“You’re so sure?”
“Tell you what. I’ll send someone to torch Aubrey’s house. Just a little token gesture to show our disappointment that he’s been less than diligent in showing good faith. How about it? Would that make you feel better?”
“I don’t need the sarcasm. Never mind.”
“Then count your blessings. One is that cop. But if I were you, I’d slip out of there tonight. Head due East and don’t stop until you hit Bermuda, which is where I wish you’d gone in the first place.”
Whistler didn’t need to hear another “I-told-you-so,” not even one that he was imagining. Getting out, and soon, was a thought nonetheless.
Except he wouldn’t feel right, ducking out on these people. Especially Leslie, who had lied to Moore for them. And Moore, who might possibly have risked his job by trying to give them a break. On the other hand, there’s Claudia, who might find it therapeutic to put some open ocean between herself and this island. He would see. He would see how the day goes.
Leslie and Phil had tied up and come aboard in response to the breakfast
invitation. Leslie volunteered to set the table on the deck. She went below for a tray of plastic dinnerware. The printout on Claudia was still on the table. Moore slid it toward Whistler, who put it away. He did not conceal the want sheets on Breen and Crow because he’d already shown them to Leslie and Phil. He said the one with Crow’s photo was being distributed to every place of business on the island. It would shortly be flashed on local TV and probably on CNN.
Moore said, “Someone will spot him if he’s still on the island. And he is unless he got off by boat.”
“You say the vehicle he carjacked never made it to the bridge?”
“They couldn’t have missed it. It’s a white Dodge van with a rack of bikes on it.”
“He might have used it to get to another,” said Whistler. “Maybe one they’d stashed. Maybe one he could steal. Maybe he got past the roadblock last night before you had a physical description.”
“Those facial cuts, remember? No one like that got past them. If he has any sense, he wouldn’t have tried. He wouldn’t have risked being trapped on a bridge. He’s holed up somewhere on the island.”
Moore said that there were hundreds of unoccupied homes owned by people who lived there part time. Moore said, “If it was me, I’d pick one of the smaller ones, but one with a two-car garage. I wouldn’t try a big one; most of them have alarms. I’d keep it looking empty and dark and I’d stay for a week if I had to.”
Whistler shrugged. “But what would he do for supplies?”
“From what we can tell, he has everything he needs. The driver of the van said Crow was carrying a duffel. We know that Crow and Breen use a scanner when they travel, so that’s probably what he had in the bag along with some weapons and, I’d bet, some explosives. He’s got a First Aid kit that came with the van and at least a week’s worth of groceries.”
“Groceries? How so?”
“He grabbed the Dodge van from outside a supermarket. He took it from a family that drove down here from Ohio and had stopped to load up on food. He got their food and their luggage along with their car, so he’s even got new clothes to put on. The family was a couple with a teenage daughter. He whacked the father on the head with the shotgun and threatened the mother and the daughter. Called them sluts.”
Leslie came on deck. “Called them sluts? What made them sluts?”
“They made the trip wearing tank tops and shorts. And the daughter wore a little gold cross on a chain. He ripped the cross off her. He said she defiled it. This guy has some issues with women.”
Claudia, although she still seemed not quite herself, had prepared an impressive breakfast platter. In addition to the bacon and a thick western omelet, she’d cut some filets from last night’s uneaten grouper and she’d garnished the platter with melon and grapes. Phil Henry volunteered to serve as the waiter. He said that his own chef could not have done better. And he promised to reciprocate, buy them all dinner, as soon as his restaurant could open again.
“What sort of issues?” asked Claudia as she joined them on deck. “With women, I mean. I couldn’t help overhearing.”
Moore started to answer. Whistler held up his hand. “Too nice a breakfast for an unpleasant subject.” Especially, he thought, one that touched on religion in the presence of a guardian angel.
But she said, “No, really. I’d like to know about those two. What kind of a person was the one I…?”
“Saw outside?”
