Accepting a bottle of water from one of the emergency crew, she twisted the top off viciously, her anger barely contained. It was a hell of a thing, when a woman who had survived abuse as a child became a victim of that same abuser all over again as an adult. A breeze rustled through the trees as she prayed that they would be smart enough to outwit him. She knew she would not have a moment’s peace until they found him.
There was a flurry of activity as the first of the body bags was brought up from the field.
“That oughta set the news people into a frenzy,” she murmured, wondering just what would end up on that evening’s news.
It occurred to her then that she hadn’t called Pats to let her know that she and John would be late. She’d be frantic by now.
Reaching into the car window, she grabbed her big leather bag that sat on the backseat. Sifting through it for her phone, she started to dial, when she noticed the message light blinking. Hitting the play button, she heard Patsy’s voice.
“Now, I don’t want you to be worried, everything’s okay now. But your sister gave me a good enough scare today. Something spooked her and as God is my judge I don’t know what that something is, but I mean to find out. She up and took off to go back to Kentucky and to the psychiatrist she was seeing down there. Left me a note apologizing for borrowing the money from my wallet for her bus ticket. Well, I called the bus line, and I found out that that bus will be stopping down in Slippery Rock around five-thirty. I guess you know that I’ll be down there waiting when that bus comes in. So don’t you be worried when you get to the cottage and we’re not there. We’ll be there, before the night is over, and we’ll find out what set Chrissie off. In the meantime, if you’d do me the biggest favor. I couldn’t find Kermie before I left, and I know he’s going to be out there howling on the back deck before too much longer. He hasn’t had his insulin since this morning, and, well, you know what could happen if he goes much more than twelve hours without it. I’d sure hate to lose that old curmudgeon, Gen, and I know that you would, too. So I’m hoping you’ll be able to find him and give him his shot when you get here. I figure you and John should probably be here by dark, and if you could please try to round up that tabby, feed him then give him his shot, I’d sure appreciate it. . .”
Genna could all but picture a worried Patsy standing out on the deck, watching for Kermie even as she left the voice mail. That old cat meant the world to both of them.
In another hour or so, it would be dark, too late to find Kermie or much else up here. She started up over the rise to look for John, and saw that he was deep in conversation with a member of the ERT that had arrived an hour earlier. He’d be a while yet, long enough, surely, for her to run down to the cottage, find Kermie, give him some food and inject him with his insulin. She’d probably be back before John finished his conversation.
The car keys rustled in her pocket. She’d had all she could take for one day. For one lifetime. A few minutes away from it all would be most welcome.
“If Agent Mancini is looking for me, tell him I had to run down to the cottage for something, but I should be back within an hour,” she told the young state trooper who stood by the lower end of the road. Searching her wallet, she found one of her business cards, upon which she wrote Patsy’s phone number.
“Just in case he’s forgotten,” she told the trooper, “the number’s on the back. But I should be back before he even realizes that I’m gone.”
She paused, wondering if it was wise for her to make the trip to the lake alone. It was not, she sighed. Getting out of the car, she searched for a trooper who looked as if he could use a half hour away from the madness. It wasn’t hard to find a likely candidate.
“What’s your name?” she asked him after he’d cleared her request to accompany her with his superior.
“Don Emerson,” he replied.
“Well, Don Emerson, I appreciate your company. We only have a short drive, but it’s one I probably shouldn’t take alone.”
She drove away in the blue Ford they’d rented earlier in the day, with no thoughts but to find Kermie and to escape, for just a little while, from the terrible reality that evil, still and always, was alive and well at Shepherd’s Way.
Chatting aimlessly with the young trooper, she eased into the driveway by the darkened house.
“Would you like me to come in with you?” her companion asked.
“If you like,” she nodded, “though I’m sure the cottage is locked. I’ll only be a few minutes. Unless, of course, I can’t find the cat. Then we’ll need to do a little searching.”
