Satan’s Lambs (20 page)

“But when we was real little, me and Jeff, we'd kind of go and hunker down by a tree and hope they'd forget we was there, Sometimes they'd make us go in a barn till they called us out. Me and Jeff used to get along then. We'd stay side by side, and pretend we was hiding in mine tunnels, and if we wasn't quiet, the timbers would come crashing down.

“But sooner or later, they'd call us in. And at first, all we had to do was watch. Listen and learn, they told us. And Jeff, he was real smart. And they saw that. And then one night they buried him alive.”

Lena winced.

“They'd do that to some of the kids. They did it to Jeff a bunch of times.”

“Did they ever do that to you?”

Melody looked at her feet. “Once they did. It was supposed to prepare you. Me and Delores talked about that. When they meant prepare a kid, what they had in mind was breaking them.

“It was real bad for Jeff. 'Cause when we was kids, him and me, we use to have to go get locked in the shed when we was bad. Or they put us under the porch of the house, and they was lots of spiders under there. And he would have a terrible time. Breathe real hard, and cry a lot. When they saw he was special, they took him in a separate car from me, that first time, I think. And what they did was they buried him in a coffin, with some kind of a tube thing to help him breathe.”

Melody shivered. “He wasn't the same after that night. He quit minding being in the shed. And they let him do things—to us other kids. I would go to sleep and wake up with him standing over me, and blood all over. Then they'd let me go somewhere and sleep, and this fat lady named Mira would clean me up. And Aunt Lisa made sure our clothes covered up the cuts.”

Lena glanced at Melody's wrists.

“I did those myself,” Melody said.

“This Mira,” Lena said. “Is she still alive?”

“I guess. I don't go back home. But she called me a couple years ago. You believe that? Wanted me back.”

“You remember her last name?”

“Farley. Mira Farley. Her common-law husband was Alfred Ginty.”

“Was he part of the group?”

“Yeah.”

“How about your aunt? Is she still alive?”

“No. She died when Jeff was fifteen.”

“What happened?”

“I don't … I don't remember.”

“I need names, Melody. People who might still be involved with Hayes.”

“I made you a list.” Melody dug in her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of orange construction paper. “I don't know if all these people are still around. And I'm not sure how the names are spelled. I hope it helps.”

“It helps.” Lena looked at Melody. “Thank you for talking to me.”

Melody grabbed Lena's wrist. “Just get the boy. Get him as fast as you can, and don't give up on him. Even if it takes a long, long time. Find him. And you come back if I can help you any more.”

Lena stood up. “I'll let you know when I find Charlie. And I'll let you know when I see Jeff back in jail. Which I'm planning to do.”

Melody frowned. “Delores told me he killed your sister and her little boy.”

“He did.”

“Someday he's going to kill me.”

“No. He's going back to jail.”

Melody looked at her seriously. “C'mere. Show you something.”

She got up and walked to the base of a dogwood tree. It was a mature tree, just blossoming with white flowers. Melody picked up a stick, and squatted down to dig. She scrabbled in the dirt with her fingers, making a satisfied noise, finally, and bringing something up out of the sandy soil. She blew on it, and wiped it on her shirt, and held it up for Lena to see.

A seashell.

31

The Cutlass sat in the parking lot—grimy, rusty, reassuringly tacky. Lena had locked it, and it was still locked, but a piece of paper had been folded and wedged between the horn and the steering wheel.

Someone has been in my car, she thought.

There was something on the front seat. A tiny, blue-striped T-shirt.

Lena unlocked the Cutlass and reached for the paper.

RAY LAKE RECREATION AREA
.
CAMPSITE
49.
YOU BRING ALL YOUR REASONS
,
AND I
'
LL GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANT
.
BE THERE
,
TONIGHT
,
AT
8:30
P
.
M
.
JUST YOU AND ME
.
BE ON TIME OR IT
'
S ALL OVER BETWEEN US
.

HAPPY EASTER
!!!

Lena recognized the shirt. Little Charlie Valetta had been wearing it the night Archie had snatched him. It was crumpled now, streaked with oily black dirt. There was a smear of dark red on the neckline.

