Satan’s Lambs (7 page)

“I don't know how much
significance
it has. He only heard her sing it that once, far as I know. An odd thing for him to remember. Well, maybe not. The first time ever he saw her face, and all that, plus … here it is. Clos DuBois, Cabernet Sauvignon. I wish she'd put it in the refrigerator.”

“You're not supposed to refrigerate it.”

“I don't care what the wine rules are, Mendez, I like it better cold.”

“We'll put an ice cube in yours. Where are these moths coming from?”

“I guess the pantry. I been having all kinds of trouble lately.”

“Where in the pantry?”

“I don't know, I'd have to clean everything out.”

“Please?” Mendez said.

Lena stepped out of his way. She went to the cabinet for wineglasses. Mendez started unloading food on the table.

“Joel, what are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out where … Lena.” He pulled out a box of Cheerios, peered inside, and wrinkled his nose. “This looks like the problem. There must be a thousand of them right here, cocoons and everything.” He turned the box over. “This cereal expired six years ago. How long did you say you've had these moths?”

“I don't know, Mendez, it's not the kind of thing you mark on your calendar.”

“Where's your trash can?”

“Under the sink. You aren't going to throw them away?”

He stopped and looked at her. “Were you planning to keep them?”

“Mendez, I didn't invite you here to clean out my pantry.”

He nodded and continued unloading boxes, stopping to look in a package of rice. “They're in here, too.”

“You going to go through everything in there?” Lena took a corkscrew and eased the bottle of wine open.

“I want you to talk to me about Hayes.”

Lena felt her stomach muscles tense. Images rose in her mind—bloody footprints, her sister—nothing she wanted to think about, not now, not tonight.

“You know everything I know,” Lena said.

“Your sister told me Hayes was an abused child.”

“Bullshit. That was all stuff he made up.” Lena glanced at Mendez. He was scrutinizing a box of crackers.

“Why do you say that?”

“If you knew the kind of nasty stuff he told her, you'd know too.”

“Why would he make things like that up?”

“As a turn-on. He has a disgusting and perverted libido.” Lena handed Mendez a glass of wine, then reached over and loosened his tie. He smiled at her.

Lena stepped back and blinked. God, she thought. Must be feeling the beer. She tried to remember how many Coronas she'd had. What the hell. For one night, she could relax.

“Let's curl up on the couch and talk about something else.” She frowned. “We've known each other a long time. Haven't we, Joel?”

Mendez smiled at her, the sweet smile she didn't see very often. He pressed a hand against the small of her back, then his smile faded. He turned back to the pantry.

“Potato chips,” he said. “I have never seen so many half-eaten packages of …”

Lena drained her glass of wine. Mendez carried an armful of potato chip bags to the trash can. He picked the wine up and refilled Lena's glass.

“What's Jeff after now?” he said. “Why is he focusing on you?”

“Who knows?”

“Jeff gets out of prison, and comes straight after you. Valetta's on his way out, and you think he'll go after your client. This interests me.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You think it's revenge?”

Lena shifted sideways in her chair. Valetta, at least, was after money. And Mendez was too damn smart.

“I don't know what's in Jeff's head. He's a nut case, Joel. I don't even try.”

“I do.” Mendez stacked canned goods on the table next to the wine. “So anything you can tell me about him helps me.”

Lena put her chin in her hands. She felt dizzy. She closed her eyes and thought about Jeff Hayes. She didn't want to think about Jeff Hayes.

She was aware, suddenly, that Mendez was leaning over her, his face so close she could feel his breath.

“Talk to me, Lena.” His eyes were very brown, very steady. She couldn't seem to look away.

“Okay.” She swallowed. “Okay, one thing is.” She took a breath. “Like Whitney always kept saying how he was two people. I mean that he felt like two people, like he had two sides. The good boy, and the bad boy. And that no matter how much he wanted to be the good boy, he couldn't. Because of what he'd already seen and done. He was marked by Satan, one of Satan's lambs. That's how he put it.” Lena put her chin in one hand and blinked at Mendez. She was starting to feel a little sick.

