Beneath a Buried House (Detective Elliot Mystery Book 2)

by Bob Avey

  Elliot’s eyes had adjusted to the light, and what he saw dictated a different course of action. He turned to Washington and shook his head. Though logic argued against it, the feet attached to those legs in the shadows did not touch the ground, but hovered instead just inches above it.

  The look that crawled across Washington’s face as he squinted to understand what had caught Elliot’s attention said that he now saw it, too. Without looking away, Washington took a step forward. Warrant or not, they headed into the interior of the barn, stopping again when they’d advanced to a point where they could see well enough to quell any doubts they might have had.

  A block and tackle hung from the rafters, suspended by a chain, and below that, on the iron hook of the device, a rope had been attached. The end of the rope was wrapped around the neck of a ragged man who dangled like a broken marionette above the ground. Marks on the floor indicated that someone had dragged the body across the dirt and hoisted it with the block and tackle into its present position.

  At the feet of the executed man, two immobile, leathery corpses seemed to rear from the dirt floor as though they had clawed free of the ground, digging themselves out of their graves to once again walk the earth and exact their final revenge on the one who had put them there. And encompassing all of this was a huge circle drawn around an inverted star. An upside-down pentacle. Many other pagan symbols decorated the walls of the barn.

  Washington stumbled backward, his face turning the lifeless gray of a cadaver. “Ah, hell.”

  Elliot grabbed the chief’s arm to steady him, but he twisted away and heaved, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the barn floor in a sickening splash.

  Washington eventually straightened, perspiration standing in beads on his blanched face. “Sweet mother of Jesus.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Elliot took the shallowest breath possible. “But I think we just solved the mystery of the Stone family, part of it anyway.”

  “You think that’s them?”

  “That’d be my guess.” He backed out of the barn into the harsh glare of the sunshine, and Washington followed him with a grateful expression.

  “You suppose Brian McKenna had anything to do with this?”

  “That’s a good question. I don’t think he would’ve sent us here if he’d known we’d find something like this. But it appears that Saucier had pagan connections, and McKenna reacted strongly when you questioned him about the old man. If I had to guess, I’d say McKenna knows something about Saucier’s involvement with the old murders.”

  Washington gestured toward the hanging corpse, the one that had yet to wrinkle into a state of decomposition. “Do you suppose this is Saucier?”

  “Most likely.”

  Washington nodded. “Don’t touch anything. I need to call the County Sheriff.”

  “That’d be a good idea.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Washington said. “If Saucier killed Kathryn and Solomon Stone, then who killed him?”

  “Another good question.” Three bodies, and who was to say there weren’t more? “I’d have the area searched for more graves.”

  “And who the hell dug them up?”

  Elliot pulled his phone and called the department. “Give me Captain Lundsford.”

  Moments later, the captain spoke. “What is it, Elliot?”

  “I’m with Police Chief Jed Washington, in Donegal. We just found something. Thought you should know.”

  “Go on.”

  “Jim Llewellyn, the John Doe, was working a story about the disappearance of a family here. I believe it’s what got him killed. We just found the bodies. They disappeared all right, but not in a mystical sense. Looks like they were murdered.”

  After a pause, the captain said, “Good work. And, by the way, some lady who said her name was Combs called for you. Said you left someone at her shelter.”

  Elliot’s pulse quickened. Did the captain know about the waitress? “Did she say what she wanted?”

  “Whoever you left there is being uncooperative. She wants you to come pick her up.” He paused, then added, “Is there something I should know about this?”

  “No. I was just trying to help out a friend.”

  Elliot couldn’t see the captain’s face, but he could feel his stare nonetheless. “All right,” the captain said. “A word of advice, though. Be careful doing stuff like that. Getting involved in domestic problems can be a bad idea.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Elliot disconnected and stuck the phone in his pocket.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Elliot tapped on the open door of the shelter administrator’s office.

  Leslie Combs, the substantial woman who ran the women’s shelter, stood when Elliot came in. “Thank you for coming, Detective Elliot.”

  “You said the lady I dropped off yesterday was asking for me. I don’t mind.”

  She frowned and sat back down behind her desk. “Have a seat, please.”

  Elliot sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Ms. Combs’s office was austere, with white walls and subtle earth-tone carpeting. “What can I do for you?”

  Ms. Combs sat forward, her arms resting on the desk, her hands folded together. “I was hoping you could tell me a little more about”—she paused and glanced at a file on her desk—“Beverly Mandel, the client you brought to us yesterday afternoon.”

  Elliot leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know much more than what I told you yesterday. But I did some research on the Internet. If you’ll do the same, when you get a chance, using Bible-based cults as parameters for the search engine, I believe you will gain a better understanding of what we’re dealing with.”

  “But she won’t talk to us. She insists on seeing you. Tell me, Detective, what exactly is the nature of your relationship with the client?”

  “There is no relationship. I’d never met her before yesterday. I simply offered her a way to escape her circumstances, and she took the opportunity.”

  The look on Ms. Combs’s face was skeptical. “I see. Well, she treats us like we’re the enemy. I’m not used to dealing with such behavior.”