He smiled in the dark and got out of the car when she did.
“I’ll just keep a lookout, out here,” he told her.
“That’s fine,” Genna nodded, searching for the cottage key amongst the other keys on the crowded ring. “I shouldn’t be long.”
Her back covered, Genna disappeared down the driveway, her only thoughts on finding the old orange tabby that meant so much to Patsy and her, and now to Crystal. For everyone’s sake, she hoped she wasn’t too late.
23
He should have been tired, having been on his feet for several hours now, and he should have been starving, having had his last meal on the plane that had flown them to Erie that morning. But John Mancini was at his efficient best when chaos threatened those around him, and the events of the day had more than qualified. He’d stayed in the upper field until the last of the bodies had been removed, and was preparing to follow the last of the ambulances to the hospital, hoping that at least one of the women would be able to give them enough to begin the search for Michael Homer.
His eyes darted around the parking area, searching for Genna. When he could not locate her, he walked back to the car, thinking perhaps he’d find her slumped down in the passenger seat, sound asleep, though he figured it would take more than common fatigue to remove her from the action.
He was more than a little surprised to find that she had left the camp entirely.
“She said she wouldn’t be long, but for you to call her at the cottage,” a young trooper told him. “She sounded like you would know what she meant. One of the troopers went with her. Oh! And she gave me the number in case you’d forgotten it.”
“I have it,” John said as the man began to search his pockets.
John dialed the number and listened to it ring and ring. Perhaps she had done whatever it was she’d set out to do, and was on her way back. He called her cell phone, but there was no answer there, either. He paced next to the car, trying to decide if he should be worried or not. He dialed the cottage again with the same result.
“Hey, John,” one of the field agents from Pittsburgh came toward him from across the clearing. “I just heard that one of the women at the hospital is insisting on talking now. Sharpe wants you there pronto to get a description of Homer from her. A forensic artist is already on her way. You’re to follow Detective Shivers from Wick’s Grove.”
“I’m on my way,” John turned back to his car, then stopped, and called to the young trooper, “How long do you expect to be here?”
“No one’s said, but I’m expecting we’ll be around all night.”
“Will you watch for Agent Snow? Just tell her I went to the hospital to speak with one of the victims, and ask her to call me when she shows up.” John got into his car, adding, “I’ll probably catch up with her before then, but I’d appreciate you watching out for her.”
“I’ll do that, sir,” the trooper nodded. “But take care up there by the road. I heard there’s all kinds of media people up there. All of the networks and CNN and you name it, they’re up there.”
“Thanks.” John waved as he started the car and rolled up his windows. Stopping to chat with the press wasn’t on his agenda.
John called the cottage twice more, and a nagging fear had begun to prick at his senses. He’d decided to have one of the field agents go up to the lake to check on her if no one picked up on the next try.
S
omeone did.
“This is John Mancini,” he said when an unfamiliar voice answered, taking him off-guard. “Who is this, please?”
“This is Patsy’s friend Nancy, John. From the cottage next door.”
“Oh, Nancy, of course. Patsy and Genna have both spoken about you.”
“I was sitting out on my deck, and I heard the phone ring and ring and ring, and I thought, I should probably run over there and answer it if it rings again, since it seems like someone’s pretty anxious to get in touch with Patsy. Of course, she’s not here, you know.”
“No. I didn’t know. Do you know where everyone is? Have you seen Genna?”
“Well, Patsy’s gone off looking for Crystal,” Nancy told him, filling him in on Chrissie’s sudden departure as Patsy had related earlier in the day. “And Genna is out on the dock putting the cover on that flat-bottomed boat of Patsy’s. Looks like it might rain. Do you want me to run down and get her for you?”
Relieved, John said, “No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d tell her that I called and that I’m on my way to the hospital outside of Wick’s Grove.”
“Oh, my, I hope you’re all right?”
