Satan’s Lambs (30 page)

She slipped past Hayes, close enough to touch. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, rib cage slippery with red-black blood. His bare legs looked milky-white in the flicker of flame.

Lena moved through the trees, straining her eyes. Yes, that was him, right height, right build. She was as sure as she could be in the darkness, hunting a man in black.

Lena heard shouting, voices harsh. Someone was crashing through the trees behind her, and she picked up her pace. She wondered exactly what she would do when she caught up to Enoch, wondered if he still had the dagger.

There were more shots. Lena flinched but kept going. The cops were firing into the air—they wouldn't shoot into a knot of people, not with children present, not at all. Lena hoped that Mendez was out there somewhere.

Ahead, the dark-robed man turned suddenly, looking backward. Lena knew he could not see her face clearly, not in the dark. And yet she felt him looking at her, marking her, his gaze like a knife at her throat.

Lena heard the heavy crunch of footsteps and fingered the sand-filled sock in her fist. Enoch darted ahead suddenly, his robe swirling, catching a clutch of leaves. Lena broke into a panicked run.

Her side began to cramp. She put a hand to the ache, but did not slow. She was gaining on him, but she would be winded when she caught up, and whoever it was behind her was getting close. She ran faster, blindly now, hands outstretched to catch branches that whipped her face and neck. She felt the rip of thorns across her arm, felt the sting as the skin tore and bled.

Enoch must know she was close. He would hear the pound of her running feet, the heavy gasp of her breath. His pace was steady, brisk and sure, but no match for her dead run. She was closing in, the footsteps behind her getting farther away. She put on a final burst of speed, temples slick with sweat, hands flailing wildly against the branches.

Her right foot sank through soft moss into a depression. Her ankle wrenched sideways and she sprawled headlong in a belly flop, palms sliding on the leaf-covered dirt. The pain in her ankle made her sweat. She caught her breath, sobbed once, then rolled sideways, wrapping her arms around a tree, pressing tight to the scratchy bark and pulling herself up. Her ankle ached, but the soreness was fading. She put her weight on it carefully.

“Nah, you don't.”

Something heavy knocked her forward and she slid to her knees, catching glimpses of a flak jacket and jeans. A rough hand grabbed her wrist, pressing hard. Her fingers went numb and she dropped the sand-filled sock.

The cop grabbed the back of her shirt and she felt a knee in her spine, the muscle-straining wrench as her arms were pinned behind her back. She was vaguely aware of the cold clasp of handcuffs, and the click as they locked her wrists.

“He's getting away!”
She was winded, breathing hard, and she choked on the words and coughed.

“Nice try, honey.”

The cop was patting her down, more enthusiastically than she liked. She turned her head sideways, trying to track Enoch. Her hair was in her eyes, her forehead thick with sweat. She couldn't see anything, much less Enoch.

“Listen, you moron, I'm one of the good guys.” She was panting, and her voice sounded high-pitched and unconvincing, even to herself.

“Uh huh.” The cop turned her sideways, firmly, but not rough, and pointed her downhill.

“Look, stupid, I'm cuffed, I'm not going anywhere.
He's
getting away.”

“Who is, honey?”

“
Enoch
. The guy I was following. You saw him—”

“Guy in the black robe?”

“Yes!”

“Nice try, babe,” he said conversationally. “But they're all in black robes, and I didn't see anybody but you.”

Lena glanced sideways at the cop's broad, homely face and gave it up. Enoch was long gone.

She might never get this close to finding Charlie again.

“Move out, hon.”

Lena stumbled on a tree root, but the cop kept her upright, grip firm on her elbow. They headed slowly to the bottom of the hill, the harsh lights, the knots of police. Lena spotted Mendez standing by a cluster of men in uniform, talking to Anita Casey and the sheriff.

“Joel!”

Mendez looked up. He started toward her, then looked to the sheriff and said something in a low voice, something Lena couldn't catch. The sheriff looked at Lena, then back to Mendez.

“You okay?” Mendez asked.

“Enoch got away,” she said.

Anita moved toward her. “Enoch was here? You saw him?”

“I would have had him, but I got waylaid. You want to ask your pal here to take the cuffs off?”

