
Taking a deep breath, I began a slow walk toward the edge of the woods, preparing for the worst. I was only about ten feet away when I felt my phone vibrate. Michael.
"Where in the hell are you?" he asked.
"Michael," I whispered, "listen to me. I've found the cult. They're back at the farm."
"I'm on my way, right now. Call for backup, CeeCee! Stay there and wait until other units arrive!"
"I'm sorry, Michael. I can't wait---I think we're out of time."
I quietly shut my phone before Michael could protest.
The music was coming from the area of the tents near the river but it seemed to echo all around me. Illeana no doubt had several members keeping guard, so I would work my way down to the river, far from the tents, cross it, and approach from the other side. I didn't think they would expect that. It was warm, and the sweat began pouring into my eyes. My mind played images of what could possibly be happening, but nothing prepared me for what I was about to encounter...
Table of Contents
Other Leisure books by Stacy Dittrich:
Brooke and Jordyn, keep wishing on those stars...
"Eve was seduced by the snake (Satan) and gave birth to two seed lines: Cain, the direct descendent of Satan and Eve, and Abel, who was of good Aryan stock through Adam. Cain became the progenitor of the Jews in his subsequent matings with non-Adamic races."
---The two-seed line doctrine;a biblical justification for hatred(Project Megiddo, FBI, 1999)
"Yes, as an Adventist I did fall. She was the most prettiest girl you ever saw. And when she came to that church and got up there, and she sang that song, and she looked at me---right dead at me. And I went to feeling those feelings. I didn't know anything about the word of God yet. But I knew that she was wearing that dress. She looked like a banana that's fixing to pop out of the skin. And I said, 'I don't want that.' But I was deceived anyway---cause I heared specifically that she wasn't gonna be at her father's house. And her father was the minister. So now you know the story. And ever since then I'm just a devil. Well, okay. I'm a devil who knows a little bit more about the Bible then anybody else does...and that's yet to be proven."
---David KoreshBranch Davidian, Leader
"To me death is not a fearful thing. It's living that is cursed."
---Jim JonesPeople's Temple, Leader
"I can't dislike you, but I will say this to you: you haven't got long before you are all going to kill yourselves, because you are all crazy. And you can project it back at me...but I am only what lives inside each and every one of you."
---Charles MansonManson Family, Leader
"As true today as it was 2000 years ago, no one (of this civilization) gets to my Father or enters the Kingdom of Heaven except through me. There is no other son of his, or representative from his kingdom, incarnate. Connecting with that kingdom occurs only while a member is incarnate, as I am today..."
---Marshall ApplewhiteHeaven's Gate, Leader
"Life is punishment for the sins of our fathers. Only when our souls return to Eden, our eternal home, will we be forever cleansed."
---Illeana BarronThe Children of Eden, Leader
Jonestown, Guyana
November 18, 1978
"I am the Way, the Truth, and the Light. No one can come to the father but through me!"
The words, screaming over the microphone, pierced her ears like millions of tiny needles fighting to reach the darkest depths of her mind. Putting her hands over both ears did little to ease the pain. She saw her older brother also had his hands over his ears; and his eyes were closed tight, as if waiting for the bomb to drop. Hunkered down and hiding underneath the bed, one would suppose that was the most likely reason. But the truth of the matter was far worse.
The temperature in the cabin soared as the day went on, causing both Rebecca and her brother, John, to long for a taste of water. Oh, they could have easily gone outside and drank the red water to quench their thirst like everyone else, but their mother told them to hide and wait for her---no matter what. When the screams began less than an hour later, Rebecca held her breath. The fear that had slowly crept inside held her in its tight grip; her heart was racing, and the sweat poured into her eyes. She knew that a six-year-old girl hadn't ever died of a heart attack, but she was scared just the same. Rebecca and John were holding each other now, praying together that their mother would come for them soon. Rebecca accepted the somber truth that her father would not ever come back. He was probably asleep by now, along with the others. Still, she wanted her mommy.
Her father brought them here six weeks ago. He was the one that said their salvation was in Africa with "Dad." That was what Mr. Jones wanted everyone to call him, Dad or Father.
The Temple had all been practicing for this day for a long time. It was supposed to take place a month from now, but this morning, at prayer, "Dad" said, "Today is the day of salvation." Rebecca never truly understood the motive behind it, although she knew it had something to do with the upcoming apocalypse; "Dad" said this would be their only way into heaven.
Mommy never liked "Dad." Once in a while, Rebecca would see her mommy's eyes roll during his evening teachings, or she would sneak a wink and a smile to Rebecca and John. Rebecca closed her eyes and imagined what was going on outside.
The lines would be long as the members stood to willingly accept their drink, their ticket to heaven. The dedicated mothers would hold their babies as the men shot the liquid into the infants' mouths with large syringes. One by one, they would each lie down and go to sleep, only to awaken in the house of God. "Dad" said it would be miraculous. Those who decided not to seek their salvation would be taken anyway.
Rebecca felt a growing resentment toward her father for bringing them here. He had changed. Gone was the man who took them out for ice cream after dinner, the man that told her bedtime stories, and the man that could impersonate Donald Duck better than anyone. Mommy knew that, too. Rebecca could see it in her face when her mommy looked at her father. Mommy...
"Where is she?"
John's breathless question gave her a brief reprieve from her thoughts, but brought her back to the nightmarish reality they were in.
"Ma-maybe she's already asleep." Rebecca's voice quivered.
"Don't say that, Becky! She'll come back!"
The fumbling doorknob about six feet to their right ended their conversation. John promptly put his hand over Rebecca's mouth and pulled her as far back against the wall as possible. Sheltered only by the soiled mattress above their heads, they waited. Rebecca could feel John's heart pounding through his sweat-soaked shirt and noticed her own pulse had quickened so rapidly, she thought she might faint.
"John! Rebecca!" The loud whisper of their mother's voice filled the room.
"Mommy! Mommy!"
Rebecca pushed her brother away and crawled out from under the bed, at breakneck speed, before embracing her mother around the waist.
"Shhh! You need to be quiet, we don't have much time. John, come here!"
Rebecca saw her mother look toward the door. Her mother, like John and Rebecca, was soaked with sweat, and dirty. Her clothes were disheveled and she had a look in her eyes that Rebecca had never seen before; her mother was terrified, and that made Rebecca cry.
"Becky, honey, shhh." Her mother knelt down and embraced her. "It's going to be okay, but I need you two to listen, please. There's a loose panel in the wood over there. Push on it and crawl through it---but be careful no one sees you!" Her breath was quickening as she looked at the door again. "Run, as fast as you have ever run, straight back behind the cabin into the jungle. If you stay straight, you'll come up to a big tree with red flowers growing around the bottom---it's hollowed. Crawl inside there and wait for me. Don't come out unless you hear me calling! Do you understand? Don't come out at all!"
Rebecca and John nodded their heads furiously up and down as Rebecca continued to wipe the tears that flooded her eyes.
"Where's Daddy?" John's own eyes were watery.
Rebecca's mother paused. "He's asleep."
John began to really cry as Rebecca's own floodgate opened up, full force. Their mother pulled them both to her breast, holding them tightly, but not for very long. She gently pushed them out in front of her, arm's length.
"I love you both very much, okay?" Her mother was fighting back her tears something fierce. "Do this, and I will be there---I promise, and we'll leave this place and never come back again. Now, go. John, take care of your sister. Go!"
Her mother pushed them toward the wall of loose paneling. As Rebecca crawled through the hole, she took just a split second to look back at her mother. Standing in the doorway of the cabin, her mother was sobbing as she watched her children escape.
"I love you, Mommy!" Rebecca could barely produce the words.
"Go, Becky!"
John pushed her through the hole before climbing out behind her. He grabbed her hand tightly and pulled as they started a dead run toward the jungle. Not looking back, Rebecca heard her mother scream as they reached the edge of the trees. It was a death scream. Rebecca had been hearing them for the last hour. John stopped so suddenly, she ran into him and almost fell down. He turned to face her and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Go! I'll meet you there!"
"Joh-Johnny, noooo!"
"Now, goddamn it!"
It was too late. Her brother had already started back toward the cabin. Doing what John had ordered, Rebecca had only run ahead a few feet when the sound of gunfire caused her to stop. She turned just in time to see her ten-year-old brother fall to the ground, riddled with bullets. If only for the sheer will to live, Rebecca ran like she had never before, deep into the jungle, the sound of gunfire close behind her. Dizziness and the pain in her side overcame her as she reached the tree with the red flowers. Crawling inside she began taking deep breaths as she listened to the potent voice, far off in the distance, scream his last words.
"If we can't live in peace, then let's die in peace! We are not committing suicide---it's a revolutionary act..."
Present
"The National Weather Service has just confirmed a powerful cell forming off the coast of South Africa, expected to reach hurricane status within days. The remaining Florida residents are already making plans to evacuate. If the expected path reaches the coast of Florida by next week, Hurricane Stephen would make the fourth major hurricane to devastate the Florida coast in the last six weeks. Florida governor Randall Jimenez is expected to order a mandatory evacuation for affected areas beginning Friday. In other news..."
I reached over and turned the radio off before tossing my half-smoked cigarette out the window. I didn't need to hear any more depressing news about other parts of the world. I had enough here, in Mansfield, Ohio, to keep me occupied.
Just thirty feet from my car lay the remains of a murder victim---young, pretty, and savagely brutalized. I'd say that allows me a significant amount of depression. Fifteen years of looking at bodies never gets easier. I'd give a number on this particular murder, but I quit counting a long time ago. Most people assume that I, Sergeant Detective CeeCee Gallagher, am made of steel. After reading newspaper accounts that have deemed me the ace detective of the Richland Metropolitan Police Department Major Crimes Division, they tend to look genuinely surprised when I show any type of emotion toward a victim. That fact alone disturbs me. I don't want to be perceived as a coldhearted bitch that was born without tear ducts, or a soul, for that matter. But then again, why should I care what they think?
The warm stream of sweat that slowly made its way down the side of my face alerted me that the air-conditioning in my car had just conked out. I sighed.
"You gonna come out and look at this, or are you hellbent on losing forty pounds while you sit in there and melt?"
So deep in my thoughts, I hadn't noticed that my fellow detective, and dear friend, Jeff "Coop" Cooper, had walked up to my window. Boyishly handsome, and devilishly funny, Coop was married to the boss---Captain Naomi Cooper, formerly Kincaid. Naomi was on the riverbank with the others, processing the body and scene. Coop began running his fingers through his dark hair and fanning his shirt out.
"Jesus! I thought it was supposed to cool down a little today."
"It has. We have officially cooled down to a balmy ninety-one degrees."
I whipped my long, sweat-soaked blonde hair into a ponytail before grabbing my briefcase off the passenger seat. Coop opened the door for me, still whining about the temperature.
"Ninety-one degrees, my ass. I think this sucks."
"Ah, the pleasures of global warming." I slammed my car door shut and nodded toward the embankment. "What have we got down there?"
"Prepare yourself. She's only been there about two days, but the heat has accelerated decomposition something awful. It's not pretty, and you can only imagine the smell." He crinkled his nose as if I needed a visual. "Coroner says it looks like some type of crude abortion. She bled out."
I stopped walking, already smelling the body. "What? Is she young?"
"Not really, late twenties. A group of Boy Scouts on a nature hike found her. I remember doing that..." He paused briefly as if to reflect. "Of course I was only in Boy Scouts for a year until my dad found out the leader was some homo---"
"Coop, please." Sometimes he needed to be redirected.
"Yeah, right, sorry. Anyway, the coroner said she bled out here so this is probably where the murder occurred. It's not just a body dump."
"Good, at least we don't have to deal with any secondary crime scenes. Everything we're looking for should be in this one spot."
Entering the crime scene, an embankment along the Mohican River, I absorbed the familiar sight. Evidence technicians wearing their rubber gloves and holding their evidence bags were everywhere. Some were taking photographs, and some were on their hands and knees in search of the most miniscule piece of fiber or hair that could prove to be the sole piece of evidence leading us to our killer. Yellow crime-scene tape was strewn between the trees along the embankment while other detectives, including Naomi, stood inside.
It was a beautiful day, really. The region was known for its scenic value, usually traveled by tourists who wanted a leisurely stroll down the massive river's banks to observe the rolling Appalachian foothills. It was disturbing to see a death scene mar a perfectly picturesque place. Of course, inside the mind of a murderer, things like that don't matter.
Naomi waved me over. She was statuesque, blonde, and stunningly beautiful, but she and I had a rocky past. We had smoothed things over throughout the years and had become good friends. It was a rare occasion that my husband, FBI Special Agent Michael Hagerman, and I went out to dinner or a movie without Naomi and Coop. We were like a family.
"CeeCee, what took you so long?" Naomi asked as I teetered around an evidence technician bagging a pile of leaves.
"Sorry, Isabelle and Selina both have soccer games tonight, so I had to wait until Michael got home."
"Sorry you're gonna miss the games." She tried to be sympathetic.
"Don't worry, I'm used to it. So are they. What've we got?"
"Twenty-six-year-old white female, apparently had a crude abortion performed before she was drowned." Naomi started to lead me to the body.
I stopped walking. "Drowned? Coop didn't say anything about that."
"It's just a theory right now. The coroner said it would've taken a while for her to die from the bleeding and she's got marks on her wrists where she was tied up. It'll have to be confirmed in the autopsy, but it looks like her face was put in the water to drown her after the abortion was performed."
I had a thought. "How do we know it was an abortion?"
"Just another theory because of the vaginal bleeding. She's covered in blood from the waist down, and the coroner said that's what it appears to be."
"Any identification yet?"
"Yes, believe it or not, her purse was found three feet from the body. Empty, except for her driver's license inside. It's almost as if someone left it there on purpose so we'd know who she was. Her name is Kelly Dixon, and she's from Shaker Heights."
"Shaker Heights? That's in Cleveland."
"I know."
We stopped at the embankment where the body lay. Coop was right; she looked awful. The decomposition, mixed with the water, had bloated her face and stomach. I've seen bodies like this before and they always reminded me of the old Kewpie dolls whose eyes and stomachs popped out when you squeezed them. Bodies like this never looked real. It was as if some Hollywood special effects company came in and decorated a department store mannequin to suit their upcoming horror flick. But it was real. The pungent odor that permeated throughout the area proved that to all of us.
The only part of the victim that indicated it was a female was the long dark hair that lazily swayed in the water. There was only about an inch of white material at the bottom of her pants that wasn't blackened by the horrendous amount of blood. The ground underneath her and at her sides was just as black.
"Good Lord..." I murmured.
"I doubt the Good Lord had anything to do with it."
If we only knew then just how right she was.
I hated when I began to get into the mind of a victim; it served no useful purpose other than to cause me grief. Getting into the mind of a killer was different. To think his thoughts could, as it had in the past, keep me one step ahead of him---most of the time.
But when you look down on the lifeless body of a woman whose future has been shattered, as a human being you can't help but think about it. For her, the daily worries are gone; worries of health, future, maybe a forbidden love or even bills that needed to be paid. These worries were now irrelevant.
I remember once, as a small child, I was sitting in school while the teacher drew pretty pictures in different colored chalk on the blackboard. She made each one of us come to the front of the room and draw a picture of one of our happiest moments, using all the colors we wanted. When we were done, there wasn't a speck of black to be seen. The board was a kaleidoscope of different colors and images, a project the teacher called, "The board of life experiences." I remember afterward watching the teacher take a wet cloth and wipe the board clean before rolling it into a nearby supply closet; the experiences gone forever, never to be filled again. Life was like that, kind of. Kelly Dixon's board had been wiped clean and put away. The only worries were that of the living, and what lay behind the board.
As silly as it sounded, I felt a wave of chills rush through me just the same.
"CeeCee, did you hear me?"
"No, I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Let's go over and talk to J.P. and head back to the office. Everything is pretty much done here."
J. P. Sanders, the assistant of the Richland County Coroner's Office, was sharper than the coroner himself was. Although the coroner was an elected position, there hasn't been one within the last twenty years that could have survived without J.P. He was a man that could walk into a crime scene and within five minutes tell you with intricate detail what happened. He had an outrageous sense of humor, so it was best to be on your guard whenever you were around him. He had gotten the best of me on more than one occasion.
His silvery hair and inch-thick glasses could sometimes be a sight for sore eyes when at the end of your rope during an investigation. Seeing him grin widely as he watched Naomi and me approach, I braced myself for an oncoming joke that I hoped wouldn't go over my head.
"There's the dynamic duo. CeeCee, if you get any more gorgeous, y'all are gonna be carrying me out in one of these body bags after my ticker quits. Just let me know when you get rid of that agent husband of yours. Speaking of which, how are those beautiful little daughters?"
"They're good. It's nice to see you, J.P. How are you?"
"Still gettin' an erection. Wanna see?"
I laughed and waved my hands in front of me. "I'll pass."
"It's your loss, but just remember, if you ever have to carry me out in a bag someday, you have my permission to take a peek at the little guy. You, too, Naomi."
Naomi groaned. "I'll remember that. So, how long do you think it'll be until we get the results from the autopsy back?"
"It may be a while. This damn heat is getting us back-logged from all the elderly dropping over, and we're still not done with the Shiloh bodies yet. Goddamn global warming, never thought I'd live to see it."
He was right. Two years ago, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) officially declared the world in the throes of the warming feedback loops---the warming phase of global warming. It terrified everyone, even though most of us had known it was coming. You'd have to be blind, deaf, and living in the bottom of a coal mine not to know about it.
Within the last year and a half, there have been more catastrophic weather occurrences than ever recorded. They were now becoming commonplace, at least in our minds. The hurricanes this year that have literally devastated the East Coast made Hurricanes Katrina and Rita look like small thunderstorms. The winds of these particular hurricanes registered so high, above 300 mph, the National Weather Service quit numbering the Saffir-Simpson Scale, and merely referred to those as "Category X Hurricanes"---completely catastrophic, without a doubt. Over one million people have died from those particular hurricanes. And, from what I heard on the radio earlier, another was on its way.
Most of the coastal regions in Florida, Georgia, North and South Carolina, Louisiana, and Mississippi had lost more than half its surviving population. The hurricanes caused a massive population shift into the northern and Midwest states. In my county alone, the population has skyrocketed by almost 60 percent in the last two years. As law enforcement officers, we were overwhelmed and understaffed by the influx. Even though the president signed a bill ordering the appointments of 200,000 more police officers, it didn't seem to make a dent.
The West Coast had its own share of catastrophes. The wildfires that raged through California and Florida six months before had yet to be contained, and they told us that this is only the beginning.
To make a bad situation much worse, during the session in which the IPCC made their declaration, the United States immediately withdrew from the Kyoto Protocol and began reinforcing its borders. This obviously caused major tension in our relations with governments worldwide. Since the United States and Australia were the only countries with the resources to survive global warming, mass immigration occurred. But those people were turned away; no one was allowed in at all.
I remember watching the news clips of the coast guard pulling bodies out of the water, people who had drowned trying to make their way into our country, or were shot down by our own military. Somehow, someone had obtained video of a pilot crying from inside the cockpit of a military airplane after he had been ordered to shoot at twenty or so boats that were trying to make it in, boats that were half-filled with children. The media splashed the video everywhere it could think of, but, like everything else, the hype died down. Thousands of people were dying daily in third-world countries and we needed to protect our own citizens---or so they told us.
The United States even threatened to renege on a 1944 treaty with Mexico that allowed water from the Colorado River to flow down. But considering scientists' predictions that in a couple years the cooling phase of global warming would occur and essentially everything would freeze, they decided they may need Mexico in the future and kept the treaty. Wise choice.
Right now, living in Ohio, I was in a good place, except for the bugs, which had become unbearable, and the tornadoes. Never could I have imagined suntanning on my back porch swatting at mosquitoes in January, but it happened. Personally, I thought a lot of what was being said was hype. I did my own research on global warming, and I think we'll be okay. The cooling effect they're talking about is a drop of ten to fifteen degrees, so, in about three or four years, I'll have to go to South America to get a genuine suntan. If that's the worst, I'll deal with it. When I was a child and the term "global warming" came up, it meant the end of the world, the apocalypse. We were led to believe the world would erupt into a huge fireball before completely exploding. It always used to scare me.
When it came to the subject of the end of the world, the most terrified I can ever remember being was when I was ten. There was a lot of media attention and speculation surrounding an upcoming made-for-TV movie, The Day After. The movie was about a nuclear war in the United States, and my parents wouldn't let me or my older brother, Tony, watch it. Even at ten years old, my curiosity got the best of me. I snuck downstairs and peered around the corner, watching the television just as the scene where several nuclear warheads disintegrated Kansas City. I swear I didn't sleep right for six months after that. Plus, I got grounded for sneaking around. The movie had been on several times since I've been an adult and I have never even considered watching it.
It's funny how resilient we become to the inevitable. I forever pictured myself in the throes of a nervous breakdown if confronted with real global warming, but here I stand, doing my daily business and only bitching because it's hot.
The bodies in Shiloh that J.P. was talking about were from the Shiloh tornado. A small village in the northern part of the county that was situated in the middle of Amish farmlands, Shiloh was always referred to as "the armpit of Richland County." As law enforcement officers, we used to joke how the best thing that could happen to the village was an F-5 tornado to wipe out the rednecks. Unfortunately, two months ago when an F-5 tornado did wipe out the village, we all regretted our words, especially when we pulled the bodies of small children out of their homes during the recovery. Four hundred people out of seven hundred died, and the village was gone completely. More tornadoes have come and gone, but the Shiloh tornado was Richland County's own catastrophic event.
"Just get me the autopsy results as soon as you can, J.P.," Naomi requested.
"Will do. I forgot to ask you, CeeCee, how's your father doing? Any sign of retirement?"
"You know better than that. Thirty-eight years as a police lieutenant and no end in site."
My father, Mitch Gallagher, and his brothers, Max and Mike, are the longest-standing officers of the Richland Metropolitan Police Department. It has to be their stubborn Irish blood that keeps them on; there's no other explanation. Whenever I prod my father, a night-shift lieutenant of road patrol, to retire, he merely laughs at me.
"I'm still having fun, Cee. When I don't have fun anymore, I'll leave."
He always said that. However, there wasn't enough fun in the world to keep me at this job for thirty-eight years. Once I hit my twenty-five years, I'm gone.
"Well, tell him I said hi when you see him."
"Will do, J.P."
I threw my briefcase into my car and wiped more sweat off my forehead when I remembered to call Michael. He should be back from the game by now. Michael's son from a previous marriage, seven-year-old Sean, was coming for his weekend visit tonight and I wanted to make sure he had plans to feed the three kids. My own daughters from my first marriage were six and thirteen years old so Michael had his work cut out for him. I assumed they'd order pizza. He answered on the second ring.
"We were gonna order pizza."
I assumed right.
"Save me some. I'm probably not going to get home until late. Do you think you'll be up?" I was hopeful.
"Of course, I haven't seen you all day and I miss that beautiful face. You feeling okay, Cee?"
"I'm fine, Michael, quit asking me that. See you tonight."
I had suffered a miscarriage six months ago; I had been nine weeks along. It would have been our first child together and Michael had been treating me with kid gloves ever since. Granted, I took it hard, but was truly doing okay now. Michael and I had been through so much together that when we first learned I was pregnant, it was like a miracle. Now I'll never be able to have children again. The doctors never gave me a definitive answer on the cause of the miscarriage and called it "just one of those things." Still, I found myself periodically thinking of the fact that the baby would be about a month old now. Those were harsh, invasive thoughts that I didn't care to have. Some days I had to physically shake them from my head. Today, however, Coop took them away for me.
He had been standing nearby, talking to a woman in a maroon car. As I was getting into my own, Coop walked away from her and came at me waving his hands.
"Hold up, CeeCee, don't leave yet." His face showed an unfamiliar look of concern.
"What is it? Who's that lady you were talking to?"
"We just found out the victim has a daughter. That's her babysitter over there." He nodded toward the car and I saw the woman inside was crying. "She heard on the radio a body was found and drove down here with the baby. She said she hadn't heard from the mother for two days and had already filed a missing persons report."
"Did you confirm that? Do you think she's a suspect?"
"The report was taken and I believe it's highly unlikely she's a suspect. She's just a neighbor of the victim's that watches her kid once in a while. She's in her fifties and cleans houses for a living."
"How did she hear about this all the way up in Shaker Heights?"
"She lives here, and apparently so did the victim. They live in an apartment complex off Cook Road. She said the victim only moved in a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, I've got children services on the way---the sitter said she can't keep the baby, and we'll have to go check out the victim's apartment."
I thought for a second. "Why don't you go on to the apartment, I'll wait here for the caseworker."
"You sure? I got a few more things to ask the coroner and then I'll go."
"Yup, let me know if you find anything out."
I walked over to the babysitter's car and peered through the back window. Snuggled up safe and secure in her car seat was one of the most beautiful babies I had ever seen---outside of my own children, naturally. Around two years old, she had curly blonde hair, a rich complexion, and full chubby cheeks that puffed in and out as she sucked on her pacifier. She was sleeping soundly. I had to resist the urge to pick her up and squeeze her.
"How old is she?" I asked the woman.
Standing next to the car door, she hadn't seen me walk over and appeared confused for a moment until she realized I was talking about the baby.
"Lola? She just turned two a week ago."
"Kelly has no living relatives at all to take care of her baby?"
"No, no." The woman shook her head before wiping tears away with a tissue. "It was just her and Lola. Kelly is---was---a wonderful mother. Lola was her life. All I know is that Kelly used to be a nurse. She didn't talk much about her past except to tell me there was no one else in her life." She began to cry again.
The thought of this beautiful child being thrown into the Richland County foster care system sickened me. I've reacted to plenty of children while I've been investigating cases, but not like this. This baby, just by looking at her, unequivocally pulled at my heart.
Only when the caseworker from children services arrived and began talking to the woman did I do something I'd never even considered before. She was a plump, unattractive woman in her late forties, and I overheard her telling the woman that they would be putting Lola in a group home until they could find permanent placement. Since receiving the call, they had been confirming the nonexistence of family members and had nowhere else to put her.
"I'll take her," I said.
The caseworker and babysitter turned to me simultaneously, and looked as if I had just announced that I was the one who had killed Lola's mother. Coop had returned, and wore a look of confusion at the silent standoff between the two women and myself. It was several seconds before anyone spoke.
"And who might you be, ma'am?" She spoke slowly but arrogantly.
For the most part, I had a decent working relationship with the children services workers in the county, although I didn't always agree with their decisions. Nonetheless, I had never seen this woman before and there was something about her demeanor I didn't like. She had a callous and indifferent nature that presented her as a coldhearted, unemotional woman.
"I'm Sergeant Gallagher with Richland Metro, and instead of putting this baby in some low-rent, filthy, and bug-infested group home, I would like her to stay with me," I announced stoically and purposefully.
"Whoa, CeeCee, hold on a minute..." Coop said, visibly shocked.
I put my hand up for him to stop while I patiently waited on an answer from the caseworker.
A phony smile emerged before she spoke. "Sergeant, I know you mean well, but I really can't approve a placement of that nature. Now, if we can all just---"
"Of course you can," I interrupted. "The only thing you to have to do is conduct the home inspection and schedule the custody hearings. Don't stand there and tell me it can't be approved, because I know for a fact that it can."
She glared and gritted her teeth. "I appreciate your concern, Sergeant, but I'll take it from here."
"At least someone around here is concerned." I was getting angry. "You obviously couldn't give a shit about the welfare of this child. I have a rather large and beautiful home that has more than enough room for her, and you---you would rather put her in some hellhole. I've never worked with you before, but I can tell you now that I will be speaking with Leslie about this immediately." I referred to the director of children's services and her boss.
I'm fairly sure that if she could've gotten away with punching me square in the nose she would have. Wisely, she relented. This would be one less case she'd have to deal with and not have to waste any more of her own precious time, if nothing else, the time she would spend driving the baby to a group home.
"CeeCee, don't you think you better talk to Michael about this?" Coop whispered loudly in my ear.
"I'll handle it."
Eventually, the caseworker threw her hands up and started toward her car, mumbling about the phone calls she needed to make. I had won. Now I needed to call Michael. I didn't expect him to be overly receptive.
"You did what?" I held the cell phone away from my ear and told him to lower his voice. "For Christ's sake, CeeCee! Don't you think this is something we should've talked about first? You can't just bring some stranger's baby home!"
I looked back into the car at Lola, who was still sound asleep. I couldn't leave her here, period. I began to feel the warm tears well up in my eyes before I answered Michael.
"Please, Michael. She doesn't have anybody."
His voice lowered to a sympathetic tone. "Listen, Cee, I know the miscarriage was hard on you. It was hard on both of us, but you need to really think---"
"This isn't about the miscarriage, Michael! There's something about her. I can't explain right now." I took a deep breath. "I'm not letting her go into a foster home. I can't."
Even though we were on the phone, I knew Michael could imagine the anguish in my face. He must have heard the emotion in my voice and knew there was no changing my mind.
"You realize what all of this means, don't you?"
