by John Bowers
“Maybe I bring out the worst in them, huh?”
“Well, yeah, I guess you could say that. You’re a goddamn lightning rod. They know who you are and they really don’t like you very much.”
“We need to get fingerprints on these people. I’ll bet your pension fund that the shooter lives in town, and the prints on that rifle would nail him.”
“You’ll never get them to agree to it. Fingerprints are probably the devil’s work from their point of view.”
“It’s possible to get fingerprints without permission.”
Nelson stared at him. “I’m listening.”
“If we can figure some way to get a lot of the Groaners to show up for some kind of gathering, put out refreshments, and collect the drinking glasses afterwards…”
“Jesus, Nick, there are so many things wrong with that idea—”
“Like what?”
“For one thing,” Carrie King interjected, “how do you identify which prints belong to whom? You’re talking about more than five hundred people, and unless you tag the glasses you won’t know who touched what. The best you can accomplish is to know whether the killer was at the event.”
“Plus,” Nelson added, “they’ll never show up.”
Nick addressed Carrie King’s statement first. “Then we split them into smaller groups. Set them down at a long table, put refreshments in front of each, and when they need a refill give them a fresh glass every time. Remove the old glass and only keep those that belong to young guys with long hair. The servers can mark them once they’re out of sight of the Groaners.”
“They’ll never show up,” Nelson said.
“Who’s going to do the serving?” King asked. “And who’s going to pay for the refreshments? We have a caterer in town, but—”
“They’ll never show up!” Nelson said, slapping a hand on the desk. “They simply won’t fucking show up!”
Nick and King both turned to look at him. Nick’s eyes sparkled.
“Luther, there’s a lady present!”
Carrie King burst out laughing. “Correction,” she said, “I’m a cop. You can’t offend me that easily.”
But Nelson wasn’t amused.
“You simply can’t persuade these people at any level. They live in a world all their own, and it’s a fantasy world. They don’t cooperate like other people do. I can’t think of a single thing you might use to draw them together like that.”
Nick thought about that a moment.
“Well…what if we enlisted Bishop Speers to help us?”
“What could she do?”
“I’m thinking she might challenge Father Groening to a religious debate in the park. A sort of banquet, with her parishioners on one side and the Groaners on the other. Young people, kids between twelve and twenty. Father is so egotistical that I doubt he could resist the chance to preach to the heathens, and if he showed up, his kids would have no choice but to show up as well. We serve cookies and milk, or maybe some kind of fruit juice. Any cult kid that matches the shooter’s description would have his glass collected and analyzed.”
Both King and Nelson looked thoughtful.
“That might actually work,” Carrie King said.
Nick winked at her. “You and Luther would do the serving. That way you wouldn’t have to brief someone on what to do, and you’d make sure it got done right.”
“Why not you?” Nelson demanded. “What would you be doing?”
“I don’t think they’d sit still for me to serve them. Someone might just whip out a gun and start blasting away.”
The telecom rang and Nelson pushed the button.
“U.F. Marshal, Nelson speaking.”
He listened a moment, acknowledged the call, and disconnected. He looked at Nick.
“They want you over at the hospital,” he said. “Ask for Dr. Baudino.”
Nick’s brows arched. He wondered if it had to do with his X-rays from the night before. Aside from being a little stiff, he felt okay, but maybe something new had turned up?
“What for?”
“Didn’t say. Did say it was urgent.”
Nick pushed his chair back and stood up. Picked up his hat and headed for the door. Carrie King was right behind him.
Chapter 16
Dr. Baudino was a small man in his late forties with delicate hands and a precise manner. He had examined Nick the night before after the attempt on his life, and Nick was a trifle uneasy at being called in to see him. But Baudino led him and King into his office with an air of agitation. He closed the door behind them and ushered them into chairs.
“Thanks for coming so promptly,” he said as he settled into his own chair.
“No problem,” Nick replied. “Something wrong with my X-rays?”
Baudino stared blankly for a moment, then shook his head.
“Oh, no! Nothing like that. Your pictures were fine, just a little bruising. How are you feeling, by the way?”
“A little stiff, a lot sore, but otherwise okay.”
“Good. No, you should have nothing to worry about. This isn’t about that—I should have been more specific on the comm. Sorry.”
Inwardly Nick relaxed. He smiled and shook his head.
“No problem. What’s up?”
Baudino took a deep breath and let it out noisily.
“It’s actually a recurring problem that pops up from time to time, and now it has popped up again. Marshal, I’m all about freedom of speech and freedom of religion and any other freedom you want to name, but…”
“But what?”
Baudino sighed again.
“Those cult freaks…I mean, people…are letting their kids die because they don’t believe in medicine.”
Now it was Nick’s turn to look blank.
“What do you mean, they don’t believe in medicine?”
“It’s true,” Carrie King said. “The Groaners think modern medicine is as bad as witchcraft.”
Nick scowled. “What!”
