Congregations of the Dead

by Moore, James A. ; Rutledge, Charles R. ;

  Griffin knew. Carl seemed to have a sixth sense about that sort of thing. Like a human lie-detector. He could almost always tell when someone wasn’t telling the truth.

  “Wonder if it’s connected to whatever was trying to get into my house the other night?”

  “I’d say that was likely. Best for us if it was, anyway. I’d hate to think there was more than one of whatever could do something like that.”

  Griffin shook his head. “What the hell is happening to this town, Carl?”

  “I don’t know, man. I mean there was always weird stuff in the Hollow, even when we were kids, but yeah, it’s like we’re spook central lately. Anyway, you need a ride back to town?”

  “No, my truck will make it. Guess I’ll have to postpone my visit to Reverend Cotton.”

  “You really think the Traylor girl is up there at the church?”

  “My gut says yes.”

  “Well you get anything a bit more substantial than a gut feeling, let me know. We’ll get a warrant. Do things proper.”

  “Will do. Thanks for the backup, Carl.”

  Carl nodded and headed for his car. Griffin still thought the man looked rough, but he knew from long experience not to press for details. Carl was a private man, just like Griffin. Time came he wanted to talk, he’d let Griffin know.

  * * *

  Carl saw the question on Wade’s face and was grateful for the silence. Most times he wanted advice, he asked Wade. This time, however, he already knew the answer.

  Say, Wade, Tammy’s back in town and making noises like she’d like to be friends. What should I do?

  Why, Carl, I think you should shoot the bitch and bury the body after the last four times she’s walked all over you and then left me to help pick up the pieces.

  Okay, that wouldn’t actually be what Wade would say because despite common rumors, Wade could be very polite when he wanted. But that would be the sentiment. He knew Wade well enough that he didn’t have to ask. More importantly, he knew that Wade was right.

  It was just his damned heart that kept squirming around in his chest and looking for a way to make things work out.

  His phone rang. Saved by the bell. “Carl Price. How can I help you?”

  “Hey, Carl! This is Travis!” Travis Cobb was a tech down at the forensics lab. He was a nice enough kid but a little too enthusiastic when it came to talking about the morbid shit in his job. That was okay. It worked to Carl’s benefit and he was so enthusiastic that Carl remained mostly sure he wasn’t actually involved in any of the dirty work himself. Mostly.

  “What’s up, Travis?” he put on his happy voice.

  “Got an ID for the guy you brought in this morning. You know, Broke Back Mountain?”

  Sense of humor needed work. Had that comment gone out on the radio he and the boy would have had a serious talk. As it was over a phone line instead, Carl let it slide.

  “So what do you have?”

  “The man’s name is Vincent Fowler. He’s got a long rap sheet, mostly for trafficking in drugs and a few for prostitution. Not him. He likes to hire young girls.”

  Carl nodded. He’d find out for himself but he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Tadpole hung around with the man.

  “Thanks, Travis.”

  “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  No. “Can’t do it, Travis. I don’t even know myself.”

  “Well if you need someone to take notes...”

  Hell would freeze over first. “I’ll keep it in mind, Travis. Thanks.”

  More notes to himself. There was a nagging feeling he was missing something and it was bothering the hell out of him. He hated feeling out of the loop, especially inside his own head.

  The sky overhead was dark enough that it looked like nighttime. The clouds were gathering and festering. There would be rain soon, and that was a plus. Maybe a good storm would calm down the insane heat.

  He jotted Lazarus Cotton on his pad. After that he put down the name of the dead man. The next line on the paper was photo shop. That was it. He looked at the two words and then aimed himself back toward Wellman. He needed to have a look around the studio of Corey Phillips. Keeping one eye on the road he typed the man’s name into the keyboard mounted inside the truck’s cabin and let the miracles of modern science play their games. Nothing. The man was clean. No record worth noticing.

  Then he typed in Ellie Campbell’s name. She had allegedly reported the family to DFACS and he needed to know what she had reported. The records weren’t showing up in his system, and that meant he needed to talk to the woman himself.

  Finding her wasn’t hard. Her full name was Eloise May Campbell.

  She answered when he rang the doorbell and introduced himself. The woman who looked at him smiled warmly and looked up at him with hazel eyes. She had a very nice smile on her round face. “Well look who it is.”

  Carl managed to avoid frowning. Her face clicked into his mental database, but there had been changes. He vaguely remembered a mousy little brown-haired girl in high school who went by the name Ellie May. It turned out they were one and the same. The differences were substantial. The grown-up version had filled out, had a couple of kids and was confident enough to look him in the eyes. The girl in high school had blushed when any male looked in her direction. She’d been pretty enough in high school, but now that she was older and actually had a bit of confidence, she was beautiful. It was amazing how that happened sometimes. He’d have never expected the girl he saw in the halls to become an attractive woman. Then again, to be fair, he hadn’t thought of her in years.

  “Been an awfully long time, Ellie.”

  “Longer than I want to remember.” She chuckled. She had a nice, relaxed laugh. “What can I do for the sheriff today? You trolling for votes already?”