"Of course I do," I said softly.
Before hanging up, I told Michael to bring the portable crib up from the basement and put it in our bedroom. Once the caseworker was finished making her phone calls and finalizing the arrangements, I would go with Coop to Kelly's apartment and get whatever I could of Lola's things.
A foreign emotion began to rise inside me. Exhilaration? Excitement? I wasn't sure but I knew the thought of waking up in the morning with Lola sleeping next to me was a feeling I couldn't possibly describe.
"How'd Michael take it?" Coop looked concerned.
"Okay, I guess. He was a little upset at first, but..." I stopped, my eyes locked in on something I hadn't noticed before.
"But what?"
"I'll tell you in a minute. Do you see that guy over there on the side of the road?" I pointed. "He's watching us."
July 1
The move was a long one, but we've finally arrived in Ohio. It's just as hot here, but she said there's less tornadoes. Molly complained the whole way because she was bored, but I expect that from a ten-year-old. Quint drove most of the way, stopping rarely to sleep. He was anxious to get here and start our new life that has been blessed by Eve.
Illeana's vision that Eve could be found here excited most of the members and even brought new ones. Three more families sold everything they own and gave the money to Illeana. A couple younger people, Jake Ellis and Tyler Briggs, joined right before we left, recruited by Ken at their college. Tyler was a former Scientologist and was totally taken in by Ken's offer. According to Ken, they became believers within minutes.
I'll never know how my parents came to be believers, but I wonder if it happened that way. I wish I could turn back time and show them what a fatal choice they made, but all I can do now is save their souls, and the others.
She suspects nothing, and I doubt she ever will---until the time comes for me to expose her for the evil, criminal, and twisted monster that she is. She is too busy right now preparing the camp and getting to know the many new faces. I don't know who half of these people are, but I'm sure I will soon.
She said once we arrive in Eden's Purgatory, there would be no more spouses as we've once known. This makes me nervous. I anticipate she will pair everyone with different partners every night like she did once in Missouri. It sickens me to have another man put his hands on me, let alone have sex with him, but I can't protest or act offended since that would raise their suspicion.
Whatever happens, I have a feeling things are going to be very different here.
R---
The man stood next to his antiquated bicycle, returning our stares with a look of unreserved amusement. Since he was wearing handmade blue jeans, a blue button-down oxford, and straw hat, at first glance I thought he was Amish, maybe Mennonite. But the earring in his left ear and his gold watch refuted those assumptions.
"He's probably just some Amish guy poking around," Coop murmured.
"With an earring and a gold watch? I don't think so." I tugged on his shirtsleeve. "C'mon, let's go find out what he's doing here."
The man fidgeted with his handlebars while we approached, but kept his eyes locked on ours, his smile still visible.
"Excuse me, I'm Sergeant Gallagher." I flashed him my badge. "Can I help you with something?"
His smile began to fade. "No, ma'am. I just rode down here to see what all of the fuss is about. I'll be on my way."
As he mounted his bicycle, I shot Coop a look of alarm and grabbed the handlebars to prevent the man from riding off into the sunset. He was entirely too eager to escape our questioning.
"Hold on a minute. What's your name?" It was my turn to smile.
"Kirk."
"Kirk what?"
"Look, lady, I'm not doing anything wrong and I don't have to tell you my name. Please let go of my bike so I can leave." He was getting angry.
"Let me give you a crash course in Legal 101, Kirk. You brought it upon yourself to ride down here and stand within the perimeters of my crime scene. That makes you a person I might be interested in. Understand? Furthermore, if you don't give me your full legal name, you are obstructing official business, a second-degree misdemeanor in the state of Ohio. I will take you into custody and your bike will belong to me. Any questions?"
"No." He hung his head in defeat.
"Good." I let go of the bicycle. "I need to see some type of identification. Driver's license or state ID card."
"I don't have one. I'm on a bike, not a motorcycle!"
He was sweating badly and I noticed his hands were trembling as he wiped his brow. He was nervous about something. This went beyond the standard being-confronted-by-cops tremors that people get when pulled over for speeding. Not to mention, there was something about him I didn't like or trust. I just couldn't put my finger on why.
"What's your name?"
"Kirk Richards."
He smiled again, stiffened up as if to regain his composure, and changed his tone to the level of a high-class smart-ass.
"I live on a farm at 4566 Benedict Road with my aunt and uncle. We just moved here a month ago from Missouri. I'm six feet and two inches tall. I weigh 195 pounds, unless I take a really good shit in the morning. My hair is brown and my eyes are blue. I jerk off anywhere from two to four times a week. I wear a size thirteen shoe, but it doesn't come anywhere near the size of my cock. You'll have to measure that yourself."
Coop got a hold of him before I could even contemplate a response. Grabbing him by the back of the neck, Coop tore him off the bicycle and planted him, facedown on the ground---all in one swift motion.
"How 'bout you measure me, you little punk-ass bitch!"
Suppressing my laughter, it was hard to hear what Kirk was saying. A mouthful of dirt makes it difficult to talk, I'm sure. His arms and legs were flailing while Coop's strong hands pushed down harder on the back of Kirk's head. Grinning widely, I nodded at Coop to give the guy some air.
Kirk pushed himself up and spun around, sitting upright, while brushing the dirt and blood from his face. It looked like his nose took the brunt of the small rock that Coop held him down on.
"I see you haven't had much contact with law enforcement, eh?" I grabbed a tissue out of my pocket and threw it at him. Dumb-ass.
"What is the matter with you people? I'm gonna have both your fucking badges when this is over with." He furiously wiped at his nose before standing up.
"Ah, be careful, Kirkie, r-e-s-p-e-c-t. A lack of it will get you thumped, as you've figured out," Coop warned him.
"Who else lives at the farm with you? Other than your aunt and uncle?" I was tired of wasting time.
He looked like he was about to mouth off again, but wisely thought better of it.
"Just a couple of cousins, that's all. May I please go now...ma'am?"
"A few more questions. Why are you dressed like that? I know you're not Amish, considering the language you've just used."
He sighed before rolling his eyes. "No, I'm not Amish...I'm a Mormon."
Desperately wanting to get back to the Lola situation, I waved him off, after telling him I would most likely be in touch. Clenching his jaw, he hopped on his bicycle and pedaled away like a madman.
"That was fun. It's always a good day when I get to make a little asshole like that bleed. Do you think he had anything to do with this, Cee?"
"I don't think so, but run a criminal history on him anyway." I rubbed my eyes. "Do you want to go with me to the victim's apartment? I think they're about ready to leave."
"Nah, I already sent the other detectives over there to check it out, but they didn't find much. I think I'm gonna head home. You sure you know what you're doing with this kid?" Coop's eyes narrowed.
"Yes, I'm sure...I'll see you tomorrow."
While the caseworker was still off making arrangements, I rode with the babysitter back to Kelly Dixon's apartment. I had plenty of things at home for Lola. I had kept Isabelle's crib, toddler bed, and clothes in storage, but I wanted some personal items she was familiar with, specifically, pictures of her mother.
Since the other detectives had already cleared the apartment, I was free to walk around. Kelly Dixon's life was devoted to her daughter. I saw stacks of nursing books and papers strewn all over the kitchen table in an apparent attempt to rejuvenate her nursing career. Although modest, the apartment was clean and full of life. A fleeting thought of Kelly Dixon having no idea she would never return home, nor see her daughter again brought a twinge of sadness. The empty apartment was what lay behind Kelly Dixon's "board of life" experiences.
She had been quite organized. A filing cabinet in her bedroom held all of Lola's important papers: birth certificate, social security card, immunization records, etc. I took them all, knowing if I had my way, Lola would be staying with Michael and me---permanently.
After grabbing her entire supply of diapers, baby food, and several of Lola's stuffed animals, I closed the door to Kelly Dixon's apartment.
On the way back to the murder scene, I called my mother in Cleveland and gave her a brief explanation about Lola, eventually asking her to come and stay with me for a week or so to help out. I still had Kelly's homicide case to work and needed Lola to be familiar with everyone around her. Knowing better than to launch into one of her lectures, my mother said she would be at my house in the morning.
Lola, who had slept soundly through most of the commotion, continued to sleep as I put her into my car, still in her car seat. It had gotten late and I wondered if she would actually sleep through the night.
Michael was waiting at the door when I pulled into the driveway. Handing him the car seat with Lola, I instructed him to put her in our bedroom while I ran around like a maniac trying to get the portable crib ready and get her settled in. I also left Naomi a voice mail explaining I wouldn't be at work tomorrow and why, although I'm sure Coop filled her in. Children's services would be here tomorrow afternoon for a home inspection and to fill out paperwork with me. After that, I would have to attend an informal custody hearing in juvenile court. This is when the judge would officially place Lola into my temporary custody.
I checked on Lola, sleeping soundly within the confines of her crib, before making my rounds to the other kids' bedrooms and found Selina still awake. Michael had sat them all down earlier and explained to them about Lola. Selina announced she had been too excited about Lola to sleep.
"Can I go in and see her? I'll be quiet, I promise," she pleaded.
"No, honey, let her sleep. I don't want her to wake up in the middle of the night. It's already going to be bad enough in the morning when she starts asking for her mommy." I gently pushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
"Is her mommy dead?"
I sighed. "Yes, honey, she is. We're all going to have to help make her feel safe here. Okay?"
Selina nodded and eventually lay down. Now it was time to face Michael. He had been waiting patiently downstairs for me to get Lola situated. Seated on our couch watching the late news, he seemed to be staring through the television, unaware of what was on the screen.
"Michael?" It appeared he hadn't noticed me entering the room.
"Come over here and sit down." He patted the empty seat next to him affectionately and muted the volume of the television.
"She's beautiful," he said quietly, reaching for my hand.
I nodded and did my best to smile.
"Cee, I've got to ask you this. Have you really thought this out? I mean, what if a relative comes out of the woodwork to take her and you've gotten yourself attached? I know what you went through with the miscarriage and I can't bear to see your heart break again." The lines on his face deepened with concern.
"I've thought about that, Michael, and I guess I'll deal with it when, or if, the time comes. I know this seems like a spur-of-the-moment thing, but there was something about her that I can't explain. I couldn't bear to see her put into one of those homes. And I might as well tell you now, if it comes down to it and I'm able---I'll adopt her." I felt my eyes begin to brim with tears.
Michael let go of my hand, looking somewhat shocked. "You'll adopt her, Cee? What about me? Am I a part of this?"
"I'm sorry, Michael." I realized my mistake. "Of course you are. We'll adopt her, she'll be our daughter."
As he smiled and gently touched my cheek, I noticed the television. Kelly Dixon's murder had already made the news.
"Turn that up."
We watched the short news clip in silence and I felt myself become alarmed. They didn't say much about the murder but the only part that sunk in was when the newscaster said, "...the victim leaves behind a daughter." What if Michael was right? What if a relative came forth after seeing the news? And if that wasn't enough to make me lose sleep for the night, the following weather report would.
"Jesus! Look at that..." Michael let out a low whistle.
The radar showed a line of tornado-producing thunderstorms headed right for us, and it was large. The meteorologist was pointing to a purple mass and waving his arms about excitedly. He was saying the mass of storms was one of the largest on record, and telling everyone in the viewing area to be on their guard and have the proper emergency survival kits ready. I put my face in my hands and groaned.
"I can't go through that again." I was thinking of the Shiloh tornado, and the visions of bodies were still fresh in my mind.
"Don't flip out yet." He leaned forward toward the screen. "If you look where we are on the radar, the storms may just clip us. North of us is going to get the brunt of it."
"I hope you're right."
July 6
How can I put into words what hell this place is? We are not allowed to leave without permission. I can't even spend time with my own daughters without asking. I fear she is offering Molly to the other men as a reward, but I can't get her alone to ask. If I am right, that woman is going to pay much more than I had originally planned.
She said at the last vigil that Eve spoke to her and told her that women became empowered on their twelfth birthday, and to celebrate their power over men. She didn't come out and say it, but I know she meant sex. I'm so angry and disgusted I want to kill her with my bare hands.
But, unlike J, death would not be the worst thing for her. For her to rot in a prison cell for life would make me happy enough, and I will relish the day I visit her in jail.
She opened the books today and showed us that we have $78,000 in our fund---or SHE does! She told us that $20,000 would be used for a large purchase we'd learn about later. I can only begin to imagine what that might be.
Luckily, when I was sent to the grocery store I was able to make some copies of the accounts to place with this journal. It's going to take a while to get everything together that I'll need.
We are now having three prayer meetings a day. After cooking for everyone, cleaning, and preparing for the meetings, it leaves me with very little time. She claims to be getting more visions quicker so I anticipate we'll begin having even more meetings. One of my biggest concerns is that she said our training was going to begin very soon...
R---
I was trying to prepare myself for when Lola woke up. At two years old, she would be scared and confused. I wanted to make it as easy for her as I could. I had only slept for two hours when I awoke to the sounds of her cries. She was sitting up in her crib, tears streaming down her face, and crying for her mama. Doing my best to console her, I picked her up and gently stroked her back, trying to explain who I was in a way she'd understand. Michael woke up and tried to help, but Lola had a death grip on me. I finally calmed her down enough to take her downstairs for something to eat.
The next two days seemed like a blur. Michael was right about the storms; they skimmed us. Regardless, they were bad enough that the home visit and custody hearing had to be put off for one more day. Lola took to the girls and Sean immediately, and they to her. Michael even dove in, changing diapers and feeding her. I could tell she was definitely growing on him. My mother was in charge of interviewing potential nannies. With the jobs that Michael and I held, child care for four children would be a nightmare. Day care wasn't an option. I didn't want Lola in a million different environments at once, and since Michael and I were in a comfortable financial situation, we could afford it.
We had family visiting five times a day to meet Lola and by the time I went back to work almost a week later, my head was spinning.
I was walking into the police department when I happened upon two uniformed officers standing just outside the door. This was not unusual, of course, but the subject of their conversation caught my attention.
They were rookies, and for the life of me I couldn't remember their names, but one of them, a short, pudgy man with glasses, was laughing as he told his partner about his wife's trip to the grocery store the night before.
"...they said she didn't need a man! Can you believe that shit? She called 'em Amish, but the way she described them they sounded like a bunch of fucking Hare Krishnas. Fucking kooks. Couldn't have been Amish. I ain't ever heard of them stinky-ass horse niggers promoting feminism before."
The other officer began laughing before they noticed I was standing there. The amusement on their faces turned to instant horror at my presence.
"Oh! I'm sorry, Sergeant, I didn't know you were---" Red-faced, Pudgy did his best to take back his cultural insensitivity.
"Tell me again what you just said," I interrupted.
"It's just a figure of speech, Sarge. I didn't mean anything by it." His face turned two shades paler at what he clearly thought was going to be an ass chewing from me.
"I don't care about that." I waved my hand at him. "Though you might want to rethink using terms like 'horse nigger.' I want to know about the people your wife ran into last night."
"Huh?" Realizing he was off the hook, he exhaled the breath he had been holding.
"The Hare Krishna people," I said calmly, forcing him to refocus.
"Oh, yeah, them." He adjusted his glasses. "I was just telling Logan here that my wife was putting her groceries in the car last night when a group of Amish people came up to her and wanted her to go with them to their farm. Well, I don't think they were Amish, but she said they were dressed funny and were holding baskets of roses."
"Why don't you believe they were Amish?"
"For one, they came in some loaded SUV and we know Amish don't drive cars, let alone a fifty-thousand-dollar utility vehicle like that. Second, she said the women were doing the talking---unheard of for Amish women. She said they saw her wedding ring and asked her if she was truly happy, and if she wasn't, she could go with them to see what 'real happiness' was or some horseshit like that. Sorry, there's that horse word again."
"How many were there?" I asked, ignoring his last remark.
"I think she said around eight or nine, mostly women. I told her it sounded like some freak cult to me and to stay the hell away from them."
I nodded. "Did they give her any names, anything like that?"
He shook his head. "No, I don't think so, but I can ask. Are you guys investigating them or something? Are they dangerous?"
"No, no investigation. I think I ran into one of them last week and I found him just as strange. I'm curious is all. Yeah, if you talk to your wife about it and she remembers names or something else, let me know, would you please?"
"Sure, Sarge."
Knowing I had Kelly Dixon's homicide to work, I couldn't help but focus on this Mormon group that seemed to be popping up everywhere. That is, if they really were Mormons. I passed my own office and went into Coop's. Naomi was in there with him and they were assigning cases.
"Glad to have you back, stranger. How's Lola?" Coop pushed a chair at me.
"She's adjusting." I took the offered seat. "She's still asking for her mother every day, but I don't think she understands it. For the most part, the kids are occupying her, even had her on the trampoline the other day."
"She is absolutely beautiful, CeeCee," Naomi added. "I'm glad to see you didn't have any problems obtaining custody."
"So far so good." I thought of Lola and smiled; I missed her already. "Off the subject, Coop, do you remember the weird guy at the homicide scene?"
"How could I forget?"
I filled him in on the conversation with the uniformed officer and, mistakenly, brought up the suggestion of discreetly looking into the group.
"For what?" Naomi piped up. "You've got a homicide to work. Not to mention, these people haven't committed any crimes. So for us to look into them is a waste of time, time that we already don't have enough of."
I should've known better than to bring up something like this in front of Naomi. She was a dear friend, but on the flip side, she could be a complete pain in the ass as my boss.
"I'm aware I have a homicide to work, Naomi. All I'm saying is let's just keep our ears and eyes open about them---that's all."
She waved her hand at me. "Whatever, I just want this Kelly Dixon thing cleared up as soon as possible. The other detectives are getting overwhelmed by the gang murders and they might need your help. J.P. called yesterday and said the autopsy results should be in by this afternoon. That should get you started." She stood up to leave. "Keep me posted."
After Naomi left, I turned to Coop and raised my eyebrow. He knew what I was thinking and wanted no part of it.
"No way. You heard what she just said, CeeCee."
"Oh come on, just a few phone calls. She'll never know." I smiled coyly.
"That is the woman I go to bed with every night and wake up next to every morning. Believe me, she'll know."
"I told you it was a bad idea to start fucking the boss."
Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrow at me. He knew I was joking, but there was a bit of truth to it.
"What do you want me to do?" he conceded.
"Find out who owns the property down there. Whose name it's deeded to, and how they paid for it. See if you can't do a discreet drive-by and run some license plates on any cars. You know the drill. Oh, and see if you can find out if there's any children living there."
"If Naomi finds out, it'll be me and my hand for the next six months."
"If she does, I'll pay for a hooker."
"I think I'd prefer my hand."
"Suit yourself. Let me know what you find out." I gave him a wink and headed down to my office.
Ignoring the Kelly Dixon file that glared at me from atop my desk, I picked up the phone to call Michael. He hadn't arrived in his office yet, and when he answered his cell phone, I asked my question without even saying hello.
"Does the FBI have a specific unit that tracks religious cults?" I knew I sounded impatient.
"Oh, hello to you, too. I'm fine, honey, thanks for asking," he answered sarcastically.
"Sorry, I'm in the middle of something. So, can you find out for me?"
"What does this have to do with the Dixon homicide?" he asked, furthering my irritation.
"Michael, please! I'm busy, so can you find out or not?"
Hearing his soft laughter through the phone, I found myself smiling. He knew me well and sometimes liked to play just to see my reaction.
"Okay, Sergeant, when I get to the office I'll do some checking and call you back. Good enough?"
"Yes, it is. Oh, and Agent Hagerman?"
"Yes, Sergeant Gallagher Hagerman?"
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
Michael still gave me butterflies, no doubt about it. Hanging up the phone, I wished he were here in my office. It had been a long time since we'd worked a case together, but we made an amazing team. I remembered a time where I thought I had lost Michael forever, thinking he was the victim of a Mafia-related car bombing. It was, unquestionably, the most agonizing experience of my life. Just thinking about it made me tremble.
Concentrating my efforts on more important tasks, I began to flip through the Dixon file while I waited for Michael to call back. The folder held nothing of significance so I closed it and tossed it on my desk. Losing what little patience I had left, I contemplated rummaging through the stack of less important cases I'd been assigned. Regrettably, my mind was elsewhere and they'd have to take the back burner. I looked at my watch and saw that almost an entire hour had passed. I'd been fighting the urge to call Michael back, so I breathed a sigh of relief when the phone rang.
"What took so long?" I barked.
"Sorry, Cee, it wasn't as easy as I thought. Let me guess, you have no fingernails left?"
"I have acrylics on. They can't be chewed."
"Fantastic, how many cigarettes have you smoked?"
"Michael."
"All right, all right. I looked everywhere and we don't have a unit specifically geared toward religious cults. I talked to a guy in Washington and he said that any type of threatening cult or militia falls under domestic terrorism."
"So that means Homeland Security keeps their eye out?"
"Not necessarily. For the most part, if a weird cult pops up somewhere, it falls under local jurisdiction, unless they start stockpiling weapons and such, like that whole Waco thing. It all depends on what they're doing. If it's weapons, they'll bring in the ATF, which in turn will notify Homeland Security or the FBI. For the most part, they're pretty harmless. He did say they've been keeping their eye on the Church of Scientology lately."
"There's a surprise. Any moron could see what's going on with those people. So essentially you found out nothing?" I sighed.
"Oh, ye of little faith. You know better than that, don't you?"
I perked up. "Let's have it."
"The FBI put out a report in 1999 called Project Megiddo. It was basically a watchdog report for the new millennium. Remember all the hype on The New World Order and Y2K?"
"Vaguely."
"I'm not going to explain the whole thing, you can look it up on the Internet, but to sum it up, the new millennium brought a lot of apocalyptic visionaries who preached the end of the world at the turn of the century. The FBI put watchdogs on these groups to ensure they didn't cause some type of social breakdown on a large scale. Thankfully, nothing major happened. I also know they rewrote a lot of the policies and procedures in dealing with 'doomsday' cults after Waco. Bottom line, unless a cult is into something illegal on a large scale, it falls on the local cops. Now, you want to tell me what this is all about?"
"I'm hearing some rumors about a group that moved in south of Butler. I also happened to have a run-in with one of them at the Dixon homicide. He claimed he was a Mormon."
"There you have it. Most cults are usually splinter groups of Mormons or Baptists. Unless you get one like the freak in California that had his whole group eat poisoned applesauce so they could board a spaceship."
"I remember that, they were called Heaven's Gate."
"Right. Maybe they're having a barbecue with E.T. as we speak."
"Doubtful. On another subject, how was Lola when you left this morning?" I worried about her waking up without me there.
"She was good. Your mom was giving her a bath when I left. Listen, I've got to run. I've put in a couple of calls on the cult thing that I haven't heard back on so if I find something new, I'll call you."
For a few minutes after hanging up with Michael, I thought about everything he said and wrote a few notes. Then I pushed the Dixon file aside and pulled up Project Megiddo on the Internet. Michael had summed it up pretty well. As astonishing as it was to find there were nearly 1,000 cults operating in the United States, the FBI deemed very few of those to be credible threats. For the most part, it used to be widely believed that the cults would engage in violent acts with law enforcement (whom they declared Satan) to put forth the perception that they were religious martyrs. The new millennium was a declaration of war against the arm of Satan (the federal government) in the world's final battle---the end of days. What the FBI essentially concluded was that these martyrs were not using the Bible to interpret the end of days, as most thought, but were mainly using it to justify their ideology.
One interesting element of the report was directed at local law enforcement---specifically what to watch for in a religious cult. It listed eight common factors and included: the cult is led by a single male charismatic leader who dominates his members through physical, sexual, and emotional control, and extreme paranoia exists within the cult concerning interests from outsiders and law enforcement. These factors may produce three social-psychological components referred to as the "Lethal Triad." According to the report, if a Lethal Triad is present, law enforcement had better be prepared.
I sat back in my chair and stretched. It was getting late and I had done nothing all day but research a group of people who had probably done nothing wrong. Regardless, the information was useful, if not a little creepy.
Just as I was walking out the door to go home for the day, my phone rang again. It was J. P. Sanders with Kelly Dixon's autopsy report. I listened for a while as he read off the list of medical jargon associated with such reports. Then I interrupted.
"Sum it up for me, J.P., my dinner's getting cold."
"Sit on it and that hot ass of yours will heat it up just fine," he snickered into the phone. "Perversion comes so easy when you're old and it's much more tolerated. Okay, kiddo, the sum is, she did have a crude abortion. It's unknown how far along in the pregnancy she was since we didn't find the fetus, but if I had to guess considering the shapes of the abrasions and the trauma in the uterus, I would say the instrument of choice was the age-old coat hanger method."
I cringed and subconsciously crossed my legs. I couldn't even imagine how much Kelly Dixon had suffered.
"Please tell me she wasn't conscious when that happened." I shut my eyes and prepared for his answer.
"Unfortunately, I would say she was, but we may never know for sure. It wasn't the abortion that killed her. It would have eventually, but her lungs were completely filled with water---which ultimately caused her death. Whoever did this is a sick motherfucker."
"I couldn't agree more." I breathed deeply and tried to shake out the horrible vision of Kelly Dixon I had. "Anything else, J.P.? Fibers? DNA?"
"Nope, clean as a whistle. I'll let you know if anything turns up. We're gonna keep her for a few more days until we figure out what to do with her. No one claimed her body yet."
I hadn't thought of that. "Listen, if no one claims her, call me. I'll take care of her arrangements."
"You sure?"
"Yes, please, I owe it to her daughter."
The least I could do for Lola was give her mother a proper burial, a place she could go as she grew older to find some peace. I couldn't imagine explaining to her, fifteen years from now, how I allowed her mother to be cremated and thrown in a field somewhere.
I looked out my office window at the sky; it was all clear. It had been another sizzling day with high humidity, but so far there weren't any storms in sight. I thought it would be a perfect day to take the girls to the park for a picnic.
While driving home, I happened to glance down a side street and saw several police cars with their lights on, parked in front of a run-down motel. I flipped my police radio on just in time to hear an officer call for the coroner. After turning around in the nearest driveway, I headed back to the motel.
I was surprised I hadn't gotten a phone call about what was going on. I parked on the outside of the crime-scene tape, where I was met by a uniformed officer who was in charge of keeping onlookers out. Barry Kingman, a veteran of the department, recognized me immediately.
"Hey, Sarge, I didn't realize they called out Major Crimes for this," he announced as he opened my car door. "I mean, I told my lieutenant I didn't see anything suspicious about it."
"You're probably right, considering I don't have a clue what you're talking about." I slammed my door shut. "I just happened to be driving by and heard someone call for the coroner so I thought I'd be nosy. What's going on?"
"No biggie, just an overdose. The motel manager hadn't seen the guy in a couple of days and he wasn't paying so he went in the room. The stink is something awful with the heat we've been having. Needles and empty heroin balloons were next to the bed and the guy already made friends with the flies. There was some methadone, too. Could have OD'd on that. The manager freaked and called us. He still ain't doing good, but other than that, it looks pretty cut and dry."
I saw the other officers standing in front of the motel room door, room twelve, waving their hands in front of their faces in an attempt to blow the stench away.
"Why don't I go in and take a look to see how cut and dry it really is?"
So much for a picnic at the park.
Overdose deaths and suicides are quite different from an average homicide scene. Most law enforcement officers have little sympathy for someone who takes their own life or is ignorant enough to play with fire and unintentionally cause their own death.
Suicides are bothersome if family members are around. People don't realize the havoc they wreak on relatives when they stick a double-barrel shotgun in their mouth while sitting at the dining room table. Imagine the emotional state of a wife who walks into a room and sees half of her husband's face, including mustache, stuck to the ceiling, while the other half of his face is on the wall. His brain is scattered in pieces throughout the room. The wife is never "right" again. Suicide is such a selfish act in my opinion.
Overdoses are similar. You screw around long enough with a drug like heroin and it's bound to happen. Dealers nowadays are cutting the drug with whatever they can get their hands on. It could be drain cleaner for all a user knows. Injecting a dose of heroin into your arm is like playing Russian roulette; the fatal bullet is eventually going to fire. Stupid.
Needless to say, if there aren't any family members around, you won't hear much compassion out of the officers on the scene. Therefore, I wasn't surprised when I approached the room door and heard some of the conversation going on between the other officers.
"God works in mysterious ways, boys, ain't no doubt about it. That asshole probably liked little kids, too." An older, shorter officer was pointing into the room. "That, my boys, was the man upstairs sending a message."
The other officers laughed. One of the officers, who happened to be my ex-husband, Eric Schroeder, put in his two cents.
"Fucking moron."
Eric, Selina and Isabelle's father, hadn't noticed me approach. We'd been married for over ten years and got along fairly well. Our divorce was the result of his affair with a rookie he was training, Jordan, his current wife, and my feelings for Michael. Regardless, he was a good father and we did our best for the girls. Stocky, with a dark complexion, Eric was very handsome. There was a time when I loved him more than life itself. Funny how things change.
After their humorous jabs at the dead guy were complete, Eric noticed me when I was almost to the door.
"CeeCee? What are you doing here? The girls okay?" He looked concerned.