“Oh, fine. But if you’d tell her that I’m meeting an artist at the hospital, she’ll know what I mean. And tell her to meet us there as soon as she can.”
“I’ll certainly do that, John. Now, I should tell you that Genna was looking a little peaked, and so I suggested that she stop over for a bite. I made a lovely shrimp salad this afternoon thinking I’d have plenty to share with Patsy, but of course she isn’t here. So I offered to make up a plate for Genna—she did tell me that shrimp salad is such a favorite of hers—so if she’s a teensy bit late, you’ll know not to worry, that she’s having a quick meal and will be on her way soon enough.”
“And what about the state trooper who accompanied her?”
“Oh, he’s helping her with the cover. I imagine they should be finished in another few minutes.”
“Thanks so much for looking after her.”
“Oh, it’s my pleasure, believe me, John. Now, I’m looking forward to meeting you soon.”
“Likewise.” He hesitated for a minute, then said, “Look, Nancy, if you’d do me a favor. . .”
“Of course.”
“Go across the road and ask the guard who’s staying in the cabin. . .”
“Kenny Harris.”
“Yes. Kenny. Ask him if he’d come on over and stay until we can get back there. And tell him that I’ll call in backup from the state police for him as soon as we finish this call.”
“Oh, my! This sounds serious! Is something wrong?” Nancy’s voice dropped to a dramatically low level.
“You’ll see it on the evening news anyway.” John sighed, then gave Nancy the short version.
“You think he’s here? That awful man? Here, at Bricker’s Lake?” Nancy sounded shocked at the possibility.
“I don’t know where he is, frankly, though if I had to make an educated guess, I’d say he’s put some distance between here and wherever it is he’s hiding out. But if you’d just keep your eye on her while she’s there, I’d be grateful.”
“Just don’t you worry, John, I’ll be watching her,” Nancy assured him. “I won’t let her out of my sight.”
Michael Homer looked down at the woman who lay, bound and gagged, at his feet.
“Not for a second,” he said, then began to giggle. “Now that was a fine turn of events, wouldn’t you say, Miss Genna? Having the fox put in charge of the henhouse, so to speak?”
He leaned down to look into her face. Her eyes were still closed, her lips still parted just ever so slightly.
He felt for a pulse, hoping he hadn’t killed her, worried, because off the top of his head, he couldn’t really recall just how much force it had taken to render her unconscious. He’d intended on applying only enough pressure on her windpipe to knock her out for a while, but it was so easy to get a bit carried away with the spirit of things sometimes. But yes, there was a pulse. She just hadn’t come to, yet. Unlike that young state trooper. He’d had every intention of putting him out for a long, long time. And he had.
He went into Patsy’s bathroom and came out with a washcloth that he’d soaked in cold water. Just in case he needed it to revive her when he got to the holy place. It wouldn’t do to have her out cold then. One had to be conscious, didn’t one, to be consecrated? How could he fill her with the spirit if she wasn’t aware of what was happening?
He was pondering this minor philosophical point as he lifted, then carried her through the cottage over his shoulder, out onto Patsy’s deck and down the steps with little effort. He whistled as he strolled down to the dock as if unencumbered, not worried that anyone would see him. The neighbors on the right hadn’t been there all month. And Kenny wouldn’t be coming over to see what was going on this night or any other night.
Yes, life was sweet when things worked out your way.
With one foot, he kicked the gate open on the side of the boat, and stepped down cautiously. He really didn’t much care for boats, though he was grateful for the opportunity Patsy had given him to learn how to run one. He’d watched her operate this baby several times; enough, he hoped, that he could manage to get it from the dock to their destination. Of course, he didn’t much care for water, either, if the truth was to be known. Hadn’t he watched Patsy land a nasty looking pike right out there in the middle of the lake? He’d shivered at the thought of the damned thing swimming with him.
But tonight, the lake was his friend. His means of fulfilling the last of his tasks. And once Genna had been taken care of, he would be free.
