Darger searched “music festival South Londonderry Township PA” on her phone and found a few articles about it.
“Aww man,” Darger said, disappointment oozing from the words.
Loshak turned on his blinker and merged onto the highway.
“What is it?”
“It’s a folk music festival. Acoustic guitars. Bongos. Tie-dye.” She held up one of the photos of the festival. “I can practically smell the incense and body odor just looking at these pictures — that sort of pungent cheese-going-bad smell of a hippie out too long in the sun. My nose can’t get a break. First the garbage, and now this.”
Loshak laughed again.
“Anyway, the chief said the townsfolk in the area seem to have mixed feelings about the group. Some figure that as long as they’re peaceful and not bothering anyone, they don’t mind them hanging around. Others are more distrustful. The group comes into town to vend at the various farmer’s markets and whatnot, and they hand out pamphlets and fliers for their events and retreats, and I guess some folks don’t like the idea of The Children trying to recruit form the local population.”
“Sounds like standard small-town shenanigans,” Darger said.
“Yeah. Ambrose also asked if the chief had heard anything about the group fasting for religious purposes or otherwise. He said he had no knowledge of anything like that. The chief added that they seem fairly fit on the whole, but he owed that to the vegetarian diet and manual labor.”
Darger did some further searching and found a website for The Children at WeAreTheGoldenPath.org. It looked a bit outdated, but there was a bio for Curtis.
“Oh yuck.”
“What?”
Darger read the bio out loud.
“‘A world-renowned master of shamanic healing and body-mind mechanics, Curtis is believed to be a reincarnated Hatałii named Aditsan, which means ‘one who listens.’ A hatałii is a powerful healer in Navajo culture.’” She stopped reading and snorted. “Do people actually believe this crap?”
“There’s a photo of him?”
“No.”
“What’s your guess on demographics?”
“Let’s be real. Any guy named Curtis who calls himself a shaman is definitely white.”
“Alright, how about a little wager?” Loshak asked. “Do you think his holiness has dreadlocks or a manbun?”
“Neither,” Darger said. “Jesus hair and a beard. I’ll stake twenty bucks on that, any day.”
Loshak squinted.
“Well, Jesus hair can be put into a manbun, so I guess I’ll take dreads,” Loshak said. “Anyway, as for how anyone can believe it? There are people who believe the earth is flat, and that the world is being run by a secret cabal of lizard people. All things considered, this is far less absurd.”
Chapter 20
They’d been on the highway for almost half an hour when Loshak turned on his blinker.
“I’m gonna gas up before we get on the turnpike,” Loshak said, changing lanes so he could take the next exit. “Might as well grab some snacks, too. We’re gonna be on the road a lot today.”
“Good idea.”
They pulled into a gas station a few blocks from the highway.
“Ohhh look,” Loshak said, feigning excitement at the words written across the windows of the convenience store. “Soft drinks, souvenirs, and sundries. I love sundries.”
Darger went inside while Loshak stayed behind to pump gas. She went straight for the coffee. The monotony of the road was already starting to make her sleepy. Apparently the small cup of coffee she’d had at breakfast wasn’t going to cut it. After filling a large size coffee, she grabbed a water, some jalapeno flavored potato chips, and a bag of Red Vines.
Loshak met up with her at the counter. Along with coffee and water, he’d grabbed a Coke Zero, Doritos, and a Hostess strawberry pie.
While they waited in line, Loshak nudged Darger with his elbow and nodded at a coin-operated penny-flattener next to the cash register. One of the options was a souvenir penny featuring Benjamin Franklin’s face.
“Look, it’s your pal Ed Franklin.”
Darger sighed.
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
Back in the car, they consulted the route ahead.
“It’s pretty much a straight shot down I-76,” Darger said, using her finger to trace the path from their current position right outside of Valley Forge to the wilderness surrounding a small tourist town called Mt. Gretna.
They drove on down the turnpike, much of it appearing as a narrow corridor through the trees. Here and there a small town or overpass interrupted the walls of green, but mostly it was road and trees and sky for as far as the eye could see.
“So how do they do it?” Darger asked eventually. “How does someone like this Curtis fellow manage to convince a bunch of people that he’s a reincarnated Navajo healer?”
Squinting, Loshak thought about it for a moment.
“You know, people like to assume that these cult types must be geniuses. Master manipulators. But it’s like what I say about serial killers. In my opinion, they get much further on boldness than anything else. On taking risks that might fail massively. More often than not, the reason they get away with it isn’t the result of being so damn brilliant. It’s because the people around them don’t want to rock the boat.”
“Reminds me of Ted Bundy wearing a cast and asking women to help him carry a briefcase. Some women got a bad feeling and refused to help him, which probably says something about how convincing he was,” Darger said. “And yet there were other women who went right along with it, probably because they worried that refusing to help would be impolite.”
“Exactly. The other thing is that a lot of these guys don’t start their cults from scratch. They sort of co-opt another group. There was a group of Hare Krishnas a few hours from here, out in the hills of West Virginia, led by a guy named Keith Gordon Ham. He was a prime example of that.”
