by Neal Griffin
The unlocked screen door let her into a reception area that looked more like a cabin than an office. Rough wood walls cut from logs gave the room an authentically rustic feel and the raised floor rang hollow under her feet. A wood counter ran across the middle of the room, reminding Tia of a bar scene in an old spaghetti western. Or maybe a general store. Sure enough, there was a bell sitting on the counter. Tia dinged it twice. After a few seconds, a curtain behind the counter space pulled back and a woman emerged.
“Oh, good. Kitchen supplies, right?”
“No.” Annoyed by the slight, even though it was a common occurrence, Tia paused, making sure she had the woman’s attention before holding up her badge on its chain around her neck. “Detective Suarez, Newberg PD. I need to speak to the camp director. Or whoever’s in charge. Is that you?”
“Oh no,” the woman said. “I’m just waiting for a delivery. I’m Eva. Camp cook. We’re going to have a lot of mouths to feed this week.”
“That’s nice.” Tia nodded. “Like I said, I can’t help you with that. Who can I talk to about your … what are they? Campers?”
The woman, near exactly Tia’s height but twice as wide, beamed and nodded. “That’s our youth corps. Wasn’t that last song just wonderful?”
“Yeah. It was something. So who can I talk to?”
“May I ask what this is about?” The woman calmly laced her hands on the counter and tilted her head, sending the message that Tia shouldn’t expect anything to happen too fast. Her round face was bright red, her breaths were short and labored. She looked as if she’d been exercising but Tia suspected the workout hadn’t involved anything more than walking to the counter. Thick glasses with oversize frames magnified the size of her eyes; long mousy-brown hair hung down past her waist. She wore a loose-fitting dress that went all the way to the floor. The entire look struck Tia as odd for a woman who appeared to be well into her fifties.
“Well, it’s not about their diet, so why don’t you just let me talk to whoever’s running the show.”
The smile disappeared and the voice lost its lighthearted tone. “Reverend Mills is the retreat director and he’s with the youth corps right now.”
“Reverend Mills? That’s him outside onstage?” Somehow Tia hadn’t expected the big boss to be present at the campground. The woman gave a single curt nod of superiority.
“Then, I need to see him,” Tia said. “It’s important.”
“He’s giving morning motivation and wouldn’t want to be interrupted. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”
“Yeah? Is that what you call it?” Tia nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to the door, ignoring the woman’s protest.
“Wait. You can’t go out there.” Tia walked out of the office, taking some satisfaction in Eva’s complete exasperation. “Just who the heck do you think you are?”
Outside again, Tia saw that most of the campers were now seated on the grass—and sure enough, on the stage was the man himself, Ezekiel Mills. He spoke into a microphone, his familiar voice amplified through a pair of eight-foot speakers, his audience as rapt as if they were hypnotized.
“Today is a day for you to once again express the power of youth. To join together in a joyful celebration of our great land. You are the legacy of this nation. The future is yours and you are the future!”
A cheer rose from the audience; some jumped to their feet, hands in the air.
Right on cue, the band began to play a song about lifting voices and loving life. Mills set the microphone on top of a speaker and hopped off the stage, moving through the audience exchanging high fives. He neared Tia but paid her no mind until she reached out and took hold of his arm.
“Reverend Mills?”
“Yes,” Mills said, looking at Tia’s hand on his arm; she could see he wasn’t sure what to make of her. Young, but not young enough to be one of his drones, and a bit more assertive than he was probably comfortable with.
“Who are you?”
Tia lifted her badge into view and pitched her voice to be heard above the noise.
“Detective Suarez, Newberg PD. Is there someplace we can talk?”
Mills, slightly out of breath and looking a bit off his mark, swiped a long lock of hair from his forehead. His voice turned challenging. “Talk? What about?”
“Please, sir. Someplace private? I’ll try not to take too much of your time.”
