by Mary Stone
The woman visibly softened when she looked at Noah. A combination of flattery and his good looks, Winter assumed.
“Well, now, I haven’t lived here long enough to know everything.”
He smiled at her, dimples winking, and she melted a little more. “I’ll bet you’re being modest. We did hear your sister is almost as well-connected as you. Might she—”
Alma waved a hand dismissively. “Elva doesn’t know half as much as she thinks she does.” She grabbed a pen studded with pink rhinestones and jotted down a name. “Go see Carolyn Walton. She’s worked at the library for decades and was friendly with Elbert sometime after his wife died. I daresay she’d be able to help you.”
They thanked Alma and left her to her quiet sniffling.
“Don’t take what Alma said personally,” Noah warned Winter as they headed to the Rise N’ Dine to get breakfast and wait for the library to open. “Elbert may have had a target on him from the moment those bones were discovered. His death was not our fault.”
Maybe not, but it felt like they’d led a killer straight to him.
Carolyn Walton was a tall, slim woman who looked to be in her mid-seventies. She wasn’t traditionally beautiful. However, her long, waving white hair softened a somewhat hawk-like nose, and her brown eyes glittered with intelligence.
She was shelving books in the children’s section when they found her. She looked afraid for a moment when Winter asked if she had a few minutes to talk, and then resigned.
“Certainly,” she answered briskly. “I assume you’re here about the Disciples. Please, follow me.”
She led Winter and Noah to a small conference room and closed the door behind them. Gesturing for them to take a seat at a round, wooden table, she did the same.
“I heard about what happened to Elbert,” she said without preamble, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “I can only imagine it has something to do with those bones being excavated out near the Archer farm.”
Winter watched Carolyn’s face carefully as she launched into the questioning. “Alma Krueger mentioned that you’d been friends with Mr. Wilkins. That you might have some information on the cult that would be helpful to us.”
She smiled wryly. “Alma Krueger does a lot of mentioning. In this instance, she’s correct. I do know a bit about the Disciples, if only because I’ve spent a lot of time with Elbert Wilkins. We had a personal relationship several years ago. You could say that group was a little bit of an obsession with him.”
“What could he have known about them that would have put him in danger?” Noah questioned.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you there. That group disbanded many years ago,” Carolyn said, her brow furrowed in thought. “I know that he kept meticulous files, though. There were several people of Linville and Harrisonburg that may not have wanted it to be common knowledge that they once associated with the Disciples.”
Winter’s pulse quickened. “You know of former members?”
“I do,” Carolyn confirmed quietly. “Many people that followed The Bishop, Wesley Archer, just sort of melted into the communities around here when the Disciples fell apart. They became doctors and lawyers and put their ‘colorful’ pasts behind them. It could be that someone didn’t want their former connection to the group known once they started digging into the past up there in Linville.”
“Why did the Bishop have so much sway with the people?” Noah asked.
“He promised a better life, and a future without violence, and that was during a so-called simpler time, decades ago. Wesley was fired up with the righteousness of a man who had witnessed the worst ways that humans could treat each other, and for better or for worse, his ideals were based in a true desire to change the world for the better. He was said to be eloquent, convincing, and impassioned. Can you honestly say that now, during times of war, increasing divisiveness in politics, school shootings, and violence becoming commonplace and sometimes even applauded, that he wouldn’t have the same sway today with some people?”
“We would appreciate anything you can give us,” Winter said softly, dodging the question. Indeed, Wesley Archer would have most likely had an even bigger following if social media had been available during his time.
Carolyn loosened her hands from where they clenched together on the table in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “I’ve got names for you. Please be discreet in questioning these people, however. They have new lives now and may not appreciate their pasts being dredged up after all these years.”
Winter jotted down the names she gave them but stopped at the last one. “Wait, David Benton? Is he any relation to Tom Benton? The Tom Benton who works for the Harrisonburg Police Department?”
Carolyn nodded. “Yes. David Benton is Tom Benton’s father.”
The sound of “Sweet Home Alabama” rang out in the quiet that followed. “I’m sorry,” Noah said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled his phone out and read the display. “I have to take this.” He stepped out of the room and was back less than a minute later. “We have to leave,” he told Winter, his face unreadable. “That was Gary Miller.”
They thanked Carolyn Walton for her time. She was still watching them as they left the building, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
13
The crime scene was a study in controlled chaos.
At the center of it was the Forensic Archaeologist, Marilyn Fosner, working with laser-intense focus. At the same time, she seemed to be giving a running lecture, occasionally gesturing with a small shovel to a group of older-looking interns who were riveted to the woman’s every word. Around the dig site, canvas awnings had been set up as various stations for processing evidence. Marilyn had managed to pull in additional hands, if the number of people milling about was any indicator.
“Three more.” The police chief looked as if he’d aged a decade in the short time since they’d seen him last. His face was drawn, and his color wasn’t good. His belly, where it sagged over his belt, even appeared to have shrunken. “What the hell are we dealing with? It’s a fricking cemetery up here.”