"They're fine. I just happened to be driving by and thought I'd poke around a bit. Actually, I'm glad I got to see you---saves me a phone call. I need to drop them off a little early tomorrow."
Eric and I shared custody of the girls. We did our best to split up each week between us.
"No problem. I have to work early but Jordan will be home. I'll let her know."
I nodded toward the door of the motel room. "Has the crime lab already processed the scene?"
"Go on in."
I had been at this particular motel enough while on the job to know what to expect. The room, nothing more than a filthy, cockroach-infested cubicle, had a bed, a small nightstand, and a toilet behind a tattered lime green shower curtain. The yellow paint, probably full of lead, was peeling in thick strips down the walls, forming piles of flakes on the dark shag carpet. A sole framed picture, portraying a black Jesus Christ with his crown of thorns, hung crooked above the nightstand.
The aromas from the previous tenants still lingered along with the newness of death. Heat always proved to be a top accelerant when it came to pungent smells. I found that I had subconsciously put my hand over my nose, which did little to prevent the rancid odor from tickling its way in.
On the bed was a thin white male, who appeared to be in his early thirties, wearing only stained light blue boxer shorts; the victim. It was obvious that someone, probably the crime lab technicians, had turned him onto his side.
Livor mortis was visible; the dark patches along his back where the blood had settled indicated that much. His right arm was extended straight into the air, indicating full rigor mortis, and a small amount of blood and saliva had pooled onto the pillow where his mouth had been. It appeared to be an overdose. In my own estimation, the victim had been dead for at least eight hours.
"Eric?" I hoped he hadn't left.
He appeared in the doorway seconds later. "Yeah?"
"How was it determined that methadone was the drug used? I don't see anything."
"There was a prescription bottle on the nightstand, with two pills left. Right now, it's only an assumption. The crime lab took them as evidence."
Of course they did. I didn't bother asking myself how I could have been so stupid, since I've made many mistakes over the course of my career. But thankfully, this was a microscopic one. Regardless, I waved the thought off with another question for Eric, and for me.
"Why not take them all? Why leave only two?" I thought aloud. "Do me a favor, and make sure the lab checks the bottle for prints, would you?"
"Sure, Cee. Why? You think something's up with this?"
I shook my head. "Doubtful, but we should play it safe just the same. By the way, what's his name?"
Eric pulled his small notebook out of his uniform pocket and began flipping through pages.
"Here it is, uh, Benjamin Rader. Age thirty-three, checked in around four this morning, alone, no suitcases that the office manager could see, and no car. There weren't any clothing or personal items in here when we arrived either. Just the pills, heroin, needles, and the stiff. We didn't see any track marks on his arms so we assumed it was the pills."
"He had to get here somehow. What's his last address show?"
"Somewhere up around Akron."
"Have the coroner forward his report to me when he's finished. Did you check with the other tenants in the rooms? Did they see anything?" I stepped outside with Eric following.
"For crying out loud, CeeCee, it's an overdose! Not everyone dies at the hands of a homicidal maniac." He was unmistakably irritated.
I smiled. "Just appease me and check anyway---please. Let me know what you find out."
Eric was still pissed off and shaking his head when I left. I could only begin to imagine the stream of obscenities directed at me, that was flowing through his mind. What else could he do? I was a sergeant.
By the time I got home, it was late, and I could do little more than pack the girls' clothes for their stay at Eric's house. Once they and Lola had baths and were in bed, I found Michael watching the latest weather catastrophe on the news. My mother had gone to bed hours earlier, completely exhausted by the children.
Michael's face looked grave as he watched the breaking news unfold on the television. I hadn't listened to my radio on the way home so I was oblivious.
"What happened?" I remained standing, but faced the television, which showed a meteorologist standing waist-deep in water on a street.
"Another tsunami." His voice was low.
"Where?"
"The Pacific coast. Oregon, Washington, Northern California. It happened about two hours ago but it's just now breaking in the news stations. They're saying it went almost two miles inland and is gonna make the 2004 tsunami in Indonesia look like an overflowed creek bed, basically."
I sighed and sat down. I feared our days were numbered and thought, while the faces of my children and Michael flashed through my head, that I couldn't take much more. One would think after all of this it would get easier to deal with, but it's not. My stomach began to flip around before I took a deep breath.
"How many this time?" I asked quietly.
"They're estimating a half million, at least. It happened so fast the sirens could only give about a minute's warning. No one could get out."
What was so frightening about this was there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do. It wasn't a war, a bomb, or an attack that could be prevented, but, in my opinion, it was God unleashing his fury everywhere. All we could do was hope and pray we were in a safe zone. I spent twenty years of my life bitching about the fact that I lived in Ohio. Now, I thanked my parents every day for keeping me here.
Michael and I stayed up late, watching the ongoing news coverage. News helicopters showed video of rooftops poking out of the water with bodies floating around them. I remembered how horrified people would have been by such a display ten years earlier, but starting with disasters like Hurricane Katrina, bodies in mass numbers on the television were commonplace nowadays.
We eventually went to bed, but on nights like these, I found it extremely difficult to sleep. I slept maybe three solid hours, and was awake when I heard my mother downstairs in the kitchen. Resigning myself to a long, tiring day, I got out of bed and got ready for work.
My mother, who had been watching the early morning news broadcasts on the tsunami, was making breakfast for the girls. We talked briefly about the disaster before she brought up a topic I had almost forgotten about---the nanny. She said she had found one and asked if I could stop home later that afternoon to interview her.
"What's her name?"
"Rena Sanchez."
"Just make sure she speaks English and has her green card."
"I'm sure that won't be a problem since there haven't been any illegals in this country for a while now. The borders are airtight."
"I'm aware of that. I was just pretending things are the way they used to be." I choked down my last bit of coffee.
After waking up the girls and kissing them good-bye, I was back in my office about half an hour later. Naomi was in shortly thereafter.
"Can you believe that tsunami?" She sat down in the chair that faced my desk.
"I can believe anything these days. What's up?"
"I just got a voice mail from a woman whose husband overdosed yesterday down at the roach motel on South Diamond Street."
I looked up at her from my pile of paperwork. "I was at the scene last night. Methadone. They didn't know much about him when I was there, but apparently he's married?"
"Did you get called out to it?" She ignored my question. "I told them not to call out Major Crimes on suicides and overdoses---"
I interrupted before she launched into a tirade. "Hold on, Naomi, don't get your thong in a bunch. I was driving by, saw the cruisers, and heard them call for the coroner. I just poked around a little."
She gave a brief chuckle. "Okay, I'll loosen my thong a little. What was the deal?"
"Not much to it. The guy checked in around four in the morning and was probably dead by eight. No clothes, car, or any other personal items, except the pills." I raised an eyebrow at her. "What did the wife want?"
"She's adamant that his death was suspicious. She reported him missing about three months ago, which I confirmed. I haven't called her back yet, but she said, without a doubt, he was murdered and demanded we look into it."
I dreaded what was coming. I told her, "I hope you plan on calling her back and informing her that her husband was a dope addict who took one pill too many, and the case is closed."
She was quiet. "Actually, CeeCee, since you were there, why don't you call her back? You can give her more details than I can, and maybe she's got a legitimate suspicion."
I groaned like a small child. "C'mon, Naomi! I've still got the Dixon homicide and an entire pile of other cases to work! Put one of the junior detectives on it."
"It'll take five minutes to make a phone call." She stood up and smiled.
"Fine, but it'll cost you a girls' night out with several bottles of wine."
"Deal. Here's her number." She handed me a yellow sticky note with the woman's phone number scrawled across the top. "Let me know if it amounts to anything substantial."
"Don't hold your breath."
Wanting to get the phone call out of the way before I started anything else, I called the woman, Brenda Rader. I assumed, since it was still early, it would take several rings before someone answered. However, Brenda answered on the first ring. Sounding tired and stuffy, as if she'd been up all night crying, she said she had been waiting on my call.
I explained I had been on the scene of her husband's death, and saw no cause for suspicion.
"I don't care what it looked like! He was murdered, plain and simple. Ben never took so much as an aspirin for a headache, let alone something like heroin." She sniffed.
"Actually, there wasn't any evidence that the heroin found was injected, but it looks like the pills ingested were methadone."
"Whatever. He loved his children, and he loved me. We're a very Christian family, and up until he met this guy at work, things were fine."
"What guy?"
"Ben is, was, a computer contractor who made over $250,000 a year. Three months ago, he was contracted by an electric company to program their systems and met a guy named Derick, who I assumed worked at the electric company. I don't even know his last name, but that was when this all started."
"When what started, ma'am?" I kept my voice calm so she wouldn't go into hysterics again.
"Ben got different somehow. At first I thought maybe he was having one of those midlife things, but mainly he started keeping to himself, and he quit going to church with us. He would be gone a lot, saying he had meetings with Derick. Every Sunday when I asked him to go to church with us he'd shake his head and say, 'They got it all wrong, Brenda.' He wouldn't tell me what he meant." She hiccuped and took a long breath. "Then, about three months ago, he left after dinner to meet Derick, and he never came home."
She started really howling into the phone now, enough that I had to hold the earpiece a few inches from my head. I had come to my own conclusion, early into her story, but needed to figure out the best way to relay it to her. There really was no other way than to just come out and say it, so I prepared myself for her reaction. Of course, I let her calm down considerably before getting her worked up again.
"Brenda, I've done this job for many years, and based on only what you're telling me, I have to ask you something that you're probably not going to like, but I have to say it anyway."
There was a brief pause. "What is it?"
I took a deep breath. "I'm only asking if it's possible. Okay? Is it possible that your husband was involved with Derick romantically?"
I kept talking before she could respond. However, I did hear a slight shriek through the phone when I asked the question.
"What led me to this conclusion is only the fact that Ben formed a friendship with this man and turned his back on his family, and, specifically, the church. As we both know, most churches frown on homosexuality." I spoke slowly.
"My husband hated faggots!"
"Excuse me?" I was startled by her candor.
"Homosexuality is an abomination and my husband believed that along with the rest of us! How dare you insinuate such a thing!"
"People change, Mrs. Rader."
"Not Ben! I knew this would be a waste of my time calling you people." She was growing angrier by the minute. "I could understand if you asked me if another woman was involved, but this..."
"Well, was there?"
"Was there what?"
"Another woman?"
"No, there wasn't! How could you do this to me? Ben had children, a wife, a family!" She started sobbing again.
I had enough and made the decision to end the phone call; it was going nowhere.
"Mrs. Rader, please, I apologize, but in law enforcement we have to explore everything, including things other people might not want to face. But based on what you're telling me, I really don't have any reason to investigate this as suspicious. Conclusively, it's an overdose. I'm sorry."
"There's no Derick, you know." Her calmness surprised me.
"What do you mean?"
"After Ben disappeared I went to the three companies he worked for before he left, and no one had any record of an employee named Derick."
Although she got my attention, it wasn't for very long.
"Your husband could've lied about the name, or Derick could've been a nickname or middle name. There are all sorts of possibilities here, but not enough to investigate. Regardless, if you have any more information you can always feel free to call me back."
"Fuck you." She slammed down the phone.
Christianity at a high point, I thought. Laughing quietly, I hung up the phone, still believing that Ben had become involved with someone, man or woman, and his wife didn't want to accept it. Whomever he got involved with got him hooked on drugs, and ultimately caused him to overdose. Nonetheless, he was an adult, and it was his own choice.
July 13
More joined us today; a couple from Missouri that Illeana knew. They sold their home---Roger and Becky Thomas. Today we heard teachings of the great Omega, spoken through Illeana herself. She claims the world was duped by the evil serpent into believing that God was the almighty. Eve talked Adam into eating the apple, showing her true power. The serpent, humiliated by this, impregnated her and began to spread the word of God.
Only a few, whom Eve speaks through, including Illeana, know the truth. Her rules are growing more tiresome by the day. Last night at supper, she said that there was to be no more garlic on the table. David and Jake have begun teaching the men, and the boys, to shoot. It's all so scary.
The shooting has made me dream of the gunshots in the jungle again. Every time I wake up, I swear I'm there again, grabbing the tree that I held on to for dear life for so many hours before I was saved. But when I open my eyes, I'm in a new nightmare, a nightmare controlled by her!
This morning, she sent me, Sally, Katina, and Ellen to the festival to recruit more members. She told us to specifically look for loners, poor-looking women with small children. Knowing I need to keep gaining her trust, I do as I'm told. If I thought these people were in danger, I wouldn't do it. If any danger ever arose, I have enough to stop it. It sickens me the way the members worship her and bow to her every whim---her personal toy soldiers to play with and put on the shelf when she's done with them. Her time is coming...
R---
After making a few phone calls, I heard from J. P. Sanders about funeral arrangements for Kelly Dixon. There weren't any. No one had stepped forward and they weren't going to wait any longer. I told him I would take care of it and remembered her autopsy report.
"You got that for me, J.P.?"
"Should be ready by tomorrow, I'll deliver it personally."
"If you can, I want to see the report on the overdose from yesterday, too."
I had to leave early today, to go home to interview Rena Sanchez, so I spent the rest of my time making funeral arrangements for Kelly Dixon. I wanted her close to Lola, and I paid for everything. There would be a small service next week, probably just Michael and I.
Once I was at home, I ran upstairs, got myself presentable, and was waiting at the door when Rena arrived. She must've known I was a law enforcement officer and prepared herself. She did quite well during my lengthy interrogation; I was impressed. She even cooked---an added bonus since I did not. Once she cleared her background check, she was hired. The girls had gotten home from school and met her; she seemed at ease with them and Lola. I was having one of the rooms in the basement redone into a bedroom, and there was already a bathroom down there. It seemed our household was expanding quickly.
I was going to try to shorten my next day at work so I could get home early and help Rena settle in. I was pleasantly surprised to see both coroner's reports on my desk when I arrived.
After grabbing a cup of coffee from the break room, I sat at my desk and opened Kelly Dixon's report. I scanned through it for something new, but didn't find much. Her official cause of death had been the drowning, not the abortion. No drugs were found in her system, and by the readings of her hormone levels, the report estimated her to be six to eight weeks pregnant. No fibers or foreign DNA was found. Shuddering a little, I closed her report and opened Benjamin Rader's.
The report confirmed the presence of methadone, which was determined as the cause of death. No other drugs were found, which backed up his wife's theory---a little. Only when I began reading the outer-body examination did I come across something that made me stop cold.
Before any incision is made in an autopsy, the examiner scans the body, inch by inch, documenting all scars, marks, bruises, abrasions, and in this case, tattoos. Benjamin Rader had a small O tattooed on his back left shoulder, approximately the size of a silver dollar.
My pulse quickening, I set down the report and grabbed Kelly Dixon's again, flipping through the pages. What hadn't seemed important when I first read her report had a much higher significance now. I found the page and read it again, feeling a wave of chills rush through me as I made the connection.
Kelly Dixon, like Benjamin Rader, had a tattoo on her back left shoulder.
The tattoo was a small O.
I stared at both files for a long time, reflecting back on my conversation with Ben Rader's wife. It appeared she might've been onto something, and I didn't believe her. But what exactly was I onto? Nothing more than two dead bodies, one a suspected overdose, each with a tattoo of an O on their back. Coincidence? It's possible, I suppose. I wasn't into tattooing, but maybe that particular tattoo was popular. Deciding to research a little before getting excited, I took the next several hours scanning through the Internet looking for the mysterious O. Just typing in the letter alone was pointless. I was overwhelmed with projects by Oprah Winfrey and the symbol for oxygen. I doubted either one had anything to do with the homicides in Mansfield, Ohio.
Needless to say, my search proved fruitless, other than ending my project with crossed eyes. My questions were still unanswered. It appeared that Kelly and Ben, at some point in their lives, abandoned everything---careers, family, and lifestyles. The only conclusion I could come to was that they both got involved with some high-end drug dealers. Kelly's lab work had come back clean because, according to her babysitter, she had been living here for a month now. A month, at the very least, without taking drugs. Maybe she got knocked up by her dealer and that pissed him off. Maybe she was trying to stay off the drugs to ensure a safe pregnancy.
I shook my head. As cut and dry as I tried to make it sound, it was all nonsense. My gut told me I was wrong, and, when you have a past like mine, I've learned to trust it. One key fact I honed in on; Kelly and Ben's deaths were related---unmistakably.
I took the chance and called Brenda Rader again. I already knew she didn't know anything about the tattoo, but I wanted to hear it from her, personally. I had expected her to be downright hostile but her voice perked up when I informed her of my findings.
"Ben never had any tattoos, Sergeant, at least he didn't when he left." She paused briefly. "You believe me now, don't you?"
It was more of a statement than a question.
"Not necessarily, Brenda, but I'm going to be honest with you. We had a recent murder victim with that same tattoo on her back. I just happened to make the connection this afternoon as I looked at both autopsy reports. And, before you ask, no, it doesn't add up or make sense."
I heard a whoosh of air through the phone; a deep breath that Brenda Rader had been holding for close to a week. Her flood of relief was closely followed by tears.
"So now what?" she asked quietly.
It was my turn to sigh and rub my eyes with my free hand. As little as I had to go on, I had very little doubt I was about to do the right thing.
"At this point, I'm going to officially reopen Ben's investigation as suspicious, not yet a homicide, based on the connection to the other murder victim. And, just so you're aware, I'm probably going to take a little heat for this from my superiors since there's not much to go on. But, to answer your question---I believe you a little more than I did earlier. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough. Thank you, Sergeant."
"I'll be in touch."
I hung up with Brenda and glanced at my watch. I was horribly late and Rena would no doubt already be at home getting settled in. Quickly calling my mother, I informed her I had a few more things to take care of and would be on my way soon. I had made a decision to open a new murder investigation without clearing it through Naomi first, and now it was time to explain myself.
She was in her office with Coop, getting ready to leave for the day. I briefed her quickly, omitting the part about calling Brenda Rader back and telling her I officially declared her husband's death as suspicious.
"Lots of people have the same tattoos. It really doesn't mean anything." Naomi closed her office window.
"Couples have matching tattoos sometimes," Coop added. "Maybe Ben Rader knocked up Kelly Dixon, killed her, felt guilty about it, and then overdosed. You said he was a Holy Roller in his previous life, didn't you?"
That was a possibility I hadn't thought of, and I hated the fact that Coop came upon it before I did. Regardless, it wasn't a competition.
"That never entered my mind, but you may have something there, Coop. It still doesn't explain the mysterious 'Derick' that Brenda Rader was talking about, though."
"True."
"Naomi, I really think these deaths are connected. I want to put the files together and classify them both as homicides." I held my breath.
She scrunched her face up, deep in thought, before asking Coop if the other detectives needed my help on anything.
"No, everyone is at status quo, completely overwhelmed as usual," he said. "One more investigation isn't going to matter." He winked at me.
"All right, go ahead, CeeCee. You might want to call Brenda Rader back and let her know what's going on."
"Already did."
She raised an eyebrow as I turned and headed for the door. She knew me well enough to know that a lecture regarding the "chain of command" would do no good at this point. Right now, my main concern was getting home and helping Rena.
Of course, she was almost completely moved in by the time I arrived. My mother was helping her put her bedspread on, and all of her clothes had been put away. I apologized repeatedly for being late, which Rena laughed off.
"You no have to say sorry! I know you a busy woman. We take care of it just fine!"
She had a great sense of humor, and I knew she would become an integral part of my family in no time at all.
The next several days were spent ironing out several glitches with Rena. One, in particular, was that she would wait at the door for Michael and me to come home from work, which was sometimes very late. We had to sit down and explain to her that she wasn't our servant, and that it was okay to go to sleep after the children. She had taken to Michael and me, and actually wanted to debate the matter.
"You two no take care of yourselves!" She shook her finger at us. "You no eat, sleep! I make sure you two okay!"
Michael laughed aloud. "All right, all right, if we promise to start taking better care of ourselves, you won't wait up for us anymore?"
"Si. I be watching. Buenas noches."
She went to bed while Michael and I got a chuckle or two out of the conversation.
There weren't any significant breaks in the homicides either. I spent several days at local tattoo parlors with photographs of Kelly and Ben's tattoos, but there wasn't anything unusual enough about them to refresh any of the artists' memories.
Rena had been with us for about five days, and Lola had been with us for a little over a week, when it happened one morning.
I awoke to our doorbell ringing and lay in bed, hoping Rena would answer it. I wondered who would pay such an early morning visit. It was only a few minutes later that I heard a light knock at my bedroom door.
"Come in," I groaned.
"Es-cuse me, Miss CeeCee?" Rena poked her head in.
I sat up. "What is it, Rena?"
"There's a woman at the door for you. She says she here about Lola."
"I'll be down in a minute." I felt my pulse quicken, just a tad.
"Si."
I quickly threw my robe on and dashed down the stairs. Michael was in the bathroom so I hadn't even spoken to him yet. Since no one was standing at the door, I assumed Rena had taken the guest into the living room. I was right.
I found Rena chatting away with Lori Kinderman, the children's services caseworker that was assigned to Lola. I had personally requested Lori to handle Lola's case. We got along well, and I respected her and the way she performed her job. A large woman, with dark hair and eyes as black as coal, Lori could be intimidating to some. I immediately noticed the look of concern on her face.
"Lori? What is it?"
"I'm sorry to come over so early, CeeCee, but there's a problem with Lola." Her voice was low and quiet.
My pulse now soared. "What kind of a problem?"
Lori took a deep breath while I held mine.
"CeeCee, she has an aunt---a great aunt, in Austin, Texas. We just found out about it. We'd have never known, but this woman actually called us. I don't know how she found out about Lola's mother, but she even knew that you had her. She said she knows who you are because she's seen you on crime documentaries and read your book..." She stopped.
A lot of my cases had been featured in the national media, which produced a book deal on a serial child killer I investigated a while back. I wasn't quite sure where Lori was going with this, but it was making me nervous.
"Lori, tell me exactly what the problem is." I feared the worst.
"She wants Lola, CeeCee. She's here in Mansfield right now. She's already had an attorney file paperwork seeking temporary custody, and they've set a hearing on the matter for two o'clock this afternoon."
My heart sank. My worst fear was coming true. I felt the tears surge up in my eyes as Lori handed me the paperwork informing us of the motion to seek custody. The aunt's name was Paula Terman. Trying to read the paperwork through the steady stream of tears, I saw my hands were trembling as well.
"Oh, madre de Dios..." Rena whispered while she shook her head slightly.
"Does she even know Lola?" My voice sounded hoarse.
"I don't think so. Look, CeeCee, I know you're upset, but don't fall apart just yet. Lola has adapted well here, and I fully intend on letting the judge know that. Nowadays, judges realize that just because people are related, that doesn't always mean it's the most suitable environment."
"Who's the judge hearing the case?" I wiped my eyes.
"It's Lanahan."
I knew him, a fellow Irishman. I didn't know him well, though. At least not well enough to pick up the phone and start offering bribes like I was now, irrationally, thinking of doing.
"He's reasonable," Lori continued. "Lucky for us it's not Judge Cramer. He's a real asshole. He'll keep a baby with its crackhead mother just to keep it with a family member. He's all about preserving the family bond."
I sat down in the closest chair and sobbed. It was only a few seconds later that I heard someone coming down the steps---Michael.
He would be just as devastated as I was. Like the rest of us, he had become emotionally attached to Lola. I could only imagine what this news would do to Selina, Isabelle, and Sean. I knew I should listen to Lori and keep my wits together, but as soon as Michael walked into the room, I began to cry harder.
"CeeCee? What's wrong? What's going on?" He swung his head back and forth between Lori and me, waiting for an answer.
I pulled myself together as best as I could, long enough to tell him. He sat down on the couch and let out a loud sigh.
"I was hoping after this long no one would turn up. You say the hearing is at two today?"
Lori nodded.
"That was mighty nice of them to give us some notice! How are we supposed to get an attorney by two?"
"I'll call Henry Wakefield right now." I stood up and headed for the phone.
Henry Wakefield was the best, and fiercest, family-law attorney in town. I remember countless officers going against him during their divorces and each one would cringe when they heard his name.
My morning grew substantially worse when Henry's secretary told me he was in court. Sensing I had no time to waste, I started for the stairs.
"What are you doing?" Michael was now standing in the foyer. "Did you get a hold of him?"
"No, he's in court. His secretary said he'd be done in half an hour and that she would give him the message, but you know how that goes. I'm going to domestic-relations court now and wait for him to come out." I felt panicked.
"Now just hold on." Michael put his hands on my shoulders. "By the time you get dressed and over there he'll be done. Just wait."
I embedded my face in his chest and began to cry again until I remembered Lori was still in the living room, watching all of the drama unfold.
"Lori, I'm sorry..." I began, furiously wiping at my eyes.
"CeeCee, don't be sorry, I know how hard this is. You know I'll do everything I can to see that Lola stays here." She flung her purse strap over her shoulder. "Right now, I need to get going to work on this but I'll see you at two, okay?"
I nodded and Michael saw her to the door. After Lori had gone, I heard Lola upstairs beginning to wake up. I dashed up to her room and found her sitting up in her crib, rubbing her eyes. When she saw me, she stretched her small, chubby arms out.
"Good morning, baby..." I cooed as I picked her up.
My heart sank at the thought of her waking up in yet another strange house, to another stranger's arms. Once in a lifetime was more than enough.
"Beckfist!" She was hungry.
I carried her down to the kitchen and had just given her a bowl of cereal when the phone rang. It was Henry Wakefield. Trying to squelch the sound of panic in my voice, I filled him in.
"CeeCee, don't panic," he said. "I'll meet you at the courtroom at one thirty. I'll call Lori Kinderman and have her send me a copy of the home inspections and evaluations." He paused. "What do we know about this woman, this aunt?"
"Absolutely nothing."
"Just the same, if you could see what you can drum up on her between now and this afternoon, it would help. I'll need to prepare for the hearing and won't have time for that on this short notice. Maybe with luck we'll find out she's a former prostitute or convicted armed robber, and the judge will throw it out right then and there. Thank God we got Lanahan."
I felt somewhat better after talking to Henry---but not much. I called my department's record section and had a brief criminal history check run on Paula Terman. Quite frankly, since it wasn't job related I could get into serious trouble, but I didn't care, and I knew no one would ask.
Paula Terman was clean as a whistle with the exception of a seat belt ticket three years earlier. I noticed when they gave me her address, it came with a lot number; she lived in a trailer park. If that was the worst thing I could come up with, the forecast didn't look too promising.
My last phone call was to Naomi. When I told her why I wasn't coming to work today she offered her shoulder to cry on.
"Do you want me to go to the hearing with you?"
"No, Michael will be there with me." I felt the tears coming again.
"You sure? Are you going to be all right?"
"Honestly, I don't know."
Fending off my tears for now, I told Naomi I'd let her know what happened. Then I went upstairs to get ready for the hearing. I was nervous. Criminal law and family law are two entirely separate entities. Not long ago, before Michael and I were married, his ex-wife, Vanessa, tried to take him to court to permanently end his visitations with Sean. It was nothing more than a blackmail attempt on her part to stop Michael from marrying me. Luckily, her plan crumbled before any of us saw the inside of a courtroom.
By the time Michael and I arrived at the courthouse, Henry Wakefield was already waiting. I found myself scanning the large group of people seated on the chairs and benches in the waiting area in hopes of finding Paula Terman. Henry nodded toward an older, hard-looking woman with bleach blonde hair that looked like straw, seated next to a round, bald man in a suit. It was her attorney and he was whispering to her; she was hanging on to his every word. Henry took us to an unoccupied corner.
"I've looked over the home inspections and evaluations. From everything I've seen, I truly don't think there will be a problem. I also believe that both of your standings in the community and in law enforcement will be a strong point, too." He looked over at Paula. "Now, keep in mind this is only a preliminary hearing so nothing will be decided today. The judge will basically ask if we're officially objecting to her motion, and then he'll set a date for trial."
My stomach was in knots. When Lori Kinderman arrived and the bailiff called our names, my legs felt like rubber as I walked into the courtroom. Paula Terman glared at me as we took our seats, which was concerning. She didn't know me to hate me, and if she was already acting as if this was personal, I wasn't very optimistic about the outcome.
After we had all taken our seats and risen for the judge when he took his, he called the hearing to order. He went through the usual case number and readings that needed to be recorded before he began. Judge Lanahan, a small, timid-looking man with dark graying hair, called Paula's attorney, Larry Seymore, first.
"Mr. Seymore, you have filed a motion seeking permanent custody of Lola Dixon on behalf of your client, Paula Dawn Terman, is that correct?"
"Yes, Your Honor." He stood and quietly coughed into his hand. "Your Honor, the child's mother was brutally murdered a little over a week ago and has no living relatives other than my client---her great-aunt. The child has been in the custody of one of the detectives who is investigating the murder, which is unusual, to say the least." He emphasized "unusual" as he glanced my way, prompting my face to burn red with anger.
He continued. "Needless to say, I feel it is a waste of the court's time to even hear this case. My client is the child's only living relative and these people that have the child now are no relation. Therefore, I ask the court to grant custody to my client today and dismiss the objection filed by Mr. Wakefield."
