Suicide? Doubtful. Was it a coincidence that Bama's body had been left so near the scene of an execution? There was little doubt in Kendall's mind who had killed him.
Her knees were almost too shaky to support her, but she forced herself to her feet. She stepped over Bama's desecrated remains and continued to stagger blindly in the general direction of the road until she reached it. She had veered several degrees off course, but her car was in sight. She loped toward it and was glad she had left the engine running. It would save time. Besides, she didn't think her trembling hands could have handled an ignition key.
As she sped away, she planned her strategy. In order to reach the center of town, she would have to go past her house.
Why not stop there and call the sheriff? Maybe please, God Matt would be home. She needed him. His infidelity with Lottie Lynam receded to insignificance when measured against what she had just witnessed.
She focused her eyes on the road, gripped the steering wheel, and tried to concentrate on what she must do, but her mind projected images of Michael with that hideous cross. She heard again the men cheering when his genitals were stuffed into his mouth.
And Bama. Sweet, harmless Bama, who had a kind word for everyone, who predicted the weather with remarkable accuracy. He had no doubt been executed because he was a blight to the city's attractiveness. He was a nuisance, an unproductive citizen, a bad role model for Prosper's children.
My God, how many other undesirables had been disposed of or punished in this savage, barbaric fashion?
Billy Joe Crook? Surely! He was a thief, so they had severed his arm. Who would dispute the seemingly innocent, albeit tragic, story about an accident? Certainly not Billy Joe, whose life would be in jeopardy if he revealed that his misfortune had in fact been the brainchild of a group of self-appointed judges.
"An eye for an eye" was their credo. Michael Li had stepped over the line with a white girl. Castration and death were his sentence.
Kendall actually gave a glad cry when she saw Matt's car parked in front of their house. Racing up the front steps, she shouted his name. As she ran down the hall, he stepped from the bedroom, obviously fresh from the shower. His hair was still damp. A towel was wrapped around his waist.
"Kendall, where have you been? I came back to find the house empty. After our quarrel"
"Matt, thank God you're here." She threw herself into his arms and sobbed against his bare chest.
He hugged her tightly. "Darling! Can you forgive me? Can we begin again?"
"Yes, of course, but listen, listen to me!"
When she pulled herself away from him, he realized that her enthusiasm over seeing him wasn't passion-driven. "What in the world happened? You're as pale as a sheet. What's this in your hair?" He plucked a twig from it and looked at it curiously.
"Matt, it was horrible." She sobbed. "I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it. They had Michael Li. You probably don't know him. He's . . . Never mind, I can fill you in later. You'd better get dressed. I'm going to call the police right now. They can meet us here because it's on the way. I'll lead them to"
"Kendall, get a grip. What in heaven's name are you talking about?"
Now that he'd had time to look her over, he was becoming nearly as alarmed as she. He touched her cheek, and his finger came away red. "You're bleeding. How did you get scratched up like this?"
"I'm fine. Really. Just scared."
"Who hurt you?" he demanded angrily. "The Crook twins?
If those bastards"
"No, no!" she shouted over him. "Listen, Matt. They killed Michael Li. At least I think he was dead. They had castrated him and there was blood everywhere. On him, on the ground."
She worked free of him and stepped over his pile of dirty clothes to reach the telephone. She punched out 911.
"You're not making any sense, Kendall. Who are you talking about?"
"Michael Li," she repeated impatiently. "A boy falsely accused of raping Kim Johnson. They killed Bama, too. I found his body out there when I was running. Hello? Yes? This is. No, don't put me on hold!" she screamed into the receiver, her voice cracking.
Matt moved quickly to her side. "Kendall, you're hysterical."
"No, I'm not. I swear I'm not." She swallowed, forcibly repressing the rising hysteria she had denied. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. "By the time the police get here, I'll be calm. I can take them straight to it."
"Straight to what?"
"Where the hogs are slaughtered. They probably do their killing there so the blood won't be noticed," she added, the thought having suddenly occurred to her. "They're smart. And there are so many of them. Peccable we know and would never suspect."
"What were you doing out in the woods alone at night?"
"I was coming to find you." Hot, salty tears spilled over her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks. "I wanted to see you.
I didn't want this thing with Lottie to fester and become irreparable. I couldn't wait until you got home to make every thing right between us. I was trying to find the deer lease, but I got lost."
"Emergency services. How can I help you?"
"Yes, hello?" She signaled Matt that someone had finally returned to the line. "I need the police or the sheriff's office immediately. My name is"
Matt snatched the receiver from her and hung it up. She gaped at him, dumbfounded. "Why'd you do that? I've got to report this! I can take them there. If they can get out there soon enough t,
"You're not going anywhere except to the shower, then to bed." He stroked her hair. "The forest can be spooky at night If you're not used to it. You got lost and panicked, darling.
You're having an anxiety attack. After a hot shower and a cold glass of wine, you'll forget all about it."
"This isn't an anxiety attack!" Realizing that her screeching tone only supported his theory, she took a deep breath. "I'm in full control of my faculties, I assure you. I'm terrified, but I'm not crazy."
