The FBI Thrillers Collection (81 page)

Savich said, “You’ve probably seen my wife here at the
gym—red curly hair, big blue eyes. She’s also an FBI agent. Her name’s Sherlock.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What? Hair? Name? The fact that she’s an agent?”

“Her name,” she said, looking into the mirror behind Dillon Savich. “Her name is ridiculous.”

“Rapper’s pretty funny, too.”

She stopped in her tracks. “Yes,” she said slowly, “perhaps it is.” She looked at him again, but he couldn’t begin to read her expression. She punched the stop pad, stepped off the treadmill before it stopped, and walked away. She said over her shoulder, giving him a profile that she knew was superb, “You just think about having coffee with me, Agent Savich, all right?”

She was gone before he could answer.

I
t
was a beautiful Wednesday morning. Katie looked up at the blue sky with its fat scattered white clouds, and followed them to the ever-present wall of mountains just off to the east. They were covered with maple, poplar, beech, and sugar maples in gorgeous reds and bright yellows and golds, the pines and firs holding to their green. Even the browns looked lustrous, magical, a magnificent palette of colors. There was simply no more beautiful a spot in the world than eastern Tennessee in the late fall. It was about fifty-five degrees, just enough nip in the day for her leather jacket. She breathed in the delicious smell of leaves mixed with the smoke from wood-burning fireplaces. Moments like this made Katie wish she could put off winter, with its frigid winds and snow and stripped-down trees.

She kept the engine running as she watched Miles lead Sam and Keely to Minna’s front porch. He leaned down, spoke to both children, and touched each of them—Sam’s arm and Keely’s hair. They both hugged him, then ran to Keely’s grandmother when she opened the front door. Chocolate chip cookies, Katie thought, remembering her excitement when she’d been a kid. She watched the two
deputies take their positions, guarding the house with Sam and Keely in it. She made another sweep of the area. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Sam seemed just fine to Katie, thank God. This morning he groused and complained, just like Keely, when Katie had given him oatmeal and not Cheerios, an excellent sign. Miles hadn’t helped when he’d looked at the oatmeal, blinked, and said he’d always thought oatmeal was good for making grout, but not eating. The kids had laughed, and Katie, just smiling, waited, until he took a big spoonful, rolled his eyes and said, “This is the best grout I’ve ever eaten. Here, Sam, take a bite of this.” And Sam had said he loved it, and tried to roll his eyes just like his dad. There’d been laughter at the breakfast table, and that had felt very good. She’d also found herself smiling at Miles for no good reason she could think of.

Sam would see Sheila again today, in the early afternoon, but Sheila had told her and Miles that Sam talked more about Keely now and how he’d stuffed tons of leaves down her shirt. He talked more about Jessborough and Mrs. Miggs at the quilt shop who gave the children peppermints than he did about his kidnapping or about Clancy and Beau. It was a good sign, a very hopeful thing. Sheila was sure he wasn’t holding back. He was a resilient little kid.

He was more than that, Katie thought, much more than that, especially to her, and that wasn’t particularly wise. She got out of her truck and walked up the driveway. All was clear.

When Miles joined her, he said, “I doubt they’ll even give us a thought. Your mom is the best, Katie.” He paused a moment, drew in a deep breath, reached out his hand to touch a vivid gold maple leaf and said, “How much longer will it look like God’s country around here?”

“Another two, three weeks, at most,” she said. “Then the storms start coming. We have snow mostly in February and
March. And that’s beautiful, too. But right now? This is perfect.”

He walked automatically to the driver’s side of Katie’s Silverado, then stopped, frowning.

“No, go ahead and drive.” She tossed him the keys.

He saw the lock box on the floor in the back that held her rifle, the rifle she’d used to save Sam.

He said as he fastened his seat belt, “Those two deputies, they’re good?”

She nodded, feeling exactly what he was feeling. “Cole and Jeffrey will really keep their eyes open. They both saw what happened at my house when Clancy and Beau went down, so they know this is way out of the ordinary. They’re so wired, in fact, I told them to stick to decaf. This was the first time either of them had been involved in any real violence professionally.”

“What kind of training do your deputies get?”

