Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

by Tess Gerritsen

  As they journeyed west, Cathy predicted what they would face at Plain of Angels. “The women won’t talk to you. Nor will the children. They’ve been conditioned to be silent around outsiders. So don’t expect cooperation from any of them, even when you get them away from the compound.”

  “What about the men?”

  “They’ll have designated spokesmen, handpicked by Jeremiah to deal with the outside world. In return for their loyalty, they enjoy special privileges in the cult.”

  “Privileges?”

  “Girls, Detective. The more trusted you are, the more young brides you get as your reward.”

  “Jesus.”

  “All cults work in similar ways. It’s a system of reward and punishment. Make the Prophet happy, and he’ll let you take another new wife. Piss him off, and you’re banished from the sect. These spokesmen are men he trusts, and they’re not stupid. They know the law, and they’ll try to snow you with legalese. They’ll hold us at the gate forever while they examine the warrant with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “Will they be armed?”

  “Yes.”

  “And probably dangerous,” Jane muttered in the backseat.

  Cathy turned to look at her. “When they’re facing years in prison for raping underage girls? Yeah, I’d say that makes them dangerous. So I hope you’re all prepared.”

  “How big a team is moving in?” asked Jane.

  Pasternak said, “Idaho’s pulling in law enforcement from multiple jurisdictions, both state and federal. The team lead is Lieutenant David MacAfee, with the Idaho State Police. He guarantees there will be a massive show of force.”

  Cathy released a deep sigh. “Finally, it’s going to end,” she whispered.

  “Sounds like you’ve been waiting for this a long time,” observed Pasternak.

  “Yes,” Cathy said. “A very long time. I’m just glad I’ll be there to see it happen.”

  “You do know, Ms. Weiss, that you’re not to take an active role in this operation. I don’t want you in danger.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jane. “And it might be better if you remain an observer as well.”

  “But I’m law enforcement,” said Jane.

  “From Boston.”

  “I was working this case before you stepped in.”

  “Don’t get all women’s libber on me. I’m just saying this is Idaho’s show. You’ve been invited to advise and assist where necessary. If they want to keep you on the sidelines, that’s their decision. That’s just the way it works, Rizzoli.”

  Jane sank back against the seat. “Okay. But just to let you know, I am carrying.”

  “Then keep it holstered. If this is handled right, there’ll be no need for weapons. Our objective is to move the women and children into protective custody, and do it with a minimum of force.”

  “Wait. What about Jeremiah?” said Cathy. “If you find him, you are arresting him, aren’t you?”

  “At this point, it’s just for questioning.”

  “Forty-one dead followers isn’t enough to charge him?”

  “We haven’t proven that he’s responsible for those deaths.”

  “Who else would be?”

  “We need more than that. We need witnesses, someone who’ll step forward and talk to us.” He glanced at Cathy. “That’s what I need you to do. Talk to those women. Convince them to cooperate.”

  “That won’t be easy.”

  “Help them understand that they’re victims.”

  “Remember Charles Manson’s women? Even after years in prison, they were still Charlie’s girls, still under his spell. You can’t deprogram in a few days what’s been pounded into your head for years. And if they insist on going back to the compound, you can’t hold them indefinitely.”

  “Then do it another way,” said Jane. “DNA tests on the babies. Find out which men are the fathers. Find out if the mothers were underage when they gave birth.”

  “That’s like cutting the branches to kill a tree,” said Cathy. “There’s only one way to bring it crashing down. You have to destroy the root.”

  “Jeremiah,” said Pasternak.

  Cathy nodded. “Lock him up and throw away the key. Without the Prophet, the cult implodes. Because Jeremiah Goode is The Gathering.”

  CLOAKED BY A VEIL OF FALLING SNOW, THE ARMY STOOD ASSEMBLED. Jane stamped her feet, trying to stay warm, but already her toes had gone numb and even the scalding cup of coffee she’d just gulped down could not ward off the bitter chill of that Idaho dawn. If she were a member of the strike team, the cold would not matter to her, because adrenaline made you immune to discomforts as minor as subzero temperatures. But on this morning, relegated to the status of mere observer and forced to stand idly by, she felt the chill gnaw deep into her bones. Cathy, standing beside her, seemed not to care at all about the weather. The woman was utterly still, her face heedlessly exposed to the wind. Jane heard the rising pitch in the voices around her, could feel the tension in the air, and she knew that action was imminent.