Mendez patted her shoulder, then turned back to the pantry. “Go on, I'm listening.”

“She said he wouldn't go into a church because he'd been told, when he was little, that if he did, it would kill him. Eat him up inside with fire, is what he said. And how he joked about it, and said of course it wasn't
really
true, but still she never saw him go into a church.”

Mendez unloaded six cans of Green Giant Blunt Cut Unsalted Green Beans on the table. “There are eight more cans of green beans in here.”

“That's Beth,” Lena said. “She's into coupons.”

Mendez refilled her wineglass. “What else did your sister tell you?”

Lena took another sip of wine. She smiled, though she wasn't sure what she was smiling at.

“Go on,” Mendez said.

“Trust me, Joel, you don't want to hear this.”

“Yes I do.”

“Okay, then,
I
don't want to talk about it.” Lena's lower lip quivered. “Please, Joel—”

He was close again, bending over her, and she could smell his cologne. He pushed hair out of her eyes, his hands gentle.

“Did Hayes talk about being taken to ceremonies?” His voice was low and insistent. “About men and women and children, standing around a naked woman? Did he say he saw animals butchered, and drained of blood—that he had to taste the blood?”

Lena put her hands over her ears. She was breathing fast—too much wine, too many beers. Mendez pulled a chair up in front of her. He sat down and pulled her hands away from her ears, his fingers pressing against hers.

“Look at me, Lena.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

She tried pulling away but he kept hold of her, his hands warm, his grip tight.

“Let me tell you what else he said,” Mendez told her. “He said he was forced to drink urine. Eat excrement. Hold a knife and use it. He saw a woman murdered, heard a baby scream.”

“How do you know?” Lena took a harsh breath. “How do you know what he said?”

“Who took him? Who made him go to the ceremonies?”

Lena shook her head.

“Who?”

He was close to her, too close. Lena pulled back and glared at him.

“His
mother
. And his grandparents. There was an uncle and some cousins.” Lena snatched her hands away. “You see what I mean? No mother would do something like that. You're telling me his family—”

“There are hard-core groups, Lena. Family groups. They brutalize their children from generation to generation.”

“Here? In the kind of little town where Hayes grew up?”

Mendez nodded. “Hayes comes from a classic hard-core situation.”

Lena stood up and walked across the room. She backed up against the kitchen counter. “So why didn't he tell anybody? Why didn't he get away?”

“Who would he tell? You didn't believe him; you didn't want to. What happened when Whitney tried to tell? What happened when you told the parole board that Hayes was a Satan worshiper who committed crimes in the name of his religion? Didn't buy it, did they?”

Lena shook her head.

“These people are not stupid. They are good at sleight of hand. They can impress a child, make them believe incredible things. Make them think they see a man killed, then come back to life. Remember, they're drugged. What happens when you drug a child, and tell him he's bad, he belongs to Satan, that Satan will always watch and know? There's a Santa Claus and an Easter bunny. Why not the devil? And when the child reports the things he
thinks
he sees, as well as the things he really saw—”

Lena sighed deeply. “No one believes. If one thing can't be true, the other probably isn't either.” She sagged against the sink and folded her arms. “So how do you know what really happened?”

“You don't. But some groups are … extremists.”

“Extremists.
Why?
What's the point of this?”

Mendez shrugged. “Power, acceptance, and always, always, drugs. The people in the group may be looking to fit in, to get high, easy sex. But the leaders usually have a good, old-fashioned reason. Money and power. Pornography, sex—young women, boys, children to exploit.”

Lena picked her wineglass up, then put it down. “I don't want to talk about this anymore. I don't want to talk to
you
anymore. This was supposed to be a nice evening.”

“Was it?”

“I'm going upstairs and go to bed. You do whatever you want down here, Joel. When you're done with the pantry, the basement could use some work.” Lena kicked her chair sideways. “And don't throw away my Cheerios.”