“They all have a ten-week training course at the law enforcement academy in Donelson, near Nashville. My people have also taken courses at the local junior college—Walters State, you know, law enforcement and judicial courses. Wade is trying to get so many courses under his belt that—well, never mind.”

“Is he the one who might be trying to get your job?”

She gave him a sunny smile. “No chance of that.”

Miles liked that smile of hers, and the mouth that made those smiles, and that gave him pause. He didn’t have to move the seat back much at all. He looked over at her, an eyebrow arched. “What do you mean they haven’t seen violence? Violence is part of their job, isn’t it?”

Katie laughed. “Jessborough isn’t Knoxville or Chattanooga. The toughest thing any of them has had to do here in the sheriff’s department of Jessborough is round up Mr. Bailey’s cows after they were spooked by a low-flying crop duster in August. This is a small town with very few bad
outside influences. No hard drugs, just some pot our locals grow, and an occasional still deep in the hills, which is kind of a tradition around here. Most people consider that good clean fun.” She paused a moment, looked out the window, and said, “We had nothing but peace here until this happened. I have ten deputies, all of them men. The testosterone has been flowing madly since I got Sam on Saturday.”

“Linnie is some dispatcher.”

“Yes, she’s excellent, knows everyone’s problems, knows about all their relationships, even the illicit ones. She’s the backbone of the department. I would seriously consider hurting anyone who tried to take her away from me.”

She directed him to the big Victorian on Pine Wood Lane. As he looked at the house, realized who lived there, he felt his insides chill.

Her hand was light on his forearm. “We will be professional about this, Miles. Do you agree?”

He nodded. “I swear I won’t tie up either of them in their playroom.”

“Good.”

“But I was thinking I’d like to see what they’ve got in there.”

“You into whips and handcuffs?”

“Not that I know of.” He looked thoughtful, grinned at her, and said, “I promise not to drop-kick them out one of those big front windows either.”

“Good,” she said again. “We got some new cards to play. If we do it really carefully, something might pop.”

Katie pressed the doorbell, heard a light footfall. A few moments later, Elsbeth McCamy answered. She looked just like she always looked: hot. It always amazed Katie that she was with Reverend McCamy, who was so dark and serious and intense, his entire being seemingly focused inward on the state of his soul. Every word out of his mouth
was a paean to his God, and to his notions that men should be victims of His love. Victim of love—what a strange choice of words, but now it had a new meaning to her.

Katie looked at the woman standing there in tight jeans, a red spandex top, and the Jesus earrings and thought about the sex room upstairs with that padded wooden block. She wondered what his congregation thought of Elsbeth, but truth be told, she’d never heard anything that indicated anyone thought them mismatched or that a sexpot like her shouldn’t be a preacher’s wife. Like nearly all people in Jessborough, they never caused trouble.

Katie nodded but didn’t extend her hand. “Elsbeth.”

“Hello, Katie. Why are you here?” She wasn’t looking at Katie, she was studying Miles Kettering, a perfect eyebrow hiked up. “You were in church on Sunday.”

“Yes.”

“You’re the boy’s father.”

“Elsbeth, this is Miles Kettering, and yes, he’s Sam’s father. We would very much like to speak to you and Reverend McCamy.”

“Reverend McCamy is ministering to two of his flock,” Elsbeth said. “Mr. and Mrs. Locke. They’re in his study. I don’t expect him to be free for another half hour or so.”

“May we speak to you until he’s free?”

It was quite obvious she didn’t want to let them in, but she couldn’t think of a reason to keep them out. Grudgingly, Elsbeth stepped back.

“This way,” she said. “I’m making some brownies for Reverend McCamy. They’re his favorite. Where is your son, Mr. Kettering?”

“Sam is at the sheriff’s department, supervising all the deputies.”

Elsbeth laughed. “He’s a cute little boy. Is Keely with him?”

“Oh yes,” Katie said. “They’ve become inseparable.” Now, why had Miles lied about Sam’s whereabouts?

“It’s comforting to know what we get for our tax dollars, isn’t it?”

Katie said, “I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Are you really?”