  “I brought her here because I believe she needs protection.” Elliot sat forward. “She’s really not all that different from your other clients, Ms. Combs. She’s spent her life in an abusive environment that she’s probably wanted out of for years. She just didn’t know how to go about it. The difference is, the source of her pain is more complex. Her enemy is not so readily identifiable. She doesn’t know who to trust.”

  Ms. Combs studied the file briefly. “She certainly sounds like an ideal candidate for our shelter, when you explain it like that, but in reality I’m not sure we’re equipped to handle her particular needs. Would it be possible for you to take her elsewhere?”

  Elliot nodded. Ms. Combs had thought about this, and she’d already made her decision. “I’ll see what I can do. But it’ll take time. Could I rely on your generosity for a few more days?”

  Ms. Combs closed the file. “Of course, Detective. We don’t turn clients out onto the streets. A few days, though, and no more.”

  “Thanks,” Elliot said. “May I speak with her now?”

  Ms. Combs pushed back from her desk. “Of course.” She stood and walked to the door.

  Elliot followed Ms. Combs out of her office and down a hallway with gray-painted brick walls, and floors of shiny green tile. Moments later, they stopped at a room. The door was closed. Ms. Combs unlocked it, then tapped on the facing. “You have a visitor,” she said.

  Elliot found Beverly Mandel, the waitress, sitting in a corner of the room with her legs drawn to her chest, rocking back and forth in a rhythmic, disturbing pattern. “Leave us alone,” she said.

  “I don’t recommend that,” Ms. Combs said. “It’s against policy.”

  “I don’t care.” The waitress’ voice was stern, convincing. “I don’t want you here.”

  Ms. Combs bristled. “Do you see the problem, D
etective?” She turned and walked a few feet up the hallway. “Call me when you’re ready.”

  The floor of the room, though highly polished, was of concrete, and the walls were cinder blocks. It reminded Elliot of a sterile bunker; overly clean, but still a bunker. “How are you feeling?” He didn’t know what else to say.

  She didn’t answer right away, and for a moment Elliot thought the conversation would be one sided, as it had been in the truck. She continued rocking. “Why did you bring me here?”

  Elliot sat on the floor a few feet away from her. “So you would be safe.”

  After a moment, when it appeared the waitress would say nothing more, Elliot added, “I’ve done some research. I know what . . . Well, I don’t know what you’re going through, but I do know that many other people have gone through it as well. It won’t be easy to get out, but it can be done. You’ve spent a large portion of your life as a member of the church, and now you’re second-guessing your decision to leave it.”

  She stopped rocking, but she didn’t look up, and she didn’t speak.

  “Don’t give in to it,” Elliot said. “Concentrate on the things that drove you away, whatever was happening within the church that caused you to consider separation.”

  For the first time since Elliot had come into the room, the waitress rolled her eyes up to meet his. “Thank you. You risked a lot for someone you don’t know.”

  Elliot shook his head. “You make it sound much more heroic than it actually was. I’m glad I could help you.”

  “I wanted out.” Beverly Mandel’s face showed that she wanted to cry, but no tears came out. “Since I was ten.”

  Something in her eyes pleaded with him. He clasped his hands around his knees and waited. Several minutes passed. Then Beverly sat up a little straighter. She smoothed her hair and squared her shoulders.

  “I was raised in the church. It’s my life. And yet I’ve known for a long time that it isn’t right. When I was ten years old, when my parents joyfully facilitated the gift of my—” She clamped her lips in a hard line for a moment, an internal struggle twisting her features. “They said it was for the good of the church,” she continued bitterly. “When I close my eyes, I can still See Reverend Coronet’s face above mine. I can still count the beads of sweat on his forehead.”

  “There are people who can help. I’ll make some calls. You’re a strong person. You’ll get through this.”

  She nodded dully.

  “What they did to you was wrong, Beverly. No one has the right to treat you that way, not even the church.”

  Once again, the waitress began to rock back and forth.

  Sensing she needed time to herself, Elliot quietly got to his feet.

  She raised her head. “Why were you in Donegal, Detective?”

  Elliot shrugged. “Just police business.”

  “Does it have something to do with Justin and Elizabeth Stone?”

  Elliot sat in the only chair in the room, an orange plastic model with shiny metal legs. “Yes, it does. Did you know them?”

  “I went to school with them. Those kids were scared to death. They told anyone who would listen. But nobody did. They said their parents were in league with Satan. And they were the sacrificial lambs.”

  “Was there any truth to that?”

  “I don’t know. Reverend Coronet didn’t like Mr. Stone. He gave a sermon once, telling us that the evils of Satan were everywhere, his followers walking among us, even within our own congregation. During the whole sermon, he was looking right at Solomon Stone. A few days later, they were gone, the whole family.”

  “Do you think Coronet had anything to do with that?”

  Her rocking had continued, and now she picked up the pace. “There are people within the church who will do his bidding. Nothing would be beyond their reasoning.”

  “Do you know anything about Abraham Saucier?”

  “He was a member of the church.”

