by Diane Kelly
Benbrook Lake sat to the southwest at the far reaches of the Fort Worth city limits, well outside my patrol division. Because the initial crime—if there even was a crime—took place in our precinct, Jackson would retain control over the investigation, no matter where in the city it might lead.
I’d grown up in Fort Worth and lived here all my life, other than my time at Sam Houston State University in Huntsville. Still, the People of Peace rang no bells for me. “I’ve never heard of them. How long has the group been out there?”
“At least three decades,” Jackson said. “Their place was in the boonies when they bought it way back then. They keep a very low profile. Hector and I spoke with detectives from their precinct. They said they’ve had no trouble from the group. A couple asked for help getting their son out of the church several years ago, but their son met with them and said he didn’t want to leave. The couple filed a court motion to force their son to undergo a psychological evaluation, but the People of Peace hired the Dallas law firm of Gertz, Gertz, and Schwartz and successfully fought it. The group claims that anyone living there is free to go at any time.”
“Do you believe it? That they’re free to go?”
Jackson issued a derisive snort. “Not for a minute. If they aren’t kept there by actual force, they’re intimidated into staying. That’s how these so-called churches operate. On fear and threats and manipulation.”
One glance at Bustamente and it was clear he felt the same way. For good reason, too. Cults had a long, sordid, and often violent history in the state of Texas. We’d discussed them in my criminal psychology class in college.
While there were cults going back to the early 1900s in Texas, the more notorious ones came later. The Children of God began as a Christian movement in the late 1960s but, with the influence of hippie “Jesus Freaks,” devolved into something else entirely. Members turned over all their worldly possessions to the group, and took on new biblical names. To draw in male members, females engaged in what was called “Flirty Fishing,” essentially an evangelical form of religious prostitution. The group’s leader, David Berg, allegedly led the group in orgies at its 425-acre home near Thurber.
In 1992, Austin became home to the Buddhafield cult, which had been run out of Los Angeles. The group’s leader, a former actor and self-proclaimed guru, went by various names, including Michel, Andreas, and the Teacher. The group lived cooperatively and in seclusion. However, given the leader’s theater and dance training, he led the group in productions at the One World Theatre he’d established in the city. The group imploded in 2007 due to sexual manipulation and mistrust. The leader relocated to Hawaii and founded a new group there. The theater still operated in Austin, under new ownership.
Ninety miles to the south of Fort Worth sat Waco, the site of the deadly 1993 battle between Branch Davidians cult members and agents from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. Members who’d left the group’s compound told of illegal weapon stockpiles, polygamy, and the cult’s leader, David Koresh, forcing himself on young female residents. The cult had amassed a veritable armory of weapons, preparing for Armageddon. Their preparations launched a self-fulfilling prophecy. When law enforcement attempted to serve a search warrant, a shootout ensued. Four ATF agents lost their lives. Fifteen more were wounded. Several cult members were killed in the initial confrontation. A seven-week siege ensued. During that time, the FBI negotiated the release of a number of children. After fifty-one days, the standoff came to an end when government agents employed tanks and tear gas to force their way into the compound. Fires erupted, their source later debated. Some said the tear gas ignited the fires. Others claimed they were started by the cult members themselves. In the end, dozens more Branch Davidians had died, including many children and Koresh himself. More debate ensued over whether the cult members had made a suicide pact.
In 2008 came similar allegations of teenaged girls being forced into marriages with much older men. As a result, fifty-two children were removed from the Yearning for Zion Ranch in Eldorado, a small town in a remote area of west Texas. The ranch had been founded by polygamist Warren Jeffs. Because the ranch had been used in criminal activity, it was forfeited to the state.
Texas was also the birthplace and longtime home of Marshall Applewhite, leader of the Heaven’s Gate cult, which believed in an odd mix of astrology, mysticism, and metaphysics. After Applewhite convinced his followers that a UFO following the Hale-Bopp comet would gather their souls, the group committed mass ritual suicide in San Diego, California, in 1997 when the comet passed the earth. They were found covered in purple shrouds, all wearing black Nike sneakers, as if they intended to run a 10K on the gold-paved streets of heaven when they arrived. It would be laughable if it weren’t so damn tragic.