“Yes. I’m a sheriff, not a killer. I can’t imagine Reverend McCamy liking brownies.”

“Why ever not? He has quite a sweet tooth.”

Katie shrugged. “Somehow I think of him as always being too above all of life’s pleasures, immersed in his work—”

“His calling,” Elsbeth said, frowning. “It’s not his work, it’s his calling. God chose him above all others to lead the common man to Him.”

“Not women, too?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice cutting. Then she lowered her voice as if someone were trying to overhear. “God has granted him His grace, he is God’s messenger, so special that God gave him the beauty of suffering.”

Miles said, “What do you mean ‘suffering,’ Mrs. McCamy? How can there be beauty in suffering?”

“It can be a gift to us, Mr. Kettering. Reverend McCamy likes his brownies with pecans, lots of pecans.”

When Katie and Miles were settled at the kitchen table with cups of coffee in front of them, Katie said, “I heard a rumor, Elsbeth. I’d like to scotch it and so I figured the only way to know the truth is to come out and just ask.”

Elsbeth turned, a can of cocoa in her hand. “What rumor?”

“That you and Reverend McCamy are thinking about leaving the area.”

Elsbeth nearly dropped the can. “Goodness, where did you hear that, Katie?”

She was aware that Miles was wondering what she was up to. She just smiled, sipped her coffee, and wondered if indeed Reverend McCamy had been seen going into a real estate office in Knoxville. She said as she watched Elsbeth’s
hand shake as she measured a teaspoon of baking powder into the mixing bowl, “You know rumors—they’re talked about everywhere but don’t seem to begin anywhere.”

“Well, it’s wrong. Of course we’re not leaving. Reverend McCamy is very happy here, despite that nasty televangelist over in Knoxville. That miserable man happened to find out that Reverend McCamy was approached by the producers on the cable station, and now he’s trying to make everyone believe he’s the spawn of the Devil, the bastard.”

“What’s this bastard’s name?”

“James Russert, a real tacky individual, right up there with most of the others who bleat on TV and collect millions of dollars from gullible people.”

And Reverend McCamy’s congregation wasn’t gullible?

Katie had seen Russert, a loud, blustering Bible-thumping TV preacher she turned off as fast as she could.

Elsbeth looked around at them, a big chocolate-covered spoon in her hand. “We’ve heard that you’re harassing our congregation, talking to them at work, following them home. It’s disgraceful, Sheriff, disgraceful.”

“We’re conducting an investigation, Elsbeth. Be sensible, you’re up front because Clancy was your brother. Naturally you’re part of the investigation.”

E
lsbeth
waved that spoon at them, sending some of the chocolate flying. “I want you to leave us and our parishioners alone, or we will find a lawyer who will stop you. Do you understand me?”

Suddenly, she shrugged and turned back to the brownie bowl. She said over her shoulder as she measured more cocoa into a measuring cup, her voice calm again, under control, “Neither I nor Reverend McCamy know anything about this. We have told you this repeatedly. Reverend McCamy loves God. More importantly, he is beloved by God and all those who bask in His grace. He doesn’t speak ill of anyone.”

“He doesn’t speak ill of sinners?” Miles’s voice was so mild he surprised himself.

“Regular sinners—our local sinners—they know they’re in trouble. They know they need Reverend McCamy to help them rise above their sins.”

Miles asked in that same mild voice after a moment of silence, “I understand that Reverend McCamy believes women need more assistance than men.”

Elsbeth McCamy paused a moment, then in a sharp angry movement, pulled a bag of pecans out of a cabinet and dumped the whole bag into a bowl. “Well, not exactly, but we let our righteous men guide us. Reverend McCamy is very serious about every member of his flock leading the sort of life that will grant him God’s grace. As for the women of his flock, we know it was Eve who tempted Adam to abandon God’s commands, and so it is women who must bear her sin.”

What to say to that? Katie and Miles sat in silence, watching Elsbeth mix the ingredients together. She was humming under her breath, comfortable with what she was doing.

How, Miles wondered, watching this woman mix brownies, how could this very strange, very beautiful woman be involved in the kidnapping of his son? But Clancy was her brother. He couldn’t forget that, ever. Miles said, “My son was kidnapped for a reason, Mrs. McCamy. Perhaps you could tell us what this reason is.”