It was Leslie who blurted the completion of her sentence to keep Claudia from saying, “the one who I skewered.” The near-slip went by Moore…or he pretended not to catch it. Leslie snatched up Crow’s want sheet. “You mean this one,” she said.
“Adam’s right,” said Moore. “This can wait until we’ve eaten.”
But Leslie pressed Moore so that Claudia wouldn’t. She seemed to understand that Claudia still needed to hear that what she’d done had been justified. Leslie said, “It’s already on all of our minds. To tell you the truth, I’ve been feeling almost sorry for the one who somebody stabbed in the head. If I shouldn’t, that’s what I need to know.”
She said this while looking directly at Whistler. A touch of overkill there, but his eyes said, “Nice move.” He then glanced at Phil and again back at Leslie. His eyebrow arched into a question. She answered with the smallest shake of her head. It meant, “No, I haven’t told Phil that she threw it and I won’t. Now will you please relax? Eat your breakfast.”
Whistler had to look away. He tried to keep himself from smiling. This young woman was clearly Claudia’s friend and she seemed to be one well worth having. All the same, he’d prefer that their friendship not develop to the point of them sharing their innermost thoughts. Let Claudia do that with her birds.
Sergeant Moore had already pulled more sheets from his folder. He said to Leslie, “Believe me, you’re not going to feel sorry.” He turned to Whistler. “Do you mind?”
Leslie said, “No, he doesn’t. Unless Claudia does.”
She didn’t. She said, “I’d like to hear it.”
Whistler learned that tank tops and little gold crosses were the least of what offended Crow and Breen. This past fall, they’d pipe-bombed a Family Planning Center in a suburb of Lexington, Kentucky. The bomb killed one nurse and maimed another. At another such clinic in Buffalo, New York, they had shotgunned a doctor and a teenage girl while the girl still had her legs in the stirrups. They did not, however, limit their victims to those of the pro-choice persuasion. They’d tossed Molotov cocktails through the entrance door of a crowded gay disco in Atlanta. No deaths, but several young men were disfigured.
There was never a doubt that Breen and Crow were the assailants. To begin with, they always took credit for their work through messages that they left on the Internet sites of the Reconstructionist Church. Nor were these attacks hit-and-run operations. They would linger long enough to harangue any witnesses on why the flaming sword was brought down on these sinners. This was why, said Moore, they had chosen to shoot Ragland in a restaurant that was filled with other diners. Breen had probably prepared a few verses from scripture that he’d shout as he backed out the door. He would probably have strewn a few pamphlets about. A stack of them were found in his pocket.
Whistler remembered seeing those pamphlets. He’d thought they were tourist brochures. And he thought of Stanton Poole. He didn’t know why. Yes, he did; it was this citing of biblical verses. Poole would do that all the time. But something else nagged at him. Something else about Poole. Whatever it was, it eluded him.
Leslie asked, “These two would actually give sermons?”
“Crow did from the start. I’m getting to that. Unless you’d prefer that I stop.”
“No, go on,” said Claudia.”
“You’re sure? It gets grimmer.”
“Adam,” she reached to touch his hand. “Are you okay?”
She asked because s
he saw that his mind had wandered. He was still seeing Poole…and now Aubrey…in his head. He knew that his mind was searching for a connection just because of that biblical business. It was silly. So unlikely. He’d already decided that Aubrey, at least, would never have allowed this to happen.
“I guess we’re lucky,” said Leslie, “that they didn’t throw a bomb.”
Moore explained that they’ve only used pipe bombs and firebombs when their victims were randomly chosen. They seemed to prefer guns when the victim was specific. That lessened the chance that they would miss. A bomb might have missed Philip Ragland entirely. It might also have deafened everyone in the bar. They wouldn’t have heard any parting words that these two had probably prepared.
“Their spree,” he said, “began two years earlier in their hometown of Springfield, Missouri. Breen’s wife, it seems, had moved out of their trailer and had taken up with another man. Crow pointed out that this made her an adulteress. They found them together, not in bed, but at a Wendy’s. Breen and Crow walked in armed with shotguns.”
