by BJ Bourg
Footsteps shuffled closer and she tensed up, waiting in terror for whatever would happen next. The footsteps stopped beside her bed and she could sense a presence looming over her.
“I see you are awake,” said a calming male voice. He sounded vaguely familiar, but it also sounded like he was trying to disguise his voice. “This is good, because I have something for you.”
Debbie involuntarily jerked away when the hands touched her face.
“Relax, Debbie Brister,” the man said. “I am not going to hurt you today.”
Today? Debbie gasped.
“You seem surprised. Did you think your sins would go unpunished?”
Debbie didn’t utter a grunt or a moan or anything. She just lay there shivering as the man removed the gag from her mouth. The rag was filthy. It tasted like old dish water and she was happy to have it out of her mouth, if only for a short time. She flinched when the man rubbed the tips of his fingers against her lips, pushing them into her mouth.
“Ah, a strange woman’s mouth is smoother than oil,” he said slowly, “but her end is as bitter as wormwood.”
Those words—I’ve heard them before!
“Father Masters?” Debbie asked hoarsely, her voice dry from lack of moisture. “Is that…is it you?”
The man laughed and she felt an unexpected stream of cold water squirt into her mouth. She hurriedly gulped it down, swallowing as fast as she could, but she was unable to keep up with the flow and had to turn her head to keep from choking. The cold liquid shot across the side of her face and down her neck and breasts, causing her to shiver.
“Drink it up,” the man said. “You need to be well-hydrated for Wednesday.”
“What’s happening Wednesday?” Debbie asked once she’d caught her breath. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Your sins have found you out, Debbie Brister. Wednesday will be your day of reckoning.”
“Reckoning?” Debbie’s voice was shrill. “What in the hell does that even mean? Who are you and why are you doing this? Do you know who my ex-husband is? He’s probably out there right now looking for me, and he’ll find me—you’d better believe he will. And when he finds me, you’re going to regret you ever tried to mess with me!”
“Of course, he’s going to find you—I will make sure of it. However, he will not find you until the time is right and you have paid for your sins. If you are not found, your death will have been in vain and no one will benefit from the lesson to be learned.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong! I haven’t sinned!” Debbie was crying now, wailing in desperation. “Please, you’ve got to let me go! I have a daughter and husband who need me!”
“A daughter you never see and a husband you betrayed in the worst possible way.” The man sighed. “No, Debbie Brister, the wages of sin is death, and your sin of adultery will not go unpunished. You did not heed my first warning, so you will have to suffer the consequences.”
Debbie began to tremble uncontrollably as the realization of her plight registered. I’m going to be crucified like Kathleen Bertrand!
“Oh, God, no! I’m so sorry. I’ll never do anything like that again. Please, just let me live and I’ll serve God for the rest of my life.”
“If you ask the Lord for forgiveness, He might grant it to you.”
“I do! I do! I ask God for forgiveness. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.”
“You do sound sincere, so I think the Lord might hear your prayers.”
“Thank you, God,” Debbie said, relief flooding over her. “Thank you so much for hearing my prayers.”
“If the Lord does, indeed, decide to forgive you, He might allow you to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven on Wednesday—”
“What?” She twisted around and jerked on the chains that bound her wrists and ankles. “I’ve been forgiven! You’ve got to let me go now.”
“Oh, nonsense, Debbie Brister,” the man said, shoving the dirty rag back into her mouth. “Our Lord is a just Ruler. While He may forgive you, He still must wield the rod of correction so that others might realize the benefit of your sins. Your punishment will serve as a warning to the other evil women in this community. My prayer is that they heed this warning and do not continue in their evil ways. For if they do not turn away from their sinful ways, they, too, will know the wrath of God and they will suffer greatly at the hand of His agent.”
Debbie cried hysterically, but the thick rag reduced the sounds to a low muffle. No one could hear her. She couldn’t escape. She was going to die.
CHAPTER 35
Second Temple Fellowship, Plymouth East, Louisiana
I’d watched for fifteen minutes as Dawn tried to get Gretchen Masters to turn on her husband, but the woman was either extremely loyal or deathly afraid to go against whom she referred to as a “man of God”. She wouldn’t even let us through the front door because Nehemiah wasn’t home, and Dawn and I had been forced to stand on the front steps as the sun went down and the volume of mosquitoes went up. Gretchen didn’t have a problem with the mosquitoes, because she was standing safely inside the screen door, which she had locked.
“Well,” Dawn finally said, “do you have any idea when your husband will be home?”
“As I’ve already told you, he doesn’t always tell me—”
“Right, right, and it’s not proper for a wife to ask. Got it.” Dawn shot a thumb toward my truck. “We’ll be waiting right there in the parking lot. It doesn’t matter what time he gets home, because we’ve got all night and into tomorrow if necessary.”
A shoe scraped against a rock surface somewhere in the darkness behind us and I spun, instantly dropping my hand to my pistol.
“Whoa, detective!” said Nehemiah Masters, who was approaching from the cemetery. “It would not bode well for you to shoot an unarmed reverend on the Lord’s property.”
