Cult Following

by Donn Cortez

  Randolph stood beside the desk, large hands clasped in front of him. His smile was at parade rest, plainly ready to spring into action if some sudden pleasantness broke out.

  Marcie put down the phone. “Okay, Randolph, can you show him in? Doctor Sinhurma’s in room C.”

  “Follow me, please.”

  Randolph led him through a plain white door—metal, Horatio noted—and down a hallway carpeted with an intricately woven Persian rug the same colors as the stained glass in the lobby. They walked past two doors—rooms A and B, Horatio supposed—and Randolph knocked on the third.

  “Come in, come in,” a hearty voice said.

  Randolph opened the door and motioned Horatio in. The interior wasn’t what he expected—it was more like a lounge than an examining room, with a couch on the far wall, a few comfortable-looking armchairs and a low-slung glass-and-chrome coffee table.

  There were two men in the room, one seated on the couch, the other already striding forward to meet him. Brown-skinned, slender, dressed in sandals, a pair of white pants and an aquamarine silk shirt, the man put his hand out and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

  Horatio hesitated, then shook his hand. Doctor Sinhurma looked to be in his fifties, his black hair streaked with silver at the temples and throughout his bushy sideburns. He met Horatio’s eyes with a steady, warm gaze of his own, and held Horatio’s hand for just a second longer than was necessary.

  “Lieutenant Caine,” Horatio said. “Miami-Dade police. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

  “Absolutely, Lieutenant,” Sinhurma said, beaming. “Oh, this is my assistant, Mister Kim,” he said, indicating the man on the couch. “You don’t mind if he’s present as well, do you?” Kim was an Asian man in his twenties, also dressed in the ubiquitous white pants and blue T-shirt. He nodded at Horatio but said nothing.

  “That’s fine,” Horatio said.

  Sinhurma sat down in one of the armchairs and motioned for Horatio to sit as well.

  Horatio smiled, and stayed on his feet. “It’s about one of your patients—Phillip Mulrooney.”

  The smile vanished like the sun behind a cloud. “Ah, yes, Phillip,” Sinhurma said. “Very sad, very tragic.”

  “Not to mention unusual.”

  “Life is abundant with surprises,” Sinhurma said. His voice was solemn, but the smile was creeping back into his eyes.

  “It most certainly is…tell me, when was the last time you talked to Phillip?”

  “We were speaking at the moment of his death,” Sinhurma said calmly.

  “I see. What about?”

  “He was undergoing a spiritual crisis. I was trying to help him clarify his thoughts.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Not without violating doctor-patient confidentiality, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh? I thought the discussion was spiritual, not medical.” Horatio studied the doctor’s body language; the man seemed totally relaxed and at ease.

  “In my practice, the two are frequently one and the same. In any case, I can tell you that I was unsuccessful.”

  “Was that because the conversation was cut short?” There was an abstract watercolor hanging on the wall behind the doctor; it looked to Horatio like it had been painted by the same artist that had done the ones in the restaurant.

  “No. It was because he’d made an erroneous choice.”

  Horatio brought his gaze back to Sinhurma. “And what would that be?”

  “Again—I really cannot say.”

  “Uh-huh. So you had an unspecified disagreement, and then he died. Is that accurate?”

  “So it appears.”

  “How long was Mister Mulrooney a patient of yours?”

  “Approximately eighteen months.” Sinhurma raised a hand and scratched absently at one bushy sideburn.

  “And how long had he worked at the restaurant?”

  “That was more recent—three weeks or so.”

  “Is it normal for you to employ people you’re treating?” Horatio glanced at Kim, but the man was staring straight ahead, stone-faced.

  “My relationship with my patients involves all parts of their lives. I sometimes recommend working in a hands-on environment as part of their food reconditioning.”

  “So working in your restaurant is part of their therapy. Do they pay you for the privilege as well?”

  Sinhurma laughed. “Life is therapy, Lieutenant. I simply point out which parts should be concentrated on and which should be ignored.”