“You talked about him in your class on charismatic cult leaders at the Academy, right?” Darger asked, trying to recall the details.
“That’s right. Ham started by insinuating himself amongst the followers of Prapbupadha, who was the original Krishna guru. Within a year of becoming a disciple, Ham was already fiddling with his teacher’s devotional system, trying to add little bits of Christianity to make it more appealing to Americans. He was obsessed with trying to make the Krishna stuff more approachable to Westerners, and I think it was because he knew it’d be easier to gain followers that way. The more familiar he could make it, the easier he made the pill to swallow, and the more people he could pull into his circle of control, yadda yadda. Anyway, the Krishnas weren’t stupid. They saw it as a power grab and banned him from teaching in any of their temples for a while.”
“A while,” Darger said. “Too bad they didn’t just boot him right then. Wasn’t he the one that ordered several followers and dissidents to be murdered?”
“We never actually proved it, but that’s the theory. Though my guess is that Ham would have found another way. Whether he simply formed his own temple or searched out another group to siphon off of.” Loshak changed lanes to pass a slow-moving semi truck. “Jim Jones wasn’t much different. He pretty much openly talked about using established church groups and well-known religious figures to gain followers for himself. Of course, he said he did it to ‘demonstrate his Marxism.’ But I think any political ideology he might have had was always twisted up with his desire to control large groups of people. David Koresh? Same deal. The Branch Davidians had been around for almost thirty years before he came waltzing in and usurped control.”
“What about Heaven’s Gate?” Darger asked. “Didn’t they mostly recruit using pamphlets and advertisements?”
Loshak nodded, frowning.
“That one always puzzled me. Here’s this group making absolutely wild claims about aliens and space ships with absolutely no evidence. And people are signing up left and right.
” Loshak rubbed at the stubble under his chin. “But I’ve been doing some research on the followers of QAnon lately, and I think there might be some similarities there. Bold claims, presented as secrets ‘they’ don’t want you to know. Truths we can’t tell just anyone because they wouldn’t be able to handle it. They’re not enlightened enough. Or they’ve been brainwashed not to see, yadda yadda.”
“You say that a lot when you’re talking about cults,” Darger said. “Yadda yadda.”
“Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it? A bunch of meaningless words that sound deep and interesting. But there’s never any substance.” Loshak shrugged. “My point is, I think that can be very appealing for some people: feeling like they’re one of the few who are ‘in the know.’ It makes them feel superior and special. And I guess buying into the philosophy, no matter how batshit it might be, is a small price to pay.”
Darger took a sip of coffee and then replaced the cup in the holder.
“Maybe instead of being the exception to the rule, what Heaven’s Gate really proves is that different techniques work on different people,” Darger said. “Co-opting an existing group works for a guy like Ham or Jim Jones, because they’re kind of preaching to the choir, so to speak. They’ve already got a group of believers. On the other hand, there are plenty of people out there still searching for something. Something to believe in. A place where they belong. And the Heaven’s Gate types can speak to this big secret no one wants you to know. I think that would be very appealing to someone who’s maybe drifting a little. Here’s someone telling you, ‘Oh yes. There’s more. And it’s not what everyone else thinks it is. You can be one of the chosen that gets to know the truth.’”
“Pretty much,” Loshak said.
“It’s the next part that makes less sense to me.” Darger rested her skull against the headrest. “When the followers have to prove that they’re worthy by renouncing all worldly possessions and agreeing to do everything their leader says. I mean, it makes sense to me in theory. I’ve seen people blindly follow something or someone enough times to know it happens. But on a personal level, I don’t understand it at all. When someone tells me what to do, no matter what it is, there’s a part of me that always thinks, ‘Fuck you, now I want to do the exact opposite.’”
“Really?” Loshak’s face was a mask of feigned surprise. “I never would have guessed.”
Darger rolled her eyes.
“The trick is that the cult eases them into it,” Loshak said. “In fact, they rarely do a hard sell. I heard a sociologist give a talk about cult recruitment tactics once, and she joked that a used car salesman comes on stronger than a cult at the first meeting.”
Darger smiled at the comparison.
“They’re craftier. More subtle. They have to be. They’re asking for a lot more than your money. They want you to hand them the reins to your entire life, in a sense. Imagine if right off the bat they told you, ‘We’d love for you to join our group, but first you have to cut out all relationships with anyone outside the cult.’ Most people would walk.”
Darger chuckled.
“What?”
“Well, the cults are always led by a man, and it’s only a matter of time before he decides it’s his religious duty to have sex with everyone in the cult. So I was imagining that being part of the hard sell. ‘You can’t see your family and friends anymore, and also I’m going to need to bone you.’”
Something like a laugh burst from Loshak’s lips.
“I mean, Jim Jones was having sex with men and women in the congregation. And then The Source Family guy decided he needed fourteen wives.”
“Father Yod,” Loshak said.
“That’s him. Then there’s David Koresh. Charles Manson. And if I recall correctly, Ham was accused of molesting children that lived on the Krishna compound.”
“True. But there’s one fly in the ointment of your theory.” Loshak waggled his eyebrows. “Marshall Applewhite.”