I squinted suspiciously, but decided I needed to play nice with the preacher.
“You’re just the man we’ve been looking for,” I said cheerfully, extending my hand. Once we shook, I told him we needed his help. “May we come inside and talk with you for a few minutes?”
“Certainly.” He walked past us and ascended the steps, stopping long enough to tell Gretchen to tend to the children before holding the screen door open and waving us inside.
We found ourselves in a simple kitchen. It was square with plain cabinets, a cheap refrigerator, an old stove, and a homemade wooden table. “Please, take a seat,” Nehemiah said, pointing to the chairs shoved under each side of the table. He sat at the head of the table and placed both hands in his lap. “What is it that I can do for the Magnolia Sheriff’s Department?”
“Well, some information has come to light and I was wondering if you could verify a few things for us,” I began. “First, we need to ask you about Kathleen Bertrand.”
“What about Sister Bertrand?”
“Well, someone said she came to you with marital issues—that she was seeking advice on whether or not she could divorce her husband.”
Nehemiah nodded slowly, seemingly considering something. “I’m sure you have heard of pastoral confidentiality, detective. I am required by law to keep all private communications with my flock confidential.”
“Not all communication is privileged, as I’m sure you’re aware,” I countered. “In this case, the church member is deceased and the information would be used to catch her killer—it would not be used against her—so I can assure you, you’re on solid legal footing.”
“It is not merely about legal footing. The members of my congregation must know that they can rely on me to hold their secrets sacred.” He frowned and shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot indulge you.”
“I respect your position, Father, but it is imperative that I find out one thing, and it’s not about Kathleen.” I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Did Joey Bertrand know Kathleen was having an affair?”
There was not a hint of shock in his expression. Either he was a good pok
er player, or he knew about Kathleen’s affair.
“It is impossible for me to comment on what Mr. Bertrand knew or did not know. I am sorry, but I cannot help you.”
“Fair enough, but there is something you will be able to tell me.” I reached for the file folder Dawn was holding. When she handed it to me, I removed the printed screen grab of Moustache from the Dark Sands Casino surveillance video. I slid it across the table. “This guy’s a member of your church. What’s his name?”
Nehemiah pulled some reading glasses from his pocket and made a show of putting them on. He then pulled the photo close to his face and nodded. “Ah, yes, this is Brother Virgil Brunner. He is a member of my flock.”
“Flock of what?” I wanted to ask. “Sheep or ducks?”
“Can you tell me where I can find him?” I asked instead.
“At his house, I imagine.” Nehemiah pocketed his glasses and slid the photo back toward me.
“And where might that be?”
“Brother Virgil lives on his late father’s property. Their ancestors settled the land on the eastern tip of the community, and it is here that he and his family still remain.” He gave a casual wave of his hand. “Virgil is a good man, so might I ask why you are carrying around a photograph of him?”
“I’d love to indulge you, but this is police business.”
If he was responsible for killing Kathleen and abducting Debbie, Nehemiah sure was being cool about it. I wanted his DNA, but I didn’t think he would give it willingly. Still, it was worth a shot. Before I asked for it, I needed a firm denial from him that he had never spat in Kathleen’s face—either during the murder or any time before it—so we could take away any defenses he might later have if it was proven to be his DNA.
“Father, have you ever been involved in a disagreement with Kathleen Bertrand?”
“How do you mean?”
“Have you two ever argued?” I asked. “You know, where she was yelling at you and you were yelling at her?”
“I do not raise my voice toward my sheep, and they would never argue with me.”
“So, there would be no reason for you to spit in her face, is that right?”
Nehemiah revolted in horror. “I would never spit in the face of anyone.”
“I expected you would say that, Father,” I said in a friendly tone. “Did you talk to her at all Wednesday night—before, during, or after the service?”
“I did not even see Sister Bertrand Wednesday night. You must understand, I have a large congregation and it is not possible for me to notice every member on every day.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see her or talk to her?”
“I am one hundred percent certain.”
Now that I had my firm denial, I asked if I could have a sample of his DNA.
His brow furrowed. “And why might you want my DNA?”
“We’re asking anyone who knew Mrs. Bertrand to voluntarily submit their DNA so we can eliminate as many acquaintances as possible and move on to more plausible suspects,” I explained. “Just routine police work.”
Nehemiah smiled, and I detected a sense of arrogance in his expression. “I will make it easy for you and eliminate myself. I did not kill Sister Bertrand. I am the shepherd, not the wolf. I protect my sheep.”
You didn’t do such a great job, I thought, standing to leave. I thanked him for his time and Dawn and I made our way to the door. I stopped just before pushing through it and turned to face Nehemiah. “It’s a shame about Debbie Brister, isn’t it?”
“It is, indeed.”
“I understand she was also a member of your church.”
“Yes, she was.”
“I also understand she was having an affair, just like Kathleen Bertrand.”
“I was not aware.” Nehemiah seemed in a hurry for us to leave, so I stayed a little longer.
“What do you know about Gerard Brister?”