  “Of course. Tell me, was Mister Mulrooney involved in anything he shouldn’t have been?”

  “You mean illegal activities? No, not that I’m aware of.” Sinhurma’s voice was bland, with just a hint of boredom.

  Horatio could have pushed him, but he knew he wouldn’t get anything further. He smiled and extended his hand instead. “Thank you for your time, Doctor. Would you mind if I took a look around? I’d like to get a sense of the place.”

  “Not at all,” Sinhurma said, shaking Horatio’s hand just as thoroughly as before. “I’m rather busy, but I’ll get someone to show you around.” He reached for a phone on the wall.

  The young woman that showed up a minute later was dressed the same as the previous two staff members, with striking green eyes and brown hair braided into two short pigtails.

  “Lieutenant Caine, this is Ruth,” Sinhurma said. “Ruth, I’d like you to show the lieutenant our facilities. Give him the full tour.”

  “Okay,” Ruth said. Her smile was a little more hesitant, but just as friendly. “Are you thinking of signing up?”

  “You never can tell,” Horatio said. “Life is abundant with surprises….”

  3

  THE DINER ACROSS THE STREET from the Miami-Dade crime lab had been around a long time; it had weathered hurricanes, economic downturns and even brief periods of trendiness. Wolfe couldn’t tell if the neon flamingos that shone over the lunch counter were art-deco retro from the eighties or the real thing from further back.

  The place was called Auntie Bellum’s, and it was Calleigh’s favorite breakfast joint—not to mention a regular hangout for lab techs and off-duty cops. She and Wolfe were grabbing a quick bite in the middle of their shift.

  “Thank you,” Calleigh said to the waitress, a woman that looked like she’d been pouring coffee since the Cuban missile crisis. The waitress nodded as she set down two plates full of food.

  “Grits,” Wolfe said, shaking his head. “How can you eat that stuff?”

  “With a fork and a great deal of appreciation,” Calleigh said. “I’ve been eating grits since I was a little girl, and I don’t see any reason to stop now.”

  Wolfe dug into his serving of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. “Yeah? Well, my mom used to serve me fried Spam sandwiches, and I don’t eat those anymore….”

  “Ugh. I already get more spam than I need via e-mail, thank you very much.” She poured some more grapefruit juice from a carafe into her glass. “So, H is out talking to the diet doctor?”

  “Yeah. I know I haven’t worked with him that long, but he seemed pretty…intense.”

  “Horatio? Oh, he’s just a big old pussycat.”

  “Sure. Like a hungry tiger, maybe.”

  She gave him a wide, dimpled smile, then forked a sizeable amount of grits into it. “Mmm—bliss,” she mumbled. “ ’Scuse me—shouldn’t talk with my mouth full.” She swallowed, then answered. “When I was a kid, we used to have this cat, a gray tabby by the name of Tina. Tina was a mouser, and she had this very specific way of catching mice. She would find a spot where she was sure there were mice—a hole in the baseboard, something like that—and she would hunker down. And then she’d wait. And wait. And wait…for hours, sometimes. Totally alert, totally patient. And sooner or later, that mouse would stick his head out—and Tina would nail him.”

  She drank some juice, put down the glass and said, “That’s who Horatio reminds me of. He never gives up, never loses his foc
us. He watches, and he waits.”

  “So the intensity—that’s just the way he is, huh?”

  “Oh, that varies. His lowest setting is somewhere around ‘simmer,’ I think.”

  “And his highest?”

  Calleigh’s smile faded. “That can be a little scary. Kinda like standing next to a volcano about to blow.”

  Wolfe took a sip of coffee. “You ever seen that happen?”

  Calleigh’s smile came back. “Nope. Don’t think I ever will, either. Unless…” She broke off, took another mouthful of grits.

  “Unless what?” Wolfe prodded.

  “Well…the only time I’ve ever seen Horatio come close to losing it is when kids are involved. Not that he ever has,” she added quickly. “Those sort of cases are hard on everyone, but H always seems to take them personally.”