  He caught himself blushing. “No, still got a while before I do the door to door stuff for that. I’m actually here about a complaint you filed a while ago.” He lowered his voice just in case anyone might be listening. “You reported a couple of people to DFACS?”

  Ellie shook her head and gestured for him to come inside, but she didn’t seem the least bit worried. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Carl. I report a lot of folks to DFACS. It’s part of my job.”

  He nodded and stepped inside. There were several pictures on the hallway walls of Ellie and a man who was likely her husband, and a couple of kids who progressed through infancy to preteen years in the span of the dozen or so pictures. The man was nice enough looking, but bland. The kids were kids. All kids were cute in photos. Long as they weren’t doing something deeply stupid or illegal, that is.

  “Well, the couple I’m talking about is Corey and Sarah Phillips. They have a little girl named Amber?”

  All the pretty faded from Ellie’s face and she got a nasty expression that made him reassess her completely for the second time in as many minutes. “Oh, I know the ones you mean.”

  “Listen, can you tell me what that was about? I couldn’t find any information except that there had been a report once upon a time.”

  “That’s because there were threats of lawsuits.”

  Carl frowned. “Lawsuits? For what?”

  “Slander.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head even as she walked into the kitchen and came back a moment later with a very, very large glass of iced tea. She didn’t ask if he wanted it, but instead just handed it to him. On the table was a matching glass, which she reached for as soon as he’d taken his. He nodded his gratitude and took a sip of the overly sweetened fluids. Southern iced tea was always overwhelmingly sweet, as if to compensate for the insane heat outside.

  “Slander? What did you say about them?”

  “Only what their little girl had told me.” She had a scowl on her pretty face. She pushed it aside. “She told me that her daddy liked to take pictures of
her in the nude. Playing with things that no little girl should play with.”

  “Child pornography?” He felt his skin tighten.

  “That was the accusation. There was no evidence to be found and the Phllipses had a really good lawyer.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded and took a sip of her own tea. “Oh yeah, on retainer. Expensive fella, too. Has some serious clients.”

  “Yeah? Like who?”

  “You ever hear of Peter Blankenship?” She lowered her voice automatically.

  “I am the sheriff.”

  “Well then you have your answer.”

  “Same lawyer, huh?”

  “Same lawyer. On retainer.”

  “Well, looks like I might have to look into matters a little more closely.”

  “What sort of matters?” She looked at him and then looked away as if realizing what she was asking and of whom.

  “Their daughter, Amber, was taken from their home a couple of nights ago. I’m trying to find out who took her.”

  Ellie’s face softened, the anger fading behind an immediate sorrow. “Well, damn, but if anything’s happened and they’re responsible I’m gonna feel like Hell about it.”

  He put a hand over hers and patted it. “Don’t. You can only do so much.”

  “I could have pushed harder.”

  Carl nodded. “Without proof you would have lost your job. I’m not saying you aren’t right, but I am saying there’re some things you can’t control no matter how much you might want to. I’ve been down that path a few times.”

  “I’m a teacher. I’m supposed to look out for the kids I deal with.”

  “Yes you are. I’m the Wellman County Sheriff. I’m supposed to look out for everyone in this county. And I do, but there are limits to how much you can do and how much I can do. Those limits are put there to make sure everyone gets a fair shake.”

  “Well that’s stupid.”

  “Sometimes I agree. Right now, if that girl’s parents have anything to do with what she’s going through, I couldn’t agree more.” He sipped his tea while he tried to find the right words. “But there are processes. You can make reports and I can make arrests but if they aren’t with good reason, we get slapped down for being too enthusiastic.” He shrugged. “They have to be there, even when we hate them. Or we get another McCarthy era. Or we get witch-hunts. Or we get cops kicking down our doors for reading the wrong books. Checks and balances. I hate them, but I understand why they’re in place.”

  Ellie stood. “I just hate them. That poor girl.”

  “Well, I’m gonna look into matters a bit deeper now. There are a few files I can look into, the sort of stuff I don’t want to look into.” Carl shook his head. There were a lot of files, actually, images and movies that he now had to look through that involved young children as yet unidentified, files that had been seized from different pedophiles and perverts throughout the county over the last few years. He could feel the muscles in his jaws and temples locking at the very notion. It was very possible the face of Amber Phillips sent off warning bells because he had seen her before, but not in the context of a family photo or two.

  “Any chance you can keep me posted about what you find, Carl?”

  “Officially? Probably not. Unofficially? You might have to hear about something to help prevent any possible lawsuits in the future. We’ll see.”

  The woman reached out and gave him a warm hug. He was tempted to seize up and back away. Carl didn’t much like unexpected displays of affection. Just the same, she was doing him a favor and she was a nice, slightly familiar face. He put an arm around her shoulders and hugged back a bit awkwardly.

  A few moments later he was on his way, hating that he was now thinking about Amber Phillips stuck in situations no child should ever be stuck in.