  Pasternak came striding back from the huddle of command officers. He was carrying a two-way radio. “We’re ready to move, as soon as they pull the gate down.” He handed Jane the radio. “You stay with Cathy. We’ll need her advice once we get in there, and you’re her escort. So keep her safe.”

  As Jane clipped it to her belt, an alert came over the speaker.

  “We have activity inside the compound. Looks like two men approaching.”

  Through the falling snow, Jane saw the figures walking closer, identically dressed in long black coats. They moved without hesitation, striding directly toward the lawmen. To Jane’s surprise, one of the men produced a set of keys and unlocked the gate.

  The law enforcement team leader stepped forward. “I’m Lieutenant MacAfee, Idaho State Police. We have a warrant to search the compound.”

  “There’s no need for a warrant,” the man with the keys answered. “You are welcome to enter. All of you.” He swung the gate wide open.

  MacAfee glanced at the other officers, clearly taken aback by the welcome.

  The greeter beckoned the visitors forward. “We’ve gathered in the assembly hall, where there’s room for everyone. We ask only that you keep your weapons holstered, for the safety of our women and children.” He opened his arms wide, as though inviting in the whole world. “Please join us. You’ll see that we have nothing to hide.”

  “They knew,” Cathy muttered. “Goddamn it, they knew we were coming. They’re prepared for this.”

  “How did they get word of it?” Jane asked.

  “He can buy anything. Eyes, ears. A cop here, a politician there.” She looked at Jane. “You see what the problem is? You see why he’ll never have to face justice?”

  “No man’s untouchable, Cathy.”

  “He is. He always has been.” Cathy’s gaze returned to the open gate. The law enforcement team had already walked into the compound, their figures fading beyond the falling snow. Over the radio, Jane listened in on the chatter. Heard calm voices, matter-of-fact responses.

  “First building checked and clear …”

  “All clear in number three.”

  Cathy shook her head. “He’ll outsmart them this time as well,” she said. “They don’t know what to look for. They can’t see what’s right in front of their goddamn eyes.”

  “No weapons. All clear …”

  Cathy stared at the distant figures, now receding to little more than ghostly shapes. Without a word, she, too, walked through the open gate.

  Jane followed her.

  They moved between rows of buildings that stood silent and dark, following in the boot prints of the police team. Ahead, Jane saw candlelight glowing warmly in the assembly hall windows, and she heard music, the sound of many voices raised in song. It was a sweet and ethereal hymn that soared heavenward on notes sung by children. The scent of wood smoke, the promise of warmth and fellowship, beckoned them toward the building.

  They stepped through the door, i
nto the assembly hall.

  Inside, a multitude of candles lit the soaring space. A congregation of hundreds filled gleaming wood pews. On one side of the aisle sat the women and girls in a sea of pastel dresses. On the other side were the men and boys, clad in white shirts and dark trousers. A dozen law enforcement officers had gathered at the rear of the hall, where they stood looking about uneasily, uncertain how to proceed in what was clearly a house of worship.

  The hymn came to an end, and the final, thrilling notes faded. In the silence, a dark-haired man emerged onto the stage and calmly surveyed his congregation. He wore no priestly robes, no embroidered shawl, no ornaments that set him apart as different or special. Instead he stood before them garbed in the same clothes as his followers, but the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the elbows, as though in preparation for a day’s labors. He needed no costume, no eye-catching glitter to hold the crowd’s attention. His gaze alone, so intense it seemed radioactive, riveted every pair of eyes in the hall.

  So this is Jeremiah Goode, thought Jane. Though his hair was shot through with silver, it still looked like a young man’s mane, thick and leonine, falling almost to his shoulders. On this gloomy winter’s day, his presence seemed to give off as warm a glow as the flames leaping in the hall’s enormous stone hearth. In silence, he surveyed the audience, and his gaze finally settled on the police officers standing at the rear of the hall.