Mills scanned the area and Tia knew he couldn’t help but notice several of the young people were listening to their exchange. A murmur began to move through the crowd: The cops are here. He pushed past Tia, heading for the office. “This way.”
Tia followed him back to the building, where they were met at the door by Eva the cook. She’d gone from calm and collected to damn near hostile.
“I’m sorry, Reverend,” she said to Mills, glaring at Tia. “I told her she needed to wait.”
“That’s okay, Eva. There’s nothing to be concerned about.” He turned to Tia, back on his game and in control. “Please, Detective. Come with me.”
Tia followed Mills behind the curtain into a small but comfortable office. Tia took the visitor’s chair as Mills settled in behind the desk.
“Sorry, it’s not much,” Mills said, looking around the cramped space. “But we’re supposed to be roughing it, right?”
The man smiled, and Tia took notice of the brightness of his teeth, offset by the tan glow of his skin. His hair wasn’t the white blond she remembered from her brief glimpses of him on TV when she was channel surfing, but it did appear to be unnaturally lightened and the wave was definitely from a salon.
“So what brings you to our retreat, Detective? I must say, we’ve never been visited by law enforcement.”
“Sir, I need to know if any of your…” Tia paused, wondering again about terminology. “… if any of the young people are missing. Do you check morning attendance? Anything like that?”
“The youth corps has two hundred and fifty members. They’re divided into ten spirit tribes with twenty-five disciples. Each spirit tribe has a leader.” Mills spoke with assurance. “No one is missing.”
Tia wasn’t at all sure if he had answered her question. “So yes or no? Do you have some sort of daily head count?”
Mills shifted in his seat behind the desk. “We don’t count heads but I can assure you, if a young person was missing, I would have been informed. Why are you asking?”
“How do you know that, sir?” Tia sat up straight in her chair, her hands draped over each arm and her legs crossed. “I mean, if you haven’t counted?”
Mills looked to the clock on the wall and his voice grew impatient. “What is your concern, Detective?”
“Sir, a young boy, probably a teenager, was found dead in the woods early this morning, about a mile from here.”
The color drained from his face and Mills leaned forward in his chair. “My God, why didn’t you just say so? I had no idea. Who is he?”
Tia, glad to hear the concern, decided to give him a bit more information. “We don’t know who he is. From what I can tell, he was—”
“From what you can tell?” His raised voice approached panic.
“Please, Reverend, let me finish. From what I can tell he was in his teens. He had black hair past his collar. I’m fairly certain he was Native American. He had a tattoo on his—”
“Oh well, that is definitely not any of our young people.” The relief in his voice was obvious, leaving Tia irritated.
“How can you be so certain, Reverend? Not much in the way of brown folks in your group?”
Mills smiled but didn’t take the bait.
“Tattoos are a disqualifier.” The man’s disinterest had returned in force. “The Church of the Rock does not condone that sort of self-mutilation.”
“Really? Where’s that in the Bible?”
“I don’t mean to sound boastful, Detective, but in addition to my ministerial training, I have a doctorate in psychology. I must say you project a great deal of
hostility. Perhaps you should join us at the church one Sunday. Or maybe you’d be more comfortable at a Saturday night service—it’s more casual but still very uplifting. I think you could benefit from some positive energy.”
“My energy is fine where it’s at.” Tia moved on. “I’d still like to speak with your campers. Staff, too. Whoever found the body didn’t stick around for the cops to show up. We’re wondering if someone from your group called it in.”
Mills shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that. We adhere to a strict schedule of events. And besides, that sort of distressing message would have a terribly negative effect on our young people.”
Tia was genuinely thrown off. “Say what now?”
“The parents of these children have trusted us with their care. I couldn’t allow them to be subject to … I don’t know … what sounds like a police interrogation of some sort.”
“It would hardly be an interrogation. We just want to find out if anyone heard anything out of the ordinary. Maybe even saw something.” Tia thought Reverend Mills might be worried about some sort of liability so she tried to ease his mind. “State law is pretty clear. Teenagers can be interviewed by the police without parental consent.”