Mendez jerked his head.

The cop fumbled with his key. “Honest mistake, folks.”

Lena rubbed her wrists.

“What did—”

“Later, okay, Anita?” Mendez put an arm around Lena's shoulders and led her off from the group. He leaned close, voice low. “The informant turned up this morning. I called, but you'd already gone.”

“Dead?”

Mendez nodded. “It went bad for him.”

“What'd they do, cut him up?”

“Black bondage hood. Ligature strangling. Wrapped in a blanket, tossed in a car trunk, and parked in the airport parking lot. We wouldn't have found the body, but somebody went to rob the car, and called it in anonymously.”

A twig snapped under Lena's foot, and she jerked, and glanced over her shoulder. “So he got fed bad information to pass along to Anita, then they killed him.”

“He was sixteen. Been stringing johns since he was twelve.”

“She shouldn't have been using a kid that young.”

“It happens. If it gets out, she'll be reprimanded. There are no parents to complain, so she may skate through.”

“Mendez, those kids—”

“No. No sign of Charlie. He's not here, Lena.”

She sagged against him. “He
is
here. He was here. We found Charlene Delgado's car and I got inside. The signs were unmistakable. Charlie'd been in it.”

“What signs?”

“I was right about the hair appointments, wasn't I? Trust me, Mendez, he's here somewhere, I know it.”

“Our best bet is to take these people in and question them. If they know where Charlie is, we'll get it out of them.”

“Fine. You question them. Meanwhile, let Moberly get his dog and do a search. Is Ted okay? You got him handcuffed somewhere too?”

“No. He was rounding up the children. He's got them gathered up in one spot.”

One kid short, Lena thought.

“Moberly's dog can't track with the woods full of people,” she said. “How fast can you get everybody out of here?”

Mendez looked over his shoulder and grimaced. He squeezed Lena's hand, then walked away.

Lena watched him and chewed her bottom lip. He had a quiet word with Anita and the sheriff, then stood talking for a long moment with Moberly. Ted nodded his head, looked at Lena and raised a hand, then handed a curly-headed toddler to Mendez. Joel took the child absently, unsmiling, moving his hand automatically to pat the child's back. She nestled into his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“You getting Sally?” Lena asked as Moberly passed close. “You're not taking the fishing boat?”

“I'm taking him in the power boat.” The voice came directly behind her, and Lena turned and faced the cop who had cuffed her. “Want to come?” he asked pleasantly.

“Not with you, hon.”

Lena paced back and forth in the moonlight, weaving her way in and out of the trees. Mendez moved through the harsh glare of spotlights, giving quiet orders, managing not to wake the child who slept on his shoulder.

It took well over an hour for Moberly to make it back and for Mendez to clear the woods.

Lena was chewing the back of her knuckles when she heard a yelp and a whimper, and Moberly and Sally came up from the landing. Sally whined and strained toward her, but Moberly kept her close.

“Kids okay?” Lena asked.

He nodded. “Eating popcorn like there's no tomorrow. We about clear?”

“I think so.”

Lena looked to Mendez, who was handing the sleeping toddler over to the sheriff. The child woke up and began to cry. Lena chewed her lip, listening to the little girl sob as the sheriff carried her down to the landing.

Moberly nodded at Mendez. “Everybody gone?”

“You're clear.”

Moberly unsnapped Sally's leash. “Find,” he said. “Go find, Sally.”

The dog sniffed around the dying embers of the fire, then whimpered and looked back to Moberly.

“Go on, Sally. Sally find.”

The dog hesitated, then bounded into the woods.

Lena stayed behind Moberly, Mendez at her heels. The flashlights still hung in the trees, some of them dark, batteries burned out. It was getting familiar, following this dog through the woods. Sally veered left, moving uphill, leading them onto a path that widened as it went.

Mendez moved close and touched the back of her hand.

“If we don't find Charlie tonight,” Lena said, “chances are we won't.” She glanced sideways at Mendez. “That's why you're here, with me, instead of questioning all those fruitcakes.”

“If you and Moberly find something, I want it official. You understand, don't you? We've got next to nothing to hold these people on. Looked at in a certain light, we're interfering with their religious freedom.”