She nearly dropped the bowl to the clean pale cream tile floor. Katie held very still, her face not giving away that she wanted to punch Miles. Talk about rushing fences. She saw Elsbeth’s face, just as Miles did, and it was as obvious to her as it was to Miles that Elsbeth McCamy knew something. It would have been obvious to the postman. Katie realized then that Miles’s unexpected question had shocked her into giving at least that much away.

Elsbeth picked up a wooden spoon and began to vigorously stir the brownie batter. She was stirring so hard he could hear the pecans crunch against the sides of the bowl.

Elsbeth walked to the oven and turned it on, still saying nothing at all. She returned to the kitchen counter and continued beating the brownie batter. There was raw fury in every whip of the spoon.

Her Jesus earrings caught the sunlight from the kitchen
window when she turned suddenly. “I want you both to leave. I’ve been polite, but this is police harassment and—”

“Elsbeth, what are you doing in here?”

She turned very slowly, picking up the bowl as she did so, and holding it in front of her, as if for protection. Now that was odd, particularly since it was Reverend McCamy’s voice, her husband’s.

“We have visitors who were just leaving. I’m making brownies for you.”

He came into the kitchen, those dark intense eyes fastened on that brownie batter, but he said nothing to his wife. His eyes passed over Katie, stopped at Miles, and he said, “You’re the boy’s father, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m Sam’s father. Miles Kettering.”

Reverend McCamy didn’t approach him, and Miles was glad. He didn’t want to shake the man’s hand. He appeared to be studying Miles, and thinking hard.

“I have wondered,” Miles said, “why you have named your church the Sinful Children of God?”

Reverend McCamy said, “Because of the first sin, Mr. Kettering. A sin so grave that Adam and Eve were forever cursed and forced to suffer for what she had done.” He paused a moment, looked briefly at his wife, then at Katie. He stepped over to the counter and ran a finger along the edge of the brownie bowl and licked off the batter, closing his eyes a moment. Well, Katie thought, that was certainly one kind of bliss. Then his eyes snapped open and he seemed once again the prophet ready to condemn the sinners. He said, “It is written to woman in Genesis: ‘Your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.’ It is a pity your husband left you, Katie. He took away the focus of your life.”

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am about that,” Katie said and smiled sweetly at Reverend McCamy.

Miles thought the man was mad.

“A husband is a woman’s shepherd,” Reverend McCamy said, his dark eyes resting hard on Katie’s face. “Without his guidance, without his support and discipline, she will fall into sin and be struck down.”

Katie looked this time as if she wanted to leap on Reverend McCamy, but the flash of murder in her eyes was gone in an instant. She even smiled. “I see you love brownie batter. I do, too. Could I have some, Elsbeth?”

Miles wondered just how long Reverend McCamy had been listening outside the kitchen. Had he been afraid his wife would give something away?

Miles said, “You probably heard me asking your wife why her brother kidnapped my boy.”

Reverend McCamy didn’t acknowledge Miles’s words. He said, “Suffering draws us closer to God, even a little boy’s suffering, if it is God’s divine will.”

Katie said, “I don’t understand, Reverend McCamy. How can a little boy’s suffering conform to God’s divine will? That makes no sense to me. Do you mean that God wants everyone, including children, to suffer?”

He whispered, his eyes on Katie’s face, “You misunderstand. I’m speaking of our conforming to the Cross of Christ. It is written: ‘Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me, cannot be my disciple.’ It is man’s highest gift to suffer for the love of God, to suffer so that he can come closer to a union with the Divine. Of course, only a very few of the blessed ones are granted such divine grace.”

“What do you mean conforming to the cross?” Katie asked. “As in one should want to be crucified? That would please God?”

Miles could tell that Reverend McCamy wanted to lay his hands on Katie. To bless her or to punish her because he thought she was blaspheming? He couldn’t tell.

