The Burial Place

by Larry Enmon

  He dropped on the sofa and opened the paper. After scanning the headlines, he flipped to the second page. On page five, the story of Katrina Wallace’s kidnapping appeared again, complete with photo. It dominated the sheet. She had been missing two weeks. When the news broke, there had been several days of coverage. As time passed, it fell back to the Sunday edition—page five. It would probably never appear again unless a body was found. Frank read the article and grunted a couple of times about the misstatement of facts. It ended with, “Sources say the FBI and Texas Rangers are no closer to locating the missing mayor’s daughter than the day she disappeared.”

  Not a word about the Dallas Police Department or the progress they were making. Figures. Frank studied the photo of Katrina. It wasn’t the same one he had. This was a more relaxed girl. Dressed in a T-shirt and sitting in a patio chair. A wide smile and her hair not quite perfect.

  A sense of warmth spread through him. “I know you’re out there.” Frank brushed his finger across the photo. Hold on just a little longer.

  * * *

  Rob walked into the office Monday morning after his workout and found Frank typing a hundred miles a minute, leaning into the monitor.

  “Got your message about the triangle,” Rob said. “Anything else happen?”

  Frank pushed away from the desk and draped a leg over the chair arm. “Nope.”

  Rob took his seat, thinking that was a whole lot of activity for nothing else happening. But that was Frank. It was either feast or famine with him—hours of frenetic typing or a day of staring into space.

  Terry emerged from his office and made his way toward Edna’s, running a hand through his thinning hair. Once he spotted Frank and Rob, he halted and leaned against Frank’s cubicle.

  “Edna told the chief about your theory, Frank.”

  “And?” Rob asked.

  “He wants to know how you’re going to find the girl in seventeen thousand square miles of real estate,” Terry said.

  Frank yawned.

  Rob’s frustration level rose a notch. “It’s just a theory, a premise. We need a starting point,” he said.

  Terry shrugged. “Yeah, I know.” He whirled around and headed to Edna’s.

  Rob threw up his hands. “What do they expect?”

  Frank seemed unperturbed by the whole conversation. He was about to say something when his office phone rang. Caller ID showed Beaumont PD. Frank stared at Rob for a beat, his eyes filled with anticipation, as he answered the call and put it on speaker. “This is Pierce.”

  “Hi, I’m Sergeant Snider, Beaumont PD.”

  Frank grabbed a pen. “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Don’t know if this helps, but we had a gal go missing about a year or so ago. Her name was Billings. Mary Billings—sort of fits the description you put out.”

  “Did anyone find a Bible?” Frank asked.

  Hope rose in Rob’s gut. Just one more and they could start really zeroing in.

  “She disappeared from her apartment. Looking at the crime scene photos, there was a Bible on her pillow.”

  Frank looked ready to pop. “Did it have the word Wormwood highlighted?”

  “Never checked at the time. But it was a white Bible like you described.”

  “Can we get our hands on it?” Frank’s question sounded more like a command than a request.

  “Not likely. Relatives cleaned the place out, and they’ve since moved.”

  Frank’s shoulders sagged and he glanced up at Rob. “Sergeant, I can’t tell you how important it is that we get in touch with them and see if they still have that Bible. It’s the key. If the word Wormwood is highlighted, that proves she is one of the girls in my case, and that will help me locate them. Will you try?” Frank asked.

  There was a pause. “We’ll do what we can, but no promises.” The sergeant’s tone had that doubtful quality Rob had heard too often in cases like these.

  “Thanks. If you turn up anything, call me at the cell number,” Frank said, and hung up.

  Frank marched to the wall map of Texas and pointed. “Houston, Shreveport, and now Beaumont. Still in that eastern Texas/western Louisiana corridor—that’s three for that area.”

  “You don’t know that for sure yet,” Rob said. “You won’t know until Beaumont reports back.”

  Frank stepped away from the map, crossed his arms, and studied it a moment. “Okay, two and a half.”