Baudino nodded. “They treat everything with herbal medicines, and when that doesn’t work they resort to oil and wine. Now I have no problem with herbal remedies—quite often they work just fine—but in emergency situations—”
“Oil and wine?” Nick was still trying to wrap his head around the problem. “What the hell does that mean?”
Baudino leaned back in his chair, giving Nick a moment to catch up. A little smile covered his frustration.
“Marshal, I’m happy to see that you’re as outraged as I am. They literally treat injuries with wine and olive oil. They cite some biblical reference for it, as if it were a magical potion from God.”
“What are oil and wine supposed to do?”
“Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it? I think the theory is that the oil keeps the injury from drying out and the wine is supposed to disinfect it.”
Nick glanced at Carrie King again and she nodded confirmation. Baudino watched his reaction, and when Nick seemed to be over the shock he continued.
“Over the last few years I’ve been made aware of a number of injuries that could have been treated easily in a hospital, but instead the injured have gotten infected and in some cases died. Now I can live with that as long as the injured person is an adult making his own decisions, but when it comes to children I have a real problem with it.”
“What do you do about it?”
“What can I do? They have a right to their beliefs, and I’m not a cop, so…”
“Does Chief Dwyer know about this?”
“Yes, I’ve talked to him about it. But most cases are outside his jurisdiction, so his hands are tied even if he could help.”
Nick nodded slowly. He’d heard of cases on Terra where religion collided with medical emergency, and it was always a nasty business; religious belief was protected by the Federation Constitution, yet human life was considered sacred, so the lines were blurred. It often resulted in courtroom drama of the most controversial kind.
“Okay,
” Nick told Baudino. “Why are we talking about this?”
“I just heard of another case today.”
“A kid?”
“Yes. Out on the plain. Apparently there is a boy who lost a leg in some kind of accident a couple of days ago, and if he doesn’t get treatment very quickly he isn’t going to make it.”
“How did you find out? Where’s the kid now?”
“I found out because the uncle and aunt came in to tell me. I wanted to brief you before you talk to them.”
Nick stood up. “They’re here? Where?”
“Right next door. Marshal…when you talk to them, please stress that time is short. If this boy is to have a chance, we have to get him in here and we have to do it fast.”
Nick nodded.
Baudino led the way into an adjoining conference room where he and King found a cult couple in their mid thirties. The woman was leaning against her husband, gripping his hand, her knuckles white. Misery lined both their faces and it appeared they had both been crying. When Nick entered they got to their feet, looking guilty and frightened.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins,” Baudino said, “this is Marshal Walker.”
“And Officer King,” Nick added as they glanced at Carrie.
He extended his hand, which the man took after a brief hesitation. Nick pulled up a chair and motioned for them to sit down again. He put his cowboy hat on the conference table and smiled in an attempt to put them at ease.
“Dr. Baudino just told me that you know of a child who needs medical attention,” he said as gently as he was able. “Would you like to tell me about that?”
The man glanced at his wife, fear in his eyes, but she nodded and squeezed his hand. He cleared his throat and spoke in a quiet voice.
“It’s my brother’s son,” he said. “His name is Jonathon…”
“Last name?”
“Hawkins. Jonathon Hawkins.”
“How old is he?”
“He’s eleven.”
“What happened to him?”
Hawkins licked his lips and began a halting narration.
“Well—I’m not exactly sure. Jonnie was playing with a couple of his friends. I think they strayed away from the farm, down on the river. They must have found an old landmine left over from the war, and…it went off.”
Oh, Christ! I hope it wasn’t a Federation mine!
“Jonnie’s friends carried him back home, somehow. His whole leg was shredded. Part of it was gone, and the rest is just hanging.”
“What did his parents do?”
“His mother—her name is Sarai—she wanted to call an ambulance. But her husband—that is, my brother…his name is Nathan—well, I think he wanted to call an ambulance too, but church government dictates that he call the elders instead.”
Nick tilted his head slightly. “Church government?”
“Yes, that—that’s right…”
“What, exactly, is church government?”
“It’s part of the congregational doctrine,” Mrs. Hawkins said. “The church established by Jesus is governed from the top down. God, then Jesus, then the Prophet—”
“Let me guess…Father Groening is the Prophet?”
“That’s right. We’re all subject to the government of God. Disobedience to authority is a grave sin.”
“Rebellion is as bad as witchcraft,” Hawkins finished. “So…my brother called for the elders of the congregation.”
“And which elders were those?”
“I—” Hawkins exchanged nervous looks with his wife, then swallowed hard. “Actually, I…don’t have the right to tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“It might bring reproach on the congregation, and I have no wish to do that.”
Nick leaned forward, his cheeks burning.
“I’ll tell you what will bring reproach! If that boy dies because your religious leaders refused to let him have medical help, that will bring a firestorm of reproach. So I suggest you tell me who your brother contacted.”
Hawkins stared at him in horror, totally stricken.
“It…was…”
“Elder Billings!” Mrs. Hawkins said quickly. “He’s our local pastor.”
Nick leaned back in his chair, his pulse pounding.