The judge remained silent, which almost caused my heart to stop. I felt Michael reach over and squeeze my hand; he knew I would lose it if the judge made me give up Lola today. After what seemed like eons, the judge addressed Henry.
"Mr. Wakefield, do you have anything to add?"
"Yes, I do, Your Honor." Henry stood.
"Your Honor, regardless if Mr. Seymore's client is a great-aunt to the child, it is our understanding she has never even met the child. Why she has decided now to come out of the woodwork to take custody of a child she doesn't know, or hasn't cared to know until now, is anyone's guess. According to the child's former babysitter, the mother would consistently refer to her mostly deceased family as trash, and would continuously say she is glad they weren't a part of Lola's life..."
"Your Honor, that's hearsay," Larry Seymore objected.
"I can bring the babysitter in for testimony if you'd like," Henry countered.
The judge waved his hand at the both of them.
"This is only a prelim, and we'll not be hearing testimony from anyone today. Mr. Wakefield, are you finished?"
"No, Your Honor. Lola Dixon is two years old. Why hasn't Mr. Seymore's client made an effort to see her great-niece before? There were no visits, no phone calls, no Christmas or birthday gifts---nothing. Your Honor, my clients are well-known, upstanding members of the community that took Lola into their home and have grown to love this child. As you can see in the reports from Richland County Children's Services, Lola has adapted very well to my clients and their other children, and we feel it would be devastating to this child to remove her. After all, she just lost her mother. We are prepared to put on several child psychologists that will testify to that fact, as well as testimony from the caseworker, Lori Kinderman."
Henry walked in front of our table before continuing. "And lastly, Your Honor, we believe this move by Ms. Terman is driven by nothing more than money. According to her credit report she doesn't have a job and knows that by obtaining custody of the child she will receive more welfare money, as well as tax credits. Your Honor, I agree with Mr. Seymore that this case is a waste of the court's time with the exception that it is in the child's best interest to remain with my clients---period."
Henry sat down while the judge began looking at the paperwork, which I assumed to be Lori's reports. A lump began to rise in my throat at the prospect of the judge ruling against us, and my chest began to heave. Michael, who still had my hand, squeezed it so hard I thought he might break a bone or two.
Putting down the paperwork, the judge let out a loud sigh.
"You've both given valid arguments, so it's apparent this case will need to go to trial. Ms. Terman, how long do you plan to stay in Mansfield?"
Larry Seymore touched her elbow, signaling her to stand up while she answered.
"Your Honor," she said in a deep, scratchy Southern drawl, which led me to believe she smoked at least three packs of cigarettes a day.
She looked at me before continuing. "I'll stay here 'til I see this thang through. I'm staying with a friend over in Little Kentucky, and she said I kin stay as long as I want."
I gave Michael a knowing look. I wasn't surprised in the least that she had friends in Little Kentucky. A large, unincorporated section just outside of the city, Little Kentucky was settled by Kentuckians looking for work at the nearby steel mill in the late sixties. Its real name was Roseland, but it was a haven for rednecks and hillbillies; chickens, goats, and all. The homes lining the streets had dirt floors, no working toilets, and farm animals in the front yard. I remember once seeing a woman walking the family goat on a dog leash up and down the street.
"All right then, I'm setting the date for trial one month from today. In the interim, the child will remain in the custody of the Hagermans with Ms. Terman having visitation one day a week. We'll make it Wednesdays from eight in the morning until eight in the evening. During those visitations, children's services will conduct evaluations and make a recommendation to this court. I will be out of town on the date of the trial so I'll be turning the case over to Judge Cramer. Court adjourned."
My heart sank even lower. The thought of Lola spending one minute in Little Kentucky sickened me, and, much worse, the case was going to Cramer. We didn't stand a chance. The tears began streaming down my cheeks as Michael led me out of the courtroom and to the same corner where we had spoken with Henry earlier. Henry joined us.
"We're done!" I cried. "Cramer is never going to grant us custody!"
"CeeCee, try to calm down. We don't know that," Henry said with a face that was less than convincing.
"Oh my God!" I sobbed.
Michael pulled me to him and did his best to comfort me. I lifted my head and watched as Paula Terman walked by, broadening her smile as she looked at me, revealing her crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. Her smile, as revolting as it was, showed her confidence in winning the case. It also made me want to run over and toss her out a window.
After I pulled myself together, we made an appointment with Henry to prepare for the upcoming trial, and then we headed home. Michael did his best to comfort me as he drove.
"First thing I'll do when we get home is hire a private detective in Texas. Hopefully, he'll be able to find something on her. Her appearance alone tells me there's a lot more to Paula Terman than we know."
I simply nodded.
When we got home, it was all I could do not to break down in tears as I sat and held Lola. Michael quickly found, and spoke to, a private detective in Texas. It should've made me feel better, but it didn't; I felt hopeless.
Naomi called later that evening to see how things went. After I spoke with her a while, Coop got on the phone.
"I know you've had a shit day, CeeCee, but I figured you'd want to know this."
"Know what?"
"I went down to that farm today, you know, the Mormons."
"And?"
"It's not good...It's not good at all."
July 20
I haven't been able to get my journal out of its hiding place without getting caught. Jake Ellis saw me coming from the woods yesterday and gave me a strange look. Something is going on around here. I heard several members whispering to Illeana in the corner this morning. She looked concerned. I tried to offer my help, but was quickly dismissed. I can't help but think there was a problem with one of the new members.
Illeana used to not worry so much when they left on their own accord, but lately...Maybe I'm being paranoid, but my biggest concerns are my daughters and husband. I know I shouldn't have brought them here, but we really had nowhere else to go. I had to find the "one" that truly represented the evil I had experienced as a child, and Illeana is the one. Sometimes I find myself getting drawn into her teachings. I have to make a conscious effort to get the thoughts out and shake my head clean. I know now what my mother must've felt like and how scared she must've been.
She had us all up at dawn today, preparing the barn for the welcoming. She has already chosen Susan to reflect the Omega this time, which is fine by me. I never want to do that again. I remember feeling physically ill from the whole thing and honestly don't think I could go through it again.
It was hard, but I managed to take more pictures today and will hide them with this journal. God forbid they find these things.
R---
"Care to fill me in?" I welcomed the reprieve from the day's events, and wanted to know what Coop saw at the farm.
"It was kind of weird the way it happened," he began. "A friend of mine called me last night and wanted to know what he could do about his sister."
"What about her?"
"Apparently, she got involved in some religious group and isn't taking any phone calls or talking to anyone in the family, so they got concerned. When he was telling me about how they all lived on some farm, I realized he was talking about our group of Mormons." He sneezed loudly into the phone.
"Bless you."
"Thanks, damn hay fever, so as I was saying, my friend tried to go down there, but there was a group of guys at the end of the lane that goes up to the farm. He said they wouldn't let him in. When he said they were dressed kind of like Amish people, it dawned on me who he was talking about."
"So you drove down there?"
"I drove down there. There weren't any guys at the end of the lane, but I made it up to the farmhouse before I was fronted off."
"What do you mean fronted off?" I was beginning to get concerned.
"I wasn't even out of my car when a group of them walked up to me. Weird-looking fuckers, too. I told them I was a cop and checking on the well-being of a friend's sister. They brought her out, but made me stand by the car while they got her. There wasn't much I could do without a warrant or anything."
"Was she okay?"
"Yeah, but it's obvious she's totally brainwashed. She isn't what concerned me, though. It was the fact that I saw anywhere from forty to fifty people, all dressed the same, in different areas around the farm. There's probably more."
I was shocked. "Forty or fifty? That guy at the homicide scene---what was his name? Kirk Richards? He said there were only a couple of people."
"A couple hundred, probably. Of course, I'm only speculating."
"We need to go down there again."
"On what grounds? They won't let us in, CeeCee."
I could hear Naomi in the background, beginning to reprimand me for getting on the "cult" kick again.
"Did you see any kids around down there?"
"A couple."
"That's good enough for me. We can go down on an anonymous complaint that the kids aren't being taken care of. We can take a children services worker, too."
"CeeCee," he began to whisper so Naomi couldn't hear, "we can't do that!"
"Of course we can. We do that kind of shit every day, and you know it, Coop!"
He sighed. "All right, let's do it in the morning, first thing. I'll be in your office at eight."
"I can't do it tomorrow, I have to bury Lola's mother. They finally have the body ready." It was an event I dreaded. "Can you make it later in the afternoon?"
"I suppose."
I lay awake in bed that night, unable to sleep. My mind was churning with everything from the earlier court hearing to the information Coop gave me about the so-called Mormons. Most of all, I wanted to get Kelly Dixon's funeral over and done with.
With only a couple hours of sleep behind me, Michael and I drove to the cemetery. We were the only ones to stand and watch Lola's mother be put into the ground.
The burial service was very intimate and unassuming. I knew the director of the funeral home I used, and he did his best to make the service as nice as possible, considering the circumstances. Michael and I stood by while the casket was lowered into the ground. I had a bouquet of peach-colored roses that I set on top to be buried with Kelly, keeping one of the roses for Lola. After about fifteen minutes, the service was complete. When we arrived home, I felt a deep twinge of sadness.
I found Lola sitting on her bedroom floor with Rena, laughing and playing with large, multicolored musical blocks. She had no idea the woman who gave birth to her and loved her so much had just been put into the ground. I felt an overwhelming urge to pick Lola up and hold her tight, and I did just that, my eyes brimming with tears.
"Mama!" Lola announced as she squeezed her little arms around me.
I was startled. She hadn't been with us that long, and I guess I had assumed she would eventually look at me as her mother, I just didn't expect it this soon. I then thought about how difficult it would be if I had to give her up, and my stomach turned. Michael walked over and kissed Lola's forehead as I held her.
"Hi, baby, are you playing with your blocks?" he cooed.
She nodded her head, wriggling out of my grip to get back to the floor and finish the large, colorful skyscraper she was building. I took the peach rose and pressed it into a photo album that contained pictures of Kelly and Lola that I found in Kelly's apartment.
I played with Lola for about an hour until I saw that it was time to meet Coop for our drive down to the farm. It was during my drive to the department that Coop called me.
"Our farm visit is gonna have to be put on hold for a while," he informed me. "The uniforms just called with another suspicious death, a guy hanging inside of a rental locker."
"What's so suspicious about that?" I really wanted to get to the farm, and this sounded like a suicide, pure and simple.
"His hands and feet were tied."
"Oh." I stood corrected. "Which one is it?"
"The Store-N-Lock It, out on I-71."
"I'm on my way." I turned my car around.
I had no reason to believe this particular death was in any way related to those of Kelly Dixon and Ben Rader. Nonetheless, I felt my car pick up speed as I neared the storage facility. A uniformed officer stood at the front gate, allowing only law enforcement in. Coop was already waiting for me outside of the storage locker.
"Take a look first." He nodded toward the opening.
I only had to walk a few yards before I saw the grubby blue sneakers swaying back and forth about three feet from the floor. As Coop had explained, the victim's feet were tied together with a thin piece of twine. As I entered farther, I noticed his hands were tied behind his back with the same. Both of these things the victim could have done before hanging himself except for one major problem. There was another piece of twine that connected his hands to his feet; he had been hog-tied.
"See what I mean?" Coop had quietly entered the locker and stood next to me, looking up at our victim.
"I certainly do." I pointed to the sole piece of twine. "They left some slack on that piece, or else his feet would've kicked up more. His knees are barely bent." I began looking more closely at the surroundings. "Another thing, what the hell did he get pushed off of or jump from? There's no table, chair, ladder, nothing."
In fact, there was nothing inside the storage locker at all; it was completely empty.
"Maybe whoever did this had a ladder, pushed him off, and took it with them," Coop surmised. "He's not a small man, that's for sure. It would've taken some strength. J.P said he's probably been here for at least sixteen hours."
"So everything's been processed? Tell the lab to go ahead and cut him down and bag him. I'm assuming we don't know who he is yet?"
"No, but from that bulge in his back pocket that looks like a wallet, we may know soon enough."
Coop and I stood silent as the coroner's other assistants (J.P. had already left) carried in a ladder and very delicately cut down the body before placing it on an opened body bag that lay on a gurney.
"Before you zip him up, can you pull his wallet out?" I asked.
As I watched two assistants roll the victim onto his right side in an effort to pull his wallet out of his pocket, I had another thought.
"Wait!" I announced. "Before you put him back down can you lift his shirt? I want to see the back of his left shoulder."
The two assistants glanced at each other curiously. Then one of them slowly pulled the back of the victim's T-shirt upward, exposing the back of the victim's left shoulder. Coop let out a low whistle as we all stared at the tattooed O that was identical to the other victims.
"Holy shit," Coop muttered under his breath.
"Keep the shirt just like that. Coop, go grab the lab, and have them get in here and photograph this."
When I first arrived, I hadn't been convinced that this was related to the others. In fact, I really hadn't given it much thought. Checking for the tattoo was a last-minute epiphany. While the crime lab technicians photographed the tattoo, Coop looked through the victim's wallet, finding only a state identification card.
"Edward Honeycutt, age thirty-one. He's from Dayton, CeeCee." He held out the ID for me to look at.
"Dayton? It's like the others. I mean, why leave him here and not in the woods somewhere, and with his state ID? Whoever's doing this wants us to find these people and wants us to know who they are."
Coop nodded. "Do we officially declare a mass murderer on our hands?"
"Multiple murderer for now. But this one is definitely going to be categorized as a homicide."
Coop went outside to speak to the owner of the storage facility while the body was being loaded into the van. I took the opportunity to call home and check on the kids. Michael worked from home today since we had the funeral.
"They're good. They're outside playing with the neighbor's puppy again. Listen, Cee, I have a little good news, just a little, so don't get too excited. The private detective called me back a while ago. He's found something on Paula Terman."
"He did? What?" I prayed she was running a prostitution ring, or maybe he found a marijuana field in her backyard.
"She's a multiple lawsuit offender."
I had no immediate response since I hadn't a clue what he was talking about.
"Huh? What the hell is that?"
"He's found that she's filed over twenty-three lawsuits in the last fifteen years---all frivolous---in an attempt to get money."
My excitement dissipated. "So? That's it? How is that going to help us, Michael?"
"It'll support the theory that she is only after custody of Lola for the money. She's already on welfare, and soon as Henry rattles off the lawsuits, she'll be done for!" Michael's premature excitement lingered in his voice.
His theory, in my opinion, was flimsy at best. It still didn't change the fact that she was related to Lola, and from what I'd heard about Judge Cramer, nothing else mattered.
"I think the detective better keep checking, and find something more solid." I sighed. "I don't know if the lawsuits will be enough."
"Honey, you need to stay positive, okay? It'll all work out, you'll see."
I prayed he was right. "I'll be here for another half hour or so and then Coop and I are going to drive down south and check out that Mormon farm. I shouldn't be too late. Do you want me to pick something up for dinner?"
"I had already planned on making lasagna, but you can pick up a bottle of wine if you'd like."
"Sounds wonderful. See you soon."
Coop had approached halfway through my conversation with Michael and stood patiently until I finished.
"It wasn't a rental," he informed me. "The lockers that aren't rented don't have locks on them. Anyone can pull them open, they just have to get over the outside fence first."
"That wouldn't be difficult. Security cameras?"
"Yup, but they malfunctioned a week ago and the owner sent them in to get fixed."
"Of course." We needed a substantial break in this case, and weren't finding one anywhere.
"Also, from what we can tell so far, Edward Honeycutt was a vagrant. I had records contact Dayton police and the only crimes they had him for were loitering, public drunkenness, and shit like that. He never had a permanent address and was always listed as a transient."
"What was the date of last contact with him?"
"Roughly a year ago. So, now what?"
"We can't do much more here. We'll have to wait on the autopsy report. C'mon, let's go check out the Mormons." I tugged his arm.
"It's getting late, you sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow?"
"I'm sure."
The drive didn't take long, maybe twenty-five minutes or so. The farm, situated on Benedict Road, was almost to the county line in one of the most scenic areas in the county. Turning onto Benedict Road was like looking at a postcard. A one-lane steel bridge took a driver over the massive river and onto a winding road that almost guaranteed sightings of wildlife. Just before the bridge, a century-old water mill stood ominously gray and dilapidating, but with an air of historical mystery.
Just beyond the bridge, Coop stopped in front of a dirt driveway that led to the top of the largest hill, actually a small, wooded mountain. Whatever was at the top couldn't be seen from our viewpoint.
"This is it. I'm telling you, they're not going to let us look around," Coop said.
The children's services worker was unavailable on short notice, so we were on our own. If nothing else, I just wanted to see the place.
"Drive, please."
Coop shook his head and maneuvered his car up the rutted and uneven drive. As we climbed up the hill, the tops of the house and barns came into view, and eventually Coop came to a stop. Before us stood a large, weatherworn, white farmhouse with a wraparound porch. There were three other buildings on the property, all white. One of the buildings, which I assumed to be a barn, was much larger than the others. The lawn, which took up approximately three acres before turning into woods, was meticulously kept. A large garden could be seen just beyond one of the smaller buildings, and several clotheslines with bed sheets and blankets lined the opposite side of the house.
I felt like I had traveled back a century in time. Even worse, I felt like a futuristic intruder who was invading this peaceful existence in an old blue Chevy Blazer. The farm itself gave me the chills, and sent off an eerie vibe that I undeniably didn't care for. And lastly, there wasn't a soul in sight. Unlike the forty or fifty people that Coop had previously described.
"Should we get out?" Coop whispered.
"Why are you whispering? Yes, let's get out, and go knock on the damn door." I opened my door and motioned for Coop to do the same.
"This seems creepier than when I was here the first time."
As we stood in front of the car, we were both quiet. I was listening for any signs of a large group of people somewhere off in the distance, but didn't hear any. This concerned me. All I heard was the chirps of crickets and the last calls of the birds before nighttime.
"I don't know where a group of people that size would've gone. Did they have cars when you were here?"
"Just that old pickup truck that's over by the barn." He nodded toward it. "Other than that, nothing."
"Let's see if anyone answers the door." I started toward the house.
We had arrived at the bottom of the steps that led up to the front door when I heard someone clear their throat from behind us. It startled both Coop and me and we spun around. Standing there were four women who must've literally tiptoed up to us; we had heard nothing. One woman, who wore a wry smile, stepped forward and extended her hand.
"I'd like to introduce myself...I'm Illeana Barron."
Illeana Barron stood close to six feet tall. She was severe-looking and dreadfully unattractive. I estimated her age to be somewhere around the late forties to early fifties mark, but in cases like hers, one couldn't pinpoint it without an actual birth certificate. Her dull, lifeless coal black hair was parted in the middle and hung straight down to her waist. What set off her hair even more was her chalky white, pockmarked skin, which showed a lifetime of acne damage. And, to top it off, she was not just thin---she was downright skeletal. God forbid a strong wind would come through. She'd break into a million pieces and blow away like a house of cards.
All four women wore silky white robes that draped to the ground and covered their feet. I distinctly thought of my high school graduation gown. Hell, if I could find it, I'd fit right in here at the farm with Illeana and friends, with the exception of the leis. Each woman had a rose lei draped around her neck. I thought if a nun went to a luau, this would be the result. The three other women's leis consisted of pink roses, but Illeana's was the only one that was red. I assumed this indicated her status as the leader.
I didn't shake her hand. Something inside of me froze, and I found myself merely staring at her. I still couldn't figure out what had allowed them to sneak up on us so covertly.
My blatant disregard of her offered handshake caused the arrogance in her expression to fade, but only slightly. This woman wasn't intimidated or rattled easily.
"I can see our attire might be a tad disconcerting to you, Sergeant Gallagher, but we wear these only during our prayer meetings. I hope that puts your troubled mind at ease. You, too, Detective Cooper." She looked at Coop.
Two of the women flanking Illeana appeared in their late forties like her. What caught my attention was the look of concern, however brief, that passed between them as Illeana spoke. The other woman, a very pretty thirtysomething redhead, stood statuesque and pompous, her eyes locked on Coop and me.
"I'm sorry, how do you know our names? Have we met before?" I smiled, asking my question kindly, but with purpose.
I was curious. Illeana had casually, but pointedly, slipped our names into her introduction, and I was more than confident that her sole purpose in doing so was to dominate the conversation. A trick used by the most amateur of criminals during an interrogation. I decided at that moment that I irrefutably distrusted this woman from the start.
"How do you think I know your names, Sergeant? I believe you met one of our members not too long ago---Kirk Richards. In fact, he gave us a play-by-play of being slammed to the ground by Detective Cooper here." She tilted her head at Coop, but kept her eyes on me.
"Of course, he must've explained to you the blatant disrespect he showed us that day as well, ma'am," I told her, my own arrogance rising. "I have to say, considering your religious beliefs, I was more than shocked to find he was nothing more than a foul-mouthed little thug."
Her smile faded completely---point for me. "I can assure you, Sergeant, that minor problem has been addressed and won't happen again. Now, is that the reason you're here, or is there something else? As you can see we're in the middle of prayer."
"Actually, there is another reason we're here." I paused just long enough to get her attention. "Our office recently received a complaint regarding the neglect of children living on this property. Do you have children living here, Ms. Barron?"
I watched for a look of surprise on their faces, but my attempt to unnerve them was met by smiles.
"Of course we have children here, Sergeant. But I have to tell you, I'm a little surprised that two prominent homicide detectives drove all the way down here to investigate a simple complaint of child neglect."
Okay, so she wasn't completely ignorant. Another fact that told me she was going to be extremely difficult to deal with.
"We were in the area already and heard the call dispatched," Coop finally lied. "Instead of sending a patrol car all the way down here, we told them we'd go ahead and check it out. It's called making the most out of our resources."
I doubted she believed him. In fact, I know she didn't, but what else could she say?
"That's fine, Detective. But pardon me for being curious, especially since you were just here the other day inquiring about one of our members."
"That was for a friend, who was obviously concerned." He looked angry.
"But for no reason, right? You saw her for yourself and she was fine, just like the children here. I can't help but think we are becoming the victims of outside antagonism, or you people feel the need to continuously harass us. I'll bet you don't have any type of warrant whatsoever, do you? No need to answer, I can tell by your faces that you don't. But I will show local law enforcement just how peaceful and cooperative we are. I will give you a tour of the grounds, show you some of the children, and then you will leave. I will only tolerate this type of outside involvement for so long before I contact our attorney. Yes, as hard as it is for you to believe, we do have an attorney on retainer."
She was making me angry. "Let me explain something to you, Ms. Barron. Whether or not you tolerate our presence here is of no consequence to us. If there is a valid complaint received by our office, by law, we have to investigate it whether you tolerate it or not. Now, there have been minor complaints that have come in about your members harassing patrons at local businesses and such that we have, until now, ignored. However, if you choose to make our visits here difficult, we can certainly investigate all of those complaints and make life for you and your members uncomfortable. The bottom line---you'd do best to cooperate fully and lose your condescending attitude."
There was a significant stretch of silence. The redhead, who showed such a confident display earlier, became increasingly uneasy. It didn't take a genius to understand that not many people, if any at all, questioned Illeana.
"Is that a threat, Sergeant?" She spoke low but angry.
"Not at all, merely a fact. Now, one of my many concerns at this point, outside of your attitude and atrocious formal wear, is that Kirk Richards told us there were only a few people living here. When Detective Cooper came the other day he saw close to fifty. What's your explanation for that?"
"Kirk gets a little confused sometimes, Sergeant." Her smile flashed again and she regained her composure. "Of course, you're right. I'll cooperate any way I can. If you'd like to follow me, I'll show you around the grounds and explain what we're all about."
"We'd appreciate that, but you forgot to introduce us to your friends here," Coop mentioned, trying to gather some information that I'd missed.
"Oh! Please accept my apologies for being so rude." She pointed to the two women in their forties. "This is Connie West and Sally Blake. And this"---she pointed to the pretty redhead---"is Francesca Tracy, my closest confidant and right-hand leader."
The other two women nodded slightly at being introduced, but not Francesca. She didn't acknowledge us at all, and only stared at the ground. I kept trying to make eye contact to see if I could read anything, but it was almost as if she knew what I was doing. She didn't want me analyzing anything about her. This raised my level of curiosity about Francesca Tracy. There was something there, and I wanted to know what it was.
"If you're ready now, I'll start with the grounds first. We own forty-two acres of property, so, if you want the entire tour, it's going to take a while."
"I don't believe that's necessary. I'd like to see the children and the living areas." I began walking ahead of her.
"I will show you food in the refrigerator, running water, and electricity, as well as the children, Sergeant, who are clean, clothed, well fed, and lack bruises. Other than that, the rest of the home is off limits today. As I've told you before, we're having several prayer meetings, and I will not disrupt them unless you have a warrant. Make us uncomfortable if you must, but the house will have to be viewed another day."
As much as I hated to admit it, she had me. I suppose I could've pushed the issue, but it wasn't worth being called in front of the sheriff first thing in the morning. I'd save the rest for another day.
Connie West and Sally Blake excused themselves and started walking toward the largest barn while Francesca stayed glued to Illeana's side. Illeana, in the meantime, put on her best tour guide persona and began leading us toward, and past, the barn the other women had entered. It was one of the buildings I would've liked to have seen, but I wasn't expecting any miracles.
"I already told you several times that a prayer meeting is being held in there and I am not going to disturb it," she huffed. "The other two buildings are for storage purposes. Sometimes, when members join, they don't want to get rid of all of their personal belongings, which they no longer need. We understand their feelings and allow them to store everything here."
"Ms. Barron---"
"Please, call me Illeana."
"All right...Illeana. What, exactly, are these people a member of? Is this a church, a camp, or what is it really?"
She stopped walking, turned to us, and smiled. We had been walking toward the woods, and were only a few feet away at this point. Francesca remained stone-faced and continued to evade eye contact with me.
"We are neither a camp nor a church, Sergeant. We are the Children of Eden."
"The what?" Coop blurted, looking as dumbfounded as I was.
"The Children of Eden," she repeated proudly. "Come, let's walk, and talk, kill two birds with one stone as they say."
She continued on, and Coop and I had no other choice but to follow. Francesca fell back to walk behind, as if we needed privacy. I found this to be somewhat odd. Not to mention, the entire time we were walking, I felt like we were being watched. It didn't take a veteran police officer to cue in on something like that. I scanned the perimeter of the woods and glanced up at the house and barn several times, but there wasn't a sign of anyone. Still, the feeling put me on edge.
"You haven't answered my question, Illeana," I prodded. "Giving me the name of your group, which, quite frankly, sounds more like a rock band than a religious organization, doesn't explain what's going on here."
She stopped cold, her smile all but vanished, and the lines on her face deepening as she stared at me with utter contempt. Francesca looked positively shocked. I had expected a slight protest at my rock band comment, but Illeana looked as if she might come completely unglued.
"Don't you dare mock what you don't understand, Sergeant!" After a brief pause, her face softened a little. "Tell me, Sergeant, what is your religion of choice---if you have one at all?"
"My religious beliefs or anything about my personal life is none of your business. I'm sure an intelligent woman like you can certainly understand that."
"That's your preference, but if you want to know what we're about here---appease me. But first, I'd like to guess: you're a Catholic. Am I right?"
I did want some answers and I concluded that Illeana Barron knowing what my religion was posed no potential threat. Or so I thought.
"Yes, you're right. I'm a Catholic."
"I figured as much. Catholics are so judgmental of other religions. They're quite snobbish, actually. I don't mean to be offensive, Sergeant, but your demeanor and attitude gave you away. How about you, Detective? Are you a Catholic, too?"
"Actually, I'm a Lutheran," Coop said.
"Same thing."
She waved her hand at him in a dismissive gesture. Coop's face turned a deep shade of scarlet at being banished so quickly by a woman of Illeana's caliber. I anticipated a tirade from him any second so I gently placed my hand on his arm and gave him a brief glance. He knew it meant: not now---let's get the information first before you clean her clock. I was a little pissed, too, at her Catholic comment, but I'd have to let it slide for now. Nonetheless, it certainly wouldn't be forgotten.
"This is good," she continued as we reached the edge of the woods. "At least I don't have to give either of you a crash course of the Bible. You both know the story of Adam and Eve, right?"
"Right," Coop and I answered in unison.
"Your religions teach that Adam was created by God, Eve from Adam's rib. Eve was the sinner who ate the apple and ruined women for all eternity, and so on. This is what humans have been led to believe since the dawn of time. However, it is so very far from the truth, it's almost comical, if not so disturbing."
"Excuse me, but where are we going?"
We had just entered the woods, and since I wasn't very fond of them due to bad past experiences, I wanted to make sure we weren't walking into an ambush.
"There's something I want to show the both of you. It won't take long."
She motioned for us to step onto a path that looked like it had recently been cleared. Once we were headed in the right direction again, she continued her explanation.
"You see, the truth of the matter is that Eve, alone, is the creator of heaven, earth, and all living things," she said matter-of-factly.
Since we were walking behind Illeana, I rolled my eyes at Coop while he pointed his index finger to his head and whirled it around in a circular motion; she's wacko!