  Rob stood next to his partner, eyeing the map, wondering where, in all those lines and dots, Trina was hidden, and if any of the other girls were still alive.

  * * *

  Brother Luther drove Sister Karen into town every Monday morning to pick up supplies. They never bought much since they caught, killed, or grew almost everything they needed at the farm and lake. While she shopped, Luther usually wandered around the store. He didn’t mind going with her. She was nice, pretty, and always ready to talk when she was away from the house. As Brother John’s favorite wife, she held a special place in Luther’s heart as well. They chatted all the way to the store because they shared a special secret: a love of candy.

  Luther would buy several pieces, as he did every trip, and he and Sister Karen would eat them on their way home. Brother John never allowed such worldly things at the house. But they’d laugh and gobble down as much as they could before turning into the driveway. He always drove extra slow.

  One of the store clerks pushed a cart to the candy stand. The newspaper rack sat beside it. The clerk bent down, grabbed a stack of yesterday’s papers, and dumped them into the cart. A page from The Dallas Morning News slid from his grip. As it fell open on the floor, Luther stooped and picked it up, intending to help the guy out. His gaze fell on the photo of Katrina.

  “Thanks, buddy.” The clerk reached for the loose page.

  Luther’s breath caught. He could hardly speak. He pulled the page away from the clerk. “Could I please have this, mister?”

  The guy shrugged. “Sure, don’t matter none to me.”

  Luther read what he could about the missing girl. He didn’t understand too good, but from what few words he could figure out, it seemed just about every law enforcement outfit in the world was looking for her. Who knew this girl was some politician’s daughter? He rushed to find Sister Karen.

  She lingered in the spice department, comparing two kinds of cinnamon.

  He touched her arm. “We have to go.”

  She ignored him and chuckled. “I’m almost through, Luther. Just a few more—” She stopped talking when he pushed the photo in her face. Her jaw dropped. She shoved the basket aside and they raced to the front door.

  29

  After the call with Beaumont PD, Frank felt like celebrating, so he and Rob headed over to Sarge’s for lunch. A crowd sat at the bar and there were a few couples in the booths. Sarge gave them a friendly nod as they entered.

  “Better make mine a double today, Sarge,” Frank said as he took his place at the bar. He tapped his fingers on the wood, unable to sit still. Frank tried to name the feeling he was experiencing today. Giddy. That was it. He was ready to crack this case.

  Sarge sneered. “Are you starting that crap again?”

  “We had a couple of good breaks over the weekend,” Rob said. He slid onto a stool.

  “Oh, yeah—great.” Sarge nodded.

  “Sandwiches and cherry Cokes. I’m buying.” Frank slapped the counter.

  Rob shot a look. “It’s your turn to buy.”

  “I know; that’s why I’m buying,” Frank said.

  Rob rolled his eyes and checked his email while Frank tapped a beat on the bar. Sarge’s stare fixed on Frank’s fingers as he passed the Cokes to them.

  “On the house, boys. You’re going to solve this damn case, aren’t you?”

  “That’s the plan,” Frank answered, and drank half the Coke in one gulp. Absolutely. We’re going to solve the damn case.

  Sarge eyed Frank’s fingers again. “The drinks are free, but the music has to go. Know what I
mean?”

  Frank quit tapping but was still finding it hard to sit still. Jan handed them their sandwiches. The TV over the bar showed the midday news. A picture of Katrina flashed on the screen. It was the one from the Sunday paper.

  Frank pointed. “Turn that up.”

  Sarge grabbed the remote and pointed it at the TV.

  “… may have been found. According to our sources, she was seen at the WinStar Casino over the weekend in Oklahoma. The caller saw her photo in the paper and called the police. No confirmation as yet, but authorities are investigating.” The newscaster looked to his left. “Dan, tell us how long we’re going to hang on to these mild temperatures.”

  Sarge pressed the mute button. “She’s in Oklahoma?” he asked.

  Frank grinned and attacked his sandwich.

  “Yeah, she and Elvis are playing blackjack with Jimmy Hoffa,” Rob said.

