But some of the families band together for support. Zachary Paine, Jim’s only son, emerges as the leader of this coalition of families. “The Lord helps those who help themselves,” is Zachary’s creed. Zachary says that the world is moving on, and no one is looking out for them.
Paine discovers that a fringe religion called Freedom of God speaks to this very issue of abandonment. And guess what? This abandonment isn’t incidental; it’s by design. The growing world government has a plan for humanity, and the role of the poor is to serve the new elite, as the poor have served rich masters from time immemorial.
Paine battens onto the ideas with both hands and all teeth, abandons his Catholic faith, calling it propaganda to control the masses. He comes to see that mainstream society is pacified by the creature comforts offered to them by the establishment. The false dreams to pursue. The false gods to worship. Anything to dull the mind and break the rebellious spirit of the common man.
Marrs wrote: “When pressed as to why the global elites would behave so evilly, putting fluoride in the water, poisoning the food, chemicals in the vaccines, Zachary Paine borrows from the Iroquois concept of wetiko – the answer is viral selfishness. A source of all wrongdoing in the world, which may even be extraterrestrial in nature. An infection that every man and woman is born with, a congenital defect. Some of these elites, Zachary assumes, might even be these interdimensional beings in disguise.”
Lizard people, Reed thought. Jesus.
After a trip out west to meet a medicine man, Paine learned that there are measures that can be taken to cleanse the body and soul.
Among these, sex was considered the most sacrosanct.
“Paine believed that the pleasures of the flesh should be neither embarrassing nor considered sinful like so many religions would have people believe – that was just another method of mind control. Sex was natural, uncorrupted, and could be trusted. A healthy sex life kept people strong and able to resist the artificial temptations from controlling elites.”
Paine never wrote any of this down, according to Marrs, citing from half a dozen sources. It was through word of mouth that families caught on, these sources said – and only those who could be trusted through previous familiarity.
“In time, Paine figured, the movement would grow, but it had to be organic outgrowth, generational. That way, it stayed uncorrupted.”
You can’t make this shit up, thought Reed.
And now, he would wait and see what happened.
Driving north. The first item on the playlist was from a band called U.S. Royalty. He turned up the song so loud – “The Desert Won’t Save You” – that it vibrated the glass.
Just outside Hume, he killed the music and called the hospital that was letting Pyle out in the afternoon. Pyle wanted to know about any and every development on the case, and Reed filled him in.
Pyle listened to it all, oohing and aahing at the juicy parts, then asked, “So what are you thinking?”
Reed said, “Interdimensional beings.”
Silence. Then, “I think that’s what you take to the DA.”
Pyle had a perfect deadpan.
When Reed told Pyle what he was really thinking, the BCI detective said, “Yeah. Oh my God. Yeah.”
First he stopped at Roy “Skip” Hollander’s place in Hume. The old guy came out, closing the door on his loud dog.
“Suspected I’d hear from you again,” Hollander said.
Reed got a look at the house over his shoulder, checking the windows for faces. “She in there?”
“No, sir, she went into town.”
Reed squared up with the septuagenarian and said, “You know, you could’ve mentioned she’s the sister of Laurie Paine.”
“Well, you’re a cop. You figured it out, didn’t ya?”
Reed didn’t like looking up the guy’s nostrils that much, into all that nose hair. Plus, Hollander was a smug old bastard. Threatening to crowd Reed’s thoughts were notions of what Hollander might’ve done to his own daughters. If he might’ve been among Melanie’s abusers, even her killer. What Reed said was, “I did figure it out. But I could pop you in my van right now and haul you in for obstruction.”
Hollander stared at him, then his gaze flicked to the Ford Transit.
“Ugliest fuckin’ thing I ever seen,” Hollander sneered.
“Hey, that’s the pride of the fleet right there.” After the joke, Reed took two quick steps toward Hollander, who flinched. Reed said, “I want whatever else you’ve got, and I want it right now.”
The dog was going crazy inside. Reed could see her jumping in the door window, hear her claws on the wood.