Lena sat down hard in the front seat of the car. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Bloodstains dried reddish brown, not red.

Lena looked at the shirt again, scraping at the red streak with her fingernail, sniffing the sweet scent.

Candy.

There was a map on the front seat next to the shirt. A LaRue County map. Lena opened it up and studied it. She checked her watch. Three-thirty. Figured mileage in her head. Daylight, and trails in the woods.

If she left right now she still might not make it.

She remembered Hayes talking about Charlie, Easter services, and exsanguination. She'd had to look it up—exsanguinated. It had been defined as anemic. Or bloodless.

Lena folded the map and started the car.

She stopped at Hooper's Gas-n-Go, and pulled to the side of the gas tanks. She opened her wallet and counted up her cash. Four dollars and seventy-eight cents.

Lena opened the canvas bag and took out a hundred-dollar bill.

She looked over her shoulder while she pumped gas. Was Hayes watching?

Maybe. Maybe not. She wasn't prepared to meet him at a lonely campsite with ninety thousand dollars in a canvas bag, and Charlie Valetta's life dependent on the outcome. She would call Mendez.

The pay phone was on the wall between the restrooms. An old man in baggy shorts and knee socks was headed right for it. Lena nudged him sideways and got there first.

Lena put a quarter in. The old man edged close.

“
Private
call,” Lena said coldly. She wondered why she found it so easy to be rude.

The old man grimaced and went into the men's room.

Lena got a Detective Lester, who she thought she might have met at one time or another. She had the feeling she didn't like him. He knew who she was, and told her that Mendez was meeting with Anita Casey in Louisville. He gave her the Louisville number.

A desk officer in Louisville told her that Detective Casey was out and she didn't know who Mendez was, and hadn't seen him. She agreed that if she didn't know him, she couldn't know whether or not she'd seen him, but she was not inclined to pursue the matter.

Lena had one more quarter. She dialed Rick's number.

“Judith? It's Lena. Is Rick there?”

“Sugar, he's in Louisville. The call-back, remember?”

“Fuck.”

Judith sounded wary. “Lena, honey, better tell me what's up,”

Lena glanced over her shoulder. The guy behind the cash register kept looking her way, and smiling when he caught her eye. Lena turned her back on him.

“I'm meeting Hayes at the Ray County Recreation Area. Campsite forty-nine. I'm making a trade.”

Judith sounded breathless. “Where's sweetie?”

“Who?”

“Mendez. Don't tell me he's not with you.”

“He's not,” Lena said, wishing her voice weren't quite so shrill. “I can't get him. He's in Louisville with that bitch, Anita Casey.”

“Cupcake, what you going to do? You want me to come?”

“Try to get hold of Mendez for me. Maybe he can arrange something local, if he can't get there in time.”

“Lena, you better not.”

“Don't worry, Judith, I got my baseball bat.”

“Lena—”

“Judith, Charlie is four years old.”

“Right. But, Lena, sugar, you got to use your smarts on this. If you could sneak up, maybe, and bash Jeff's head in, do that, okay?”

“Stay with the phone, Judith. Nobody but Mendez.”

“I hear you. Go, cupcake. Break a leg.”

Lena hung up.

She wasn't hungry. She wasn't stupid either, so she cruised the grocery counters, found a chicken salad sandwich, a bag of Ranch Style Fritos, and a giant Tootsie Roll. She grabbed a can of Coke, a package of new batteries for the flashlight that she hoped was in the trunk of the Cutlass, and pulled out her hundred-dollar bill.

The clerk looked it over carefully.

“You wanna pay for this candy bar with a hundred?”

“Not just the candy bar. The sandwich, the chips, the Coke, the batteries, and the gas on pump nine.”

The woman in line behind her pursed her lips. “The gas alone ought to do it.”

32

It was cool, too cool, now the sun was sliding away. A brown wooden sign with yellow lettering pointed the way to campsite 49. Lena bent over a water pump, rinsing and refilling the empty can of Coke. Water splashed over the side of the can, getting her sleeve wet and drenching the top of her shoe. The Tootsie Roll crackled in her pocket. She tucked the flashlight under her arm, hefted the baseball bat, and headed down the trail.