"I'm not Suggesting you're crazy. But you've been under an enormous amount of stress lately, and"
She pushed him aside. "Stop patronizing me and listen.
Matt, they"
"First of all, who is this 'they' you keep referring to?"
"Just about everyone with some authority around here. I could name a dozen prominent men."
She was ticking off a list when he interrupted her again.
"And you're saying these men are connected to a castration and crucifixion? Not to mention the murder of a panhandler?"
He cocked his eyebrows skeptically. "Kendall, be reasonable.
How do you expect me to believe such a tale?"
"You believe it."
He tilted his head in puzzlement.
A shudder passed through her. "I never mentioned a crucifixion."
Her eyes dropped to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. The soles of his boots were caked with mud, studded with twigs and pine needles. She detected a faint smell of wood smoke.
Slowly her eyes moved back up to his. He was watching her calmly, his expression bland. "You were there, weren't you?" she whispered gruffly. "You're one o f them. And Gibb, too."
"Kendall." He reached for her.
She turned and ran, but had taken no more than a few steps before he grabbed the back of her jacket and jerked her to a halt. "Let go of me!" Reaching behind her, she tried to scratch his face with her nails and derived some satisfaction when she heard him grunt in pain.
"You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you, Miss Buttinsky? "
She elbowed him in the stomach. He released her and grabbed his gut. Kendall made a dash for the door, but he caught her again.
They struggled, and finally he managed to pin her arms to her sides. His face was contorted with rage. Spittle flew from his mouth as he bent low and shouted directly into her face.
"You want to talk to the sheriff? Or the police chief? Fine.
You'll find them out there with the rest of us."
; "Who are you?"
"The Brotherhood. We mete out justice because so-called democracy and the legal system have turned against us. It's all on the side of the riffraff now. To even the odds, we're forced to take matters into our own hands."
"You kill people?"
"Sometimes."
"How many? How long has this been going on?"
"For decades."
Her knees buckled and she would have collapsed if he hadn't held her up. "We had hoped you would join us, Kendall. You certainly can't fight us."
"Wanna bet?"
She drove her knee into his groin. He swore as he bent double. Without even thinking about it, Kendall whirled, grabbed a vase of roses from the dresser, and swung it with all her might at his head. He went down like a felled tree and lay motionless.
For several moments she stared at his still form, not quite believing what she had done. Her breathing was loud and harsh. She thought of her baby. Would it survive this night?
Would she?
Only if she fled.
She removed her wedding ring and threw it down at Matt.
Then she headed for the front door at a run.
But car headlights were approaching the house. The vehicle stopped. Gibb got out of his pickup truck, came up the steps, and knocked.
On impulse, Kendall raced back into the bedroom, but only long enough to snatch a robe from the closet.
"Coming!" she called. Rushing to the front door, she shoved her arms into the robe and pulled it tightly around her to cover her dirty clothes and scratched arms. At the last moment, she remembered to kick off her shoes. Then she opened the door a crack and peered out.
"Oh, hi, Gibb." She hoped he would attribute her breathlessness to something besides fear. He was wearing outdoor clothes. His boots were as muddy as Matt's, and he, too, smelled of smoke. He had come straight from a bloody execution, but no one would ever have guessed that from his benign smile.
"You two still up?"
She glanced over her shoulder, almost expecting to see Matt staggering from the bedroom massaging the bloody lump on his head.
If he wasn't dead.
She formed what she hoped was a demure smile and turned back to her father-in-law. "Actually no. I mean . . . well, we weren't asleep yet. Just . . . you know." She simpered, southern belle style. "I can get Matt for you if it's really important that you see him right now."
He chuckled. "I doubt it's as important as what he's doing."
"Well," she said coyly, "we're in the middle of making up.
We had a squabble earlier." Playing a hunch, she added, "Didn't he mention it?"
"Matter of fact, he did, although he didn't tell me what I -the quarrel was about. I came over to see if I could help smooth things over." Grinning broadly, he winked at her. "I see that my peacekeeping services aren't necessary. So I'm going to mosey on home and leave you two to your business." When he reached out and squeezed her arm, she feared she might vomit again. "You get back to your husband. Good night, now."
"Good night."
He turned and tromped down the steps.
For good measure, Kendall called after him, "Come back for breakfast, why don't you? I'm hungry for your famous waffles."
"I'll be here by eight."
She watched until his taillights disappeared, then she dashed back into the bedroom. Matt was just as she had left him.
She couldn't bring herself to touch him, even to check for a pulse. What difference did it make?
Whether he was dead or alive, her life as she had known it was over.
Chapter 19
by name is Kendall Deaton Burnwood. What I'm going to tell you will sound beyond belief. You'll think I'm insane. I assure you I'm not." She paused to take a sip of the Coke she'd bought at the motel vending machine.
"I'm listening."
Agent Braddock of the FBI sounded sleepy and put out.
Too damn bad. What she had to tell him would jar him awake. To lend plausibility to her implausible story, she had introduced herself as a public defender. Otherwise, he might have thought he was talking to an absolute kook.