"Roll your eyes if you must, Sergeant," she continued, evidently having eyes in the back of her head. "But I can assure you both, it's all true. What you think of as God was really a creation of Eve, an assistant so to speak, to be put in charge of things when she wasn't able. Obviously, she then created Adam, for the sole purpose of companionship, so both of them may reside in eternal happiness in Eden. This made your God angry, since he had grown to love his creator, and he soon became blinded by jealousy. It was shortly after Adam's arrival that God found the serpent in the garden, and it was then that the pact was made. This would be a pact that would change humanity forever."
She stopped walking and looked behind us. Coop and I turned, too, and saw that Francesca was no longer behind us.
"Hmm, she must've had something to tend to. No matter, we're almost there." She inhaled loud enough for us to hear, as if this little nature walk was wearing her out. "As I was saying, the serpent wanted God to lure Eve to a specific place in the garden so he could seduce her. In exchange, the serpent would grant God unlimited power, enough power to expel Eve for eternity and assume her role as the creator of all things. Clearly, this event took place. After the serpent seduced and impregnated Eve, she gave birth to two seed lines. The first was Cain, the son of the serpent. He was the son that chose to mate with only non-Adamic races, and ultimately became the progenitor of the Jews. The second birth was, of course, Abel, the son of Adam, and the only son that was produced from good, solid white stock.
"After the births, God used his power to deem Eve blasphemous for mating with the serpent and cast her out of Eden for all of eternity. The rest, as they say, is history."
She stopped again, studying our faces for any reaction to her dissertation. In only a brief moment she got one from Coop. He exploded in anger.
"That's the most ridiculous story I have ever heard in my life, lady! Not only is your theory downright insane, it sounds pretty damn racist, too. Good white stock? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I'll bet if I walked over to that goddamn barn I wouldn't find one black, Jew, Asian, or Hispanic, would I? So Eve was expelled, huh? Where to? Oz?"
"She is in a very dark place." Her voice began to rise to the level of Coop's.
"Oh, bullshit! You're nothing but a stone-cold mental case. I'll bet when I check into your background I'll find a lengthy history of mental illness."
Illeana grew angrier. "Just because I don't share your views of the creator, Detective, does NOT mean I am crazy! And for the record, I have no history of mental problems and you can check that for yourself!"
Coop turned his back directly to her, facing me. "I'll wait for you in the car. I'm not listening to this crap anymore."
"Coop, just wait..."
It was no use. Knowing Coop, it was best to let him go. Besides, I was trying to come up with a more dignified response to Illeana's gibberish. We stood facing each other for several moments, each waiting for the other to speak. She was visibly angry at Coop's attack, but I was more than prepared to defend him if the situation called for it. I was the one who broke the silence.
"That's a very interesting theory, Illeana." I kept my voice low and calm. "But I'm sure if you chose to debate it with several religious scholars they'd be able to poke holes all over it within seconds. The evidence of God, alone, would tell you that---"
"What evidence?" She tilted her head back and laughed. "Your Bible?"
"That's not all---"
"There is no proof, Sergeant! There will never be any proof because it will expose your God and his own sins! It will show Eve's true reign in the universe and the rightful place of women in society!"
Coop was right. She was a lunatic---a narcissistic sociopath who was leading possibly hundreds of people into her madness. A horrifying thought.
"Tell me, Illeana. How did you come to discover this theory?"
My voice had a mocking, sarcastic tone to it, but it went ignored by Illeana.
"About seven years ago, my life was slowly unraveling when she came to me, telling me of her true reign and pleading for my help. She's angry now, angry at what the world has become---what God has made it! With my help, and others like me, she is slowly regaining her power. The more members who believe and pray, the stronger she becomes."
She looked around as if to make sure we were alone. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Sergeant. The global warming that has gripped the earth isn't an act of God like everyone believes. It's Eve. She's punishing all of the nonbelievers and it is going to last for as long as it takes. In the meantime, we are welcoming more and more members every day to make her stronger."
I sighed while attempting to smile. "I'm sorry, Illeana, but I'm not buying it."
She smiled back. "Don't worry, you will. Now, let's get going, just down the small hill and we're there."
I followed her down the small slope that ended in a large stretch of the river's embankment. The river was wide here and, I'm sure, just as deep. What drew my attention wasn't the murky brown water; it was the large white catering tent set up a few feet away, situated on the river's bank. The sides of the tent were down so that it was mostly enclosed.
"Someone getting married?" I chided.
"That, Sergeant, is our baptismal tent. Come, I'll show you the inside. It's pretty simple, really. This is where we wash away our sins and bring in the new members."
I followed her inside and saw it was mostly empty. A long red carpet ran from the entrance down to the front of the tent where the river was. The front was opened, displaying a view of the river and its opposite bank. Along each side of the tent were three large white pedestals with bouquets of red roses on top. That was it---nothing else.
"So this is where you wash away sins, huh?"
If this were true, I could probably stand a good four-hour soaking in the river.
"It gets us by during life on earth, but"---she pulled a rose out of the nearest bouquet and handed it to me---"life is punishment for the sins of our fathers. Only when our souls return to Eden, our eternal home, will we be forever cleansed."
"That's lovely," I said wryly. "And this is certainly impressive, but I'd like to see some of the children now. It's getting late."
After spending this short time with Illeana Barron and listening to her ridiculous sermons, I was now genuinely concerned for all of the children living here.
She led me back up the path to the edge of the woods, where we were greeted by Francesca Tracy and five children. Unmistakably, this was where she had disappeared to. No longer wearing her robe, she was now dressed in a plain, floor-length blue skirt and a short-sleeved white lace blouse that was buttoned up to her neck. The children, three girls and two boys, were dressed similarly, the boys in slacks and suspenders. They appeared to range in ages from three to seven.
One of the little boys, who couldn't have been older than four, stood gaping at me and grinned ear to ear. With sun-bleached hair and large blue eyes, he was adorable. I bent down to him, speaking softly.
"What's your name?"
"My name is Jack Martz!" he answered proudly.
"Well, Jack Martz, you're a very handsome little boy with a wonderful smile! Here, would you like my rose? Jack, are your mommy and daddy here?"
He nodded his head furiously as he pointed to the barn.
"They're in there. They just got done wit pwayer!"
"Very good. Do you like it here, Jack Martz?"
He nodded again, his smile growing wider.
At that moment, I felt a slight tug on my shirt. Looking down, I expected to see another blonde cherub smiling up at me. What I saw made me gasp aloud. Another child had joined our group, but he didn't look at all like Jack Martz.
He was the size of the other children, and dressed the same, but his face was grossly deformed. He had a prominent cleft lip, or harelip, that exposed the few remaining teeth in his mouth. Although the enormous size of his head was troubling, it was his eyes and nose that I found most disturbing: his eyes were set entirely too wide for his face, and the left eye was approximately an inch lower than the right. It was situated in the middle of the cheekbone. His nostrils were also too large for the nose, almost giving an appearance that it lacked any cartilage.
His hair had a slight grayish tint. Not that there was much hair. It was more like a thick layer of fuzz one would see on a newborn or a chemotherapy patient.
"Hmmya, mwwek," he said.
My frozen expression likely spoke volumes to Illeana, but she didn't show it. Her all-knowing smile remained, never deviating in the slightest when I reacted to the child. I looked at her for a translation but couldn't bring myself to speak.
"He said, 'Hello, ma'am'...if you were wondering," she said calmly, her eyes locked on mine.
"What happened to him?" I whispered, finally finding my voice.
"It's fumarase deficiency, a rare genetic disorder that results from inbreeding."
"Inbreeding? If this is the result of your activities here, Illeana, I can promise I will have you shut down and in jail by tomorr---"
"I saved his life, Sergeant!" she interrupted, raising her voice. "I brought four of them here with us." She took a deep breath and shooed the children off before continuing. "There were only a handful of documented cases of fumarase in the world, until we found over thirty of them in Short Creek."
"Where is Short Creek?"
"Short Creek is one of the names of the twin communities of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The communities actually lie in the mountains along the Utah/Arizona border and are completely closed off to the rest of the world." She slapped her hands together to provide a visual. "Eighty percent of the residents are blood relatives of the church's founders, John Y. Barlow and Joseph Smith Jessup. They belonged to the Mormon Church until infighting among the members caused him to break away from the mainstream church and form the fundamentalist sect almost seventy-five years ago. The infighting was about polygamy, something Joseph strongly believed in. Fumarase was inevitable. Rarely any new people come in. As I've said, the community is closed off and continues to populate among relatives. There are almost ten thousand members living up in those mountains." She sighed. "We spent the better part of a year there, before Eve came to me and told me it was all wrong."
"How can they be allowed to thrive? I mean, why in the hell hasn't the government put a stop to it? I've heard the stories: young girls being raped and forced into multiple marriages---pimped out to their uncles and cousins, but this? Fumarase? I'm surprised health organizations haven't made their way in."
"Oh, they've tried, but rarely does anyone from the outside actually make it in to prove the rumors true.
"Elijah is a little higher functioning than most," she continued, referring to the boy I'd just met. "Most of the fumarase have very little muscle control, are blind, deaf, can barely walk, and suffer from a variety of disorders like epileptic seizures. Elijah has the seizures and is blind in one eye, but he's lived seventeen years. Old age for a fumarase victim."
"That little boy is seventeen years old?" I was shocked.
She nodded. "The others are a little worse, but they are much, much happier here than they were at Short Creek."
"For once, Illeana, I think I believe you." I tried to shake the vision of the poor boy from my mind.
"You see, Sergeant, there is nothing wrong with the children here. They're very happy."
I had a thought. "I only saw six children. What about the rest? What about school?"
"The rest are no different than the healthy, happy kids you just saw, excluding the fumarase children, of course. To answer your second question, all of the children here are homeschooled. We have several members that used to be teachers and provide them with an excellent education."
I doubted that greatly, but I needed to hurry things up a bit. I'm sure Coop was ready to come unglued waiting for me. I had Illeana show me a current electric and water bill (I waited outside of the house, of course), and my first visit with the Children of Eden was officially over. Illeana, forever the tour guide and hostess, walked me to the car.
"I hope you're satisfied, Sergeant. You saw for your own eyes that we are a very peaceful and loving group. Law enforcement needn't worry about us. You need to be worried about the true sinners out in the world."
I gave a slight laugh. "You have a point there. But as far as my opinion of your outfit here goes, I think I'm going to keep my options open for a while."
"Suit yourself," she huffed, before walking away.
Coop, visibly irritated, already had the car in drive before I had my door shut and seat belt on. I waited until we were completely away from the farm to begin my apologies for taking so long.
"Sorry," I began quietly. "I didn't mean to be there this late, but I wanted to get as much information as I could while we had the chance. I have a feeling that we won't be welcome anymore without a warrant."
"I understand that, CeeCee. What I don't understand is the frame of mind of a person like her. I also don't understand how you could stand there and listen to that senseless crap!" Although clearly still upset, he seemed much calmer than before.
"For crying out loud, we've been cops and dealing with crazy people for over fifteen years and you're telling me she got you that upset? Why, all of sudden, would you let someone like her get to you?"
He sighed. "I know, you're right, it was the whole God is the bad guy thing. You know I'm not some Holy-Rolling Bible-thumper, but that kind of shit pisses me off, especially when they're drilling it into the heads of those little kids."
"Speaking of the kids, you're damn lucky you left when you did."
He looked confused until I went into my detailed account of the fumarase children. He stared at me with a look that, no doubt, mirrored my own when I first saw Elijah.
"Keep driving." I nodded at the steering wheel. "The bottom line is that we need to keep our eyes on them, but as of right now, we technically don't have any grounds for a criminal investigation."
"I called and had checks run on the women we met," Coop said. "The only thing found so far is a lack of information on Francesca Tracy. The others are all clean."
Coop filled me in on the details, then we sat the rest of the ride back to the department in silence. It was when we were almost to the city that something dawned on me about Illeana and the Children of Eden.
"Where were the men?" I blurted.
"What are you talking about?"
"I didn't see any men. Not one full-grown, adult, male Homo sapiens anywhere."
"Knowing that crazy bitch, she probably has them tied up like cattle somewhere, getting ready to brand them on their asses. Don't forget Kirk Richards, though. Plus I saw plenty of men when I was there a couple days ago, remember?"
"I forgot."
Coop dropped me off at my car, and I didn't even bother going up to my office. All I wanted to do was go home and see my family.
I arrived just in time to join them for dinner. Michael made his specialty---lasagna. It was Sean's first day with us for his three-week summer vacation, and we considered the occasion a reason to celebrate. Sean sat next to Lola, always doting on her like a protective big brother.
Tomorrow would be Lola's first day of visitation with Paula, and just the mere thought made me nervous. I knew Lola would cry mercilessly when forced to leave with Paula, and, other than having my heart literally ripped out, I couldn't imagine anything worse.
We all watched a couple of rented movies before putting the kids to bed. I took that brief time alone with Michael to fill him in on my visit with Illeana Barron.
"It's a religious cult, no doubt about it," he said, as if I needed confirmation. "And with groups like those, you always need to keep your awareness level up a notch. The only positive thing about the Children of Eden is that its leader is a woman."
"Why is that a positive thing?" I must've missed something.
"For one, women are historically nonviolent. I did some research into the subject when you first brought it up and found that there are three key parts to a violent cult, one of which is, the leader is male."
"There are children there that have fumarase deficiency," I blurted out.
Michael stiffened up and raised an eyebrow at me. "Fumarase? Are you serious?"
"You know what it is?"
"Of course I do. There were always allegations of the deficiency in the deep Appalachian areas, but it was never proven. In fact, there aren't even any known photographs of a fumarase victim. Are you sure that's what it was?"
"One hundred percent."
As I did with Coop, I gave Michael a detailed account. He remained quiet for several minutes, periodically shaking his head.
"Man...I'd really like to see that," he said finally.
"Trust me, you wouldn't. Now, finish what you were telling me about a female cult leader. How do you figure she's less dangerous?"
"It's not just that, really. Out of all of the cults operating in the United States, very few present a credible threat. There are several factors that need to be weighed to prove a cult is dangerous. One of them is called the Lethal Triad."
"I read about that in Project Megiddo."
"You did?" He seemed surprised.
"Uh-huh. Keep going."
"Then you know about the three components: being isolated, which you have with Illeana. Then there's projection. That's when the members of the cult blame outside parties for their problems. Combine these two components and you get the third: basic, pathological anger. Again, if a cult displays the Lethal Triad, along with other common factors, it's time for local law enforcement to be on their guard."
"What you said before, about the leader being a male. Where does that factor into the triad?"
"That's one of the common factors that parallel the triad. There are standard characteristics of a violent cult. One of those is the leader is a male who displays extreme paranoia, offensive actions---like harboring weapons, and constant monitoring of the outside. You don't have any of these with the Children of Eden."
"I understand what you're saying, Michael, but I think you're wrong about the female issue. There are several documented accounts of females committing brutal homicides."
"True, but not in masses, and usually it's emotionally driven: battered woman syndrome, postpartum depression, or revenge."
"Aileen Wuornos was a serial killer," I challenged.
"She was an exception to the rule, just as the female members of the Manson family were. I said that women were historically nonviolent. I agree wholeheartedly with the reports citing violent crimes by women are increasing because of growing social tensions, but as far as Illeana Barron is concerned, I don't think you should get overly concerned." He smiled at me and shook his head. "The signs just aren't there to prove otherwise, Cee."
I mulled over Michael's expert opinion on the Children of Eden. Rarely did I ever question Michael's expertise about anything, but true to his own words, this was an exception. There was something ominous and disconcerting about Illeana Barron. Frankly, at this point, there wasn't an expert in the world that could convince me she was anything less than dangerous.
"Did you run a criminal history check on her?"
Michael snapped me back into the present. I simply looked amused by his question.
He laughed. "I know, I'm sorry, of course you did. Anything come up on it?"
"Not even a speeding ticket. Astoundingly enough, she has a degree in business management---of all things. Can you believe it? She's also, shockingly, married but never mentioned her husband once. His name is Kenneth. I don't even know if he lives on the farm or not."
"You see, just another fact that disproves and disassociates her from the Lethal Triad. Most of the notorious cult leaders in history had run-ins with the law at one time or another."
"Sally Blake and Connie West were clean, too, but her right-hand lady, Francesca Tracy, doesn't exist: no birth date, social security number, driver's license, or state identification card."
"I'm sure she's using an alias," he said.
"But why? It's common practice to use an alias if you're wanted by law enforcement or you're trying to disappear."
"There, you've just given yourself a valid reason to keep digging." He leaned over and gave me a tight squeeze. "I hate to cut this short, but I'm exhausted. Are you ready for tomorrow?"
He referred to Lola's first visitation with Paula. My lack of response answered his question.
"She'll be fine, Cee, trust me." He paused. "Are you coming to bed?"
Surrendering to my own exhaustion, I was more than ready to turn in. Oddly, as paralyzed with fatigue as I was, I slept fitfully most of the night, succumbing to the filtering sunlight around six in the morning. I needed to have Lola awake, fed, dressed, and ready to go when Paula arrived around eight. I spent those two hours with the glimmering hope that she wouldn't show. I still hadn't figured out what her reasons were in wanting Lola, but I knew it wasn't genuine concern for the child's welfare. Michael woke up shortly after I did, and was putting his head together with our private detective to make Paula's string of lawsuits useful. I thought they were simply wasting their time.
Regrettably, she showed. In fact, she was ten minutes early, and she arrived with a caseworker from children services that I didn't know. I stood at the door making it perfectly clear, without saying a word, that she was not welcome to step foot inside my home. Michael was holding Lola and her diaper bag. Upon Lola's first sight of Paula, my worst fears came true when she began to cry and clench Michael in a death grip.
I had to force myself to keep calm, for Lola's sake. I also didn't want to give Paula the satisfaction. Michael and I had done our best to explain to Lola what would happen today---unquestionably, a difficult task for a two-year-old.
"Mama! No go! No go!" She stretched her arms out to me.
"It's okay, baby," I cooed and rubbed her head. "You'll be home soon. Isabelle and Selina have a big surprise for you when you get home!"
I did my best to smile. After barraging Lola with a series of kisses, I began to fire off a list of questions to the caseworker. I continued to ignore Paula, who stood, glaring at me, wearing the same sour look she had when she first arrived.
"Are you going to supervise all eight hours of the visit? Are you going to do a complete and thorough inspection of the home she's staying at? What about her trailer in Texas? Who's going to check that out?"
Paula winced when I emphasized the word "trailer." I said it with no other purpose than to piss her off. It clearly worked. The caseworker also seemed annoyed at my interrogation, but answered yes to all of the questions.
"We'll have the jurisdictional child protective services in Texas conduct the home inspection there. They'll fax their report to us as soon as it's completed," she snipped.
Then, with Lola kicking, screaming, and stretching her arms out for Michael and me, they got into their car and left. I broke within seconds.
"Michael! We have to do something!" I sobbed uncontrollably.
"We are---we will, Cee." He held me tight. "Just try and keep it together for a little while longer."
I tore up the stairs with an overwhelming urge to hold Selina and Isabelle. Selina, annoyed to be awakened at such an early hour, grumbled loudly before falling back asleep. I felt somewhat better and was able to get ready for work. Before I left, I stopped in the kitchen to say good-bye to Rena and saw that she had been crying. She pulled a chair next to hers and motioned for me to sit down.
"Sientese por favor, Miss CeeCee."
"I'd like to, Rena, but I have to leave for work. Are you okay?"
She nodded and did her best to smile. "Si. I hear baby cry when she leave. It make me very sad."
"Me, too, Rena." I bent over and gave her a gentle hug before leaving.
I knew ahead of time that this was one of those days that I would be at work in body only. My mind would be with Lola all day.
It was still early when I got to my office, so I was a little surprised to see that Brenda Rader had already left two messages. She wanted to know if anything new had turned up on her husband's murder, and if I had found out any information about the tattoos. Since the answer was no on both, I didn't bother calling her back.
Around midmorning, I gave Naomi an excuse about contacting a witness for a case. I decidedly had enough of worrying about Lola and made up my mind to drive by Paula's friends' house in Little Kentucky. If I could just get a glimpse of her, no longer crying, I might be able to get through the rest of the day. Luckily, the home she was at was in the newer section of "Lil' KY" (how the locals refer to it) and at least had doors. By newer, I meant homes that were thirty years old instead of fifty.
I drove down the road that paralleled the back of the house, and sure enough, they were all playing in the backyard. From what I could see, Lola was laughing---having fun. Now I couldn't decide which was worse.
Regardless, it eased my mind enough that I was able to go back to the office, where Coop waited for me.
July 27
Things are worse! The camp has been unusually restless since that lady cop came poking around. Illeana has been nervous, talking irrationally, or should I say MORE irrationally than normal! She's outright paranoid. I think I have enough now to put her where she belongs and I'm pretty sure that cop, Gallagher I think her name was, will be the one to do it.
Last night, Illeana had us marching in formation wearing our camouflage uniforms we had bought. She even had the children marching!!! Jake and Ken led the so-called "outsider rebellion training." No one asked, but it was clear the reason for the training was on everyone's minds. Illeana said that Eve was coming and with her the outsiders that wanted to keep her hidden. She said her coming will trigger the apocalypse and we needed to be prepared for whatever lies ahead.
Eve needed protecting, which is why all of the guns were purchased and stored in the woods. The guns scare me. The roses are almost in full bloom and the women are preparing to make robes for the coming ceremony. It all looks like we're preparing for war!! I'm so scared for my children.
Sometimes I still feel unsure, I mostly think of Illeana as a bag of hot air---I hope that's the case. She promised the coming of Eve in three days, never enough time to finish the robes as far as I'm concerned. We'll have to sew for three days straight, not to mention the cooking and cleaning for the welcoming. Illeana promised us all a seat on the altar of Eden.
I know it's crap, but I set out to play this game and I fully intend on finishing it!!
R---
Coop had gathered valuable information while I had been out checking on Lola. After our unsettling visit to the farm, he had taken it upon himself to check into the financial details of the land sale and deed to Illeana's hideaway.
"Guess how much they bought the farm and land for?" he prodded.
"Hit me."
"One farm and thirty acres of land cost them, exactly, $355,672.00 including taxes." He crossed his arms and smiled, seemingly proud of his discovery.
"You've got to be shitting me!" I was flabbergasted.
"I shit you not---it even gets better." He mimicked the sound of a drum roll with his tongue. "They paid for it with cash."
I dramatically allowed my jaw to drop. None of this made any sense.
"Where do people like that come up with over a quarter of a million in cash?" I let out a low whistle. "We are definitely missing something here, Coop. We need to subpoena their bank records."
"That won't work," he said matter-of-factly.
"Why not?"
"Because, you'll need to find out the name of the bank they use before the subpoena is even issued. I doubt she'll give you that information, which means you'll have to personally serve her with a subpoena duces tecum that orders her to tell you."
"So? That'll take less than half an hour to have the prosecutors draw one up."
"You're forgetting, we have no official investigation right now, so you'll have a helluva time explaining to the prosecutor's office why you need one issued. Lastly, I doubt Illeana and the others even use a bank at all. I've been doing some research and found that most radical groups like hers sell off everything they own and pool their money together. Most are antigovernment and won't even consider using banks." He laughed slightly. "Hell, Illeana's probably got a couple hundred grand in cash buried somewhere on that property."
Sometimes, with the dense and airheadlike observations that Coop comes up with, I forget he is still a top-notch detective. I chewed the end of my pen and considered his theory.
"You might be right, but it certainly won't hurt to give it a shot," I reasoned.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you want to do." He paused, deep in thought. "Off the topic of the Waco wannabes; have you found anything on the O yet? Naomi asked me about it earlier."
"Not a damn thing. I had Michael run it through the FBI database but it hasn't hit on anything yet. The mystery remains."
After Coop left, I found it difficult to focus my attention on the three obviously connected and unsolved homicides. My thoughts endlessly drifted to Lola and, regrettably, the Children of Eden.
Michael had called shortly after lunch, and I immediately assumed something went wrong with Lola's visit.
"Nothing's wrong with Lola, hon. In fact, I wanted to call you earlier and let you know that I drove by to check on her before I left for work. Everything seemed fine. No worries." His voice was calm and soothing.
"You checked on her?" I was slightly taken aback since it appeared Michael was taking as deep an interest in Lola as I was.
"Yes, and why do you seem so surprised?" He laughed a little. "They were in the yard playing---it looked like Lori Kinderman showed up and took over for that other little pill. Jeez, Cee! You forget that little angel has me wrapped around her little finger, too."
I smiled. "You're right, I'm sorry, and thanks, honey. I was just sitting here thinking about her when you called. I feel much better that Lori is there. By the way, is that why you called?"
"Partly, but I have something else that you might find interesting. We got a phone call up here, anonymous, of course, about your religious cult. The caller said..." Michael stopped and I could hear him shuffling papers on his desk; he knew I would want the tip word for word. "...ah, yes, here it is, 'A religious group living on a farm on Benedict Road in Richland County is stockpiling weapons and training for an apocalyptic crusade.' The agent who took the call said the guy sounded pretty nutty..."
"What? When did that come in?" My pulse was racing.
"Over lunch, I guess. When the agent started to question the caller, he hung up. Nothing else was said. It came in on a private line and wasn't recorded or able to be traced."
"You're going to check it out, right?" I asked eagerly. This was the break I had been hoping for. Once the FBI got involved, it would firmly justify the existence of a criminal investigation into the Children of Eden, and raise it to an entirely different level.
"No, I'm passing it along to you. It's local jurisdiction, not federal."
I was floored. "Local jurisdiction? Michael, you're talking about a group of fucked-up radicals harboring weapons for a doomsday standoff. That is domestic terrorism---the FBI's turf!" Damn him!
A long-winded sigh came through the phone. "Cee, I knew you were going to do this, so I already checked it out with my supervisor in Washington. Right now, it's merely an allegation. We pass it on to local law enforcement to prove or disprove. If, and only if, the allegations are true, will we get involved."
I knew he was right, but I was still angry nonetheless. A downside of having the jurisdictional FBI agent as your husband. I kept at it.
"Basically, from what you're telling me, we do all of the footwork: the interviews, warrants, crime scene, and everything else and then just pass it along to you guys. I should be used to this by now. This is bullshit, Michael!" I was loud.
"You know if we personally investigate complaints like this we'd be tied up on nothing but!" His voice rose, by a degree only I would notice.
I laughed sarcastically. Now we were ready to embark on the one topic that always resulted in an argument. The topic of whose agency investigated the greater crimes and was the busiest. Michael knew better. His office wasn't inundated with homicides, rapes, robberies, and home invasions, like my office was. But, when it came to defending his own precious FBI, which wasn't very often, he could incense me like no one else.
"I'm not in the mood to launch into the great debate of whose agency is busiest," I said. "As you already know, Richland Metro would have you beat hands down. All I'm saying is it would be nice for you to help a little!" Oh, I could be haughty when needed!
"This is what you wanted, for Christ's sake!" He was furious now. "You're constantly complaining that Naomi won't let you open an official investigation into Illeana because of lack of evidence. Now, you've got it! An FBI tip! For crying out loud, CeeCee, what's with you sometimes? It's damned if I do, and damned if I don't!"
Michael and I didn't argue very much and it bothered me. A lot. I threw out the best I could come up with to ease the situation.
"Ratchet down, Agent, or you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight."
"What? Don't you dare even think about---"
My childish giggles interrupted his outburst and he caught on quickly. He began to laugh, too.
"Very nice. Okay, you got me." He breathed a sigh of relief. "C'mon, this is nuts arguing like this."
"I know, you're right, and I'm sorry. I'm just not getting a lot of support on this here, and a strong backing from you guys would've helped."
"Look, I'm not trying to pass the buck here. Honestly, I thought you'd be thrilled to get this information, at least to get Naomi off of your back about it." He was much calmer.
"Realistically, I am. I've just been on edge the last couple of days. I've got jack shit on three homicides, a crazy cult on the loose, and a baby girl spending the day in Little Kentucky." I sighed. "This feels like the longest day of my life. Tell me it's eight o'clock already."
"Sorry, babe, but we still have six hours to go. She'll be fine." He cleared his throat. "So, am I still banished to the couch tonight?"
"Of course not. How about a date in our bedroom at, say, ten o'clock?"
"Only if you wear that cheerleading costume you wore for Halloween last..."
"Michael!" I laughed.
"It's a date, see you then. I love you."
Still seated at my desk, I leaned my head back and rubbed my eyes. My conversation with Michael, although it ended well, drained me a little emotionally. I looked at the clock on my desk again. There was nothing that would keep me from being home on time to welcome Lola, but six hours was plenty of time to drive down to the farm and nose around the Children of Eden again. This time I had a valid reason. Michael was right, I was looking for a justifiable reason to take my own personal investigation to the level of a legitimate one.
Thankfully, Naomi was out, so I just left her a note that I had gone out and would explain later.