Noah cast a sideways glance at Winter. He’d bet she already knew what they had, but she played her cards close. Her smooth face was relaxed, giving away none of the inner turmoil she was probably feeling. “What’s the newest?” Her voice was as calm as a lake.
The chief sighed and motioned them over to a portable picnic table that had been set up under an awning. A large, insulated beverage dispenser sat on top of it, with a tilting stack of Styrofoam cups beside it. He grabbed a cup and filled it.
“This tastes like shit,” he grumbled, gesturing to them to help themselves, “but it’s technically coffee.”
Noah grabbed two cups and filled them with the overcooked-smelling black liquid. He sat down beside Winter, across from the older man, and placed a cup in front of her.
“Two more infants,” Chief Miller said wearily, folding his arms on the table. “And a new element to the mix. A much more recent body, still in decomp stages. Looks like a young girl. After all those bones, it sure was a helluva shock to find something like that. Not that anyone should have to get used to finding baby bones, but you know what I mean.”
Noah felt Winter stiffen beside him, where their arms brushed together. “How long ago? Any estimate from Marilyn on time of death?” Her even voice was edged with pain, but only Noah heard it. He realized he was finally getting to the point where he could read Winter very well.
Miller shrugged. “She thinks the girl had been dead only a few years. They’re going to need to take more time getting the remains out since the excavation process won’t be as straightforward. On the other hand, there’s a better chance we’ll get some workable evidence. Clothing scraps, hair, things like that.”
Noah cast a sour glance upward, at the distinct sound of fat raindrops pattering against the canvas over their heads. “It’d be helpful if the rain cleared up.”
Miller glared at the sky. �
��My wife swears I’m growing mold, spending all this time out here.”
“Any sign of infant remains buried near the girl?” Winter asked. “Or cause of death?”
The chief shook his head in the negative. “They haven’t progressed that far. Like I said, it’s a slower process. But it looks like she was alone in there.”
“What about the other remains found? The infants?” Noah asked. “Any signs of birth defects? Cause of death on those?”
Chief Miller nodded. “Those, at least, are like the others. Same small-caliber hole in the back of the skull. And the medical examiner will be able to tell us more, but we’re looking at misshapen heads, bone defects, like crooked legs or abnormally short arms, things like that. Florence Wade has got her hands full. I called down to Roanoke this morning. She’s bringing on more hands to help so they can try and work through these as fast as they can. Priority will be on this…fresher body, once we get it out of the ground.”
“What about Elbert Wilkins?”
“What about him?” Miller’s face seemed to sink in even further, the lines deepening. “I’ve got a team on it, but no one heard or saw a thing. We’ve canvassed the neighborhood and haven’t turned up even a nosy old lady who conveniently spends her days spying on the neighbors. Used to be, someone was always keeping one eye out the window.”
Noah made a derisive sound. “Now, people don’t even know who lives next door.”
Chief Miller nodded. “And no one stays at home anymore. Everyone works, puts their kids in daycare.” Based on the chief’s expression, Noah wondered if this societal development seemed almost worse than the murder to the older man. He sighed deeply. “No prints at the scene. Nothing disturbed, aside from the room where Wilkins was found. They’re working on pulling any trace evidence, but so far, we’ve got nada.”
“You’re doing the best you can with what you have,” Noah told the man sympathetically. “No one expects this kind of thing to happen in their town. I had something similar a couple years back in Texas. Two bodies found, years old, seemed like no leads. Dead ends everywhere. Something will break.”
Chief Miller gave him a thin smile. “Yeah, I’ve got more years on the job than you. I do appreciate you trying to cheer me up, though. You ever solve your cold case?”
“Yep. Took us a while, but we did it.”
Winter had turned her attention away from the interchange.
She was restless, Noah could tell. She jumped up from the table to pace, her shoes squelching in the churned-up mud that blanketed everything in this area of the woods. Her head down, she narrowly missed one of Marilyn’s interns, intent on carrying a heavy-looking box across the clearing. The kid dodged, bobbling the load he carried, and threw Winter a dirty look.
“Agent Black,” Noah called out before she could cause more havoc in the already chaotic area. “What’s on your mind?”
She made her way back to the picnic table and leaned on it, pinning Chief Miller with a look. “Do you have a man to spare to keep an eye on Carolyn Walton? A librarian in Harrisonburg?”
He looked a little surprised at her abrupt topic shift but thought about it for a moment and nodded. “I’ve got someone.”
“Good,” she replied, easing back a bit. “I don’t think she’ll be in any danger, but we didn’t think Elbert Wilkins would be either. We got some information from her this morning, and I’d like to see her protected, just in case.”
“Was she able to tell you anything useful? I never would’ve thought to talk to her, but she dated Wilkins a while back, didn’t she?”
“She gave us a little more on the cult. Some names of people who were connected with the Disciples.”