  “Kids,” Wolfe said. “Yeah, that’s got to be tough….”

  Wolfe trailed off. Calleigh drank some more juice.

  “Better get used to it, Ryan,” she said. “Some of the things you’re going to be dealing with are not pleasant. There was a case I read about where a serial killer threw the bodies of prostitutes into a wood chipper and fed the results to his pigs. They had to ID the victims by DNA from bone chips in fecal matter—and by the time they caught the guy, a lot of those pigs had already been slaughtered and the meat sold commercially.”

  Wolfe looked at her. He blinked, once. She calmly took another forkful of food, chewed and swallowed.

  “And this is why you invited me out to eat?” he said finally.

  “No, I invited you out because I thought you looked hungry,” she said. “Of course, you always look sort of hungry…anyway, I just thought I’d take the opportunity to bring a few things up. So to speak.”

  Wolfe looked down at his food. He picked up a piece of bacon, studied it for a second, then put it in his mouth and began to chew.

  Calleigh smiled, and signaled the waitress for more coffee.

  The grounds, it turned out, were even more extensive than Horatio had thought. Behind the main house were a large pool, an archery range and a gym. Paths lined with white seashell fragments led from one area to the next. As they walked along, Horatio listened attentatively to Ruth’s spiel, which sounded as well-rehearsed as any tour guide’s.

  “…and in the back of the clinic we have the dorm rooms,” she said. “Doctor Sinhurma converted some of his own living space to make room for more patients. There’s room for around two dozen at the moment, but we’re going to be expanding soon. Doctor Sinhurma plans on eventually having space for at least two hundred.”

  “Ambitious,” Horatio said. “But then, I understand the Vitality Method is very popular.”

  “Oh, yes…we have a long waiting list. And Doctor Sinhurma treats every patient personally, so it’s not like there’s a standard length of time a patient stays.”

  “How does that work?”

  Ruth waved at a couple walking by on another path, and they waved back. One of them, Horatio noted, he’d seen before—usually hitting three-pointers for the Miami Heat.

  “Every patient is different,” she continued. “Depending on how toxic their body is and what their lifestyle habits are, they might be here for two weeks or six months. Maybe even longer.”

  “I see…and what exactly does the detoxification process entail?”

  “Well, a strictly vegan diet, for one—no meat, no eggs, no dairy, not even honey. You have to have been on that diet for at least six months before Doctor Sinhurma will even see you. Once you’re admitted, you’ll be put on a purification diet of brown rice and water for a few days. Group exercise every morning at dawn, personal exercise after lunch and dinner. Encouragement sessions every evening and vitamin therapy before bed.”

  “Encouragement sessions?”

  “That’s when Doctor Sinhurma addresses us as a group. We share our experiences, get advice on what we’re doing right or wrong. It probably sounds boring, but it can get pretty emotional; he has this talent of getting you to just open up.”

  I’ll bet he does, Horatio thought. “You ever have sing-alongs?” he asked.

  She gave him a puzzled smile. “Sometimes—they’re always lots of fun. How did you know?”

  He shrugged and didn’t meet her eyes. “Archery, swimming, dorms…seems a lot like summer camp to me. It was either that or telling ghost stories around a campfire.”

  “Well, we don’t do that—but there is a spiritual component to the encouragement sessions too. Doctor Sinhurma is a very wise man.” To Horatio, she sounded vaguely defensive.

  “What happens after they leave here?”

  “Well, they stay on the diet, and he does encouragement sessions online. Plus they come back for weekly checkups.”

  “And how long have you been here, Ruth?” he asked.

  “Just over a year. But you have to understand—the longer you’re here, the more you want to stay. That’s why I volunteered to work for the clinic.”

  “I understand Phillip Mulrooney was here even longer than that.”

  Her smile wavered. “Oh. Yes, he’s been—he had been with the doctor even before the dorms were added. He was one of the original staff of the clinic.”

  Horatio stopped. “I’m sorry. Did you know him well?”