The twenty-five-minute drive to Benedict Road gave me the opportunity to concoct an approach of my "official" visit. Considering this second contact came on the heels so soon after the first, I had to have everything in order. Most importantly, I had to prepare myself to be instantly dismissed. There was little doubt that I would have a door slammed in my face since Illeana had told me specifically not to return unless it was with a warrant. But I was damned determined to try. I had yet to see the inside of the main house, so I decided to make that my focus on this particular visit.
Coming off the long driveway into view of the farm, I saw there were many people---mostly women---scattered about the property, unlike the last visit when not a soul was seen. The loud, whirring sounds of chain saws coming from the far woods indicated the location of most of the men.
Ignoring the suspicious stares, I arrogantly strode up the steps of the freshly painted farmhouse and knocked loudly on the front door. While I waited for a response, I glanced at the women in the yard, who stood motionless, watching me. The initial suspicion on their faces changed to something else now. Was it fear?
The slow creaking of the front door opening brought my attention away from the women. The door opened mere inches, and I saw Francesca peer through the darkened crack. Evidentially, she did not intend to invite me in.
"What do you want?" she asked skeptically.
"I'd like to see Illeana, please." I noticed her face portrayed the same fear as the other women.
She nervously glanced behind her before turning back to me. I was desperate to know what she was looking at.
"I believe she told you that you aren't welcome here without a warrant."
She attempted to pull her act together and appear as if she had all the confidence in the world. Unfortunately for her, she opened the door wider, a clear invitation in my book. I quickly stepped inside. Her confidence crumbled at my blatant disregard for a verbal welcome. She immediately became even more nervous than before, more so after I stated my purpose.
"My agency has received another complaint on your group. This particular complaint came straight from the FBI." I smiled. "Please let her know I'm here and need to speak to her immediately. I'll wait."
Francesca let out a loud sigh and glanced at a large wooden door to her right. I assumed Illeana was on the other side. Technically, Francesca could've told me then to get the hell out and never come back, but she would no doubt let Illeana make that call.
"Illeana's in solitary salvation right now," she almost whispered while still glancing at the door. "She doesn't like to be disturbed, but I'll let her know you're here. Obviously, she won't be happy about this."
"I'm sure she'll recover. By all means, take your time."
Jaw clenched, and wearing a transparent look of irritation, Francesca went through the door and closed it quietly behind her. Solitary salvation? I couldn't begin to imagine what that was. For now, I took the opportunity to drink in my surroundings, walking around a bit to investigate Illeana's inner sanctum.
My view from the foyer seemed normal enough, a small area with bright yellow walls and a polished wooden floor. An empty wooden coatrack stood prominently in the left corner underneath a large oil painting. The painting was very amateurish: a woman sat in a large field of green grass with an abundant circle of red roses around her. Nothing about the painting seemed overly religious or strange. Certainly not a wall decoration I'd expect to find in the lair of a dragoness like Illeana. Nevertheless, something about the painting struck me as odd.
I'd stuck a small digital camera in my bag before I left in case I had an opportunity, like now, to take some shots of the interior of the house. I quickly grabbed the camera and zoomed in on the painting, taking two pictures of it.
As odd as I found the painting to be, nothing prepared me for what was down the short hallway.
Almost tiptoeing, I made my way down the narrow corridor to emerge in what was supposed to be a large family room. Although there was a tattered off-white couch on the far side of the room, there was nothing else in there that resembled a place that families met to enjoy their after-dinner sitcoms by the fireplace.
It was set up as a grotesque prayer room. My hair stood up on end as I scanned the contents and decor of the room, not even realizing I was holding my breath. There was something extremely disconcerting and eerie about the room, and I don't believe it was from the dark maroon walls either. As bad as the color was, it was worsened by the thin coat of dark paint that covered each window, causing the sunlight to coat every item in the room with a sickening reddish pink tint. Red roses were everywhere---thorns and all. They were stuck on the walls using regular Scotch tape and pushpins, in the couch, and on the windows.
Plastic lawn chairs that could be purchased for five dollars apiece at the nearest Wal-Mart had been spray-painted a metallic silver and situated in a large circle in the middle of the room, also with roses on them. The reddish sunlight caught each chair just right, giving the appearance of a glowing red circle---almost. Painted in the middle of the circle on the polished wooden floor was a symbol. The symbol also caught the reddish sunlight. I was familiar with it. Being a sorority member in college I knew without a doubt it was Greek, but I couldn't remember what it stood for. I quickly shut my eyes as I tried to remember what the half circle with two protruding lines and a line underneath stood for:
Ω
Was it gamma? Phi? Maybe delta? I couldn't remember. Regardless, the entire setup reminded me of a warped futuristic portal for teleportation, at least from what I've seen on television. It was creepy.
Spray-painted on the darkened wall next to the chairs was a message that I found even more bothersome. As large as a mural covering the entire wall, the gleaming, bold silver letters read:
O-800-24
Omega is Coming!
Omega. That was the symbol. I remembered now. I grabbed my camera and took a few pictures of the room, which was empty except for the chairs, couch, and antiquated television set that was in front of it. Only a large stack of videocassette movies lay near it. Putting the camera away, I scanned the titles and found a new, heightened sense of alert as I read a few of the titles aloud: Apocalypse Now, Rambo, and one that particularly concerned me, Night Hawks.
A cheesy '80s film with Sylvester Stallone in the lead, the movie fully grasped the traits and persona of a modern-day terrorist, played by the actor Rutger Hauer. His portrayal of the terrorist was so accurate, the movie was actually used in several terrorism training seminars by the U.S. government, some of which I've attended. What concerned me was how Illeana would know that. I wondered if one of the members might have a connection to law enforcement somewhere. To most citizens, the movie is an old, action-packed, shoot-'em-up, grainy oldie-but-goody. To law enforcement, it's a terrorist training video.
I was beginning to think that the FBI tip, along with the videos and contents of the room, might actually get me a search warrant. The videos were such an odd contrast to the rest of the room that I became even more unsettled. The room depicted such a depth of instability and insanity that I had little doubt that Michael's anonymous tip had more than a significant amount of truth to it.
"What do you think you are doing?"
The voice behind me bellowed so loud, I jumped and almost knocked over the stack of movies. I hate when people sneak up behind me. Illeana had walked in, followed by Francesca, and stood watching me for who knows how long. I quickly composed myself.
"I've been waiting for you, Illeana. Frankly, I didn't expect you to take so long."
"You interrupted a most sacred prayer ritual, Sergeant." She put her hands on her hips and seemed legitimately angry. "Come now, you need to leave. You have no business walking around here. I told you last time, you need a warrant. I can call my attorney and have a suit filed against you and your department by the end of the day for this."
I waved off the threat. "Then you'll need to take a number and wait with the rest of 'em." I started toward the front door. "I was actually here on a tip received by the FBI, but since I've seen all I need, I won't bother asking you any questions about it. I think I've seen more than enough for a federal warrant."
Her confidence, like Francesca's earlier, seemed to dissipate by the time I reached the front door. She motioned for Francesca to leave us alone.
"I don't know what in that room could possibly make you think you could get a warrant, Sergeant. I do know a little about the law. So, what is the complaint today?" She tried to appear indifferent.
"You're right, Illeana, I don't have a warrant so you don't have to talk to me. I'll go ahead and leave now, just like you asked." I opened the door.
Shockingly, she put her hand against the door and closed it, her indifference falling to pieces.
"Don't fuck with me today, Sergeant! I'm in no mood. What is the complaint?" She was fuming.
Normally, I would've come unglued at such a display toward law enforcement, but decided against it---just this once. She was clearly worried and showed a disturbing, possibly violent, face, quite different from what I'd seen before. God only knows the problems I might have if she pooled together her followers to clean my clock. That image aside, I needed to be smart about this.
I raised my head. "Kindly take your hand off the door, and I'll tell you. I would hate to think you would prohibit a law enforcement officer from leaving your residence. Knowing the laws like you do, you would know that's kidnapping." I spoke slowly, with a defiant calmness, keeping my eyes locked on hers.
She complied and took a step back, as if she wanted to size me up, an action that put me further on the defense. She was definitely trying my patience this afternoon.
"All right, Illeana, here it is. I received a phone call today from the FBI, who received a tip that you and your 'people' are stockpiling weapons here. A very dangerous and serious allegation. An allegation that my department is putting at the top of the priority list."
For a brief moment, I saw a flicker of concern flash through her eyes, enough that it told me the allegation was true. As usual, she did her best to brush it off.
She rolled her eyes. "Weapons? Oh, please! The biggest weapons we have here are the chain saws to cut our wood. I've let you walk the grounds personally, Sergeant. Tell me you saw something that classifies us as anything but full of peace. You can't, can you? You came all the way down here for that?" She paused. "Where did this tip come from? I suppose it was anonymous?"
I nodded and she laughed aloud, clapping her hands together. I was not as amused.
"Sergeant, since the day we've moved in, we've been hearing rumors from the local farmers and others who want us out of here. I'm sure it was one of them that called to stir things up."
"That may be, but it's my job to investigate it just the same. What I saw in that room certainly concerned me." I felt as if I was losing the battle.
"What?" She pointed toward the room. "That? Chairs, roses, a couch, and a television? Come on, you can do better than that!"
"What's the message on the wall mean? The symbol of omega? I'm more curious than anything else about that. You certainly can tell me about that, can't you?"
"I clearly owe you no explanation about anything, but since I'm so passionate about our cause here, I'd be more than happy to tell you. Who knows? Maybe I'll turn you into a believer."
"I wouldn't hold your breath, but try me."
I'll give one thing to Illeana, when it came to talking about her beliefs and the Children of Eden, she lit up like a nuclear power plant. Her demeanor changed from an angry demon to the cool, collected cult leader I had first met.
"I've already explained to you about Eve, and how she was persecuted. Eve is the Omega---the beginning. It's all very simple really---"
"Actually," I interrupted, "Alpha is the beginning, and omega is the end. It clearly states that in the Bible."
"Remember, I explained to you already that the Bible was written to silence her. Omega is the ultimate symbol of Eve, and we prepare daily for her coming, hence the message."
"What are the numbers? 0-800-24?"
She laughed. "Something you'll have to figure out on your own. I'm not going to let you in on all of our secrets, Sergeant. But even the numbers are harmless. Should you choose to join us, you'll know what they are. As for the weapons, I can assure you, there aren't any. If you want to look, you must have a warrant. I have to draw the line somewhere."
It was getting late and I needed to go. I wanted to do a little research before I got home to meet Lola.
"Fine, Illeana. Thank you, and I'll be on my way." I opened the door, without resistance this time.
"Wait, here, have one." She pulled a rose from inside the wooden door that Francesca had gone through earlier and handed it to me.
"No, thank you. I'm allergic to roses." I left her holding the rose---her face emotionless.
"Crazy bitch!" I couldn't help but mutter as I drove away from the farm.
I didn't care what Coop had said previously, I had every intention of subpoenaing Illeana's records---if they existed. The reality of the matter was that she rattled me back at the farm, especially having witnessed a side of her that hadn't surfaced in our earlier meeting.
I didn't plan on doing too much at my office, as I really wanted to get home and prepare for Lola's return. I had bought a large stuffed pink rabbit and some balloons for the girls to blow up---I wanted everything to be perfect.
With my time limited, I hurried into my office and sat at my computer. Once I was on the Internet, I merely typed in the keyword "Omega" and was astonished at the results. First and foremost was the symbol itself---this one I recognized immediately. No wonder it had taken me a while back at the farm to recognize the symbol. The sign Illeana used was distorted; they had altered it. The true omega symbol didn't have a straight line underneath.
Why did they add one? I further learned that omega literally means O and that it is often used to denote the end, or the last. I was right about the Bible. The Book of Revelation clearly states that alpha is the beginning and omega is the end. Of course, this was all a farce to shame and hide Eve, according to Illeana.
Lastly, I hit the jackpot. I found that omega is the twenty-fourth, and last, letter of the Greek alphabet and holds a value of 800. I'd officially solved the O-800-24 mystery.
Satisfied, I made one last phone call to the prosecutor's office to request a subpoena. It took some creative persuasion on my part, but the prosecutor finally relented. The subpoena would be ready for me to pick up in the morning, and our civil division would serve it.
Damn! I was running late! Feeling a surge of adrenaline at the thought of Lola, I jumped into my car with the intention of breaking every speed limit, but something caught my eye.
Across the parking lot from the police department was a run-down apartment building. It rarely held tenants---it was that shabby---but I saw someone standing in the third-floor window. Nothing to call the SWAT team over, but it seemed as if the person was looking directly down at me, watching. Definitely a man, though I couldn't get a good look at him. I braked a little and strained my neck to peer up for a closer view, but he was gone. It was a little strange. I made a mental note to find out later who was living there.
As soon as I rolled into my driveway, I was promptly bombarded by Isabelle, Selina, and Sean. They were as excited as I was that Lola would be home soon, although I suspect some of that excitement was at the thought of blowing up the balloons (or filling them with water later).
"Mom, tell Isabelle to quit breaking all of the balloons!" Selina screamed as we started preparing. "Every time she blows one up, it breaks!"
I laughed. "No worries! I bought two big bags, since I'm sure you'll all sneak off later to have a water balloon fight."
"Can Lola get wet, too?" Sean asked.
"I suppose, but don't scare her by throwing one in her face like you did to Isabelle last time!" I winked.
We spent the better part of an hour sticking the blown-up balloons around the house and straightening up. The finishing touch was the sign the kids had made that said WELCOME HOME, LOLA! Not that she could read it, but it was a cute gesture. Michael declined to join us in our preparations, as he had some work to do in his office and wanted to finish so his full attention could be on Lola.
By the time seven thirty rolled around my stomach was in knots. By seven fifty-five, I resorted to chain-smoking on the front porch, a vice I had to hide from the kids if I didn't want a thirty-minute lecture on lung cancer. At five after eight, I was ready to call out the National Guard. Just then two cars pulled into the driveway.
I was opening Paula's back door before the car had even come to a complete stop. Lola, who had been ferociously sucking on a pink pacifier, saw me instantly. Spitting out her binky and throwing it at the back of Paula's head (it bounced off pretty hard), she held her arms out to me. Her face scrunched up and turned red.
"Mama!" she wailed. "No mo' go!"
She was shaking her head furiously back and forth as if I didn't understand what no meant. By the time I got her out of my car seat, she had me in such a tight grip I could barely breathe. I was horrified.
Lori had walked up behind me by then, as did Paula.
"What the hell happened?" I looked at Paula accusingly while Lola laid her head on my shoulder and sobbed.
Lori remained silent and looked at Paula with a stony, somber face. This concerned me even more. Paula's face, on the other hand, had turned three different shades of red as she tried to explain---forcing a smile that exposed her few remaining teeth.
"Ah," she waved her hand, "ya know how little ones are!"
She reached out to pat Lola's back and I immediately felt the toddler recoil while tightening her death grip.
"It's just gonna take some gettin' used to is all!" Paula claimed. "You've got her so spoiled and turned against me, I got to undo all that---it's gonna take time!"
"Lori?" I clenched my jaw.
"It didn't go very well, CeeCee." She locked her eyes on mine; I got the hint.
"Paula, you can leave---now." I made an exerted effort to stay calm.
She became angry. "Whaddya mean it didn't go well?" She glared at Lori. "Everything was---"
"Good-bye, Paula!" I said loudly as I walked away.
"Fine!" She got inside her car and rolled down the window. "I'll see you next Wednesday!"
I whirled around and scowled. "Over my dead body will you ever see this child again."
"We'll see about that, Miss High and Mighty!"
By the time I got to the porch, I was in tears myself. I knew I shouldn't have let Lola go with her!
Lola still had a grip on me as I rubbed her back and tried to calm her down. She kept saying, "No mo' go, Mama!" Michael appeared at the front door with a look of confusion.
"Look who's here, baby!" I said soothingly in her ear.
"Da-dee!" She sniffed.
"Michael, why don't you take her inside so she can see all of the surprises her brother and sisters made for her?" I tried to sound cheerful.
Michael peeled her off me, and she immediately put him in the same choke hold. He raised an eyebrow at me, his way of asking, "What the hell happened?"
I nodded at Lori. "I have to talk to Lori for a few minutes. I'll be in shortly."
Michael nodded while kissing the top of Lola's head. "It's okay, baby, Daddy's here."
He was inside for mere seconds when I heard the other kids yell, "Lola!"
I began taking deep breaths and wiping away my tears. "All right, let's have it."
Lori shook her head. "I'm sorry, CeeCee, I know you don't want to hear this, but it was awful. That woman couldn't have possibly been around one child in her entire life!"
I closed my eyes and prepared for Lori to drop the bomb that was undoubtedly coming. I couldn't possibly imagine what had traumatized Lola so badly in a matter of twelve hours.
"For the most part, Lola was okay," Lori began, attempting to put me at ease. (I didn't like the "most part" bit.) "But there were some situations that concerned me a little."
I remained silent and stared at her, waiting.
"The house she's staying at is filthy, CeeCee. There's dog shit lying around and it stinks like hell. The worst part was when we first got to the house, Paula set Lola down right in front of two huge Rottweilers that clearly haven't been around children. One charged right at her, and I had to run over and grab Lola off the floor!" Lori was waving her hands animatedly at the ordeal.
My heart sunk. I'd been in the unfortunate position of seeing kids attacked by dogs, and to think that my Lola almost became one of those victims was too much.
"Why the hell did you stay then, Lori?" I felt angry. "Why didn't you call the judge and tell him the place is completely unsuitable for a toddler?"
Lori sighed. "CeeCee, if I'd called the judge within less than five minutes of visitation, he would've immediately assumed something was up. I really have to play the impartial role here. I did tell Paula, though, that she had to pen the dogs up for the rest of the day, but really, that wasn't what bothered me the most."
"You mean the fact Lola almost got torn apart by two dogs isn't the worst of it? My God, Lori!" I felt the tears surface again.
"No, no, CeeCee! I don't mean that she was in any physical danger." She patted my arm. "I'm talking about Paula's 'parenting' skills---they're for shit! I had to remind her to change Lola's diaper, remind her to feed her, and even to pay attention to her! All she did was set the baby in front of the television while she gabbed on the phone about how much money she was going to get!"
I perked up. "She talked about that in front of you?"
"Yup. Even had my trusty tape recorder in my purse." Lori smiled. "I'll be giving this tape over to the judge first thing in the morning."
There was hope. "But I drove by and it looked like Lola was having fun playing in the backyard."
"That lasted a whole ten minutes, mainly for show, I'm sure." She grunted. "When I told her Lola needed something to eat she took one of those nasty, bargain TV dinners out of the freezer---fried chicken on the bone."
"Jesus," I muttered, shaking my head.
"Needless to say, the woman was loud, abrasive, and she terrified Lola. I'll be putting everything in my report, I assure you." She winked. "But I think by this time next week, you won't have to worry about that wretched woman anymore."
I gave Lori a hug. "Thank you, Lori. I owe you one."
She smiled. "Well, I haven't had a date in eons. You just find me a hot man like that husband of yours and we'll call it even."
I laughed, and it felt good. I saw Lori to her car, then went inside to fill Michael in on the day's events. He was livid.
"That's it. She's not going back there if I have to file every motion under the sun myself," he declared.
"I don't think we'll have to worry about it. From what Lori said, Paula just sealed her own fate today. Unfortunately, Lola had to take the brunt of it. Where are the kids, anyway?" I just realized how quiet it was in the house.
"They're in the kitchen with Rena, eating her cookies and doting on Lola. Want to join them?" He put his arm around me.
"Of course. I'll race you there." I darted in front of him.
The rest of the evening consisted of water balloon fights, more of Rena's cookies, and watching one of the kids' favorite movies. We all stayed up late, except Lola. Her emotionally trying day took its toll five minutes into the movie, but that was fine. She fell asleep in my lap and I spent the rest of the evening just looking at her. Most people agree that things happen for a reason. I'm not rejoicing over my miscarriage by any means, but would I have been so willing to take Lola had I not gone through such a traumatic experience? Who would she be with now? A brief thought of Paula sent an instant shudder throughout my body.
After we put the kids to bed and Lola in her crib, it was Michael who took the extra few minutes to simply look down on her.
"She's so beautiful," he whispered. "I swear I look forward to seeing her when I get home...just like she was our own."
"She's our little miracle," I whispered back, smiling.
"When you told me what happened over there today I felt like I was gonna flip out! I wanted to go over there and pulverize that disgusting woman!"
I nodded toward the door so we wouldn't wake her. "According to Lori, I don't think she'll be much of a problem anymore...C'mon, let's go to bed."
I had one of the most restful night's sleeps in a while, so I arrived at the department bright and early. I caught myself feeling anxious over the subpoena being served to Illeana---and its outcome.
Most of the day was spent finishing paperwork and chewing my fingernails. It was almost the end of the day when Coop came strolling into my office. Sitting in front of my desk wearing a SUPPORT THE POLICE---BEAT YOURSELF UP! T-shirt, he stretched his arms and let out a loud sigh.
"Geesh, this has been a long day. I can't wait to go home."
"I agree, especially since I've been sitting here all day waiting to hear the results of that damn subpoena." I was getting agitated.
Coop immediately got an "Oh, shit!" look on his face and sat up straight in his chair.
"Umm, CeeCee? You're gonna kill me but..." He paused.
"Spit it out." I crossed my arms and glared.
"Uh, the subpoena was served this morning. Illeana and the Children of Hell don't have any bank accounts. They showed the officer the safe they use to store the money, approximately $21,000. I'm sorry, I guess I forgot to tell you." He looked sheepish.
I was livid. "Judas Priest, Coop! I've been sitting here all fucking day waiting! Sometimes I just want to slap you into next week! How could you forget? Naomi give you a blow job marathon today or what?"
He started laughing. "Shit, I wish! Nope, just your standard head-up-my-ass kind of day. Seriously, though, I'm sorry I forgot."
It was my turn to sigh. "Twenty-one thousand dollars? You know they're hiding more than that! Look at what they paid for the farm."
"I agree. But she stated very clearly there were no accounts---banks are a government entity and they don't believe in the government." He chuckled a little. "It was Brian Alfrey that went down there and served the subpoena. You know how he is! He doesn't fuck around, and if he felt that Illeana was hiding something, he definitely would've found it."
"If she's lying, we'll charge her ass," I said.
"What are you going to do? Subpoena every bank in the city? If they do have an account, it'll be under an assumed name anyway. Plus, you're forgetting something---your captain isn't really authorizing this investigation too well anyway."
"Thanks for the reminder."
"Alfrey said something funny, though." Coop stopped and looked at me.
I waited for him to finish but lost my patience.
"What!"
"He said it looked like they were getting ready for some dance or something."
"A dance?"
"I don't know if that's what he meant, but that's what he said. He said all of the women were dressed alike in white robes, makeup on, and were headed for the barn. He didn't see any of the men but heard music coming from the barn. He asked Illeana about it and she told him it was their twenty-four-hour prayer ritual. You know Alfrey, he freaked, being Baptist and all---"
"Let's go down there," I said, interrupting.
"What?" He looked shocked. "No! Naomi will cut my balls off and---"
"Oh, c'mon, Coop! Grow a pair of balls! We could sneak down there and see what they're doing!" I grew excited at the thought.
He stood up. "Nope. No way! I'm going home. Don't even think about it, CeeCee! If you get caught, Naomi will flip!"
"It wouldn't be the first time."
As he approached the door he turned. "Just promise me you won't go down there, okay? Promise?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, father, I promise."
"See ya tomorrow."
I debated keeping my promise to Coop. That is, until I noticed the open files sitting on my desk. Edward Honeycutt's file was open with the contents of his wallet inside, including store receipts. It wasn't until I saw it lying next to the statement from the owner of the motel where Benjamin Rader was found that I began to put things together.
Edward Honeycutt had several receipts from a mom-and-pop grocery store in Butler, the same one I overheard the two officers mention when they were talking about the "Amish-looking people" who tried to recruit one of their wives. The statement from the motel owner stated that Benjamin Rader was driven there by an "Amish-looking or Mennonite" guy. I had seen the statement before, but hadn't seen a connection to Edward Honeycutt until the receipts were right in front of me. Had I not heard the conversation between the two officers, I might never have made the connection.
Placing the statement from the motel owner next to the receipts from Edward Honeycutt, I felt the blood drain from my face. It couldn't be! I thought. Could there possibly be a connection between the unsolved homicides and Illeana? The thought alone was borderline unbelievable. Maybe I was just convincing myself there was a connection to justify looking into Illeana's cult. No, that wasn't the case---the true connection was sitting right in front of me.
I realized then, I would not be able to keep my promise to Coop.
Taking the receipts, statement, and coroner's report, I marched directly to Naomi's office. I explained to her briefly what I felt was a connection between the homicides and Illeana Barron.
"Okay, you have two out of three homicides where one victim was accompanied by an 'Amish-looking' man, and another that went to a grocery store that, according to a conversation you heard between two uniformed officers, had a group of 'Amish-looking' people trying to recruit women for their group." Naomi peered down at the paperwork and sighed. "I'm sorry, CeeCee. It's not enough."
"Naomi! All three of those people were marked with O's on their left shoulders! I'm telling you, believe me, these are connected to Illeana Barron somehow!"
"CeeCee. Think about this for a minute. All you have is speculation! If you could at least prove the members of the group all had O's tattooed on their left shoulders, that would give us something! But you don't!" She put the reports down on her desk. "I think at this point it's best you cease all contact with Illeana Barron. You're going to get us sued! You have nothing but an anonymous phone call to Michael, which proved fruitless. If you continue to make contact with them for bullshit reasons, there's going to be real trouble."
"What? C'mon, Naomi! You know I'm right!" I stood up.
She remained calm. "Look, CeeCee, you know I've always trusted your instincts and believed in you, but this time I'm going to have to put my foot down. No more. I do believe the homicides are connected, but to connect them to Illeana based on the 'Amish' sightings is flimsy at best."
I merely shook my head, knowing she was technically right.
"Give me more to go on---legally---and we'll give it another shot. In the meantime, hit the homicides hard and see what you can come up with."
"Fine," I huffed.
I'd give her more to go on, all right. I was especially sure of that after I walked back to my office and got smacked with another epiphany. It had been weighing on me the last few minutes while I spoke with Naomi---the O. I feverishly grabbed my handwritten notes about the Greek symbol omega, also represented by an O. Almost breathless, I looked at the eerie numbers that had been sprawled with such fervor across the wall in Illeana's compound. It didn't start with a zero, I now realized. It started with an O: O-800-24.
The letter flashed through my mind with such vibrant imagery it was hard to put everything into perspective. The O on Kelly Dixon's shoulder. I'm walking into the living room at the farm and see O-800-24. Seated at my computer researching omega---the great O. The O on the back of Edward Honeycutt. Reading the autopsy report detailing the O on Ben Rader's back. "He never had a tattoo in his life," his wife said. Lola. The O, the O, the O, everywhere was the O.
My heart raced and my head was throbbing so hard I grabbed it with both hands. If I knew half the detective bureau wouldn't have come running I would have screamed. How did I miss this? How? my thoughts shrieked. She killed them all, or had them killed: Kelly, Benjamin, and Edward. Naomi wouldn't believe me, or even listen at this point. She'd want to know why. She'd want a motive. Unfortunately, that was one part of the equation I hadn't figured out. But I would.
I called Michael and told him I was backed up on paperwork and wouldn't be home until late. I wanted to wait until dark to sneak around the farm. I paced back and forth in my office before I decided to drive around for a while. Mainly, I was thinking about reasons why Illeana would kill, or have killed, the three victims, and if there was another connection between them. Maybe they broke certain rules? Or did they defy Illeana? Finally, I came to the conclusion that they had voluntarily left the cult, angering her. Maybe the O's were tattooed on the bodies after they were dead---an ownership stamp, in a way. I wasn't sure how, but I was definitely going to try to see if any of the living members had the same tattoo.
I waited until it was completely dark before driving out to the farm. I parked halfway up the driveway with my lights off. Luckily, there was no moon and the cloud cover indicated another impending storm. The rumbling of thunder was far enough away that I estimated an hour or two of decent weather---plenty of time for me to poke around before getting soaked.
Even while standing next to my car, a good quarter of a mile from the farm, I could hear the music coming from it. Mixed in with the sounds of crickets and crackling branches from the wind, it was difficult to determine exactly where on the farm it was coming from. Coop had mentioned the barn, so I would start there.
I walked through the woods, paralleling the driveway, in the slight chance one of the members decided to take an evening stroll. I had worn a dark shirt and pants to work today, unaware my sense of fashion would aid my covert surveillance. The music grew louder as I neared the farm. As I approached the wood line that began the lush, manicured lawn, the music became almost deafening. I couldn't help but wonder where the children were. I hoped they weren't crammed into the barn with the rest of the adults having their eardrums split open.
I decided to check out the house first. Since the barn was to my left, I wanted to make sure no one was inside and snuck up on me, or watched me. Clearly, the painted windows of the room I was in earlier would be of no use, so I tried a window on the side opposite the barn. It was eye level and a light was on. As I tilted my head to get a look inside, I saw it was the kitchen. But that wasn't all. The kitchen had a large archway that led into the "rose" room I had been in before, and I had a decent view.