“And what did Billings have to say?”
“He counseled my brother to stick to his faith, to treat the boy according to church doctrine. We have several…practitioners…who are rather adept at this sort of thing.”
“Your practitioners are adept at dealing with legs blown off by landmines?”
“Uh, w…” Hawkins swallowed again. “No, not exactly, but—”
“What did these practitioners do?”
“They, uh—well, Elder Billings prayed for him, of course, and anointed him with oil—”
“Just like the scripture says!” Mrs. Hawkins added quickly.
“—and, um… Well, they tried to set the fracture—”
“Set the fracture?” Baudino was fairly bouncing up and down. “You said the whole goddamn leg was shredded! How in the name of God do you set something like that?”
Hawkins stared at him in distress. Tears slid down his wife’s cheeks. Hawkins looked back at Nick.
“Marshal, we have no children. Jonnie is his mother’s only child. We’ve helped raise him, and we almost feel like he’s our own son. He needs help. I know that Elder Billings is just trying to do the right thing, but this is too big for the usual healing. He’s going to die if someone doesn’t do something right away.”
Nick forced his anger to the background, realizing that the couple before him had taken a drastic step, defying their religious leaders by going outside the cult for help. He needed to cut them a little slack. He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he looked from one to the other.
“When did this happen?”
“Two days ago, just before sunset.”
Nick glanced at Baudino. “You have an ambulance crew standing by?”
“Ready and waiting. All I need is your word to get them moving.”
Nick stood abruptly.
“Officer King, I want you to stay here with Mrs. Hawkins. If any of her cul—if any of her congregation tries to talk to her, you keep them away. Mr. Hawkins, you’re coming with me.”
Hawkins stood quickly, nervously.
“What do you want me to do?”
“You will lead the ambulance directly to the boy. I’m going with you, so you don’t need to be afraid.”
But Mrs. Hawkins was on her feet and gripped Nick’s sleeve.
“Marshal, if they find out it was us who reported this, we’ll be cast out of the congregation. We’ll be disfellowshipped and marked.”
Nick stared at her for ten seconds. “Which is more important to you?” he asked. “Staying in that congregation or the boy’s life?”
Tears filled her eyes as she stared at him, and her lip quivered. Slowly she released his sleeve.
“Go with them,” she told her husband. “We don’t have any choice.”
Nick started for the door, but Carrie King stopped him.
“Marshal, I’m supposed to stay with you.”
“You’re a city cop,” he said. “You have no authority where we’re going.”
“Maybe so, but you’ll need an extra vehicle. That ambulance will be awfully crowded coming back.”
Nick studied her a moment and realized she was right.
“Raise your right hand,” he said. “Repeat after me: I swear to uphold the laws of the Federation and to protect the Constitution…”
Carrie King raised her right hand. “I swear—”
“That’s it. You’re a deputy U.F. Marshal for the afternoon. Take Mrs. Hawkins to the police station and place her in protective custody, then grab a hovercar and catch up to us. You can find us with GPS.”
* * *
Suzanne Norgaard stood back and gazed critically at the small shrine she had just finished setting up in the corner of the living room. The
goddess statue was only four feet high, but it was a spectacular rainbow of colors bleeding into each other in a steady collage that shifted constantly like drifting smoke. Religious artifacts surrounded the statue in an exotic array, and soft music from an embedded chip set the mood for reflection, as if one were actually inside a Temple of Sophia. Suzanne inspected it from several angles and finally nodded in satisfaction. She hoped Nick would like it.
Even though he wasn’t a believer.
She checked the time…it was almost midday. She’d made a list of products for her proposed fashion shop and was ready to take a tour of downtown to see what properties might be available for lease. She would have to look into getting a business license, which Kline Corners had never required, and see what other fees and licenses might be required. She had also packed a small case with samples of items she intended to sell, just to give any curious landlords an idea what her product line would be.
And Nick was supposed to call her about lunch.
She quickly changed out of her work pants into a sexy outfit that showed off her Vegan body to advantage, sprayed a microgram of Vegan perfume onto her wrists, and brushed out her hair. With a pair of sexy sunshades to complete her image, she picked up her case and headed out the front door.
It was another gorgeous day, sunny and clear with a light breeze from the plain behind her. She could smell agriculture and irrigation. Trees along the sidewalks waved gently in the wind, which was just strong enough to tug at her hair. She breathed deeply and sighed in contentment—she missed her daughter, Kristina, but had always known they would eventually be separated, and Kristina had Nathan Green to look after her, a solid young man who was attending the U.F. Marshal Academy in London.
And Suzanne had Nick.
Nick was six years younger, but at their age that wasn’t such a big gap, and the older they got the smaller it would seem. Truthfully, growing up in Kline Corners, Suzanne had never expected to find a man. That hellhole, home though it had been, was populated by cowboys and farm workers with whom she had little in common. She understood them all and could communicate with them at their own level, but aside from the occasional no-strings tryst, it had promised no future in the romance department…until Nick showed up.