It was lonely out.

There had been no one to meet her at the ranger station, though she had cruised by slowly two times. With the exception of an old man on a tractor, she had seen no one.

It was not possible to walk quietly. The path was wide and easy, covered with dry, wadded brown leaves. Winter had blasted the trees, though there were a few thinking about leafing out.

The trail narrowed and sloped steeply upward. The trees thinned, and on the right the land cleared. Lena could see quite a ways over the tangle of weeds and coarse brown scrub.

Something rustled. Lena stopped and looked, but saw nothing. She took a sip of flat, Coke-flavored water.

She was breathing hard when she crested the hill. She walked along the ridge top, keeping her pace steady. A black-and-white butterfly, attracted by her bright red sweatshirt, fluttered close to her waist, then skittered away. Three Canada geese flew overhead, complaining in odd hoarse barks.

Lena wondered if Mendez and Anita Casey were having dinner together in Louisville.

She wiped her forehead with the palm of her hand, and tucked her hair in the back collar of her shirt. The air was damp and cloying and clouds were gathering overhead. Lena picked up the pace, wondering how much farther she had to go.

Dusk settled heavily and she turned on the flashlight. The wind swirled her hair. A light cascade of raindrops pattered on the leaves. Lena pulled on her jacket. A silvery can of Bud Lite had been squashed and left under a bush. Lena curled her lip.

She walked.

The path veered right and widened, almost into a road. A sign showed an arrow to campsites 45 to 53. Deep tire ruts, spaced closely together, led the way. Lena saw paw prints in the muddy dirt on the right-hand side of the road. Dog, most likely. Big dog.

Darkness came gradually, and the rain picked up. Lena shivered and adjusted the canvas bag under her arm. She had to go slower now. Every once in a while she stopped and killed the light, scanning the trees around her. No other flashlights. Was Jeff Hayes out there, waiting in the dark?

Charlie would be scared. If he was there. She was scared.

Mendez picked a fine time to be tied up in Louisville.

Moonlight poured through the trees, and white mist rose from the ground as rain-cooled air mixed with warm currents. The path narrowed again and swung left. The decomposed leaves were wet now, and slippery. Lena slowed her pace. It took all of her concentration to follow the trail. She stopped every few yards, waiting for streaks of fog to slip away so she could find the path.

Somewhere geese were honking and squawking loudly. Lena stopped and listened. About a mile away, she decided. The rain pelted her sporadically, gentle through the canopy of trees. She was wet through, and cold. Her shoulders began to ache. She left the Coke can on the trail and readjusted the canvas bag. Never thought she'd get tired of carrying money.

The insects got loud, stirred by the rain and the warmth of the day. Too early for mosquitoes. All was not lost.

Lena wondered if Charlie was cold. Or hungry. She was hungry. She thought about the Tootsie Roll, but decided to save it. Charlie could chew on that while she got him home and out of the woods.

If she got him out of the woods.

Her light caught one of the brown wooden signs, designating campsites 50 through 54. She'd gone too far. She doubled back, shining her light on the right-hand side of the trail, looking for markers.

A few yards away she found it—a circular clearing where the paths converged, an outhouse, and a marker that pointed to campsites 46 through 49.

She shone her light around the clearing and the woods, then shut it off and listened. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Lena opened the door of the outhouse. The hinge creaked. She went up two steps and inside. The smell wasn't too bad, all things considered. Not too good either. There was no roof, and the rain had saturated the roll of toilet paper and turned it gray. Spiderwebs hung in the corners, insects had left eggs on the walls. The toilet seat was held in the up position by a spring in order to provide maximum convenience for men, who usually used the woods. A small brown moth dashed crazily back and forth in Lena's light.

The light caught a flash of movement by her left foot. Lena aimed the flashlight at the floor. A baby garter snake, not much fatter than an earthworm, lifted its round, brown head lethargically, disturbed by the noise and the light.

Lena pushed the door open and backed slowly down the two steps. The door slammed shut and she headed for the trees.