Seated on the floor were the children. In front of them, seated in a chair, was a female member of the group singing songs. She was obviously the designated babysitter while the rest of the group did God-knows-what inside the barn. At least I felt better about the safety of the children.
Suddenly I realized the music had stopped. Alarmed, I tiptoed to the wood line and hid behind a tree---and waited. For what, I wasn't sure, but for a few moments, I had the feeling of being watched. Although I was hidden in the cloak of darkness and sheltered by the tree, I couldn't shake the feeling.
After what seemed like forever, the music started again. Breathing a sigh of relief, I started toward the barn. The closer I got, the louder the music (an odd mixture of monks chanting and new age disco) got, but there were other sounds, too. It almost seemed as if people were yelling or screaming. When I got within five feet from the rear of the barn, I understood clearly what those sounds were. They were sounds of passion, as if every woman were at the peak of climax.
There was a split between the wood panels of the barn, no more than a couple of inches, but it was wide enough that I could peer inside and see the forbidden scene.
At that moment, I silently chastised myself for coming here in the first place. What Illeana and her followers were doing inside the barn turned my stomach like never before.
It could only be described as an orgy of epic proportions. But in some ways, it wasn't like any orgy I'd ever heard of. This was different.
As the music blared, each individual group was made up of two men and one woman. There were approximately thirty to forty of these small groups. The barn, redecorated to suit their sordid ceremony, was draped in hues of red, white, and black. Lit candles of the same color formed a crude perimeter of the interior. Chairs had been pushed back against the walls, leaving a wide space on the floor. At the front of the barn, brightly lit by candles, was a grotesque altar displaying a large picture of the biblical legend Eve. Around it were not only roses but also---I swear I wasn't hallucinating---several snakes. Black ones. I shuddered. I didn't take to snakes very well. They writhed and slithered around the roses and other artifacts spread across the altar.
The most frightening aspect of the altar was what stood at the top, under the picture of Eve. It was Illeana.
Dressed in her gaudy white robe and roses, she stood with her arms outstretched, watching the sexual frenzy below. She still wore that sickening smile, but now it seemed almost trancelike.
Each trio copulated together, with the woman visibly in control of the tryst. The group closest to me was a young woman and two older men; one of them was Illeana's husband, who I recognized from a photo from Illeana's background search. She, at one point, laid them side by side and proceeded to alternate being on top from one to the other, almost to the beat of the music (I couldn't help but wonder who the designated DJ was). When she was finished, she began to perform fellatio on each of the men.
Everyone was completely naked, except the women all wore the hideous rose leis. As each group continued, I noticed a woman and two men stand and walk into the center of the floor.
I recognized the woman. It was Francesca.
As they did this, each group stopped and stood. Then they walked toward the center and formed a circle around the trio. Once in place, they all got down on their knees. I was happy they did, since it gave me a better view. Francesca and the men remained standing, staring at Illeana, until she nodded, giving them the go-ahead for whatever it was they were about to do.
Francesca began to seductively dance around the two men. Like a stripper on a pole, she would grind on one while fondling the other's genitals. She would walk behind them and slowly slide her hand up their legs to fondle them from behind. All the while, the crowd watched in silence, swaying back and forth to the music.
Within minutes, Illeana stepped down from the altar holding one of the snakes. She walked toward Francesca and handed it to her, before resuming her position under Eve. Now the reptile became the focus of the dance.
As the men stood, robotic and zombielike, merely staring at the barn wall ahead, Francesca lay on her back in front of them and took the snake to her body.
Damn it! I thought. I should have brought a camera! No one would possibly believe me. Not to mention, the groups were too far away in the dim light for me to see if any of them had the O tattooed on their left shoulders.
Francesca now appeared to be sexually gratifying herself with the snake, an act that made my hair stand on end. The crowd around her now held hands, as if the grand finale were coming up. I looked to see what Illeana was doing and was shocked to find her no longer at the altar.
Quickly and urgently, I scanned the crowd as best I could, looking for her. She couldn't be hard to find since she was the only one clothed. Illeana was no longer inside the barn. I was positive of that.
I had definitely seen enough live porn for one day and thought it best to sneak back to my car and go home.
For some reason, when I turned to find Illeana standing behind me, I wasn't shocked.
"Hello, Sergeant."
"That's a pretty interesting square dance you've got going on in there, Illeana." I bypassed the formalities, even though I felt like a small child who had been caught looking underneath a toilet stall.
She smiled. "I couldn't help but notice you stayed around long enough watching it!" She began to laugh, but it dripped with mockery. "Actually, Jake had notified me the minute you arrived. You saw the children. They're safe and weren't exposed. I could've had you thrown out of here immediately, but I wanted you to see! Admit it, you're intrigued. I've always believed once you've seen the true and pure knowledge we sustain, you'll want to be part of us also."
It was my turn to laugh. "Pardon me, Illeana, but the only knowledge I've seen so far is carnal. Intrigued? No. Disgusted? Without a doubt."
"Then you didn't open your eyes." Her smile faded. "With your closed eyes you saw a group of people fucking like dogs." I was taken aback by her candor. "If you'd have opened them, you would have witnessed one of the most beautiful religious ceremonies on this earth. This was a tribute to our goddess Eve, a testament, a gift. We made her happy tonight. We gave her, and ourselves, inner peace."
I put my hand up. "All right, I've had enough. What's going on here is reprehensible at best. You're going to stand there and tell me all of those women in there are willing?"
"Yes, of course. If you don't believe me, I'll bring each and every one of them out here to verify. We haven't broken any laws here."
She had me there. There were swingers clubs and group sex parties operating all over the world, and if there were no claims of force, then no laws were broken.
At that moment, two women came around the corner and flanked Illeana. Both were now dressed in their robes; one of them was Francesca.
"Your performance tonight was amazing, Francesca," I chided. "I'm sure you're very proud of yourself as a wife and mother."
Her face turned to stone. I could see her look at Illeana for approval to fire back at me, but Illeana put her hand up to silence her. Francesca stood there and stewed.
"As I've told you before, Sergeant," Illeana said, "don't mock what you don't understand. If you participated and believed, you would understand."
I was growing angry. "Getting fucked in every end by a hundred strangers to music doesn't exactly appeal to me. Sorry, I'm silly that way. How can you ensure that none of those children don't sneak out here and watch like I did?"
"We have lookouts, obviously. They saw you, didn't they? If a child were to exit the main house, the lookouts would stop him or her and notify me immediately. Again, Sergeant, you're searching...we don't abuse these children."
"Let's all see if I'm 'searching' about something else..." I said sarcastically.
I knew I shouldn't venture into the next subject, as it could clearly throw off the investigation, but since there wasn't an official investigation, I didn't think I had anything to lose. I wanted to shock her and get an honest reaction. That would tell me if I'm right or wrong.
"Funny, I've been investigating these truly awful homicides up in the city. And, wouldn't ya know, each one of them had an O tattoo on their left shoulder," I fired.
Illeana's smile completely faded, and Francesca looked alarmed. Bingo. At that point, there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I was right. Illeana was responsible for the homicides.
I continued. "An O. Hmmm, let me see here. Oh, that's right. O as in omega!" I said, smiling. "Maybe you've heard of them, Illeana, Francesca, and whoever you are." I nodded at the other woman on Illeana's left. "Kelly Dixon, Benjamin Rader, Edward Honeycutt. Ring a bell? No?"
"I don't know where you're going with this, Gallagher." Apparently the formalities had officially flown the coop. "But no, I haven't heard of any of those people." She was obviously lying.
"Of course, I was just asking. You know Kelly Dixon was pregnant, and left behind a beautiful little girl. But if you don't know anything, then so be it." I continued to smile. "Don't worry, I'm going to find the sick, twisted piece of shit who's responsible and put them in that special place in hell reserved specifically for him---or her."
I stared down Illeana and watched as she displayed an equal amount of anger, madness, and worry on her face. I had her! Before she could respond, I fired off another question.
"Just so no one gets confused, would you mind letting me look at your left shoulders? Actually, I'll be helping you out---ruling you out as suspects. It won't take long." I looked back and forth between the women.
Illeana exploded. "Not only will you not look at our shoulders, you'll be lucky if you ever see the light of day again! Get the fuck out of here! You are finished, do you hear me? I have no qualms about calling your supervisors and having your smart ass thrown in jail. Go! Now!"
"No need to be rude," I said calmly, still smiling. "I'll go, Illeana, but if you hear of any information about those homicides, you'll give me a call, right?" I winked.
"Fucking bitch!" She put her hand up and walked quickly away from me, followed by her two cronies.
I watched them as they approached the corner, when something interesting happened. Francesca was walking last, and before she turned the corner, she stopped, turned around, and looked at me.
It wasn't a look of contempt, like I expected, but it was an expression of desperation. Pleading. She stared for mere seconds before turning the corner.
What the hell was that about? I wondered. She must be worried that I'm on to them, and hoping a look of desperation would shift my focus. Not hardly. Even as I thought it, I knew it was ridiculous. She was trying to tell me something else. Maybe she wasn't a willing partner in the sex acts. Regardless, she was loyal to Illeana, and would never tell me the truth.
I made my way through the woods back to my car, carefully looking behind me now and then to make sure I wasn't clobbered into unconsciousness. Arriving at my car in one piece, I found a rose full of thorns stuck underneath my windshield wiper. I tried to grab it carefully, but one of the thorns got my finger anyway.
"Assholes!" I yelled out into the darkness. Then I sucked the blood from my finger.
I was being watched, and Illeana would have a laugh. Nonetheless, it would be short-lived. She knew what was coming, and the thought of bringing her and her sordid criminal cult down exhilarated me. If anything, it was justice for Lola.
I tossed the rose to the side and drove home. I half expected my car to break down; the idea of one of the members disabling it was all too realistic. In spite of this troubling notion, I made it home. The thunder was already beginning to clash and bolts of lightning flashed through the sky. I had barely made it without getting soaked.
Michael was waiting up for me. No surprise, as he usually did. After checking on the kids, I filled him in on the night's events. He was horrified.
"Okay, first of all, to even ask why you went down there alone is wasting my time, right?"
I nodded.
He shook his head. "So you lied to me about doing the paperwork?"
"Move on, Michael."
He took a deep breath. "Are you sure they were having actual sex, I mean, could you actually see---you know what I mean. Maybe they were just all naked engaging in some type of tribal dance or something." He shrugged.
I glared. "If you would like me to get into specifics, I'd be happy to. It's probably better than the greatest issue of Penthouse Forum ever published."
"Maybe later, when we're both naked." He smiled. "This is pretty disturbing. Are you sure they're not involving the children at all? That's usually the way these cults work, similar to the polygamist ranches and FLDS. The cults are essentially a cloak for pedophilia. And there is such a thing as women pedophiles."
As if I didn't know.
"That's not all of it, Michael," I began. "They killed Lola's mother and the other two men. Illeana and the Children of Eden are responsible for the three homicides I've been working on."
He was speechless for a few seconds.
"Exactly why do you believe they're responsible?"
"I'll tell you, just keep an open mind."
He raised an eyebrow.
I grabbed my briefcase and took out all of my notes before laying them on the kitchen table side by side.
"I'll explain it as simple as I know how." I cleared my throat. "Each victim was found with a tattoo of an O on their left shoulder. The Children of Eden, as you know, worship the biblical character Eve, and refer to her as the Omega. Omega, the twenty-fourth letter in the Greek alphabet, is also referred to as the 'Great O.' Omega also represents the number 800. The cult has the number O-800-24 on their wall and I initially thought the number began with a zero, when in fact it is an O. You with me so far?"
"I'm with you. Keep going." He winked.
I smiled affectionately. "Now, as you also know, the Children of Eden's fashion wear resembles the Amish or Mennonites. Edward Honeycutt's wallet contained several receipts from a local grocery store in Butler where these 'Amish-looking' people have been frequenting lately---I think it's Illeana's group. Benjamin Rader was dropped off in front of the motel office where he was found by an Amish-looking guy and..."
I was interrupted by the sound of crackling thunder so loud it shook the house and made me jump. It was mere seconds before the screams came from upstairs. Isabelle hated storms, but Selina was worse. With both of them screaming, Lola woke up and added her two cents. No word from Sean.
"The wind's really picking up." Michael looked out the window. "They said the storm tonight is supposed to be severe, possibly tornadoes. Why don't you go up and bring the kids down here?"
As if I needed to be told. I was already on my way. By the time I got the kids, Michael had come up to help me. The wind was blowing so hard I thought the house was going to blow away. Michael was holding Lola and Sean, and I had Isabelle and Selina's hands. They were crying hysterically, and it was a little difficult to calm them down, especially since I was so unnerved myself.
"We need to get some of these windows open," Michael said as we walked down the steps.
As I neared the bottom, the two front windows to our right blew in with such force it seemed that glass was raining everywhere. I dropped to the ground and shielded both girls with my body. Now, all four children were screaming, and the wind was inside the house---and it was loud. At that point, I heard the tornado siren screaming. Just then, Rena found us.
"Grab them, CeeCee, and get downstairs!" Michael yelled. "Here, Rena, take Lola and go!"
Michael handed Lola off to Rena and picked Sean up. I was more scared at that moment than I had ever been in my life. I had been beaten, shot at, almost killed, and taken hostage but, right now, my kids' lives were at stake and it scared the shit out of me.
The door to the basement was only several feet away, but it seemed like I was running to it in slow motion. I could hear more glass breaking upstairs and the wind howled louder and stronger. Yet, it got worse when the power went out. By the time we reached the bottom step leading into the basement, I was shaking so badly I could barely hold on to Isabelle. I'd never seen Michael look as rattled as he did that very minute, and it scared me even more. He was usually the one that kept us all together, and if he fell apart, I didn't know what I would do. Even Rena was crying.
Our basement had a large concrete storage room that couldn't have proved any safer for a tornado. Once we were all inside and Michael closed the door, the difficult task of trying to calm the children (and ourselves) down commenced. Sitting in the small room lit only by flashlights, we could hear glass continuously breaking upstairs and what sounded like the house exploding. There was creaking and large thuds above us. All I could think about was if the house completely gave, we would be buried under an enormous amount of rubble for God knows how long.
It seemed like we sat in that room for hours. After the children eventually calmed down, we all remained silent. Waiting. Lola had me in one of her death grips with her face buried in my chest, while Selina sat next to me holding me just as tight. Michael had Isabelle and Sean in his lap. From across the room, Michael and I stared at each other in silence. Our eyes communicated, telling each other it would be okay because none of us was hurt, although our home was most likely gone.
"Señnor Michael," Rena whispered. "Es stopped. Listen."
We no longer heard any noise. The storm had finally ended. Michael looked at me, and I nodded. He would go scout out the situation first before we brought the children out of the room. In less than fifteen minutes he returned, smiling---a good sign.
"You guys aren't gonna believe this but the house is still standing! Most of the windows are gone, but for the most part, it's not too bad."
I shut my eyes and breathed a long, loud sigh of relief.
"Thank God," I muttered as I stood up holding Lola.
Michael was right. The damage wasn't overly bad, except the house was in shambles. All of the windows would need replacing, and we would probably spend a couple days cleaning up the knickknacks that had flown from the shelves and broken glass. Fine by me. Michael found a twenty-four-hour window repair shop, but as you can imagine, they were inundated with calls and wouldn't be able to be at our house until the next afternoon.
I used my cell phone to call the department to get an assessment on the damage in the city, and was on hold for ten minutes. The dispatcher that came on the line was an old friend, Kerri Tilton.
"Hi, CeeCee! I'm so sorry you were on hold, but we're getting slammed up here with 911 calls. People trapped, trees in the road, power lines down---you know the drill," she said quickly.
"I can imagine, so I won't keep you. I just wanted to know how bad it is out there, and if we know what kind of tornado it was. All of my windows are gone."
"They're out assessing the damage now, but after doing this for so long, I'm going to predict an F-1, just a baby tornado. The damage isn't devastating, just the trees and shit like I said before. So far we don't even have any reports of injuries."
"Well, that's good news. Thanks, Kerri, I'll let you get back to work."
I relayed the information to Michael.
"An F-1? That's it? Christ, I thought a goddamn hurricane was rolling through here. I've never seen anything like it." He shook his head.
"It hasn't been confirmed yet, but that's what Kerri said."
"From what I saw on the news earlier, we weren't even supposed to get the brunt of this storm. If it was that bad here, I can't imagine what happened to the towns in the middle of it."
I called Naomi and told her I wouldn't be in since I had to put my house back together. Their house was untouched, but all of the trees in the backyard were down. She said Coop wouldn't be in either; he was going to spend the day with a chain saw.
With nothing to accomplish in the dark, we took the flashlights and slept in the basement. The children were exhausted and went right to sleep. Isabelle and Selina slept with Rena, while Lola and I were on a couch. Michael and Sean had the floor. I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking how grateful I was that the children were okay, and how scared I'd been. I also thought how lucky I'd been that I hadn't got caught in the storm driving back from Illeana's farm. That would have been a nightmare.
I think I fell asleep an hour or two before daybreak, and woke to the sounds of chain saws coming from our neighbors. They were so loud we could hear them in the basement. So began our long day of cleaning up the results of the storm. The power came back on in the late morning. With all of the weather catastrophes, the power companies had learned to work miracles. The news showed the rural towns that took the brunt of the storm. They were gone---completely. Not a building, tree, or house was left standing in three of the towns. Several hundred people were killed. Again, I said a silent thank-you knowing it could have been much worse for us. I didn't know how much more of the weather catastrophes I could take anymore.
My father, stepmother, Rena, Michael, and I went to work cleaning the inside of the house while the windows were being replaced. By late that night, you could barely tell anything had happened.
I was somewhat cheerful when I went to work the next morning. It was momentary. Naomi and the sheriff were waiting inside my office.
"Good morning." My smile faded when I saw them. "What's up?"
The sheriff looked grim, Naomi pissed. "Why don't you have a seat, CeeCee. We need to talk."
Naomi stared straight ahead and I noticed the sheriff had a medium-size stack of paperwork in his hand. I sat as directed and waited for the punch line.
The sheriff handed me the paperwork. "This came late yesterday afternoon. I called the judge myself to get it dismissed, but he said based on the circumstances, he had no other choice but to sign it."
I looked down at the stapled packet---it was a restraining order. A restraining order against me, filed by Illeana Barron on behalf of the Children of Eden. I was in deep trouble.
"Since when do judges issue restraining orders against cops for doing their fucking jobs? How are we supposed to investigate anything if this is allowed?" I held up the order. "He's setting a horrible precedent right now!"
Naomi blew up. "I told you not once, but twice, to stay the hell away from that farm and you deliberately disobeyed my orders. Not only are you not going anywhere near them, you'll be lucky if you don't serve a five-day suspension for insubordination!"
My jaw fell to the floor. It was my turn to get angry.
"Sheriff," I said, ignoring Naomi, "these people are my homicide suspects! I know without a doubt they killed all three victims!"
"Can you prove it?" he challenged.
"Not right this second, but I will---"
"No, you won't," Naomi interrupted. "They said you were found crouched down behind the barn, spying on them like some degenerate burglar! What the hell is the matter with you?"
"Do you even know what they were doing inside that barn, Naomi? I'll tell you, and it'll turn your stomach." My voice was getting louder.
"I don't even want to hear it." She put her hand up and stood up.
"Excuse me! What is the matter with you two? Did it ever occur to you to wonder how these people who claimed they don't have bank accounts, and little money, hired an expensive Columbus pimp attorney like Jax Zapone?" I shook the paper again; Zapone's name was all over it.
"CeeCee, enough," the sheriff ordered, his voice resonant. "No more. Look, you know I've supported you through more than I should have as an elected official. I did that even though it put my own credibility on the line, but"---he paused and produced a lengthy sigh---"I have to be honest with you, CeeCee---I think you're wrong here."
He looked at my desk, refusing to meet my hardened stare, a grim result of his words that pierced me like a thousand knives. I felt betrayed and slightly humiliated, only because I could picture Illeana seated in front of her followers, laughing as she told them I would no longer be visiting. My pride had been compromised, and I was pissed about it.
"Fine, it's over," I said stoically. "Is there anything else?"
Naomi and the sheriff both shook their heads before standing up to leave my office. As Naomi neared the door behind the sheriff, she turned around, the contempt on her face replaced by a look of compassion.
"CeeCee, listen---"
It was my turn to hold my hand up. "Captain, if this isn't work related, I'd appreciate it if you would leave. I have other work to do."
She nodded slightly and left. It had been years since I'd been so rigid and condescending to her. I'm sure I hurt her feelings, but at that point, I didn't care anymore. I wasn't accustomed to being questioned about my intelligence and instincts---it was a hard pill to swallow. Coop, with his extraordinary ability to hear through walls, came into my office.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear," he said quietly.
"Is that right, elephant ears? Wonder how that happened!" I snapped.
I was perturbed at how my cheerful day had gone downhill so quickly and didn't need any lectures from Coop. He was married to Naomi and took to defending her on certain occasions. Normally, I didn't mind, except for today.
"You don't need to bite my head off! I had nothing to do with it!" He helped himself to a chair, producing a scowl from me. "If anything, I'm the only one around here that helped you."
"Then why didn't you come in here and tell them I'm right? It wouldn't hurt to defend me once in a while if you believe in what I'm doing. You know what's going on at that farm is a bomb waiting to go off---you know it! God only knows what they're planning to do and everyone around here is going to be very sorry that they stopped me from looking into it!"
He sat up straight and glowered. "The only thing I know is that group of religious fanatics are living together on a farm in the butt-fuck part of the county. Yes, they're strange and weird, but the sheriff's right! You can be pissed at me all you want for saying that, but seriously, when has a woman historically ever been violent in a situation like this?"
My jaw dropped to the floor. Even Coop couldn't possibly be that ignorant. He wasn't. He was playing the game---the game of politics and I was sorely disappointed in my longtime friend and partner.
I pushed my chair back and gritted my teeth.
"Three names come to mind: Susan Atkins, Leslie Van Houten, and Patricia Krenwinkel," I said defiantly.
His face turned an interesting shade of pink as I continued and he remained silent.
"I know it was a little before our time, but I'll give you a refresher course on who they are: part of the fucking Manson family! Ring a bell now? How's that for historically nonviolent women? Those three women stabbed a couple a combined total of fifty-three times, carved words onto their bodies, and also killed a woman and her unborn child!" I felt myself growing angrier---I was yelling now.
"That was an exception and you know it!" he challenged, his voice rising to the level of mine.
"Really? After stabbing her husband with an ice pick, Laurie Wasserman Dann walked into an elementary school and shot six children, killing one, before going to another home and shooting one of the occupants! Andrea Yates drowned her five children in the bathtub, Aileen Wuornos was a fucking serial killer, and Sylvia Seegrist walked into a mall with a semiautomatic rifle and shot ten people, killing three." I was screaming, clearly having done my homework. "The female inmate population has tripled over the last decade, and you're telling me that women aren't violent? Get the fuck out of here, Coop!" I slammed my hand on my desk.
Knowing now was clearly not the time to engage in further debate, Coop clenched his jaw, kicked his chair back, and left. I was crazy angry at that moment. Holding my hand out before me, I saw I was trembling uncontrollably. They were wrong! All of them were wrong!
I couldn't possibly concentrate on anything right then, so I grabbed my car keys and walked out. I hoped that driving around away from the station would help me calm down a bit.
August 1
The coming came and went without any sign of Eve anywhere. Some members left in disgust, their faith in Illeana gone. Only a few, though. She still has most of her remote-controlled robots. She claims her first vision was foggy and she misread the message. She's predicted a new coming now, but says this time she was forbidden by the Omega from disclosing the date. But we must continue to prepare, for the time will be soon.
Several of the members continue to act strange around me. I see them glancing at me with disgusted looks. I don't understand it. They couldn't possibly know my secrets. Even Quint doesn't know what I'm doing, or about my past. He believes in Illeana and is sure to leave me when this is over. It's just as well, since I don't even know if I love him anymore. He's become a different person since we joined. I heard him last night, in Illeana's room, making love to her---again
I don't think I can take much more of this. After it's over, it'll be just me, Molly, and Sarah. They like it here because there are lots of other children to play with, and Illeana treats all of them like her own, so it's not that hard for them. I was thinking about my brother this morning, and wondered if he would agree with what I'm doing. After what we went through, I'm convinced he would.
Last night was the first time I ever saw Illeana look so scared. She caught Detective Gallagher watching our welcoming, but mostly played it calm and cool as normal. After Gallagher left, I saw sheer terror on her face. Gallagher terrifies her, but I can't put my finger on why. I think it's funny. Maybe Gallagher sees what I see in Illeana, pure evil.
Regardless, Illeana ordered Gary and Connie West to stay in the apartment across from the police station full-time now to watch her and the others. I'm hoping that Gallagher knows who she's dealing with. She's my only hope at this point.
---R
During my drive, I decided to continue my investigation. I put together a covert plan that would keep me from having to contact Illeana in person, and one that wouldn't divulge my investigation to the sheriff or Naomi. It would be my own little secret. I understood the risks, and was prepared to deal with the outcome, however positive or negative it might be.
My job enabled me over the years to meet a lot of people, some that might come in handy down the road---like now. Several of those happened to be bank employees. Whether I met them investigating employee thefts or ATM breakins, the majority liked me, and we were all on a first-name basis. I started there.
Calling around to each bank branch, I utilized my contacts, asking for information on the "down-low." It wasn't much. I merely gave them Jax Zapone's name and asked if he had an account, and how much was in it. No one had a problem doing it, and, in fact, pulled the name up while they were on the phone with me. I was on my fifth phone call when the loan officer I was speaking with gave me hope. I had met Sandy Edwards years ago when I was still in uniform, coming to her aid when she had been robbed making a late-night withdrawal from an ATM machine.
"Oh, let's see here," she mumbled, the click, click, click of her nails on the computer keyboard emanating through the phone. "Zahler, Zanfield...aha! Here it is, CeeCee, Jax Zapone!"
"Yes!" I quietly cheered. "How much in there?"
Sally let out a low whistle. "Apparently, defending shit bags like the guy that robbed me is quite lucrative. He's got over $650,000 dollars in there!"
"Jesus! I knew it!"
"Is he a thief, CeeCee? What's up?" Sally asked.
"Sorry, Sal, I can't tell you right now---for your own protection, believe me. Again, this conversation never happened, right?"
"Are you kidding me? They'd fire my ass," she laughed. "Give me a call and we'll do lunch again."
"You're on!"
There was no way a slimeball like Jax Zapone had that much money. Even if he did, he'd never have a bank account in Mansfield. There would be no reason to. The answer had to be that Illeana had a lot of money, money she no doubt duped all of her followers for. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became, especially when I thought about how all my superiors and coworkers thought I was wrong.
Deciding to end my shitty day early, I went home without even telling anyone I was leaving. I knew they wouldn't ask anyway, knowing how pissed I was.
My day perked up immensely when Michael phoned. Henry Wakefield had just called him with the news I had been desperately praying for. Paula Terman dropped the custody suit. Michael and I officially had custody of Lola and the road was cleared for adoption. I couldn't have been more thrilled.
"Henry played the tape that Lori made when Lola was at her visitation for Paula's lawyer. According to Henry, he immediately hung up and called back in fifteen minutes saying his client was dropping the suit." I could hear the elation in Michael's voice. "Henry filed the papers and said the judge signed them right there in his office. She's ours, Cee! Officially!"
I could've bawled. Lola was ours and now there was nothing in the way; sixty days from now, she would be our daughter---legally. As the warm tears filled my eyes, I smiled for the first time all day.
"We're going to celebrate!" I announced.
"I've already taken care of it," Michael stated proudly. "I made reservations at Cafe de la Chuck E. Cheese."
I laughed. "Whatever shall I wear? Honestly, Lola will love it and so will the kids. When are we going? I'm on my way home now."
"You are? I thought sevenish will work. Why are you coming home so early?" He actually sounded concerned.
"Don't worry, I'll explain later---everything's fine."
My day from hell put on the back burner, I arrived home to find Rena feeding Lola in her high chair. With pureed carrots smeared on her face, I lifted Lola up and held her tight. She was my daughter, and I loved her as if I had given birth to her. She squirmed in my arms, most likely crushed by the tight embrace. Holding her out in front of me, I laughed when I noticed the revolting carrot paste had worked its way onto her nose and eyebrow.
"No, Mama! Lola eat!" she demanded.
Laughing even harder at her stubbornness, I put her back in her chair so Rena could finish feeding her. Although she was two years old, Lola had quit feeding herself self after her mother died. She was slowly working her way back, picking up a cookie here and there, but for now, we fed her. I refused to worry about it, knowing what she had gone through.
All the children were excited for the night's celebration, however, none of them more than Michael and me. Lola didn't quite understand the cause of the party; nonetheless she was overjoyed and overwhelmed at the children's themed restaurant. She was worn out. She actually fell asleep in her high chair at the table. Michael affectionately carried her out to the car and gently put her into the car seat without waking her up. After he closed the door, he grabbed me into a tight embrace.