Moore said they ordered the couple to get down on their knees, facing and embracing each other. Breen used a roll of duct tape to wrap them together while Crow kept other patrons and employees at bay. Breen’s wife was screaming, begging for help. The new boyfriend tried denying there was anything between them. Breen stuffed napkins into his mouth.
Crow herded the dozen or so patrons and employees to rear of the fast food service counter. There were two small children among them. Crow told this group that they were not to be harmed, that instead they’d been honored to witness God’s wrath. Crow then told Breen it was time to pass judgement. Breen went back outside where he gathered up some rocks that had lined a bed of flowers near the entrance.
On his return, Crow announced to the assemblage that they were in the presence of adulterers. Crow said that they’d been tried before God and convicted. He then quoted a number of scriptural texts that dealt with the penalty phase. He said that adulterers were to be stoned. He asked if any present were doubters, non-believers. If some were, they kept that to themselves. As they looked on in horror, Breen started his work. He began hurling stones at his wife and her companion from a distance of five or six feet. They were frantic, screaming, trying hopelessly to dodge them. Although Breen missed them as often as not, enough stones had hit them, crushed their shoulders, smashed their faces, that soon the floor and walls were splattered with their blood. Crow told Breen to end it. Breen went out for bigger stones. With these, he pounded each of them to death.
That done, Mr. Crow began handing out pamphlets describing the mission of his church. He gave each of the children a little lapel pin depicting a fiery sword. He had to pin them on himself because the children were in shock. One of them, to this day, was still unable to speak.
Moore paused. “I did warn you. This is not table talk.”
He was looking at Claudia. Her expression had gone cold. She said, very softly, “Go on.”
Moore glanced toward Whistler. Whistler said, “No, that’s enough.”
“No, I need to hear it,” said Claudia.
“Well…so far we have adultery, and abortion, being gay. These are the big ones, but they only scratch the surface. Crow will kill you for some twenty different sins against God and the list gets longer all the time.”
Whistler asked, “What was Ragland’s?”
“You heard that yourself when Breen walked in shouting ‘God is not mocked’ before he shot him. Ragland, on his program, did a segment on them. From their point of view, he blasphemed.”
“He did mock them?”
“Not at all. But he did warn against them. As it happens, I saw that program myself. I remember him that saying every faith, his own included, has its bigots and its lunatic fringe. In that program, he cited a number of groups who are opposed to almost any civil liberty. Kingdom Come was just one of the more extreme groups.”
“And Kingdom Come is…?”
“The Reconstructionists’ church. Crow and Breen were both early members. Crow, in fact, was their treasurer. Breen never made it past the sixth grade, but Crow is no trailer park type. He’s a college graduate, majored in accounting, had a nervous breakdown, then he had his epiphany. He’d been hearing demon voices in his head for some time. Jesus showed up one day, drove them out and told Crow that Crow was one of the chosen. He tried street preaching, then he found the Reconstructionists. He turned out to be a whiz at fundraising, but Kingdom Come finally expelled him from the church. They say he was too militant, even for them, and besides, he’d have seizures and froth at the mouth every time they didn’t let him have his way.”
“Seizures?” Whistler asked. “Epileptic, you think?”
“Or some other short circuit. Whatever, it scared them. Anyway, he left and took Breen along with him. Crow went out and tried to start his own church. He calls it the Legion of the Flaming Sword. He hands out a lot of those lapel pins.”
Whistler asked, “And how large is this Legion?”
“Seems to be just Breen and Crow, but they must have some backing. They’ve left no paper trail because they only use cash. The FBI is sure that their cash has been replenished and yet there’s no indication that they’ve robbed anyone. Somebody has to be funding them.”
“And the aim of that someone and these two is…what? To kill everyone who sins? They would seem understaffed for such an effort.”