“I don’t care what the law says,” Mill replied with a tone of defiance. “You will not question these young people while they are in my care.”
Tia leaned forward in her chair, speechless, and Mills went on, “I can assure you, Detective, the boy you found will be in our prayers but he’s not associated with our retreat.”
“I see.” Tia gave a slow nod. “So you’re saying no, then?”
“I’m afraid so, Detective.” Mills stood. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“Well, then.” Tia did her best to appear helpless. “I guess if you can’t allow it, we’re done talking, right?”
Mills gave a toothy grin as he came around the desk, directing Tia to the office door.
“Reverend Mills.” Tia stood. “I appreciate your time.”
“Not at all. And again, I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance. It would be great to see you at one of our services.”
Mills stood with his hand extended but Tia was already moving. She walked out of the office, through the lobby, and back out the front door. She glided down the steps and directly toward the crowd, still listening to the musicians. Jogging the last few steps, she easily made a running leap onto the stage. Startled, the members of the band came to a ragged halt. The last guy to give up was the drummer, and by then the singing had stopped.
She picked up the microphone Mills had left behind and tapped it twice with her finger. A loud, thumping sound boomed through the man-size speakers.
“Is this thing on?” Tia said, hearing her voice reverberate through the woods. All eyes turned her way and Tia waved. “Good morning, everyone. Sorry to interrupt your … concert, I guess? But this is important.”
In her peripheral vision, Tia saw the office screen door fly open, banging against the log wall. Mills jumped from the porch without touching a step. He began to speed walk with arms pumping directly to where Tia stood on center stage. She ignored him and continued with her announcement.
“My name is Detective Suarez. I’m with the Newberg Police Department. I think it might be possible that one of you made a nine-one-one call last night.”
The audience stared back silently, the only sound coming from Mills as he huffed through the crowd and then climbed back onto the stage. He moved to the amplifier where the microphone cord was plugged. Tia held a hand up to the audience and turned toward Mills, who now stood just a few feet away, his hand reaching for a power cord.
“Reverend Mills.” It was Tia’s turn to sound like the condescending authority. “If you’re thinking of unplugging me, don’t.”
“I most certainly will.” His voice was loud enough to be picked up by the microphone. “Now, I told you, Detective—”
“I know what you told me. And now I’m telling you: pull that cord and you’ll be arrested.”
Mills glared back at her from across the stage. “You can’t do that.”
Tia turned to face him and did her best to convey a patience she didn’t feel. “Yes, sir, I can and I will. For interfering with the duties of a police officer.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Mills’s voice echoed off the tall pines. Tia looked out at the captivated audience and couldn’t help but think they were finding this much more entertaining than the concert. She turned back to Mills.
“Really? Are we going to go there?”
“This is a religious retreat. The police have no right to barge in here and harass these young people.”
“This campground is state property. I’d be happy to discuss the finer points of the law with you in a few minutes. But for now, sir”—she looked directly at his hand poised on the microphone cord and spoke as if she was trying to give good advice—“don’t do it.”
Mills’s voice took on a childish quality. “Well, it’s my microphone.”
Tia conceded with a gracious nod. “Good point. Consider it commandeered for the moment. I won’t warn you again.”
Tia returned Mills’s cold stare with a look of indifference. Although he remained poised to disconnect her, Tia could see the man had lost his nerve. She saw no harm in allowing him to stand in some meaningless display of defiance. She turned to the audience of young people, and found two hundred sets of unblinking eyes looking back.
“Like I was saying. Someone called the police last night. If it was you, it’s important we talk.”
Tia stood and looked over the crowd. “No takers?”
The silence was deafening. “All right. Well, like I said, I’m Detective Suarez. Newberg PD. I’m pretty easy to find. Call me anytime. Day or night.”