“Which one is he again?”
“Heaven’s Gate. He was a proponent of celibacy.”
Darger crossed her arms over her chest.
“Well, you know what? Fuck that guy. He messes up all our theories.” She made a fart sound. “Who needs him?”
Loshak held up a finger.
“Eh, it’s part of the profiling game, isn’t it? There’s always one that spoils the pattern.”
“Like Dennis Rader being married and having kids and leading a ‘normal’ life?” Darger said. “Not the normal serial killer backstory.”
“Exactly—”
Darger could tell Loshak was about to say more, but he was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing.
“It’s Detective Ambrose,” he said, glancing at the screen and then back to the road. “You wanna get that for me? Our exit is coming up, and I don’t want to miss it.”
“Sure,” Darger said.
She plucked the phone from the center console and answered the call.
“Agent Loshak’s phone,” Darger said. “How can I help you?”
“Is that you, Agent Darger?” Ambrose asked.
“It is.”
“This is Ambrose. Have you two seen this shit in the Inquirer?”
“No.”
“Hold on,” Ambrose muttered. “I’ll text you the link.”
Darger’s phone blipped. She kept Loshak’s phone pressed to her ear and opened the link Ambrose sent, which led to a news article that mentioned an unnamed source who speculated that the landfill bodies might be the work of a serial killer.
“Where’d they get this?”
“No idea,” Ambrose said. “And of course I know that this didn’t come from you. But the mayor? He’s not convinced. I just wanted to give you a heads up. He might try to make trouble in DC if he can figure out who to call. He’s not very connected as far as I can tell, but he’s crafty, and he’s mean. I didn’t want you or Loshak to be blindsided if he decides to throw his weight around.”
“Thanks,” Darger said. “We appreciate the warning. Have you talked to Stephen Mayhew’s aunt yet?”
“Not yet. I’m at the morgue as we speak. She should be here any minute.”
“We’re getting off the turnpike now.” Darger checked the map on her phone again. “Should be at the location gage gave us in twenty minutes or so.”
“Give me a call when you’re done,” Ambrose said. “Let me know how it goes.”
Darger promised to do so and hung up.
“Well?” Loshak asked. “What happened? Sounded like some kind of bad news.”
Darger read the pertinent quote from the Inquirer article and explained that the mayor assumed Loshak was the unnamed source. She couldn’t seem to keep the smirk off her face as she spoke.
“You think this is funny?” Loshak asked.
Darger held her thumb and forefinger about a quarter-inch apart and squinched one eye shut.
“A little.”
They’d reached the line of toll booths off the turnpike exit, and Loshak pulled into a lane marked “Cash Only.”
“You better hope the mayor doesn’t make too much trouble for me,” Loshak said, rolling his window down. “Trouble for me is trouble for you.”
Darger handed him a fist full of quarters.
“How so?”
The quarters clanged into the toll collection bucket, and the boom gate rose to let them pass.
Loshak swiveled his head over to deliver a pointed look.
“Because you don’t have any other friends aside from me at the Bureau.”
Darger chortled and sat back against her seat as they rolled through the gate.
“Touché.”
Chapter 21
The road to The Children of the Golden Path compound twisted back and forth through the trees and up and down hills and ravines, a serpent of asphalt winding through the Pennsylvania countryside. Darger hadn’t seen a house or even a driveway for at least ten minutes when she checked the GPS and found they were closing in on th
e area Gage Medina had described.
“Should be coming up here on the left,” Darger said.
“Was that it?” Loshak asked as they passed a barely visible gap in the trees.
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
Loshak slowed the car and executed a tight U-turn. They rolled slowly back to the narrow track, which was little more than two dirt slashes etched into the foliage. About a hundred yards in, the path bent out of sight.
“What do you think?” Darger asked.
“I guess we’re about to find out,” Loshak said as he wrenched the wheel and steered them onto the rugged drive.
The weeds tinkled and dragged at the undercarriage of the car. Rain had etched washboard-like ruts into the surface of the trail. The tires juddered over the uneven surface, and Darger found herself bouncing one way and then the other.
She kept an eye on the GPS on her phone as they crept along through the forest. They’d gone nearly a mile down the drive when a fence took shape through the trees. Twenty feet of vertical chain link with barbed wire coiling around the top. They rounded another curve, and then Darger spotted a large gate with a small shed beside it.
“You think the high-security fence and guard post come standard with the Doomsday Cult Starter Kit?” Darger asked.
“Only the deluxe edition,” Loshak said. “The standard issue is your basic six-foot fence and a simple gate with a padlock.”
“I thought we were dealing with hippie types. Since when are hippies into barbed wire and boundaries and…” Darger caught sight of the man inside the gate house. “…and shirtless men with assault rifles?”
The man guarding the gate was probably about Loshak’s age, but in worse shape, which made him seem older. He had a tangle of reddish hair and a graying beard. As they approached the fence, he stood, keeping the rifle clutched tightly to his bare potbelly and pointed at the ground.
Violet Darger | Book 7 | Dark Passage Page 10