Another polygamist cult with ties to Texas was the Church of the First Born of the Lamb of God. It was founded by Ervil LeBaron, after a split from another church formed by his brother, and subsequently moved to Mexico. Though he was convicted of murder and sentenced to prison, Ervil proceeded to reign from jail, ordering followers to kill rival church leaders. He died in prison in 1981, but six remaining family members later orchestrated the “4 O’Clock Murders,” in which three former church members and a child were shot dead within minutes of each other in various locations in Texas in 1988.
A more contemporary, puritanical cult was the Church of Wells, named after the east Texas town where it sits. Run by two former street preachers in their late twenties, the group focused on asceticism—living simply with a focus on spiritual goals, prayer, and fasting, while rejecting entertainment and sensual pleasures. Hey, at least one of the cults had to try something new and avoid sexual deviancy, am I right? The elders encouraged members to reject anyone not in the group, including their families. The members, most of whom were in their twenties or were children, cut all ties with the outside, interacting only with those who were part of the church, a process known as “shunning.” When parents attempted to communicate with their daughter, who’d disappeared inside the cult, members accused the parents of attempting to kidnap her. Members of the cult also routinely attended the services of other churches in the area, accusing congregants of a lack of morals. Not exactly the way to win friends and influence people, but the leaders reveled in the rejection, as if being eschewed by the evil, immoral world proved their righteousness and superiority. So much for pride being a sin, huh?
“So how c-can we help?” I asked.
“You and Brigit can be another pair of eyes and ears,” Jackson said. “Protection, too. We’re going out to the People of Peace compound to see what we can learn.”
A visit to a cult? Holy guacamole!
TWELVE
RAWHIDE
Brigit
Brigit wasn’t sure exactly where Megan had driven her and the lady whose clothes smelled faintly of the sausage she’d had for breakfast. But the dog knew from the unusual scents and sounds coming through the open window that wherever they’d come was beyond their normal patrol area.
“Need a potty break, girl?” Megan asked.
Brigit wagged her tail. She knew what “potty” meant, and even though she didn’t need to potty, she always liked getting out of the car and stretching her legs and sniffing around a new place. Besides, there was a big cow with long horns at the fence nearby, and she wanted to check him out.
She hopped down onto the dried grass that lined the road. Megan clipped the leash onto Brigit’s collar, but there was enough give for Brigit to take the few steps over to the fence. The cow standing inside noisily chewed his cud as he stared at her.
Brigit stared back. She pitied the creature. He was inside a fence, trapped, his life limited to a few acres of land and whoever might happen to venture onto it. Brigit, on the other hand, had far more freedom. She was always meeting someone she’d never met before, going somewhere she’d never been. She couldn’t imagine leading such a restricted existence.
Still, despite their differences, there was
no reason the two couldn’t be friends, right? Given that she couldn’t get through the barbed wire to sniff the steer’s rump, she whipped out her tongue and licked the cow on the snout by way of greeting. He responded with a snort and stomped his foot. Guess he didn’t like the dog interrupting his lunch.
“Come on, girl,” Megan said, pulling Brigit back. “He’s still a bull, not a burger.”
THIRTEEN
MANNA FROM HEAVEN
The Father
He watched discreetly from a bench at the reflecting pond as Jeb ascended the silo at the far side of the adjacent acreage, a bucket in one hand. It probably wasn’t safe to climb so high single-handed on a rusty old ladder, but it was the only way to get food and water into the silo without opening the lower door. The last time they’d done that, Zeke had come away with a face striped in blood. Of course, the Father wasn’t about to take on such a potentially risky task himself. If the Father fell to his death, what would become of his people? Jeb, on the other hand … Well, Jeb was expendable. He followed orders without question, but if he perished there were half a dozen others who stood ready to take his exalted place as the Father’s right hand.