  “Dear friends, let us all rise to welcome our visitors,” he said.

  As if they were a single organism, the congregation rose in unison and turned to look at the strangers. “Welcome” came the chorus of greeting. Every face looked scrubbed and pink-cheeked, every gaze wide-eyed with innocence. Wholesome and healthy was the picture here, the portrait of a contented community united in purpose.

  Again, in unison, they all sat down. It was an eerily choreographed movement that set off a simultaneous creak of benches.

  Lieutenant MacAfee called out: “Jeremiah Goode?”

  The man onstage gave a solemn nod. “I am Jeremiah.”

  “I’m Lieutenant David MacAfee, Idaho State Police. Would you come with us, sir?”

  “May I ask why this show of force is necessary? Especially now, in our hour of distress?”

  “Distress, Mr. Goode?”

  “That is why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of the atrocities committed against our poor brethren in Kingdom Come?” Somberly, Jeremiah looked around at his congregation. “Yes, friends, we know, don’t we? Word came to us yesterday, the terrible news of what was done to our followers. All because of who they were, and what they believed.”

  In the audience, there were nods and murmurs of sad agreement.

  “Mr. Goode,” said MacAfee, “I’m asking you again to come with us.”

  “Why?”

  “To answer a few questions.”

  “Then ask them here and now, so that all may listen.” Jeremiah held out his arms in an extravagant gesture toward his followers. This was grand theater, and he was center stage, with the hall’s arches soaring above him, and the light from the windows beaming down on his face. “I keep no secrets from this congregation.”

  “This isn’t a matter for a public forum,” said MacAfee. “This is a criminal investigation.”

  “You think I don’t understand that?” Jeremiah stared at him with a gaze that seemed to sear the air. “Our followers were murdered in that valley. Executed like sheep, and their bodies left to be torn and devoured by wild animals!”

  “Is that what you heard?”

  “Is it not the truth? That forty-one good people, including women and children, were martyred because of what they believed? And now you come here, invited through our gates. You men with your guns and your disdain for those who don’t believe what you do.”

  MacAfee shifted uneasily. In the warmth of the hall, beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead. “I’ll ask this one more time, Mr. Goode. Either you come with us willingly, or we’ll be forced to arrest you.”

  “I am willing! Didn’t I just say I would answer your questions? But ask them now, where these good people can hear you. Or are you afraid of the whole world learning the truth?” He looked around at his followers. “My friends, you are my protection. I call on you to bear witness.”

  A man in the congregation rose to his feet and called out: “What are the police afraid of? Ask your questions so we can hear, too!”

  The crowd joined in. “Yes, ask now!”

  “Ask him here!”

  Benches creaked as the crowd grew agitated, as other men stood. The police officers glanced nervously around the room.

  “Then you refuse to cooperate?” MacAfee said.

  “I am cooperating. But if you’re here to ask about Kingdom Come, I can’t help you.”

  “You call this cooperation?”

  “I have no answers for you. Because I wasn’t witness to what happened.”

  “When were you last in Kingdom Come?”

  “It was October. When I left them, they were thriving. Well provisioned for winter. Already digging the foundations for six more houses. That was the last time I laid eyes on the valley.” He looked to his congregation for support. “Am I telling the truth? Is there anyone here who would contradict me?”

  Dozens of voices took up his defense. “The Prophet doesn’t lie!”

  Jeremiah looked at MacAfee. “I think you have your answer, Lieutenant.”

  “Not by a long shot,” MacAfee snapped.

  “Do you see, my friends?” Jeremiah said, gazing around at his followers. “How they profane God’s house with their army and their weapons?” He shook his head in pity. “This spectacle of force is a tactic of small men.” He smiled at MacAfee. “Has it worked for you, Lieutenant? Do you feel larger now?”

  This taunt was more than MacAfee could endure, and his spine stiffened at the challenge. “Jeremiah Goode, you are under arrest. And all these children are now in protective custody. They are to be escorted off this property, where buses are waiting for them.”