  The drive back to the office was annoying. It grew worse when he saw Tammy in the reception area. She was as pretty as ever. That was the part that bothered the Hell out of him. She was older, she should have been less appealing. Her body was not in as defined shape and she had crow’s feet around her eyes, and damned if she wasn’t still attractive to the point of distraction.

  No. She was just damned beautiful and he hated her a bit for that.

  Tammy stood as he entered the building, a look of worry on her face. “Carl?”

  “What can I do for you, Tammy?” He did his best to leave everything as formal as he could and if his voice sounded distant enough that the three coworkers who saw him every day were looking at him as if he’d just vomited fire all over the floor, well, sometimes you couldn’t quite hide your feelings.

  “I was hoping we could talk?”

  “What about?” Here it was, the part where his stomach twisted into a painful knot.

  “About everything? About…” She looked around and stepped closer to him. He didn’t quite look away from her. He could see her in his peripheral vision. “About us?”

  “I have work right now. I’m at work right now. Call me later. Maybe we can talk then.”

  She wanted to say more. He didn’t give her the chance. Given a choice between looking over criminal evidence of the nature that made him want to commit violence on the offenders, and spending an hour or so of his life talking to Tammy about ‘us’ and ‘everything’ he wasn’t sure which idea had less appeal.

  No, that wasn’t true. He did know. He was heading for the evidence lockers, after all.

  The files were locked away and filed properly. He had Thelma McPherson and Nora Evans look into the files with him. He wanted company while he did it, and he wanted the sort of company that both helped him stay calm and simultaneously got just as pissed off as he did.

  Unfortunately, he found what he was looking for. There were easily a dozen pictures that could be the same girl as the one in the photo Amber Phillips’s parents had provided.

  He had the two women with him verify his findings and then he gave the pictures over to Nora with express and concise orders about getting computer matches using the facial recognition software. She knew the drill, but he wanted it done by the book.

  While Nora was working on getting matches confirmed, Carl called DFACS again and talked to Susan Ortega. Then it was time to get a few search warrants handled. Two phone calls later and he was working out the details in his head. He was almost done with the paperwork when he decided on a whim to see about getting Wade’s church thrown into the equation. Different girl, similar problem near as he could tell. Either way, he figured it couldn’t hurt to at least start the process.

  Tammy called him twice. He ignored both calls. His stomach tried to burn a hole through itself at the very thought.

  Was it love? He had no idea. Felt more like a junkie trying for a fix if he was right in what junkies went through. He had never been addicted to a drug, not even tobacco, so he couldn’t really tell. He could just guess.

  Whatever the case, Tammy felt a lot like withdrawal. And he hated her a bit for that.

  The warrants were being worked on. He couldn’t rush Judge Harrelson and knew better than to try. Carl thought about the little girl in the pictures again and felt his hands clench. Christ, he wanted a drink. Quick math (booze plus Bad Crimes multiplied by Tammy in Town times Sleep Deprivation equals Carl Kicks The Shit out of a few people who maybe don’t deserve it) had him shaking that idea away.

  When Tammy called again he answered. “Yeah?”

  “Hi, Carl. Can we talk?”

  “Talk to me.”

  “I meant in person, Carl.”

  “No. No, Tammy. We can’t.” His head felt like it was going to explode.

  “What?” A long pause, which meant she was considering his words. He never said no. Not ever. That was one of the things that had maybe been wrong with the relationship from day one. “Why not?”

  “There’s nothing to say,
Tammy. You fucked me over. You dumped me. You walked away. Sorry your dad’s sick. Sorry you’re going through that, but I can’t be here for you.” He shook his head and tried to breathe. It wasn’t easy. “You can’t be here for me, and I can’t be here for you anymore. That’s all there is to say. Don’t call me again.”

  He killed the call and shoved his phone into his pocket. Time to leave. Time to go home and maybe even manage a little sleep. If that was possible. He had doubts.

  He barely acknowledged anyone as he left the building and headed for his truck.

  So he missed the people that were watching him as he climbed inside and headed away from the office.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Griffin got home just as dusk was gathering. Charon’s bright red VW Bug was already in the garage when he pulled in. Griffin paused for a moment as he got out of the truck to look at the jagged space where the rear window used to be. There was no corresponding hole anywhere else in the cab, so he could only assume the bullet had partially ricocheted, probably because of the odd angle of the shot. Tomorrow he would take the truck to a mechanic he knew.

  Griffin went through the garage door, which led to the kitchen. “I’m home!” he called.

  “In the living room, honey,” Charon responded.

  Griffin found her sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her. She was reading a gigantic book that looked to have been personally printed by Gutenberg on a slow day. He thought the title was Latin, but he wasn’t sure.

  “A little light reading?”

  “Something Carter loaned me.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  Charon patted the sofa cushion beside her and Griffin sat. She said, “I’m surprised you’re back so early. I thought you were going to see the preacher.”

  “I ran into trouble on the way there.”

  “I’m probably going to regret asking this, but what sort of trouble?”

  Griffin told her. He didn’t hold anything back. He had long since learned that Charon wanted the truth. When he finished, Charon put down her book and leaned over and put her arms around him.