Jeb reached the top of the ladder. He propped the bucket on a rung and untied the length of rope attached to the top of the ladder. After tying it to the handle of the bucket, he slid open the rusty panel on the curved steel dome that topped the silo. At this distance, the Father couldn’t hear the anguished wail of the woman inside, but he was certain she’d be putting up some sort of fuss. Stupid bitch. All she’d had to do was follow his simple instructions, do as she’d been told, and she could’ve avoided this whole mess. This was all her fault, really.
As Jeb began to lower the bucket into the silo, the Father noticed a few of the women look up from where they were gathering cantaloupes in the compound’s garden not far from where he sat. Among them was Juliette’s mother.
“Hello, sisters!” he called, raising a hand and standing from the bench. “Looks like your hard work paid off. Never in my life have I seen so many cantaloupes!” Fortunately, the women turned his way, his attempts to distract them successful. But damn it, could Jeb move any slower and be any more obvious?
He needn’t have worried. The women sent smiles back his way and returned his wave.
“We’ve got them coming out our ears!” Sister Elisabeth called back as she placed another cantaloupe in her wheelbarrow.
Sister Amy chimed in. “They’ll be a nice treat at dinner tonight.”
“They most certainly will. I can hardly wait.” By that time, Jeb had descended out of sight. This is almost too easy.
FOURTEEN
COMPOUND QUESTIONS
Megan
At Detective Jackson’s direction, I had pulled the car over on a small rise on Old Granbury Road, about a quarter mile from the property owned by the People of Peace. She wanted to get the lay of the land before we went in.
Out here on the plains, the land was covered primarily by grass and scrubby mesquite trees. Mesquites weren’t much to look at and provided scant shade, but their beans had served as a major food source for settlers and pioneers. In the mid 1800s, those on the Texan Santa Fe Expedition, whose mission was to secure trade routes with New Mexico, even boiled mesquite beans as a substitute for coffee. As for me, I’d stick with my freshly ground French roast, thank you very much.
While this area was about as far as you could get from downtown and still be in the city limits, the suburbs had begun to encroach, new housing developments popping up within a mile or two of the compound. A few more years and the People of Peace could find themselves adjacent to a big box store, car dealership, or fast-food franchise.
I’d let Brigit out for a potty break on the side of the road, but she had yet to tinkle. So far all she’d done was engage in a staring contest with an enormous longhorn munching on grass inside the fence. When she whipped out her tongue and licked his face, he issued a snort and stomped a big hoof. No sense upsetting the bull. If he got angry enough, the barbed wire might not be enough to stop him.
“Come on, girl. He’s still a bull, not a burger.” I gave a gentle tug on Brigit’s leash. “Back in the car.”
My partner turned her head and gave me a sour look, but obeyed.
When I returned to the driver’s seat, Detective Jackson lowered the small pair of binoculars she’d been using to survey the compound. “I see a Dodge Ram pickup, a Chevy Silverado, and a Toyota Tacoma. No Ford F-150.”
Did that mean we were off base coming here? That the peace sign on the blanket was just a peace sign and not the symbol of this group? Or did it just mean the truck was elsewhere at the moment, or maybe parked somewhere out of sight?
Jackson handed me the binoculars. “Take a look. Tell me if you see anything of note.”
According to the quick research Jackson had performed online back at the station, the waterfront property on Lake Benbrook had been purchased by the People of Peace in 1987. It included eighteen acres that had previously served as a summer camp for kids, as well as an adjacent thirty-seven acres zoned for agricultural use.
I put the glasses to my eyes and scanned the property. “Whoa!”
I’d expected the place to look like an austere military outpost, but it was nothing of the sort. Rather, the place was beautiful, a virtual paradise on the Texas prairie, colorful, lush, and inviting.
In the center of the compound was a tall wood building with a pointed roof and bell tower. The building had been painted a crisp white. Rows of narrow stained-glass windows ran along each side. The combination cross-and-peace-sign symbol was painted in bright green paint on the double doors. That particular building, which I’d pegged as the group’s church, was flanked with vibrant red knockout roses. The bushes were still in full bloom thanks to the fact that Texas summers ignored the calendar and generally overlapped well into the fall.
