybe had something to do with a child that was missing. And he hits me, and my son, and claims the boy isn't even his, which I assure you is patently untrue. I'm divorcing him, but he's sending me seashells, and that means he's going to kill me.

Maybe, the cop had said, he just wants to take you to the beach.

You don't understand.

Lady, we can't put a guy in jail for sending you a seashell.

And then Mendez was there, standing silently by the officer's elbow, casting a shadow across the desk. Let me talk to them, he'd said. And Whitney had been so grateful. Grateful, though the restraining order didn't keep Jeff from breaking in during the middle of the night. Didn't keep him from nearly running her down with his new Chevrolet, dealer tags on the back. Didn't keep the new puppy from winding up dead on the doorstep.

Lena looked at Joel.

“You told me you were involved in a lot of this stuff down in Miami. Occult crime. Some of the guys called you the ghostbuster.”

Mendez nodded.

Lena reached into the drawer of the side table. It was crammed full of small tools, pencils, pads of paper, sales flyers. She took out a white cardboard box. Inside, on a square of cotton, was a gray seashell, white on the belly. The shell was rough, unpolished, crumbs of sand spilling out.

“I got this in the mail. Remember? Jeff used to send these to Whitney. It always upset her when she got them.”

Mendez looked at the shell. He put the box in his jacket pocket and leaned forward, pressing his hands on Lena's knees. “Jeffrey Hayes has no special power. No magic, no forces of evil, other than what comes from within. You understand that, don't you?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm talking about in the middle of the night, when you hear a funny noise. When you hear that noise, do you believe that Hayes has the powers of Satan?”

“Hell, no.”

Mendez pulled back and smiled at her. “Good.”

“Joel, why did you leave Miami?”

“Personal reasons.”

“Such as?”

“What's your interest in Archie Valetta? Are you representing a client?”

“You never heard of client confidentiality?”

“You're a private investigator, not a priest.”

They stared at each other.

“I'll let myself out.” Mendez tapped her shoulder. “Be sure to lock up behind me.”

“Leaving already? I haven't finished giving you a hard time.”

He gave her one of his sad smiles, but she wasn't buying. No sympathy.

“Joel?”

“Yes, Lena?”

“Don't go buying any cars down at Finard's.”

Mendez looked at her. “Cops can't afford new cars.”

2

Eloise Valetta nudged the worn down nap of the carpet with the toe of her terry-cloth house shoe. The warm, sweet smell of baking was strong.

“I 'predate you coming over—I got a cake going. I take orders, you know, weddings and all.”

She was growing out a perm, and thick black hair fell in limp wiggles to her shoulders. She wore navy blue polyester pants, snagged and frayed across her wide, loose backside. Her nose was big and crooked. Lena wondered how many times it had been broken. There were wide white scars on the inside of her right arm and across both wrists. Large red weals spotted her arms, neck, and face.

“I heard, at the shelter I think, how you quit school and some job you had, and started taking these cases, you know, where women need help. Some of the girls down there call you the equalizer. Like the TV show.”

Lena smiled. Ph.D. candidate to woman's equalizer. It would make for an interesting résumé.

Eloise chewed her lip. “I wasn't sure if you'd help me. Because of how I used to be married to Archie, and him working with Hayes. But then I figured, you more than anybody would know how serious it is to cross these boys.”

“I know.”

“And I didn't figure you had any love lost on Archie. You might not mind getting back at him some.”

“Might not.”

“At least Hayes is locked up.”

“Not anymore. He just got parole.”

“But how can that be? He got forty years!”

“He got two twenty-year terms, to run concurrently.”

“Concurrently?”

“That's both at the same time. He's served twenty percent of his sentence. He's out.”

“After what he did to your sister and her little boy, that was so awful. And her being pregnant.” Eloise shook her head. “I remember reading about it. He ought to have got the death penalty.”

“Wasn't possible,” Lena said. “He had a solid out on diminished capacity. He was taking Prozac—that's an antidepressant. Prescription drug with known side effects.”

“Like making a man kill his wife and little boy?”

Lena shrugged. “Says so in the warning on the side of the bottle.”

“Oh, now. Are you kidding me?”

“Some.”

“Maybe what I need is some Prozac. Seems like you can get away with anything in Kentucky except killing a white
man
or stealing his money.”

“That's two of the big three.”

“What's the other one?”

“Marijuana. Grow it or smoke it and they throw away the key.”

Eloise grinned.

Lena felt an ache in the small of her back. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Gosh, no. I got to check my cake and see if Charlie's okay. I'll be right back.”

The couch was dark green vinyl. Three Matchbox cars—a tiny dump truck, a police cycle, and a Thunderbird—were on the far right cushion. A
TV Guide
was open beside them. The television was going in the apartment next door.