  “It’s okay.” She glanced down at the ground, then back up. “We were friends. When I heard what happened, I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Doctor Sinhurma didn’t seem to have any problem.”

  Her smile was gone now. “He—he and Phillip were having a difference of opinion.”

  “Is that why Phillip was working in the restaurant instead of the clinic? Was he being punished for something?”

  She didn’t answer, but Horatio could see how much she wanted to talk. He put a hand on her shoulder, gently. “Hey,” he said softly. “I know you don’t want to get Doctor Sinhurma in trouble. But if he didn’t have anything to do with Phillip’s death, then any information you can give me will help clear him.”

  “But—but I thought Phillip was killed by lightning. I mean, you can’t be saying—oh, God. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” Her chin quivered and tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “It’s all right,” Horatio said. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

  She took it and wiped her eyes. “Thank you,” she sniffled. “I just…I’m just kind of confused right now. See, Phillip used to be really close to Doctor Sinhurma. He had his own room in the main house even before the dorms got built. But a few weeks ago, things changed. Phillip came to me one night and said he’d seen Doctor Sinhurma have some kind of breakdown, raving like a crazy man about gods and devils and the Garden of Eden. It really shook Phillip up. After that, he moved out of his room and into one of the dorms.”

  “Ruth, listen to me. I know you have a great deal of respect for Doctor Sinhurma, but maybe staying here isn’t the best idea right now.”

  She stared at him, her eyes still glistening. “Maybe you’re right. A while ago, Doctor Sinhurma asked me to do something—something I didn’t feel right about. I didn’t think there was anything wrong at the time, but it’s been bothering me ever since.”

  “Forgive me for asking—but was it sexual? If so, he’s broken the law—”

  “No, no, it wasn’t like that—not exactly. I’d rather not say, all right? But he didn’t come on to me.” She paused, took a deep breath and let it out. “I really believe in him. Before I came here, I was overweight and ugly, you know? He changed all that.”

  “Overweight, maybe,” Horatio said. “But I can’t believe you were ever ugly.”

  The smile that crossed her face was only a flicker of what was there before, but it was genuine. “That’s very kind. Though I could show you some pictures that might change your mind.”

  “I very much doubt that,” Horatio said. “But then, I’m a skeptic by nature. Ruth, I’d like you to promise me something.”

>   “What?”

  Horatio took a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I want you to promise me that if you feel your safety is being threatened, you’ll get out of here—and that you’ll call me. Is there anywhere else you can stay? Relatives or friends?”

  She took the card and shook her head. “Not really—I came down from Tampa to get into the program. Everyone I know is part of the clinic.”

  “Check yourself into a motel if you have to, okay?”

  She tucked the card into her pocket and nodded. “Okay. Do you really think Doctor Sinhurma had something to do with Phil’s death?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out….”

  Calleigh was studying a printout when Horatio walked into the layout room, her face lit by the glow of the light table. “Hey, Horatio,” she said brightly. “How’d it go at the clinic? See anyone famous?”

  “Just a pro athlete who should have stuck to Gatorade. What do you have?”

  She handed over the printout. “This just came in. Mass spec readings on the substance you found on the roof of the restaurant.”

  Horatio looked it over. “Fifty-eight percent potassium nitrate, thirty-two percent dextrose, ten percent ammonium perchlorate. Well, that explains the sweet smell—almost a third of it was sugar.”

  “What is it, H? Some kind of accelerant?”

  “That’s exactly what it is. Usually designed to accelerate rockets, in fact—these are all components of solid-fuel model rocket engines.”

  “So someone launched a rocket off the roof?”

  “It’s starting to look that way.”

  “Well, what goes up has to come down, right?”

  Ryan Wolfe picked that moment to walk in. “Anything I can help with?” he asked.

  Horatio and Calleigh glanced at each other.

  “You know, Ryan,” Calleigh said sweetly, “there is….”

  Before becoming a CSI, Ryan Wolfe had been a beat cop. He was no stranger to canvassing neighborhoods or knocking on doors…but that didn’t mean he had to like it.