  Sarge threw the bar towel over his shoulder and leaned to within inches of Rob before saying, “I had great hopes for you at one time, but Frank’s turned you into a first-class smartass.”

  Frank wiped his mouth and fingers. “He’s just—”

  His ringing cell interrupted his quick comeback. “This is Pierce.”

  A deep voice said, “Yes, sir, I’m calling about that NCIC notification you sent.”

  Frank stood and gave the sign for quiet. “Who’s this?”

  “Sheriff Richard Lewis, Sabine County Sheriff’s Office.”

  Frank waved his hand again for more silence. The place got quiet.

  “Yes, Sheriff. Do you have a missing girl and Bible?”

  The line went hushed for a moment. “No, I’m sorry. I must have the wrong information. We don’t have anyone missing.”

  The knot in Frank’s stomach relaxed. “How did you get this number?”

  “It was on the notification about people with that tattoo.”

  Frank tensed. “You know one of those people?” He shot a glance at Rob.

  “Yup, sitting in our jail right now,” Lewis said.

  “Sheriff, I’m not familiar with Sabine County.” Frank turned to Sarge, who knew Texas better than anyone. “What’s the county seat?” He said it loud enough for anyone in the bar to hear.

  “Hemphill,” Sheriff Lewis said.

  Frank mouthed the word to Sarge and Rob. They shook their heads and shrugged.

  “Still no help,” Frank said.

  A chuckle echoed from the phone. “Didn’t figure you big city boys would know. I reckon it’s on a line between Houston and Shreveport. Know where they are?”

  “Sure do.”

  “We’re about a hundred miles south and a little west of Shreveport. Beside Toledo Bend Reservoir.”

  “That would put you in East Texas,” Frank said.

  “Nope,” the deep voice chuckled again. “Deep East Texas.”

  Frank didn’t dare to hope, but he had to ask. “Is the guy in your jail Vernon Warren?”

  “Naw, sorry. It’s another guy,” Lewis answered.

  Frank let out the breath he’d been holding. “Okay, that’s fine, Sheriff.”

  “But I know Vernon Warren,” the deep voice said.

  Frank had only passed out twice in his life. Once, as a kid, being popped with a penicillin shot—turned out he was allergic—and the second time when he got stabbed. This came close to being the third. Frank steadied himself on the bar and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “You know Vernon John Warren?” he slowly asked.

  “Yup, lives just outside Hemphill.”

  “Sheriff, I’ve been waiting to hear that for days. It’s essential I interview your prisoner with the tattoo. When could I come?” Frank asked.

  “You got a three-and-a-half- to four-hour drive ahead of you. When do you want to come?”

  Frank glanced at his watch. “How about late this afternoon? Say, around five o’clock.”

  “I’ll be here,” Lewis said.

  Frank pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “What’s the prisoner’s name?”

  “Evan Rhodes. Got him on public intoxication, disturbing the peace last night.”

  “Sheriff, I have to talk to him. Can you hold him until I get there on just those charges? Don’t want him bonding out and getting in the wind.”

  The deep chuckle again. “Son, this is East Texas. Don’t worry, he’ll be here.”

  An hour later, Frank and Rob were blowing out of Dallas. After packing a small suitcase, Rob had grabbed a six-pack of beer from his refrigerator and dumped every cube from his icemaker into a cooler over the bottles. Rob drove the speed limit down I-20 while they sipped Michelob.

  Terry’s last words still rang in Frank’s ears. If you find her, don’t take any unilateral action until you’ve notified the Rangers and FBI.

  Edna was more to the point. Remember what I told you Saturday morning. If you locate her and don’t commit any first-degree felonies, I’ve got your back.

  Frank didn’t care if he committed a felony, no matter what degree it was. If he found her he’d grab her—that was that. He owed her that much.

  * * *

  Katrina wasn’t sure what was going on, but the Freak had called another meeting in the side yard under an ancient pine tree. Only Sister Ruth was missing. Must be with the kids.