“Now, Aint
Bea
,” a male voice said in an irritated tone. A woman's voice rose and fell, followed by a ripple of laughter.

Lena heard the oven door open and close, and she went to the edge of the kitchen. A portable black radio was turned low, a male voice sputtering in barely audible tones. It was small room, warm and humid, the table and counters covered with bowls, spoons, cake pans. Batter dripped from a mixing bowl onto the edge of the sink. Two pans of sheet cake had been set on the table to cool, cushioned by worn plaid dishrags.

A small boy sat up on his knees at the table.

“Charlie, you watch them pans.”

The boy nodded and stared at Lena. Eloise turned around.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to leave you in there so long. Just let me—”

“Go on and finish,” Lena said. “I'll sit down and talk to you while you work. I'd like to see
somebody
make a cake that isn't lopsided.”

“You want some coffee?”

“Wait till you get a free hand.”

“That's my boy there, that's Charlie. Charlie, say hi.”

Charlie ducked his head.

“Charlie,
say hi
.”

“Hi.”

He was tearing strips off magazines and gluing them to a sheet of newspaper. Lena watched for a while and saw the hint of a pattern. Charlie looked up at her.

“Looks good,” Lena said.

Charlie smiled briefly. He wore a Batman T-shirt and a thick diaper. He looked too old for the diaper, and too young for the precision of his work.

“How old are you?”

Charlie held up four fingers.

“Almost five,” Eloise said, not turning around.

“Do you want to talk in front of Charlie?” Lena asked.

“He always stays with me in the kitchen when I bake. It's sort of our routine—since he was a baby. It'll be okay.”

Charlie sucked his bottom lip and tried to reposition a strip of paper. He peeled it back up, but a layer stuck to the glue. He scraped at it with his fingernail.

“On the phone you said Archie was going to—”

“K-I-L-L me. I meant it, too.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You know why he went to prison?”

Lena nodded. The year before Jeff had killed Whitney, Archie had robbed a savings and loan. He'd gotten away with three hundred thousand, give or take some change.

“He gave the m-o-n-e-y to me to h-i-d-e.”

“But I thought—isn't that how he got plea-bargained down? He turned in his share, pleaded guilty, and testified against the guy with him. The security guard was killed, wasn't she?”

Eloise nodded. “The money Archie turned in was the other guy's. He had his stashed away with me.”

“How come he had you hide it?” Lena said. That much cash, and the woman hadn't spent it? Lena looked around. It didn't look like she'd spent it. Lena cocked her head sideways and looked at Eloise. “Why didn't he hide it himself?”

“Thought he'd make bail, but he didn't.”

“Why didn't the other guy—what was his name, Nesbit?”

“Yeah. George Nesbit. The shooter. He
did
tell, but nobody believed him. And he couldn't say where Archie's money was. So.” Eloise shrugged. “I hid it. Back then, when Archie said do something, I did it.” She turned around and pressed her back to the sink. “I'm not like that anymore. I used to drink, and I was snockered most of the time. But when I got caught with Charlie here …” The boy looked up and she smiled at him. “I don't know, it was like getting religion or something. I quit drinking—haven't had
anything
in almost six years. Maybe seeing what happened to your sister, or having a baby on the way. I don't know. But I got my GED”—Eloise smiled broadly—“and next fall I'll be taking classes at the community
college
.”

“Give Archie his money, then, and get rid of him.”

“That's the trouble. I went to check on it—I started worrying, you know how you do? And it was gone.”

“Shi—” Lena glanced at Charlie. “Shoot.” She rubbed her eyes. “When was the last time, before now, that you checked it?”

“Not since I put it there. Seven, eight years, I guess.”

“You sure you looked in the right place?”

“God, yes. You think I wasn't careful, knowing Archie'd be back? It's in a special place I knew when I was a kid. In the woods. I can go straight to it.”

“Who else knew?”

“Nobody, I swear. That's what's driving me nuts.”

“Maybe somebody just found it.”

“Not where I hid it. And Archie is going to be on my doorstep in about two months, wanting it back. I could disappear, run away. But he'd find me. And I got things going okay now, it would be a problem for me to move.”

Charlie squirmed in his seat.

“Honey, you got to pee?”

The boy tore a corner off the cover of a
Reader's Digest
.

Eloise sighed. “Four and a half and still won't potty train. I'm ready to teach him to change himself. The last doctor I took him to said it may be physical, it may be allergies. She wants to run tests. But I got to be on a waiting list for those, and we're still waiting. None of the kids around here will play with him. They call him diaper boy, the space piddler. Seems to me the last thing he needs is to move. Be all unsettled again.” She scratched her arms. “Hives. I get them every time I think about Archie getting out of jail.”