“I know that Brother Gerard is a man of God and he is a faithful servant. He has been a parishioner here for many years. If you are thinking he had anything to do with his wife’s disappearance, I can assure you that you are mistaken.”
“Yeah…” I nodded thoughtfully. “Gerard’s a man of God and Debbie—what is she?”
“Pardon me?” Nehemiah shifted his feet ever so slightly.
“Last night, you said the wages of sin is death and you said these evil and adulterous women will find their places in the pits of hell. Is that how you really feel? Do you believe Debbie deserves to die for cheating on Gerard?”
“I am sorry, detective, but you have taken my message out of context and I would appreciate it if you would leave now. There are matters to which I must attend.”
“Before we go, is it okay if we search that barn in the back?”
Nehemiah cocked his head back. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”
“We’re scouring the entire community in search of Debbie Brister,” I explained. “Just a matter of routine.”
“I assure you, Debbie Brister is not in the church barn. Now, if you will excuse me…”
With that, Nehemiah Brister pushed the door closed and switched off the outdoor light.
On the walk back to my truck, I called Jerry Allemand, who was second in command over my sniper team.
“Jerry, I want round-the-clock surveillance on a barn behind the Second Temple Fellowship Church in Plymouth East. The preacher won’t give us permission to search, so I need to know why.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “I’m at the detective bureau with Andrew. We’ll head that way now.”
Andrew Hacker was a patrol deputy and one of my newer snipers, along with Rachael Bowler, who was a detective. Rachael would be busy with investigative duties, so the only other sniper I had available was Ray Sevin, a veteran who had been with Jerry and me through thick and thin. I called Ray and asked him to be on standby in the event we needed him, and then I turned to Dawn.
“Let’s hang out across the street until Jerry and Andrew are in place,” I suggested. “And then we can try to find this Virgil Brunner character.”
Dawn was chewing her lower lip and I thought it would start bleeding. “We need to get in that barn,” she said.
“We don’t have enough for a warrant and he won’t let us search it.” I sighed. “I want to bust that door down as bad as anyone, but we can’t. We’ll give Jerry and Andrew some time to pull surveillance and see if they can develop probable cause for a warrant. If he’s hiding something, they’ll find it.”
“But what if Debbie’s inside the barn right at this moment?”
“What if she’s not?”
Dawn looked away and was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was harder than I’ve ever heard it. “If I get half a chance, I’m going to kill the bastard who’s torturing these women, and God help anyone who tries to stop me.”
CHAPTER 36
8:47 p.m.
Virgil Brunner’s Property, Plymouth East, Louisiana
While it was dark as sin outside, Virgil Brunner’s property was lit up like the daytime. His house squatted at the center of a dozen—or more—acres of pristine lawn, but there was no way we were getting close to it. A solid brick fence that was ten feet high and at least two feet thick had its loving arms wrapped securely around the entire plot of land.
Dawn pointed to the large metal gate that stood between us and Brunner’s mini-mansion. “How in the hell are we supposed to let him know we’re here?”
I drove as close to the gate as I could and looked for a call button. I didn’t see one. Perched above the large columns on either side of the gate were high-tech security cameras. I got the feeling he already knew we were there and pointed to the cameras. Dawn grunted.
“He’s a private investigator, not a former president,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I swear, if he doesn’t open that gate in a hurry, I’m going to—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the gate lurched and slowly parted inwa
rd, creating an opening large enough for us to drive through.
“Okay…I guess he heard you.” I drove down the smooth driveway and immediately heard a loud chorus of barking from the other side of the property. “Okay…that’s never a good sign.”
There were at least half a dozen outbuildings situated around the property and I studied them as I drove by. They appeared to be workshops of some sort, but they were all cloaked in darkness and seemed to be out of commission. There wasn’t even the slightest glow from inside, as one would expect from computer screens or smoke detectors or other power equipment.
We had run Virgil’s name and learned he ran his own private investigation firm, but that didn’t explain this appearance of wealth.
“What kind of PI makes this kind of loot?” Dawn asked when I pulled my truck to a stop in front of the house.
The barking grew nearer and a pack of German shepherds converged on my truck, barking as they circled us.
“I don’t know, but”—I shoved the gearshift in park and opened my door—“I’m about to find out how reasonable these dogs are.”
“Detective, wait!” boomed a man’s voice from the front door. It was Virgil Brunner (AKA: Moustache) and he was rushing down the steps wearing nothing but gym shorts and an undershirt. “They’ll bite and I don’t want you shooting them.”
“I won’t shoot them,” I replied, closing the door to my truck and standing firm as they surrounded me and barked viciously. I didn’t flinch as they lunged at me, and it seemed to confuse them. I focused on the one that seemed to be the leader of the pack and spoke in a commanding voice, telling him to sit. He continued growling, but didn’t advance anymore. After a few more forceful commands, he slowly lowered his back side and the other dogs followed suit.
Virgil stopped a few feet away and stared wide eyed. “Damn, you’re good with dogs. The last person who stepped out of a car in my yard nearly lost a leg.”