  Katrina fingered the basement key in her pocket. She might not ever have a better chance. She could slip in, talk to the girl, and be out before they were the wiser. It was a chance worth taking. It wasn’t pure empathy. Katrina needed—no, craved—someone to share her feelings with. She thought she’d go crazy if she couldn’t at least meet the girl.

  Katrina knew everyone’s location. Now was the time.

  She eased through the silent old house into the kitchen. Fitting the key into the grooves, she unlocked the basement door. A loud click sounded. Katrina quickly entered and relocked the door. No sound from the girl. Was she still down here? Katrina braced herself on the handrail and eased down the stairs. She craned her neck and listened, straining for any sound. When she reached the creaky stair near the bottom, she scanned the room. Nothing. Where was she? Oh, no. They’d already moved her—but where?

  “Hello,” Katrina whispered, turning her head in all directions as she neared the bed. “Hello, is anybody—”

  She didn’t finish the sentence. The sound of the shower curtain ripping open, combined with a blur to her right, made her stumble backward. The air was knocked from her as Katrina tumbled to the floor. The wild girl with short blonde hair straddled her, and a pair of strong hands clamped around her neck. The woman pressed her thumbs into Katrina’s trachea as if ready to punch a hole right through.

  Katrina boxed the attacker’s ears and she let out a scream, but continued trying to choke her. The feral eyes were fixed and the lips had a determined grin. Katrina’s vision blurred and she realized she had only one chance. With her last breath she croaked, “Friend.”

  The woman’s expression changed. She kept the tight grip on Katrina’s throat but stopped trying to crush her windpipe.

  Katrina repeated, “Friend,” and went into a coughing spasm.

  The girl allowed her to cough it out but stayed on top of her with her hands loose on her neck. “Who are you?” she asked.

  Katrina cleared her throat. “Katrina Wallace from Dallas. Who are you?”

  The girl examined her with suspicious eyes. She released her grip and pushed hair from her face. “Emilie Moore. Why did your people kidnap me?”

  Katrina caught her breath. “It’s not my people. It’s those people. I was kidnapped too.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Well, if you’ll get off me, I’ll explain,” Katrina said.

  Emilie stood and offered her a hand up. Katrina rubbed her throat and moved toward the bed. Emilie was still in a fighting stance. She flinched as Katrina turned.

  “Let’s sit down and talk,” Katrina said.

  “I’m fine right here.”

  This w
as going to be harder than Katrina expected. “Okay, then I’ll sit, if you don’t mind.”

  Ten minutes later, Katrina had convinced Emilie they were in the same boat. Katrina never asked if Brother John had raped her. She didn’t want to know.

  “So we’re allies?” Emilie asked.

  Suspicion still laced Emilie’s voice. Katrina couldn’t blame her. “Yeah, we’re definitely allies,” Katrina said.

  Emilie lowered her head. “Sorry I jumped you. I was scared and just decided I wasn’t going to take it anymore.”

  Katrina laid her hand on Emilie’s. “That’s okay, but we don’t stand a chance trying to fight them—too many.”

  “Are there any guns in the house?” Emilie whispered.

  “I’ve never seen any, but I know they hunt.”

  Emilie rested both palms on the bed. “You have to find out where they are.”

  “Okay, I’ll snoop around.”

  Sister Ruth bellowed from upstairs. “Katrina!”

  “I have to go,” Katrina whispered. “I’ll check on you when I can, but they watch me like a hawk.”

  Emilie’s face softened. “I’m glad you came down. Sorry about jumping you.”

  “I’m glad I came down too.” Katrina hugged Emilie. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a gun or some kind of weapon.”

  Katrina broke the embrace and headed for the stairs. Just as her foot hit the first step, she froze as the scraping noise of metal on metal rushed down from above—the sound of a key in a lock.

  * * *

  Brother John finished talking and studied the group. “You’ve all heard the news Sister Karen and Brother Luther brought back from town.”

  Sister Judy scowled. “Why’d we have to take the mayor’s daughter?”

  Brothers Luther, Turner, and Lee looked down.