“Yeah, it’s looking more and more like that’s what we’re dealing with up here. No missing babies in the area. A nearby group that kept mostly to themselves and didn’t much mingle with people in town. Anybody belong to that group that I’d know?” Chief Miller perked up with interest. “I’ve only been here since 1995, when I moved up from Florida to take this job, but I know most everyone around here. I didn’t figure former members would hang around in the area after the cult disbanded, but I guess it makes sense.”
Winter hesitated for a moment. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small notebook, opening to the page that held the list of names Carolyn had given them.
Chief Miller took out a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and slid them on. It was a short list and didn’t take him long. “David Benton?” he frowned, pointing at the last name on the page. “David’s on the City Council. Nice guy. He’s also Tom Benton’s dad.”
“Yep, that’s what we were told,” Noah said and looked around. “Where is Officer Benton today?”
Miller frowned. “I gave him a couple days of personal leave time. Wasn’t the most convenient thing with all that’s going on, but sounds like his wife is having some health issues. He’d used up his vacation time for the year but took family medical leave. Said they’d be out of town for a day or two. You can bet, though, that I’ll touch base with him on this.”
Judging by the look on his face, the experienced police chief would be more than touching base, Noah thought. He might be kicking ass. It was no secret that Benton had been very vocal about the whole cult thing being urban legend. He’d said outright that the idea that they killed a bunch of people was bullshit. That they were just a bunch of harmless hippies.
“I’ll be interested in what Officer Benton has to say too,” Winter said. “There’s always a chance he didn’t know his dad belonged.” A chance, but it was doubtful.
Noah stood up. “In the meantime, we’ll make ourselves useful, look through some missing persons reports. See if we can start narrowing the field a bit on the most recent body found while we wait for the ME to take a look.”
Chief Miller nodded, still looking pensive. “Let me know if you find anything out. I’ll get an officer to keep an eye on Ms. Walton. The CSI team should be done over at Wilkins’ place later today, and I’ll give you a call when they’re finished.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Noah replied. “We’d like to take a look through his files, or what’s left of them, and see if anything might’ve been overlooked when they were tossed.”
Winter had pulled herself out of her thoughts and thanked the chief for meeting them, giving him a small smile. That was good. Noah had been meaning to tactfully bring up her way of interacting with other people. He understood that she had an intense focus and tended to block everyone out at odd moments, but to others, she might come off as a bitch.
To him, she was an ever-changing, fascinating puzzle.
“Did you need to go over there? Check things out where Marilyn’s working?” Noah asked her in a low voice when they’d gotten out of the chief’s hearing distance.
“No,” she answered, not looking in the direction of the dig. “I’ve seen all I need to. I can give a description of the victim. That should help us with the missing person’s reports.”
Watching the tight set of her shoulders under the black blazer as she preceded him down the path to the trail, Noah decided he wasn’t really jealous of Winter’s abilities at all. She looked like she was carrying the weight of the world.
They were sitting in a small hipster-haven coffeeshop with their laptops when Winter found her.
Kayla Bennett.
The girl was pretty and smiling in the high school picture they’d used for her missing person flier. She had long, silky-looking brown hair that hung past her shoulders, partially obscuring the school sweatshirt she wore for the photo. Light blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. A sweet, rounded face with a stubborn chin.
According to the information her parents had given in the police report, Kayla was an honor student in tenth grade at a private school in upstate New York, near Saratoga Springs. She was athletic and popular and had never given them any trouble. When her parents had gone through a divorce, Kayla had withdrawn from both of them. She started staying
out late and acting out, smoking pot, though she’d always been a well-behaved kid.
One night, after a particularly bad fight about infidelity between the parents, she’d taken off, running away from home. An avid hiker and nature-lover, she’d taken only her car—a silver Ford Focus she’d gotten for her sixteenth birthday—and all of her hiking and camping gear.
Her car had never shown up, stolen or otherwise. And except for a couple of early sightings of the girl by hikers on the Appalachian Trail, Kayla hadn’t been seen either.
But Winter knew that face. She’d seen it just the night before.
Conversations buzzed around them in the coffee shop, and Noah hummed the chorus of a country song, at counterpoint to the folksy-sounding music piped in overhead, while he looked through his own search results.
Winter studied Kayla.
Her vision came back to her with crystal clarity.
A cavernous-feeling, dark room. A cage, open at the top, but with thick, closely set metal bars, padlocked from the outside. A cot with a couple of blankets and a flat-looking pillow. Kayla, her long hair tangled and matted on one side, as if she hadn’t had access to a brush in a while. Her face, not as round, streaked with dirt and tears.
She wore a t-shirt that was ripped and stained. The front of it read “WSSS Basketball.” Waldorf School of Saratoga Springs. Beneath the t-shirt, Kayla’s pregnant belly strained with her efforts to escape the cage that held her.
Who had taken her? Was her pregnancy and fear of her parents’ reaction to it the reason she’d run away? Had she been kidnapped while she was hiking the AT? If that was the case, why hadn’t her car been found at a trailhead somewhere? What was the connection with the dumping ground and the farm?