When Hollander made no reply, Reed said, “You got this farm you inherited, but never got it working up to its potential. I can tell just by looking around, and I’m not a farmer. A few vegetables, not enough for you and Lois to have been living on, paying your taxes, all these years. And you’re not getting any small farm subsidies, none of that. I checked. You barely even sell at the farmers’ markets.”
Hollander just glared, that nerve tic going in his eyelid.
Reed: “I had a nice talk with Lloyd Cox. The one they call Minnie. He comes down here and works for you. I think he helps sell mushrooms you got growing out in your field. So that’s one thing, Roy – you’re going to have the feds here, tearing your shit apart.”
Hollander looked about ready to scream or cry.
“You got anything you want to tell me? Help advance your cause to stay out of prison?”
It took the old guy a while – he had resolve, Reed had to give him that – and Hollander kept looking at the house as if he was more scared of what was in there than anything Reed might do to him. But finally, what Hollander said was, “You was asking about connections? About families and that… Well, I didn’t tell you that we do have a connection up to Elliston.” He took a shuddering breath. “We’re related to the Wheelers. August Wheeler is my cousin. And let me tell you right now – for the record – anything growing out in my pasture is growin’ because God put it there. That loopy Lloyd Cox, whatever he’s doing…” Hollander cast another nervous look at the house. “Well, that’s gonna be between him and my wife. She handles his lodging here when he comes down to work, and handles his pay and all of that. I don’t know; maybe they worked out a deal.”
Reed took the three unidentified keys from Chuck Dearing and drove up to the Mosier place. He had a couple of state troopers meet him there. Jeremiah Mosier didn’t want them coming in; Reed said the warrant was still good, and shoved his way past Mosier.
Aaron was in his shop with music blaring, hunched over a woman in the tattoo chair. The woman looked worried, but Aaron saw Reed coming and rolled his chair out of the way. Reed went for the locked drawer he’d forced open.
The first key he inserted – the one that looked most like it went to a tool cart – the lock turned. It was a match.
They put the handcuffs on Aaron Mosier and trotted him out, the kid trying to cut a deal the whole way.
“Your chance to talk was then,” Reed said in the car. “This is now.”
“I got robbed!”
“Yeah?”
Jeremiah Mosier was out on the street, yelling at the troopers.
Reed asked Aaron, “Your father into Freedom of God? Or Freedom Mission?”
A pause. “Yes.”
“He ever touch Kasey?”
“Yes.”
“How about you? You ever touch her?”
Aaron’s whole body was shaking.
Reed turned around to face Aaron. Reed was calm, he was easy; he said: “You know who took your key?”
A dry swallow. Eyes bulging. “Yes. I’m pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure?”
“He came in the day before she was killed. He was back the day after. He… I think he put the lancet back, but he forgot the key.” Aaron was pale, now turning a little green.
Reed said, “You’re going to put that in a statement.”
The kid’s face went through several emotions. “You know I didn’t kill her, right?”
“I do.”
“You know my dad…” He tried to get it out, but broke down sobbing. Reed thought the kid was trying to say my dad made me do it about Kasey.
Reed turned and rolled out, headed for the barracks. Aaron composed himself. After a few minutes riding silently in the back, he spoke again. “What they do is they get permission. The people in the group get permission from each other… to… you know…”
“You mean your father asked Ida. For permission to molest Kasey.”
Aaron nodded, his face scrunching up. And then he sobbed again.
Reed’s phone rang halfway to the station.
“So there was a fight,” Kruse said. “I guess Dan Wheeler came around Ida Stevens’s place last night, drunk.”
“What happened?”
“Wheeler comes in, ranting and raving, calling everyone at Ida’s place a traitor. Had a tire iron with him. Vincent Morrow was there. You remember Morrow?”
“I can remember getting an elbow in my teeth.” He was talking about Morrow and Wheeler – the one Ida called “Augie” – fighting in her living room. “Morrow is an older guy? Late sixties?”
Kruse cleared his throat. “Sixty-eight. Yeah. He managed to keep clear of the tire iron, but the two of them went at it with fists. Then Morrow pulled a gun. He says in self-defense.”
“I bet.”
“Yeah,” Kruse said. “Apparently the whole thing got set off by a certain article in a newspaper.”