  A startled cry rose from the women, followed by a chorus of wails and sobs. The entire congregation surged to its feet in protest. In a matter of mere seconds, MacAfee had lost control of the room, and Jane saw officers’ hands drop to their weapons. Instinctively, she reached for her own as the fury swelled, as violence seemed just one spark away.

  “My friends! My friends!” Jeremiah called out. “Please, let us have peace.” He raised his arms and the room instantly hushed. “The world will know the truth soon enough,” he proclaimed. “They’ll see that we conducted ourselves with dignity and compassion. That when confronted by the brutal face of authority, we responded with grace and humility.” He released a deep and mournful sigh. “My friends, we have no choice but to obey. And I have no choice but to submit to their will. I ask only that you remember what you witnessed here today. The injustice, the cruelty of families wrenched apart.” He gazed upward, as though speaking directly to the heavens. Only then did Jane notice the congregant in the upper balcony, filming the entire speech. This is all on camera. The videotaped martyrdom of Jeremiah Goode. Once that footage was disseminated to the media, the whole world would know of this outrage against a peaceful community.

  “Remember, friends!” commanded Jeremiah.

  “Remember!” the congregation responded in unison.

  He descended the steps from the stage and walked calmly toward the waiting police officers. As he moved up the aisle, past his stunned followers, the sound of weeping filled the hall. Yet Jeremiah’s expression was not mournful; what Jane saw on his face was triumph. He had planned and orchestrated this confrontation, a scene that would be played and replayed on TVs across the country. The humble prophet walking with quiet dignity toward his tormentors. He’s won this round, she thought. Maybe he’s even won the war itself. How would a jury convict him when he was the one who looked like a victim?

  He came to a stop in front of MacAfee and raised his hands, meekly offerin
g up his wrists to be cuffed. The symbolism could not be more blatant. MacAfee obliged, and the clack of the metal was shockingly loud.

  “Will you exterminate us all?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Give it a rest,” MacAfee retorted.

  “You know very well I had nothing to do with what happened in Kingdom Come.”

  “That’s what we’ll find out.”

  “Will you? I don’t think you want the truth. Because you’ve already chosen your villain.” Head held high, Jeremiah walked the gantlet of police officers. But as he neared the exit, he suddenly halted, his gaze riveted on Cathy Weiss. Slowly his lips curved into a smile of recognition. “Katie Sheldon,” he said softly. “You’ve come back to us.”

  Jane frowned at Cathy, whose face had gone frighteningly pale. “But you told me Katie Sheldon was your friend,” Jane said.

  Cathy didn’t seem to hear Jane, but kept her gaze on Jeremiah. “This time it ends,” Cathy said softly.

  “Ends?” He shook his head. “No, Katie, this only makes us stronger. In the eyes of the public, I’m a martyr.” He regarded her windblown hair, her haggard face, and the look he gave her was almost pitying. “I see the world has not been kind to you. What a shame you ever left us.” He smiled as he turned to leave. “But we must all move on.”

  “Jeremiah!” Cathy suddenly stepped behind him, her arms thrust out in front of her. Only then did Jane see what she was clutching in both hands.

  “Cathy, no!” yelled Jane. In an instant she had her own weapon out. “Drop it. Drop the gun, Cathy!”

  Jeremiah turned and calmly regarded the weapon that was now pointed at his chest. If he felt any fear at all, he did not show it. Through the pounding of her own heart, Jane heard gasps in the pews and frantic footsteps as the congregation scrambled for cover. She had no doubt that a dozen police weapons were now drawn and pointed as well. But Jane’s gaze stayed glued on Cathy. On the raw, wind-chapped hands now clutching the gun. Though any cop in that room could have fired on her, no one did. They all stood paralyzed by the prospect of taking down this young woman. We never imagined she’d be armed. Why would we?

  “Cathy, please,” Jane said quietly. She was standing closest to the woman. Almost close enough to reach out and take the gun, if only Cathy would hand it to her. “This doesn’t solve anything.”