  Elliot stood and handed Beverly Mandel another business card in case she’d misplaced the other one. “I have to go now, but I want you to do something for me. I need you to stay here a few more days. Ms. Combs is a good person. She’s on your side. Let her help you, and I’ll make other arrangements as soon as I can.”

  “Am I a prisoner?”

  “No. It’s completely voluntary, for your protection.”

  “I don’t like it here.”

  Elliot looked at the featureless cement floor and the cinderblock walls. “I don’t either. Give me two days. Then, if you’re ready, if you feel strong enough, I’ll help you get a job and a place to live. Fair enough?”

  The waitress rocked back and forth for what seemed a long time, but finally she said, “You’re a most unusual man, Detective.”

  A lightness he hadn’t felt in a long while buoyed him. “I’ve been called worse. Do we have a deal?”

  She sat perfectly still. For the first time since he’d met Beverly Mandel, she smiled. “Two days, Detective. I’ll be ready.”

  Elliot needed more information, and fast. After leaving the shelter, he drove to the nearest library. Seeing the waitress in her present condition caused him to reexamine his own life . . . again. Beverly Mandel reminded him of his mother, a victim of her own world. He couldn’t save his mother. But maybe it wasn’t too late for Beverly Mandel. His being a cop just might have saved her. He wouldn’t have been in Donegal otherwise.

  At the library, he pulled into a parking spot, and called Cyndi. When she didn’t answer, disconcerting thoughts went through his head, all of which were worrisome beyond reason.

  Elliot left a message on her machine, then got out of the car and jogged toward the library. Inside, he hurried across a colorful room, which reminded him of grade school, to a row of computers along one of the walls. Before he reached the computers, though, he heard footsteps, and he turned to see that he was being pursued by the librarian. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

  Elliot shook his head. “I just need to borrow one of the computers.”

  “Do you have a library card?”

  A child stopped and pointed. “Mommy, Mommy, that man has a gun.”

  The mother pulled the little boy behind her, fear widening her eyes.

  Elliot glanced down to find that his coat had fallen open, leaving his shoulder holster and weapon visible. He pulled his badge, showed it to the kid and his mom, then held it out for the librarian. “Is that good enough?”

  The room began to clear of visitors, but Conan the librarian was undaunted. “Could I see that, please?”

  Elliot handed her his ID. “I’m in bit of a hurry.”

  She examined the credentials at length, then handed it back. “You just never know these days.”

  “It’s good to be careful.”

  Assured he wasn’t a threat, she returned to her desk.

  Elliot chose the computer next to the window and sat down. After logging on, he typed Marshall Coronet Church of the Divine Revelation into the search engine. It didn’t take long to find what he suspected was there. Whenever a group, whether it’s a church or some other organization, begins to lean in a direction that might be considered contrary to the interests of society, or exhibits behavior that could be subversive or even destructive in nature, that institution runs the risk of being scrutinized by those who monitor such things. The Church of the Divine Revelation and Marshall Coronet had reached such a point about fifteen years ago, right around the time the Stone family disappeared.

  Elliot printed the information, then called Chief Washington. Washington, having changed his attitude remarkably since their encounter with the human remains in the barn earlier that day, agreed to arrange a meeting with Reverend Coronet. Until then, he couldn’t move forward with the case. But he had something of equal importance to do.

  Outside, in the car, Elliot again called Cyndi. This time she answered. “Been thinking about you,” he said. After a pause, when Cyndi didn’t say anything, Elliot asked, “Is everythin
g okay?”

  “Sorry. I just woke up.”

  Elliot glanced at his watch. It showed 12:05. “I was thinking we might grab some lunch.”

  “What time is it?”

  Elliot told her.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No. But I guess I did keep you out rather late last night. Are we on?”

  “Could we make it some other time?”

  Elliot wondered what was happening. She seemed distant. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  There was a pause. “What’s up?”

  “You’re not getting off that easy,” Elliot said. “Besides, it’s not something we can discuss over the phone.”

  When Cyndi answered, her voice reflected apprehension. “That sounds serious.”

  “It is. But in a good way.”

  “All right, Kenny. But this had better be good.”

  “It will be.”

  “Give me an hour, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  “Meet me at Polo’s,” Elliot said, then disconnected.

  Each block closer to his destination, his heart beat faster and his palms grew slick with sweat. By the time he’d reached the jewelry store, he thought he might pass out. He had to sit in the car for a minute, his physical reaction massively out of proportion to what he would expect of a man about to propose marriage.

  When he convinced himself to walk through the entrance of the store, it felt as though he’d passed through some kind of portal to another time and place, similar to the old one yet slightly out of kilter in a disconcerting way.

  The man behind the counter, who was busy with another customer, wore a tailored suit that made him look like a displaced business executive. Glass cases arranged in a large square acted to both separate the customers from the sales staff and to hold jewelry. Elliot browsed the cases until he found what he was after, then leaned over and studied the selection there.

  “Could I help you with something?” The smooth, exotically accented voice made him look up.

  A slender woman of African descent stood before Elliot on the opposite side of the display case. Elliot wondered if she’d come from a back room. “I hope so,” he said. “I came in rather decidedly, and yet now I find myself a little overwhelmed.”