To one side of the church was a long brick building with a wide porch and a metal triangle hanging from the eaves. My guess was that the building had once served as the children’s camp dining hall and now served as the communal eating place for the compound’s residents. The bricks had been painted robin’s egg blue with white trim. Several wooden picnic tables were arranged outside the doors in the shade of a large live oak so that the residents could enjoy their meals outside in nice weather.
There were a number of other large buildings scattered around the property. Most of these were also built of brick, and sported similar cheerful paint in bright hues. The two long structures on either side of the dining hall appeared to be bunkhouses. One was painted lavender, the other a sage green, respectively the women’s and men’s quarters would be my guess. On the other side of the church was a square building with yellow paint, flanked by an expansive playground complete with monkey bars, five swings, a jungle gym, and both a straight and swirly slide. The yellow building must be the school.
Two large wooden barns sat side by side, both painted the traditional bright red. The doors to both of them were open. One revealed a handful of men moving about the heavy equipment inside. Another man sauntered out of the barn with a fishing pole over his shoulder, evidently headed to Lake Benbrook, which sat at their doorstep. Poofs of gray smoke wafted from a black stovepipe emerging from the barn’s roof. Women moved about inside the other barn, evidently working too, though from this distance I couldn’t discern exactly what they were doing. Just outside the door of the women’s barn was a wooden pen in which one might expect to find pigs or goats. Instead, several toddlers teetered about safely inside, overseen by a grandmotherly woman who sat in a rocking chair, a chubby baby on her lap. Another older woman pushed a baby in a swing that hung from an overhead beam. Despite the church’s relatively primitive ways, on-site day care for working mothers was a progressive idea.
Closer to the gates stood a wide aluminum prefab building with four extra-tall garage-style doors. A green John Deere tractor sat on the gravel in front of the building. The building proba
bly stored other lawn and farming equipment. Could the pickup be parked inside, too?
At the far end of the property was a small house, probably the leader’s residence. An even smaller structure, hardly bigger than a child’s playhouse, was situated between the house and the rest of the property. The purpose of that particular structure was unclear.
In addition to the buildings, the compound included a rectangular swimming pool enclosed in safety fence, a basketball court, a tennis court, a baseball diamond, and a sand volleyball court. Soccer goals sat at either end of a long, grassy area. A croquet court had been set up on a stretch of grass, too, as had a badminton net. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the place was a family-friendly lakeside resort.
A chicken coop had been erected along the western edge of the compound, the hens pecking around in the sunshine in the outdoor part of their enclosure. Two older girls emerged from the henhouse, carrying baskets filled with enough eggs to host the biggest Easter egg hunt or make the world’s biggest frittata. Women worked in a vegetable garden nearby gathering cantaloupes, while a trio of frisky dogs frolicked up and down the rows, not a care in the world. Next to the vegetable garden was a gorgeous flower garden with a reflecting pond covered in water lilies. A man with a white beard sat on a bench, seemingly enjoying the beauty around him.
A stone wall covered in honeysuckle, morning glories, and trumpet vine formed a perimeter around the compound, separating the People of Peace from the rest of the world. The compound appeared to be the ultimate gated community, offering all kinds of amenities right on your doorstep.
Interestingly, while there were many trees scattered about the compound, all of them were well within the interior, leaving a clear perimeter inside the wall. There was a similar perimeter around the outside, all foliage near the wall removed. It reminded me of the perimeter around the state prison in Hunstville, the city in which I’d attended college. The perimeter reduced the risk that inmates could escape, and allowed guards a clear shot at them if they did. I supposed the same general idea applied to these grounds. The owners of the children’s camp had likely cleared trees from along the walls to discourage naughty adolescents from climbing the trees to sneak off or onto the camp property. Of course, the People of Peace could have planted trees in the open spaces if they’d chosen to, but they hadn’t. Were the leaders of the church also trying to keep their people from escaping?