Reverend McCamy said, all patience, so patronizing that Miles imagined Katie standing up and smacking him
in the jaw if she weren’t so focused on what she was doing, “We must embrace suffering to lead us ever closer to God, and in this suffering, there is greatness and submission. No, God does not wish us to be crucified like him. That is shallow and blind, meaning nothing. It is far more than that, far deeper, far more enveloping. Very rarely God’s grace is bestowed on a living creature and is manifested in the imitation of Christ’s travails on the cross.”

Katie said, never looking away from Reverend McCamy’s face, “You said that God doesn’t want us to nail ourselves to a cross in imitation of the crucifixion. What then is this gift bestowed on so very few?”

Reverend McCamy said, “How long does it take for the brownies to bake, Elsbeth?”

“Thirty minutes,” Elsbeth said. She never looked her husband in the face, nor did she look at Miles or Katie. She slipped the glass dish inside the oven, then turned to the sink to run water in the batter bowl.

Too bad, Katie had
really
wanted a taste of that batter. It was time to push again, time to maneuver him where she wanted him to go. She said, “These individuals who imitate Christ’s suffering, who and what are they? How are they selected? And by whom?”

Elsbeth whispered, “Don’t you understand? Reverend McCamy is one of the very few blessed by God’s grace, who is blessed by God’s ecstasy in suffering.”

Reverend McCamy looked like he wanted to slap her, but he didn’t move, just fisted his hands at his sides.

Katie said, ever so gently, her eyes as intense as Reverend McCamy’s, “You’re speaking of Christ’s wounds appearing on a mortal’s body. You’re saying that Reverend McCamy is a—what are they called?”

“Stigmatist,” said Reverend McCamy.

“And you’re a stigmatist, aren’t you, sir?”

He looked furious that she’d pushed him to this, and Miles realized in that instant that she indeed had, and she’d
done it very well. For a moment Reverend McCamy didn’t say anything. Katie knew he was trying to get himself under control and it was difficult for him.

Katie said, “Homer Bean, one of your former parishioners, told us that you’d told a small group of men one evening about being a victim of God’s love, about being a stigmatist.”

Reverend McCamy said without looking up, “Since they have told you, then I will not deny it. Once in my life I was blessed to have the suffering of ecstasy with blood flowing from my hands in imitation of the nails driven through our Lord’s palms.”

Katie said, “You’re saying that blood flowed from your palms? That you have actually experienced this?”

“Yes, I have been blessed. God granted me this passionate and tender gift. The pain and the ecstasy—the two together provide incalculable profit to the soul. I have kept this private, all except for those few men in whom I once confided.”

Katie said, “And how is it you were chosen for this, Reverend?”

“You must recognize and accept the divine presence, Katie. You must believe that it is too overwhelming for mankind to fathom, that it must be the expression of ultimate faith. Thus the godless have sought to belittle this divine ecstasy, to trivialize it, to turn it into some sort of freak show. But it isn’t, for I have had my blood flow from my own palms.”

Miles said, fed up with this fanatic, his strange wife, and the damned brownies in the oven, “This is all very fascinating, McCamy, but can you tell me why Clancy and Beau kidnapped my son?”

It was as if someone flipped off the light switch. Reverend McCamy’s eyes became even darker, as if a black tide was roiling up through his body. He shuddered, as if bringing himself out of someplace very deep, very far
away. He said, “Your son is one of God’s children, Mr. Kettering. I will pray for your son, and I will ask God to intercede.” With that, Reverend McCamy turned and walked out of the kitchen. After a moment, they heard him call out, “Elsbeth, bring the brownies to my study when they’re done. You don’t have to cool them.”

She nodded, even though he was no longer there. “Yes, Reverend McCamy.”

Katie said to Elsbeth, “Sam is a wonderful little boy. I will not allow him to be taken again. Do you understand me, Elsbeth?”

“Go away, Katie. Go away and take that godless man with you.”

“I’m not godless, ma’am. I just don’t worship quite the same God you and your husband do.”

When they were driving away from that lovely house, Miles said, “That was excellent questioning. I just don’t know what it got us.”

“I don’t either,” Katie said. “But I discovered I could pry him open.”

“They’re in on this, Katie.”

“Yes,” she said. “I think so, too.”

Miles slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “Why, for God’s sake? Why?”