"For almost two years I've been living and working in Pros per. Tonight I discovered a secret vigilante group that is committing unspeakable crimes, including murder. The group is comprised of some of the town's most prominent men. They call themselves the Brotherhood. My . . . my husband is one of them.
"By his own admission, they mete out punishment to anyone they feel deserves it, but who has somehow slipped through the cracks of the legal system.
"I can't guess how many people they've eliminated over the years, but I witnessed a murder tonight." She then told him about Michael Li's execution and finding Bama's remains. "He wasn't a criminal, but I suspect them of killing him, too."
She told the agent what she had seen in the woods, keeping her account factual and precise, her voice composed. Too much emotion would jeopardize her credibility. "This clearing is deep in the woods in a remote area. They slaughter hogs there And, I guess," she added shakily, "not only hogs."
She paused, realizing that he had remained silent throughout the telling. "Are you still there?"
"I'm still here. It's just . . . Well, ma'am, this is quite a tale. Did you report this alleged murder to the local police?" "They're in on it."
"The police, too? I see."
Clearly, he didn't see at all. She was being humored. What could she say to convince him that she wasn't a mental case?
She pushed back her hair and took another sip of her drink, Tension had brought on a stabbing pain between her shoulder blades. She had driven 150 miles before she felt it was safe to stop. For each of those miles, she had kept one eye on the road ahead, and one on the rearview mirror.
When would Matt regain consciousness and alert the other members of the Brotherhood that she was on to them? Or if she had killed him with that vase, when would his body be discovered? She hoped it wouldn't be before eight o'clock that morning, when Gibb would come to the house to cook waffles.
She looked at her watch. It was already past two. Time was running short.
"Agent Braddock, I warned you that this would sound unbelievable."
"You must admit it is a bit farfetched. What I know of Prosper is that it's a neat little community."
"That's how it appears, but the innocence is camouflage Look, I know you get outrageous stories from wackos every day, but I swear to you I'm telling the truth. I saw that boy nailed to a cross."
"Calm down, Mrs. Burnwood. We won't get anywhere if you get hysterical."
"We won't get anywhere if you ignore me, either."
"I'm not ignoring"
"Then what are you going to do about this?"
"You've named some pretty important people," he said, hedging. "Men with authority."
"Don't you think I realize that? At first I couldn't believe who was involved. But the more I think about it, the more sense it makes."
"Why do you say that?"
"There's a pervasive attitude in that town. I can't exactly describe it, but I've felt it since I moved there. The people aren't as flagrant as skinheads. They're not aggressive like some of the better known neo-Nazi groups. But their philosophies are similar.
"That's disturbing."
"All the more so because they operate so subversively. You can't spot them. You don't recognize them immediately for what they are. They're men who hold positions of trust and authority, not rabble-rousers with shaved heads and swastikas carved on their foreheads. They don't wear robes and peaked caps. They don't hold rallies where they scream racial slurs and preach white supremacy. Come to think of it, being Anglo isn't even good enough for them. Billy Joe Crook is white.
So was Bama."
"Billy Joe Crook?"
She told him about the juvenile offender and his "accident."
"I suppose that in the eyes of the Brotherhood, one must be white and Rosen," she said with ill-disguised disgust.
The FBI agent exhaled
a deep breath. "You sound like a reasonable person, Mrs. Burnwood. I don't think you could have fabricated all this. I'll file a report and see what I can do."
"Thank you, but filing a bureaucratic report won't cut it.
I won't be safe until they're all behind bars."
"I agree, but before we start rounding up suspects, I'm going to dispatch an agent to take a look at this clearing you've told me about. If we brought someone in for questioning, your husband for instance, that would alert the rest of them. They could scatter. Go underground. We need some physical evidence before we make any arrests, and then it must be done in an organized manner."
He was right, of course. That was the best strategy. But she wouldn't take an easy breath until her Husband, Gibb, and the others were in custody. "When will You begin?"
"If you'll give me directions to the site now,, I'll send some body out there at first light.?"
She told him where he could find Bama's body. She was almost certain that when Michael Li was found, he would be a corpse, too. It would be interesting too hear how his disappearance from the Prosper jail was explained.
In recounting her struggle with Matt, she had told Braddock only that she had knocked him unconscious. She didn't tell him that she feared she might have killed Tim. She would cross that bridge only if and when she had to» .
"Where are you?" he asked. "If we find evidence that backs up your story, you'll be a key witness and will Need the government's protection."
She didn't argue with that. "I'm in a town called King wood." She gave him the number of the state highway that ran through the center of town. "I'm at the Pleasant View Motel. You can't miss it. It's on the highway. Room 103.
What time will you be here?"
"Nine o'clock."
Seven hours. Could she stand to be alone' that long? She had no choice. She had called in the cavalry; she would have to wait for it to arrive.
"Stay put," the agent told her. "Don't get stupid and mistake it for bravery. If what you've told me is true and I'm beginning to believe it is these are extremely dangerous men we're dealing with."
"Believe me, I know. If they find me, they'll kill me without a qualm."
"I'm glad you understand that. Don't venture out for any reason. Could you have been followed?"
Sandra Brown Page 19