Hadn’t Mother told him not to leave loose ends? To finish what you’d started?
It had taken nineteen years, but better late than never.
“I didn’t mean for them to die,” he said aloud. “I’m sorry. I did not mean for them to die.”
A sound from Genna drew his attention.
“No, I will not untie you, and no, I will not take off the gag, if that’s what you’re asking.” He looked down upon her smugly. “We’re not really so clever after all, are we, Miss Genna FBI Snow?”
He leaned down and looked into her face. Her eyes were still closed. He looked around for the washcloth, then remembered he’d left it on the kitchen counter. He hesitated, wondering if he should run back up to the cottage to get it, but then remembered that John had promised to send someone over to keep them safe. He decided to skip the washcloth. If she was still out when they reached the beach, he’d use some cool lake water.
Checking that the bag he’d earlier placed in the boat was still there, he fished in his pocket for the boat key he’d taken from the nail by Patsy’s backdoor and started up the motor. With great caution, he backed the boat away from the dock, holding his breath, lest he hit one of the pilings. It had looked so easy when Patsy did it.
There now, not so very difficult, he congratulated himself as he successfully navigated the boat into the lake and then steered to the right. Giving the throttle a bit of a jiggle, he made slowly for the opposite side of the lake. He wanted to savor every minute in her company—even though she wasn’t technically there to share it with him. He glanced back at her still form there on the deck and hoped she’d come to on her own. He hadn’t come all this way, done all he’d done, to have her spoil this last, most important event for him. And it was going to be an event, he nodded to himself as he looked ahead, searching in the dark for the landmarks he’d so carefully scouted over the past month.
There, to the left, was the house with the flagpole, and though the flags had been taken down for the night, the lights at the very top were still on. And there, just a few cabins down, was the long dock that had the large fake owl perched upon the first of their pilings. He turned toward shore slightly, knowing that within a minute he’d come to the darkened area that would be the old camp beach. This would be the tricky part, though. There would be no lights there—and he couldn’t ve
ry well use a flashlight, someone would surely see that and he couldn’t take that chance—and he wasn’t sure of the water’s depth, or how close he could get to the shore. These things he’d had to leave to chance.
He slowed as much as he could, cutting the motor when he heard the bottom of the boat scrape against the sand beneath them. Taking a deep breath, he counted to three and lowered himself over the side of the boat into the shallow water, grimacing as the long fronds of lake flora brushed against his legs.
“Ugh,” he muttered his distaste, but proceeded to drag the boat with the rope tied to the bow, careful now not to damage the bottom. After all, he’d need it to escape later.
He still hadn’t decided just what to do with Genna when he’d finished purifying her. He certainly couldn’t take her to the cabins as he had the others. Maybe he’d just leave her tied up there, in the woods. It was such a remote spot, they wouldn’t likely find her for several days.
“It would serve her right,” he muttered to himself as his feet found purchase on the slippery lake bank, “if they didn’t find her at all.”
Not, of course, that he intended that she die out here. The entire camp should be considered a crime scene, he rationalized, and so the law, if they had any sense at all, should search the entire premises for. . . well, for whatever might be there. In this case, the whatever would be Genna Snow. A thoroughly consecrated and pure Genna Snow.
What was the expression about pure snow? Pure as the driven snow? He giggled at the pun and wished there was someone he could share it with. But alas, he knew he was his own, his only, audience.
He held the rope slack in his hands and looked around the darkened beach for something to tie it to. Finding nothing but the fallen trunk of an old tree, he looped a knot around a section twice and hoped it would hold. There was a bit of a breeze picking up now. With any luck—and he had to admit his luck had been pretty darned good lately—there would be no wind to coax the boat away from the shore before he was finished. Satisfied that he’d secured it as best he could, he waded back into the lake and climbed awkwardly over the side of the boat. Lifting the unconscious woman, he kicked open the gate with one foot, then slid back into the water.
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