“You don’t say…”
“Who the hell reads the Albany Tribune up in the Eastern Adirondacks?”
“Some people, apparently.”
“Anyway, Wheeler gave Morrow a nice black eye before Morrow had the gun out. He’s got quite the right hook.”
“That’s a good point,” Reed said.
After dropping off Aaron Mosier to get booked, they roared up the highway to where Dan Wheeler was staying, with the lights going.
The front desk clerk was a wide-eyed kid about twenty-five who let them through – Reed, Kruse, and ten state troopers. They moved down the hallway two by two, on opposite sides, then flanked his door. “Kid in there,” Reed had reminded them ten times on the way up. “Tyson Wheeler’s younger brother. It’s all about getting the kid out.”
He heard TV coming through the door. He knocked. “Mr. Wheeler? We have some meal vouchers for you, sir.”
Just the TV burbling in the background. “So slide ’em under the door.”
Reed looked at the troopers, nodded at one, who took an aiming position. Reed spoke into the door again. “Need you to sign for them, sir.”
“Then I don’t want ’em,” Wheeler came back quickly. “Just go ahead and leave me alone, all right?”
Reed waited, studying the weird hallway carpet a moment – it was like an optical illusion, like a birthday party that was forever exploding in outer space – and tried not to think about Bahrain, and pulling out his buddy, and all that blood.
They knew Wheeler had guns. At least two that had been in his truck and not in the house when it burned.
Reed’s eyes flicked to Kruse. Kruse was sweating and licked his lips. He shrugged. Reed nodded. “Hey, ah, Mr. Wheeler? It’s New York State Police. We need to have a talk.”
Wheeler made no reply. The TV kept going. Reed heard a faint shuffling of feet. He glanced at the guys. They had planned for this. No shooting. Only if Wheeler came running out.
Reed: “Dan, listen. Whatever you gotta do, I understand. But you need to let your son out of there, okay? Just send him out here. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. He’s just a boy.”
A long few seconds passed. The TV show, whatever it was, broke for commercials. Commercials were always louder, blaring; Wheeler had to raise his voice. “I didn’t do anything. You come in here, and I’m going to have to defend myself.”
“I just want to talk.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been over to Lloyd Cox’s place. You picked up Aaron Mosier – I know how cops work. You got into his computer and saw my credit card. That’s why you’re here.”
In truth, they’d had Mosier’s client list a while ago. But while Wheeler was in Mosier’s system, so were a lot of local people. Into the door, Reed said, “Dan, this isn’t the part in the movie where the police say they have something when they don’t. I got the key, Dan. Whether you talked to your son Tyson or not, told him to burn the place, I don’t know. Why you didn’t just return the key, I don’t know that either. But I saw pictures of your house. Even after the fire, you’ve got these symbols all over it. I’m thinking you might be under the influence of some bad beliefs, buddy. So please. Send the boy out, Dan.”
After a few seconds, his muffled reply: “You don’t have nothing on me. I didn’t do it. She wasn’t raped, nothing.”
No, she hadn’t been raped. Not that night.
“Well, maybe you did what you did when she was living under your roof. Does that about sum it up?”
The bullet burst through the motel door, the sound loud but canned. Everything was very fast after that. The troopers broke the door down with the battering ram.
Wheeler fired again. Reed found the boy in the bathroom and got into the tub with him and stayed on top of him, shielding him with his body. A couple more shots rang out, men shouted, but mostly it was Wheeler yelling at the top of his lungs that he didn’t do anything, and then his words were lost as the troopers mashed his face into the carpet while cuffing him.
Ten minutes later, Wheeler was sweaty, his sweatshirt askew as they brought him out of the hotel. Reed noted that on the sweatshirt was a bear in a river, swatting a fish. The way the clothing was all rumpled after Wheeler got taken down, it looked like the fish was going up the bear’s ass. Fitting.
They brought him to Carmen. Booked him. Sat him down in the same interview room where Reed had grilled Aaron Mosier.