Tia turned to look at Reverend Mills, who hadn’t moved. He still gripped the cord with a shaking hand, his chest rising and falling with angry breaths. Tia smiled and winked. “Okay, Rev, go ahead. Give it a pull.”
SEVEN
Tia drove to the Newberg field office of the county medical examiner and parked near the loading dock. Already twenty minutes late and frustrated, she pulled herself from the car and hustled inside. Tia knew she had only herself to blame. She’d spent far too much time arguing with the righteously offended Reverend Mills, who clearly believed that the spiritual bliss of his campers took precedence over a death investigation.
Not only was Tia late to the autopsy, she hadn’t sent Livy the crime scene photographs from her cell phone, and on top of all that, she was showing up without the promised coffee. Safe to say, Livy was going to be unhappy.
A college-age intern Tia didn’t recognize sat at the front counter and barely looked up from his computer screen. “Need something?”
Tia held up her badge. “Detective Suarez. Here to see Livy Sorensen.”
With half-open eyes, he glanced toward her badge, then turned back to the sports highlights show on his screen. Sounding as though he were talking in his sleep, he said, “She’s in an autopsy. You can wait if you want but those things drag on sometimes.”
“Yo, slick.” Tia smacked the counter twice with her palm and finally managed to get his attention and make eye contact. “I’m here for the autopsy. Buzz me through.”
He jerked upright, dropping his feet to the floor, and pushed the entry button. “Take it easy. Geez. They, like, started already.” Tia was happy to hear a trace of fear in his voice.
Pushing through the door that led to the secured portion of the building, Tia headed down the familiar hallway and into the cutting room. The flash of Livy’s thirty-five-millimeter digital camera glared off the chrome examination table where the now naked body of the teenager was unceremoniously displayed. The remains of the head were hidden under the plain brown grocery bag that Livy had hastily applied at the crime scene as the downpour had begun. Duct tape encircled the throat like a tight blue turtleneck. The hands were bagged and taped as well. Tia coul
dn’t help but notice the bags were still damp and dotted with water spots from the rain.
“Sorry I’m late,” Tia said, relieved Livy was alone and still in the early stages of the autopsy, taking overall, head-to-toe shots. She hadn’t missed much. “Find anything when you stripped him? A note? ID? Where’s Mort?”
“Mort is right here, but I prefer ‘Dr. Kowalski.’” Tia turned to see Mortimer Kowalski standing nearby, gowned, gloved, and ready for work. A fireplug of a man with a mop of gray hair tinged dull yellow from nicotine, he wore a plastic face shield in the up position. A lit cigarette bobbed at the corner of his mouth. “For a person with so many questions, perhaps you should try to be on time.”
Pushing seventy, Dr. Kowalski had been a Waukesha County deputy medical examiner since the inception of the position over thirty years ago. The story was that he had been a country doctor, eking out a living as a general practitioner in a town full of hearty Scandinavians, who considered a visit to the doctor an insult to one’s character and fortitude. Kowalski had been the only applicant for the position of county deputy medical examiner, which came with a guaranteed salary, twenty days paid vacation, and a pension that would make any cop or firefighter green with envy. He’d held the job ever since and there were no signs he planned to leave anytime soon.
There was no love lost between Tia and Dr. Kowalski. She’d been the center of more than one high-profile case that resulted in scrutiny being brought to bear not only on the police department, but allied agencies as well. That included the office of the medical examiner—and Dr. Kowalski did not respond well to scrutiny.
“The autopsy was scheduled to begin at ten and that is exactly what time we started,” Kowalski said. Tia knew he was happy to get in a few early-morning personal jabs. “You missed the removal of clothing and personal inventory.”
“Sorry, Doctor,” Tia said, causing Livy to look up from her camera. Tia saw what might have been a trace of sympathy on her friend’s face, but nothing more than that. “There was a development at the crime scene. Thought I might be able to identify the reporting party. Maybe even a witness.”