“Their freedom to human sacrifice?”

“They'll deny it.”

“Hayes was hurt.”

“He'll deny it too. Loudest and longest, in the hopes they'll let him live. Our best bet is to cut a deal, get him to testify against the others. If he doesn't go into some kind of protective custody, he's a dead man.”

Sally began to speed up, weaving left and right on the trail. Moberly moved quickly, and Lena and Mendez hurried to catch up. The trail widened, intersecting with a gravel service road. Sally padded down the road, scattering gravel, and they crested a hill. Moberly flashed his light.

Sally had found the cemetery.

She squeezed under the splintering wood fence and meandered across the graves, head down, tail stiff.

“Sssshit.”
Moberly lurched backward. “Be careful. This one's been dug up.”

Mendez turned his flashlight on the grave.

Sod and dirt were piled next to a gray headstone. Hattie Burgess. 1941–1962. Beloved Daughter of Robert and Gaye Burgess. Hattie's coffin was open, her bones a heaped rubble at the foot of the box. Her skull was missing. A black satin pillow rested at the head of the coffin, and the cushion that lined the lid of the coffin had been covered with black cloth.

“Jesus,” Moberly said.

Mendez squatted beside the grave and ran his fingers through the grass. He picked up a piece of rubber tubing and held it up. “Someone spent the night in the coffin.” He played his light along the open lid. “There. See where the hole's been drilled through?”

Sally whined, nose to the ground, and zigzagged out of the cemetery. Mendez wrapped the tube in a plastic bag, and followed. The woods were thinning now.

The sound of a panel door sliding shut caught them by surprise. They rounded the ridge and stopped. A few yards away in the darkness was a van, passenger door gaping open, four men standing close.

One of the men held an automatic rifle and he snapped it up, aiming for the dog.

“Sally!”
Moberly yelled.

Mendez had his gun out. He fired. The man with the rifle went down without getting off a shot.

The van's engine caught. Moberly headed for the open door and flung himself into the front seat. Mendez collared one man, and the other ran past, colliding with Lena and knocking her backward.

Sally snarled and leapt. Lena hit the ground sideways, going down hard under the weight of the man and the dog.

The man screamed, arms and legs flailing. Lena saw Sally's lips pulled back in a snarl, the white of her teeth.

“Sally.” Moberly's voice, breathless. “
Release
. Good girl. Let him up. Release.”

Lena felt the weight come off her, felt rather than saw the dog move back. Mendez shoved the man face down in the dirt. Lena heard the click of handcuffs.

Moberly gave her a hand up. “Okay down there?”

“Yeah,” she said, breathless. “Yeah.”

Sally was panting, growling deep in her throat.

“Good girl,” Moberly said. “No, Lena, don't touch her. Give her time to cool off.”

Lena nodded. Her ankle ached and it was hell just to straighten up.

Mendez bent over the wounded man, unbuttoning his shirt. He wadded his jacket into a ball and pressed it to the man's chest, staunching the ready gush of blood. He took a radio from his belt and handed it to Moberly. “You'll have to tell them where we are. Can they get an ambulance back here?”

“Main worry is how long it'll take. He's losing blood fast.”

“We have a unit on standby.”

Lena looked at Sally, sitting at attention, too wired to be still. What a good dog she was, bringing good news and bad with the same sloppy, doggy smile.

Sally was still winded, sides heaving.

“She's not going to be in any shape to keep looking tonight, is she?” Lena said.

Moberly hesitated. “We'll start fresh in the morning.”

Lena leaned against the van and shut her eyes, picturing Moberly and the dog ranging through the underbrush, the air cold and sharp. Tomorrow would be the first morning of many.

Charlie's picture on milk cartons. Leads from Nashville or Knoxville—leads that always petered out. Herself, avoiding phone calls from Eloise, who would be swallowed by the dark, festering loss.

Melody Hayes had said to hurry.

I'll find him
. How many times had she said that?

She heard the demanding bleat of a siren. Her ankle was hurting and she was cold. She got in the van and sat down, pulling the door shut behind her. It was warmer inside, without the small but constant chill of the breeze. The van was almost new, upholstered in silvery blue velvet. The windows were smoky dark, private.