“Dan, we’ve got your phone pinging, putting you near Aimee Hetfield’s house on Sunday night. She called Daryl, and he picked her up – but you intercepted them. You strangled her to death and brought her into the woods at Mandalay Park, where she sometimes met Tyson. You’d been trying to have sex with her when she stayed with you. You carved the symbol for the selfishness virus, wetiko. Because she wouldn’t sleep with you. Or Vincent, or your uncle August Wheeler – or any of these other old sick bastards. She fought. She resisted.”
Wheeler made no response.
“What did you do? Follow them? You took your son’s car. The Subaru.”
He sniffed. He looked around. He knew he was busted. “Yeah. I followed them.”
“And Daryl pulled over…”
“Pulled over to piss. He was half in the bag. Couldn’t hold his water all the way to Keeseville. So I pulled into the park and shined my lights on him. He turns around, hands shielding his eyes, like this, still had his dick hanging out, stupid son of a bitch. I knocked him the fuck out with one punch. She took off running through the woods. I followed her in, caught her pretty quick. Just choked her out. That was it.”
“With gloves on.”
“I showed up with them on. I was ready to go. Had the scalpel.”
“You planned to kill her that night.”
Wheeler stared into Reed’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.”
26
Old road
But, the mushrooms.
Knowing that Dan Wheeler was being charged with Kasey’s murder, maybe, finally loosened Lloyd Cox’s vocal cords all the way.
“I give ’em to her,” Cox admitted, “and the guy, Tyson – as a gift.”
Kruse was there in the interview room, plus MacKinnon and the DA, wearing her caramel-colored coat that fell to her ankles.
“A gift,” Reed repeated. “Because…”
“I thought it would help her. She wanted to be free and clear. Didn’t want any of this stuff hanging onto her when she left. Wanted a fresh s
tart. And she was afraid. So I helped her.”
“You helped a child by dosing her with hallucinogenic drugs,” the DA said.
Cox raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, ma’am, the way I see it, people have been using plants medicinally for thousands of years…”
She sighed and waved him off and looked into a corner.
Cox turned to the rest of them. “It’s nothing but the truth. And child, yeah, you call her a child. But we’ve lost something, man. We used to send our kids off on spirit quests. We used to have them face their demons. Not anymore. Now they run from their demons their whole lives.”
The group of law enforcement started out of the room, but Reed stopped at the door and turned back. “The mushrooms grow down at the Hollander farm in Hume? That’s where you get them?”
Cox hesitated. “Sir, I’ll tell you whatever I done. I’ll own up to my actions. You ask me, I’ll tell you. But…”
“How about this,” Reed said. “You confirm you’ve worked for Roy Hollander.”
“Yes sir.”
“You confirm you’ve procured mushrooms from the farm. Growing wild. Just happens to be on his property.”
Cox was a deer in headlights. He glanced at the DA, also lingering inside the room, and swallowed. “That would be correct, sir. From Lois directly. His wife.”
“Thank you,” Reed said.
Reed and Kruse went back to Dan Wheeler, now in county lockup, and sat down across from him. The table between them was marred and scratched. Wheeler’s lip had continued to swell, and the abrasions on his cheekbone had darkened. His eyes were lost.
“What’s going on with my son?”
“That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about,” Reed said. “Since he’s underage, child protective services have taken him. But he’s okay.”
Wheeler shook his head, angry at first, then lowered it.
Reed said, “Dan, you know what this part is. This is the part where we cut a deal. You read the article in the Albany Tribune. You know this thing is going to keep going, that there are going to be investigations into everyone involved, everyone who might’ve ever laid hands on a child. That’s why you confessed, Dan. You weren’t sure at first, but maybe you realized we had hard evidence. And that your son was asleep when you went out that night and killed Kasey, and your other son is dead, so you’ve got no alibi. At first you thought maybe you’d shoot it out with us, suicide by cops. But you’re a pussy, Dan. So you let us take you in, and you confessed. You know your life is over out here. You’d rather be locked up. You figure you’ll smile politely for the judge, be a good boy for the warden, maybe even trade sexual favors with your fellow inmates to keep it all nice and cozy. And you’ll make parole in fifteen years, go live on an island. Right? Am I punching around the center of the bag? But, Dan, that’s not going to happen.”
Rough Country: A gripping crime thriller Page 25