10

Lena wondered what Mendez had done with the coffee.

The kitchen was spotless, the pantry neat and organized, the old box of Cheerios gone. When she opened the pantry door, nothing happened in the way of moths flying out.

The phone rang.

“Lena? Rick. Maynard is peeing on the rug in my bathroom.”

“I wonder if he's sick or something.”

“I think he just likes the rug.”

“Keep the door closed.”

“Keep the door closed, keep the lid down, we might as well still be married.”

“Rick, if you just called to complain, I wish you would—”

“I
called
to tell you I found your man. Or didn't find him, more like. He quit right after the Valetta robbery. Advised paying the claim to the savings and loan, and turned in his resignation.”

“Did he say why?”

“Now, how would I know?”

“Did he?”

“Resigned due to medical reasons. That's all I got.”

“Where did he go after that?”

“Nada. Can't find a record of him anywhere.”

“So access his medical records.”

“I did. Nothing there. He had a case of the clap right before he resigned. No other problems I could see.”

“That's funny.”

“If you think the clap is funny, you ain't never had it, girl.”

“No, it's odd. That he quit right then. It was Bennelton Insurance Company, wasn't it?”

“Um hmmm.”

“Their home office in Cleveland?”

“Louisville.”

“I thought that was a district office. Because I know somebody down there.”

“Small world. Want me to keep looking for him?”

“Please. And wash the rug with white vinegar.”

“Honey, I'm going to burn it.” He was silent a moment. “Speaking of Louisville …”

“You always ace the audition, Rick.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“It's the performance you … I'm kidding, don't squawk. Break a leg.”

Lena curled up on the couch with a pencil, a pad, and the telephone. “Bennelton Property and Casualty. May I help you?”

“I'd like to speak to Christy Neil, please.”

“One moment.”

“Bennelton Property and Casualty, how may I assist you?”

“Christy? It's Lena. Lena Padget.”

“How you been, girlfriend?”

“Surviving. You?”

“I be bad, I, hang on …
Bennelton Property and Casualty, how may I help you? I see. You would need to speak with Ms. Deener in our personnel office, please hold
. You there, girlfriend? How's Rick? He still got that ponytail?”

“No, he got rid of that.”

“Umm, too bad. He fine, though. Any way you look.”

“I don't look.”

“He fine and you stupid.”

“How's Marty? You still letting him sponge?”

“Marty know how to give a girl what she like, uh-huh, and that's all I need right now.”

“What I need's to ask you a question. About a claims investigator who worked for Bennelton eight years ago. His name is Harry Straczynski. He quit after handling a robbery of a savings and loan.”

“Straczynski, Straczynski. Lord, girlfriend, you mean Harry Zyn. He bad, honey, but nice if you don't be hanging on. He probably dead now.”

“Dead?”

“That why he …
Bennelton Property and Casualty, how may I assist you? Yes, ma'am. You would need to fill out a form for that and mail it to our office here in Louisville. I'll be happy to send it, just give me your address. Yes? Uh-huh. And the zip? Oh-eight. Yes. Thank you
. You there, girlfriend? Ole Harry, he real sick, he have the cancer or something real bad. Got a few months left, what he say. Tell all the girls good-bye, and quit the company. Going to travel, he say, for his last few weeks. He sad, he bad, everybody mad.”

“What did you really think of this guy?”

“He one those boys you can have the good time with, uh-huh, but don't let it go no further, uh-unh, he break your heart and take you money.”

“Like Marty.”

“Marty, he fine. Nice thing, Marty, he scared of Christy. So long I keep him happy, he behave. But Harry Zyn, no ma'am, he got one my girls pregnant, she got his chile. Nice chile. Harry Zyn, he real smooth with the talking and drinking. How he get information for a case. Take you witness to a bar, and smile his big teeth, and order lots of drinks, and you tell old Harry anything he want to know.”

“Good old Harry. Thanks, Christy.”

“Anytime, girlfriend. When you coming up and we go out?”