“Well, I guess they’ve decided to do what they can until some more converts get into the game. In fairness, however, to the other Reconstructionists, killing sinners is not their priority. They’re certainly radical and ultra right wing, but they don’t go around killing people. They prefer to use the political system, backing candidates who share at least some of their views. As I mentioned, they seem very well funded. Most of them are devout; they’re very sincere; but they think that they shouldn’t just sit around waiting for the Second Coming of Christ. They believe in preparing the way.”
Moore proceeded to brief them on the mind-set of a creed that produced
men like Joshua Crow. Reconstructionists, he explained, are those who believe that before the second coming of Christ, all civil institutions need to be replaced by a system based on biblical law. Since Jesus, they say, intends to do that when he gets here, they ought to get the ball rolling now.
That law, as they interpret it, mandates the death penalty for a lengthening number of offenses. These include all the basics: murder, rape, and the like, but also nearly anything under the heading of acts by consenting adults. Homosexuality is at the top of the list, but there’s also incest, adultery, of course, and any unmarried sex. Oral sex and masturbation are out of the question, whether one is married or not. Having an abortion is a capital offense. So are blasphemy, witchcraft and drunkenness. Spreading false religions, meaning any but theirs, will be punishable by death if and when they get their way.
Add divorce and the reading of prurient materials, and the reading or teaching of evolution, for that matter. Add the sale or use of recreational drugs. Add rebellion by children, disobedience to parents. The kids get two warnings, then a stoning. Some add smoking to the list of forbidden activities. Although the Bible makes no reference to smoking, neither does it say that it’s permissible.
Claudia had been silent throughout this recitation. Her expressions, however, were easy to read. There was sadness, mostly, and a shaking of her head. There were flashes of anger mixed in. He was glad to see the anger because it probably meant that any guilt she might have felt had been replaced. Whistler was also glad of her silence. It meant, he hoped, that she’d resisted the urge to describe her more benevolent theology.
They had finished their breakfast. Moore needed to get back. Leslie and Claudia brought the dishes below while Phil tried to get his motor started.
Moore gave Whistler his card and offered Whistler his hand. He said, “I’m glad to have met you. The both of you.”
“Same here.”
&nb
sp; Moore said nothing for a moment. He was looking down at Claudia. He said, “Maybe the two of you can buy me a beer if I ever run into you again.”
“That sounded like goodbye. Does it mean we can leave?”
Moore shrugged. “As a cop, the answer is no, but I’m sure you’re thinking about it. If you don’t leave, however, I’d stay out here at anchor on the chance that Crow decides to pay you a call.”
“He’s no threat to me. He couldn’t even know my name. Anyway, all I did was take a shot at him and miss.”
“I think we all know that you both did more than that. But that isn’t the point. The point is how this nut sees it. By his lights, you interfered with the will of God. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
Whistler thanked Sergeant Moore, shook his hand one more time, and he thought “By midnight, we’re gone.”
Claudia watched Phil’s boat leave. She gave Leslie a wave. She said to Whistler, “This might be it.”
He asked her, absently, “This might be what?” His thoughts were on getting the fuel tank topped off.
“Do you remember when I said it was time to move on? That I needed to find out what else I should be doing?”
“I remember. So let’s go. We’ll move on to Bermuda.”
“It’s not finished, Adam. I think I need to meet them.”
“Meet who? Wait a minute. You mean Ragland and his wife?”
“I think so, Adam. I think I’m supposed to. I think I might have been sent to Jump & Phil’s last night.”
Uh-oh, thought Whistler. He could see where this was going. A thing like this happens, people get killed, and the people who’ve survived it start to look for a meaning. There wasn’t any meaning. A plane crash has no meaning. It’s just a random tragedy. They happen.
Most people, however, don’t think that they’re angels.
He said, “Claudia, trust me. You were not there on a mission. We’ve been to that restaurant a dozen times. We went there to eat, nothing more.”
Whistler's Angel (The Bannerman Series) Page 21