"I can't believe how happy I am right now that she's really ours," he whispered in my ear as he held me tight.
"I know, it's overwhelming. I want to hold her and never let her go."
We were interrupted by the growing sound of giggles from behind us. The three older children watched our loving exchange with elbow nudges and red faces.
"Ooooo, ya gonna give her a big kiss, are ya!" Isabelle chuckled.
"All right, everybody in, or you have to spend the night with the big mouse!" Michael announced.
All of the children were exhausted by the time we got home, Rena included, and went straight to bed. Michael and I stood over Lola's crib for a long time just watching her. It was one of the most precious moments I could remember. This tiny, beautiful, innocent child had both of our hearts and we would forever be her parents. I couldn't help but smile.
Little did I know, it would be the last time for a while.
When Henry had called earlier and informed us the suit would be dropped, he told us we had to attend a formal hearing where this would be done. Paula would be present, and we would have to go through the motions. Even though her own attorney advised her to simply sign off the custody battle, Paula had to tell the judge that personally. We were thrilled, but I didn't know if I could emotionally take another court hearing where there would be even a minute possibility of losing Lola. I expressed my concerns to Michael, and, as usual, he did his best to cheer me up.
"Look, Cee, it's done," he soothed while getting out of the shower. "There is absolutely no way the judge is going to listen to her bullshit. She's on tape for crying out loud! How can anyone possibly dispute that? She clearly only wanted Lola for the money---Lori is also going to testify that we're the better parents. Paula is dropping the suit. You have nothing to worry about!"
"How can I NOT worry, Michael?" I sat on the edge of the bathtub. "You know how these trials go. The littlest glitch can throw the whole thing off. Plus, this goddamn judge is all over the place! Who knows what kind of mood he'll be in?"
Wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist (oh, how good he looked!), Michael knelt in front of me and took my hands.
"Trust me, okay? For once?" He smiled.
"Knock it off!" I chided. "Don't give me that! You know I trust you more than anything in the world." I became more serious. "I've trusted you with my life more times than I can count."
He began to caress my face and I knew it would work out.
However, when I walked into Lola's room that night and looked down on her perfect, precious face, my doubts began to rise again. For almost an hour, I sat on the edge of her bed, thinking everything from the rational to the irrational. At one point, I thought about taking her and the other children to a place far away, a place where no one could find us, and a place where nature would protect us.
For a while, this thought plagued the darkest parts of my reality. It could work---I had enough money. Maybe Illeana Barron was right. Maybe Eve was the answer, and I could take the kids and live out our lives in peace. The longer the thought remained in my mind, the further chilled I became. Was she really getting to me? Or was this horrific set of circumstances in my life altering my thinking?
Knowing my only recourse was to face the music, I gave Lola a light kiss and went off to bed, praying the hearing in the morning would come out in my favor, and Paula wouldn't change her mind. This was one of those times in my life where faith played a very large part.
I slept fitfully, dreaming of natural disasters and life-changing events. I don't know what it was that woke me, maybe a premonition, maybe it was intuition, but it was around six A.M. that I decided to get out of bed and check on Lola.
She wasn't in her bed.
Trying to stay calm and taking deep breaths, I began to quickly search around the house. I looked in the other kids' rooms, hoping she decided to crawl in with them---something that was unusual, but not unheard of. Only when I saw the forced entry on our sunroom door at the back of the house did I begin screaming Michael's name. I dialed 911 but could only point to the door with a trembling hand as I tried to explain to the dispatcher what was going on. I gave her Paula's name immediately and ordered her to check the home in Little Kentucky where she was staying. I further told her to contact the jurisdictional law enforcement agency in Texas and have them place a car in front of Paula's trailer. I wanted all of Paula's relatives' information: boyfriends, friends, and past employers. The dispatcher, whom I'd known for years, Jennifer, clearly couldn't keep up, nor did she have the means to do everything I asked. I hung up on her and immediately called the private investigator that Michael had hired to find information on Paula. Since he didn't answer, I called his local police department, identified myself as a police sergeant, and requested they drive to his house to wake him up and call me. Michael had come downstairs by then, and was as close to a panic as I was.
"Cee, settle down." He tried his best to ease my panic. "Let's check the house again. Maybe she's here somewhere."
I pointed to the sunroom door. "She's not here, Michael! That psychotic took her. Don't you understand what's happening here?"
I was shaking, waiting for Coop to answer his cell phone. "So help me God, I will find Lola, and I will kill that Paula woman with my bare hands. I promise!"
"Who ya gonna kill?" Coop asked, sounding groggy. I hadn't realized that he had answered the phone.
"Paula broke into my house tonight and took Lola!" I shrieked. "Get Naomi and the both of you get over here!"
Without saying anything else, I knew Coop was throwing his pants on and shaking Naomi out of bed. I had no sooner hung up the phone than the first officers were ringing my doorbell. The cavalry had arrived.
Michael let them in. As he showed them Lola's bedroom and the sunroom door, the crime-scene technicians began to immediately process the area and check for prints. Naomi and Coop arrived shortly after and I demanded an Amber Alert. Naomi hesitated at first, but after she saw the look on my face, she got on her cell phone to get the ball rolling. As far as I was concerned, Lola was in grave danger. Who knew what state of mind Paula was in right now? She could be under the influence of drugs or alcohol, agitated, knowing that she was about to lose thousands of dollars a month to raise a baby she didn't want.
After checking on the other children, I slipped out the door without anyone seeing and jumped into my detective car. I headed right for Little Kentucky. This woman had the intelligence of a houseplant. If my intuition was correct, she would head back to the place she was staying to hide Lola for a day or two, before driving back to her home in Texas. On the way, I thought about how terrified and traumatized Lola would be at this point. The thought not only made me sick, but it made me drive ten times faster. There have been few times in my life when I was so enraged. This time took the cake.
As I turned off my headlights and drove slowly toward the home where Paula had been staying, my cell phone began to ring furiously. I knew it was Michael without even looking. I ignored it. I was more concentrated on the dark house that sat before me. I drove past and parked on the next street over, trying to be as covert as possible. I ran through the yards before coming upon Paula's backyard. I knew she owned two Rottweilers, so I threw a couple of rocks and sticks inside the fence to see if they were outside. It was entirely too quiet. Satisfied I wouldn't meet my demise at the hands of two canines, I quietly climbed over the fence and made my way to the large window at the back of the house. Once there, I crouched down and waited, listening.
It was at least half an hour before I heard some rustling inside the home. At first I thought it must be my imagination---maybe a squirrel or raccoon on the roof---but after I heard a muffled child's cry, I realized it wasn't. It sounded clearly like Lola's mouth was being covered as she screamed, and all of my nerves came alive instantly. I reached for my cell phone and called Naomi.
"Get SWAT and everyone else over here," I told her and informed her of the address. "She's inside! Paula's hiding her inside the house!"
"Whatever you do, CeeCee, just maintain a perimeter for now! Don't go in!" she said.
"I'm not making any promises," I whispered. "If you can't reach me, assume I'm already inside!"
I hung up before she could protest.
Just then, I heard Lola cry out in a painful sound. That was it. I'd be damned to hell and back if I would just sit here and wait while that little baby was being tormented. I made my way to the side of the house and tried the side garage door. It was locked. Feeling desperate, I slipped around to the front and began looking at windows. There was a small basement window that appeared unlocked, and I cut the screen. It was a tight fit, but I managed to slide through the window, dropping to the floor in a slight thud. I remained motionless for a few seconds, hoping Paula hadn't heard me. When I was satisfied she hadn't, I slowly made my way through the basement, still wondering where the Rottweilers were, until I found the staircase. One step at a time, I ascended toward the kitchen and was relieved to find the door halfway opened.
It was quiet, and it was dark. Playful shadows seemed to bounce from one wall to the next; images that made my eyes blink in a matter of seconds. No longer trusting my own vision, I resorted to sound. Damn! Where were those dogs? I could take a lot, but I had too many close calls with vicious dogs back in the days when I worked in uniform. I needed to be careful. I drew my gun in anticipation of a brutal attack, even by one of the fleeting shadows. But what if one of them happened to be Lola?
It was best to secure myself right where I stood. I slowly backed into a darkened corner and stood there, controlling my breathing, and just listening. No doubt the other officers and SWAT would arrive soon, and I was already in. If negotiations wouldn't work, I would take my chances then. Then I realized what a grand mistake I had made by not telling anyone I was in here. Yes, I told Naomi to assume, but as scatterbrained as she was sometimes it wasn't a given she would relay that information to the officers. I was in no mood to have a sniper fire a bullet into my head the minute I moved, so I slowly took out my cell phone and sent Naomi and the head of the SWAT team, Lieutenant Harmon, a brief text message:
"am inside house of mark...stndng still...can't see or hear dogs or weapons..child inside..no gunfre until I give go..secure perimeter and bgin hostge negots...do not respond..."
I was doing my best to control my breathing but it was extremely difficult. Only a few minutes after I sent the message I began to hear rustling outside the nearest window to my left. The cavalry had arrived. As quiet as they were, I was a little surprised that I could hear them at all. I made a mental note to relay my findings to the SWAT commander for future raids. In a matter of seconds I began to see the red and blue lights swirl on the outside. Now, with all of the SWAT members in their respective positions, the patrol cars and uniformed officers would block the roads to prevent citizens from coming near the house. Still no sound on the inside of the home. Where in the hell were Paula and Lola?
The phone inside the home began to ring incessantly. This would be the communications center attempting to call Paula to begin negotiations. I held my breath to see if the phone was answered somewhere in the small house---it wasn't, and I began to panic. Lola was only two years old and couldn't possibly be this quiet unless Paula had her incapacitated, or worse. After the third phone call went ignored, the hostage negotiator's voice, low and controlled, began to make its way throughout the area on a megaphone.
"This is Sergeant Steve Grazzana of the Richland Metropolitan Police Department. We have the area surrounded and secured. Paula Terman, please exit the home immediately with your hands above your head, palms facing outwards. We don't want anyone hurt. We only want the child returned safely."
There was no response.
"Paula Terman, please answer your home phone when it rings. We want to make sure all phone lines are working to ensure communication with you. Paula, we only want the child returned. We don't want anyone injured. Please, Paula, pick up the phone."
The phone began to ring again inside the home and, to my shock, it stopped on the third ring. I assumed someone had answered it. I couldn't stand in my corner anymore, dogs or no dogs, so I slowly made my way through the kitchen toward a small hallway that most likely held the bedrooms. Just as I entered the hallway, I heard a muffled voice from the farthest bedroom at the end of the hall on the left. It was Paula.
"She's MY kin and I ain't talkin' to no more cops," she proclaimed loudly.
A loud hiccup and an exasperated wail cut her off---Lola. My panic and desperation were immediately replaced with anger. God only knows what she was doing to that child inside the bedroom. Dropping to all fours, I began a slow crawl toward the door when I heard a sound that made me stop dead.
It was the sound of a rattling collar mixed with a low growl.
Oh, shit! The dogs had found me. I closed my eyes tightly and waited for them to bite the side of my head off before I realized they were on the other side of the door to another room. Listening to them sniff obsessively and scratch at the door, I tried to catch my breath before moving forward. Paula must've locked them inside the room when she brought Lola in.
I was literally soaked with sweat and trembling as I found my way to the door that led to the room where Lola and Paula were. I had moved off to the side and was trying to get myself together when another voice came over the megaphone.
"Hey, Paula! It's MaryBeth! I'm gonna call on the phone and you better answer! I'm worried about my dogs! Just talk to me and tell me my dogs are okay! I mean, I let you stay in my house and you pull this shit---"
The voice stopped abruptly, most likely when the hostage negotiator pulled the megaphone from "MaryBeth," who apparently was the homeowner and Paula's friend. The last thing anyone needed was for this woman to piss off Paula. The phone rang again and Paula answered it immediately. I leaned in farther to listen.
"They're fine, Bethie! I got 'em locked in the spare room! No! I know! I ain't gonna hurt your house...No, YOU listen! You tell 'em this! You tell 'em I want two hundred grand from that high and mighty bitch Gallagher and I got me a gun in here! If she wants this little brat back, she'll pay it! You also tell 'em not to file any charges. Just the money and I get to go free---and they can have their brat back! You tell 'em!"
She just upped the ante by claiming to have a gun in the room. Now all of the SWAT members would be on high alert with itchy trigger fingers. Stupid bitch. I had to do something. I grabbed my cell phone and sent Naomi and the SWAT Lieutenant another text:
"Stnd down...wait for my sig...going in...suspect in NE bedrm fcing rear of home...dogs secured in othr room..."
My mind was furiously trying to figure out how to get Paula out of the room. As the dogs continued to scratch at the bedroom door a few feet away, I had an idea. I suspected Paula didn't really have a gun with her, but I couldn't be too careful. I put my own gun in its holster and made sure my portable radio was secured tightly and accessible. It wasn't turned on, but I knew I would need to be able to reach it, turn it on, and request help in a matter of seconds.
I bent down and began to furiously scratch at the bottom of the door with my nails. I stood up and waited.
Nothing.
I scratched at the door again, and this time Paula took the bait.
"What the..." I could hear her walking toward the door. "I thought I locked those damn dogs up!"
The door handle began to rattle as she unlocked the door. When she had opened it just a crack, I made my move. Jumping in front of the door, I could see Paula peering through the crack. Upon seeing me, she tried to slam it shut---but she was too late. I kicked the door as hard as I could, which sent her flying to the floor on her back. She quickly tried to get up, but I threw myself on her with such force, she knocked her head on the floor. I grabbed both of her hands and twisted them above her head as she writhed and struggled beneath me. I had to get to my radio and knew I would have to suffer a few blows if I released one of her hands. As she punched and clawed at my face, I grabbed the radio, clicked the button, and screamed breathlessly:
"Move in! Move in! Officer in trouble!"
I heard Lola screaming somewhere within the room, but couldn't look for her. Paula had managed to knock the radio from my hand and grab a hold of my hair, pulling my face to the floor. I scanned the ground, looking for a gun but didn't see any. The old adage that looks could be deceiving was true; Paula Terman was one hell of a strong woman. That, coupled with the fact that she was crazy, made the fight even more exhausting.
While she still had my hair, she began to punch my face. The punches were wildly thrown so they were a mixture of hits and misses. I used all of my strength to throw us both against the nearest wall and slam her repeatedly against it until she let go of my hair. I quickly grabbed her hands, and we spun around and fell against a nightstand, shattering the lamp and landing in the glass. Somewhere in the distance I heard the loud stampede of footsteps. The officers would be in the room within seconds. But first I wanted to take the opportunity to express my complete and utter hatred for Paula Terman. While she lay on her back, I managed to hold both of her hands above her with one of mine. As close to her face as I could, I told her my exact thoughts.
"You're done! You hear that, Paula! You lost, you redneck piece of shit!"
I finished my opinion by punching her square in the face, welcoming the stream of blood that began to flow from her nose. At precisely that moment the room became flooded with SWAT officers. I was pushed to the side, and four full-grown men leaped on Paula, flipping her onto her face and handcuffing her. Somewhat disoriented, I scoured the room in search of Lola.
She was curled up on the bed with her hands over her face, sobbing. I ran over and picked her up, realizing then how close I had come to losing her. I felt my own sobs begin to rise and had to forcefully ignore them. She needed comforting more than anything else, and I couldn't do that if I was a babbling mess.
"It's okay, sssshhh..." I held her tight. "Mommy's here, Lola. It's okay..."
She peeled her face off my shoulder and looked at me. Her eyes opened wide and she let out a horrific scream.
"Mama bleed!"
I felt no pain, so it hadn't dawned on me that I might be bleeding. Apparently, I was. I reached up and felt the warm blood trickle from several scratches on my face, and saw numerous cuts on my hand from the broken glass. After what I've been through in the past, these injuries were a walk in the park. I smiled.
"Mommy's okay, baby, just a couple of scratches." I sat on the bed still holding her tight. "Would you like to go home now?"
She nodded, her face still scrunched up, red and puffy.
"Did she hurt you?" I whispered, terrified at the possible answer. "Are you hurt?"
Her bottom lip protruding out, she shook her head back and forth. Thank God, because I think at that point if Paula had so much as put a scratch on Lola, I might have killed her.
"Oh, Jesus! Are you two okay?" I heard Michael's voice from behind us.
"Dadee!" Lola began to cry again.
He sat next to us on the bed with such force I thought we would bounce up into the ceiling. Lola reached for Michael and he took her into a tight hold, gently rubbing her small back while she cried.
"You okay, Cee? What the hell happened? You're bleeding!" His voice dripped with concern.
"I'm fine, just a few scratches. It was a hell of a fight---"
"You can't do this!" Paula's screams interrupted. "This is police brutality! I want all of your names, I'm gonna have your badges, motherfuckers!"
Paula was promptly shoved through the bedroom door by several officers to an awaiting police car. As far as I was concerned, the nightmare was over. Naomi and Coop came running into the bedroom to ensure that Lola and I were okay.
As I sat in one of the ambulances getting my scratches and cuts cleaned up and disinfected, I insisted on holding Lola. It was almost morning and she was having a hard time staying awake. Holding her in my arms, I rocked her gently back and forth while she teetered on the brink of a deep sleep.
"Why don't you let me take her home, Cee," Michael whispered before kissing Lola's forehead. "She's been through a lot."
I nodded, knowing it was best for her, but sickened at the prospect of letting her out of my arms.
"Did you call home? Rena and the kids are worried sick," I said.
"I called a little bit ago and told them Lola was okay. I guess Selina was hysterical, so Rena got her calmed down."
As Michael took Lola from me, I realized that for the first time he hadn't chastised me for going "outside the boundaries" of law enforcement. Normally in a situation like this, he would have scolded me for putting my life in danger. I called him on it.
"No lectures tonight, Michael?" I gave a slight smile.
He sighed. "I gave up on those a long time ago, and, frankly, I'm glad you did it. If I'd figured it out before you, I would've done the same thing. I don't think I could take something happening to one of our children."
He leaned over and kissed me good-bye with a promise to see me at home shortly.
After only a few more minutes in the ambulance I was given a clean bill of health. Once the blood was cleaned off, the scratches weren't that bad. I made the medical technician disinfect the cuts not once, but twice. As filthy as Paula Terman was, I tried to put the thought of HIV or hepatitis C in the back of my mind, but it was difficult.
"C'mon, I'll drive you home." Naomi walked up and extended her hand to help me down from the ambulance.
Sheer exhaustion took over during the car ride. Although my fight with Paula didn't last all that long, the high amount of adrenaline that took over for hours finally dissipated---leaving me barely able to keep my eyes open. Naomi had to shake me awake when we pulled into my driveway.
"Cee, wake up, you're home," she whispered.
I welcomed the sight of my house and the prospect of my own bed. Thankfully, Michael was waiting up for me. The kids had long since gone to bed and Michael said that after he had given Lola a bath, she fell asleep while he was dressing her. I went upstairs and looked down on her sleeping peacefully in her crib. I felt the anger rising again at what she had been put through tonight. Michael met me in the hallway.
"You need to get some sleep. I'll stay up in case Lola wakes up."
"Okay, but wake me up in two hours."
He looked perplexed. "Two hours? Naomi told me she gave you the day off today. Look, Cee, you're not going to work---"
"I know. But I am going to Paula's arraignment this morning." I looked at him defiantly.
"Oh, c'mon! You don't need to be there for that!"
"I don't care. I'm going. I want that bitch to see me in the courtroom after what she just put this family through, and I want to make sure she gets what she deserves."
Knowing better than to argue, Michael simply shook his head and went downstairs. As tired as I was, I found it difficult to sleep. I got up at least twice to check on Lola; to make sure she was still in her crib and breathing. I had probably slept for less than an hour when Michael woke me up. He looked as exhausted as I felt. Like me, he had checked on Lola several times and had not slept at all. He dove into our bed and was sound asleep before I even got out of the shower.
Driving to the courthouse, I felt more than awake when I considered the prospect of seeing Paula Terman once again. The prosecutor trying the case, Lance Davis, met me in the hallway.
"CeeCee? What are you doing here? You know you don't have to be present this morning."
I raised an eyebrow at him.
"All right, I get the message. Right now, we're charging her with aggravated burglary, aggravated kidnapping, and aggravated child endangerment. We've got a slew of other charges but this will be enough to hold her on indefinitely."
"I hope so." I scanned the lobby looking for Paula. "Is she here yet?"
"She's inside already. Do me a favor and sit in the back. I don't want the judge to think you're there to intimidate her."
I had already assumed he would say this and merely nodded. I followed Lance into the courtroom and quietly slid into the last row of benches near the door. Paula was seated in the jury box, wearing a bright red county inmate jumpsuit. The red was for maximum-security inmates only. She was shackled and flanked by two corrections officers. If she noticed me in the courtroom, she certainly didn't show it. She had a swollen right eye and tape across her nose, compliments of yours truly, and stared straight ahead---looking tired and haggard. There was something in her face that contrasted Illeana Barron's. I found it disturbing.
"State versus Paula E. Terman, case number CP-98762. Ms. Terman, are you present?" the judge announced.
Paula was led to the podium facing the judge.
"Yes, sir." She looked grim.
"Ms. Terman, you are being charged with one count of aggravated burglary, one count of aggravated kidnapping, and one count of aggravated child endangerment. Do you understand these charges?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Davis, does the prosecution have any additional requests this morning?"
Lance Davis stood up from the prosecutor's table.
"Yes, Your Honor. Due to the violent nature of the crime, and the fact we will be filing additional charges, the prosecution requests the defendant be held without bond. She is from Texas, has no known permanent residence, and is considered by this office to be a great flight risk. We also feel she poses a substantial threat to the child victim in this case as well."
"Request for denial of bail granted. Ms. Terman, do you wish to hire an attorney or are you seeking a court-appointed attorney on the basis of indigence?"
"I don't know what that means, Judge."
Big surprise there.
"It means you are stating you have no financial means to hire your own attorney, and therefore the state will pick up the tab."
"I ain't got no money."
"All right, the court determines the defendant indigent and therefore will appoint attorney Dan Maccoby to handle the case. We will hold off on entering a plea until Ms. Terman has a chance to confer with Mr. Maccoby. We will meet back here tomorrow morning. Court adjourned."
I waited for Lance Davis outside the courtroom. I wasn't worried about Dan Maccoby; he was the king of plea deals. Trials terrified him, so any deal put on the table was mostly accepted. Definitely a point for the good guys.
"So what are you going to throw down?" I asked Lance.
"How about a plea to the kidnapping and burglary with a minimum of twenty-five---no possibility for parole until then? He'll take it. If we go to trial, he knows she'll get life in the blink of an eye."
I knew that Paula Terman wouldn't live another twenty-five years considering the shape she was in, so I agreed. It would save all of us the gut-wrenching prospect of a lengthy trial. This way, we would be able to put this behind us and move on with our lives. Either way, Paula Terman would die in prison, and that was simply fine by me.
By the time I got home, the children were awake and I was barraged by questions from Selina, Isabelle, and Rena about the previous night's events. Selina was holding Lola. She wore an expression that dared anyone to try to take her little sister out of her arms. Her protectiveness made me smile. After several minutes of coaxing, I was able to hold Lola and cover her face with kisses, which made her giggle uncontrollably. Yes, our nightmare was finally over.
Exhaustion reared its ugly head later in the morning and Michael suggested I try to get some rest.
"We've been through a lot---the tornado, Paula, everything! You need to get some rest, Cee. If you keep up like this, you're going to get sick, and if I know you, you're going to go back to work and hunt Ms. Illeana Barron with a vengeance." He smiled. "You'll need all your strength to do that."
He was right. I hadn't thought about Illeana in the last several days, but as her image played around in my head, I realized I needed some sleep. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep in my clothes. I slept soundly and deeply, and felt somewhat disoriented when Michael woke me around six o'clock that evening. He was seated on the bed next to me. Even in the fading sunlight, I could see him smiling broadly.
"I was going to let you sleep all night, but I thought you would want to hear this," he said.
"What?" I mumbled, trying to rub the remaining sleep from my eyes.
"It's done, officially."
"What is?" I wasn't in the mood for word games.
"Paula." He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. "Lance Davis just called. Dan Maccoby took the first plea deal without question. Paula signed off on it---she'll be formally sentenced to twenty-five years first thing in the morning!"
"Oh, Michael!" I sat up wide-awake and embraced him. "It's really over! She's really ours!"
I didn't realize how hard I was crying until Michael reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a tissue, gently wiping at my eyes.
"Yes, it's over," he soothed. "We've finally got our baby---for real and forever. When things settle down, I've already decided we're long overdue for a family vacation. How's Florida sound? A week at the beach and a week at Disney World? I think the kids would agree."
"I think that sounds wonderful," I laughed. "Now, go get my beautiful baby girl and bring her here!"
Waiting for Michael to bring Lola up, I lay back onto my pillow and realized the magnitude of the past several weeks. I stared up at the ceiling with a smile on my face, knowing everything would be okay. But as my detective instincts began to overshadow the joy I felt, my smile slowly faded. Damn! Why couldn't I be happy for at least one minute?
It was life, that's why. My life of fighting criminals---murderers, sex offenders, robbers, and child abusers---continued to loom out there in the darkness. One of them in particular, a homely-looking woman who wore a smile filled with evil.
Paula Terman might be gone, but Illeana Barron wasn't. I had a feeling that maybe my nightmare wasn't over, and this was only the beginning.
Although in good spirits, I couldn't help but feel slightly unnerved as I drove to work, always the perfect place to dash any hopes of a peaceful and content day. I was beginning to loathe my job more and more. I felt drained after the last several days, and wanted to be home with my children and Michael.
Trying to stay positive, I pulled into the parking lot and again noticed the apartment building across the street. A man was watching again, but this time he threw the curtains together when he saw me slow down and look at him.
It wasn't paranoia, but instincts, that told me the incident was definitely worth looking into. Thankfully, there was a for-rent sign advertising the bottom unit of the building. I quickly wrote the number down. Then I found a parking spot nearest the station. Walking toward the secured police entrance, I knew without a doubt I was still being watched. Ignoring Naomi's and Coop's open office doors, I walked into my office and closed the door behind me, a sign I didn't want to be disturbed under any circumstance.
As I dialed the number on the sign, I impatiently chewed my lip. It only took the walk from my car to my office for me to figure out what I was going to say. It was several rings before a gruff, groggy-sounding man's voice answered the phone.
"Yeah, what is it?" he barked.
"Excuse me, but who am I speaking with?" I asked kindly.
"Who the fuck wants to know?"
"This is Sergeant Gallagher with Richland Metro and I'm looking for the owner of the apartments at 55 North Street---across from the station." I stayed polite, knowing the guy was shitting his pants about now.
There was quite a bit of rustling and moving about as the man attempted to pull himself together, most likely cursing his own phone etiquette.
"Yeah, um, that's me...sorry 'bout that, ma'am. I get a lot of people calling to rent this early in the morning and I'm a night owl. Didn't mean any disrespect."
"No problem, I completely understand. The reason I'm calling is I'd like to know who occupies the upper-right apartment of the building, if you're facing my station."
I was met with silence, a response that concerned me, greatly.
"Are you there?" I asked.
The man coughed into the phone. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here...who did you say you were?"
I was starting to get irritated, and suspicious. "I'm Sergeant Gallagher with Richland Metro Major Crimes. Would you mind telling me your name, please?"
"It's uh, umm, Gary. Gary Harris. Why are you asking about the upper apartment?"
"We have been receiving reports of a possible sexual predator living there. He has been seen frequently following children in the area and one of the parents followed him home. Now, I need you to tell me his name so I can check to see if he is a registered sexual predator. At the very least, I'll need to speak with him," I lied.
"What? Don? No way, I can't believe that!" He was awake now.
"I'm not asking for your opinion, Mr. Harris," I said, upping the intensity, "I'm asking his name."
"Oh, uh, it's Don and Deborah Long. They moved in about a month ago."
That sounded about right.
"Did they pay you in cash or a check?" I was feeling anxious.
"They paid me in cash---six months' worth, but I got the impression they probably aren't going to stay that long," he said. "I've been up there and they only have a bed and a chair in the whole place. I don't ask any questions because their rent's paid but he certainly doesn't seem like a pervert to me! A religious freak maybe, but not a perv!"
My pulse quickened. "Why do you think he's a religious freak?"
"They don't have much furniture, but they sure got a lot of weird religious shit on the walls---and a couple pictures of naked women rubbin' on snakes and shit." He paused. "Oh, and he's got a small telescope by the window."
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. They were Illeana's people, I was convinced. They were clearly placed there to keep an eye on me. This woman never ceased to amaze me. She may have won the last battle with the restraining order, but I was about to win this one.
"Gary, did they ever tell you where they moved from or why they were here? Did they fill out a lease agreement or anything? A forwarding address, if they abandoned the place?" I was hopeful, but realistic.
"Nah, lady, I don't make half these people do that. If I did, I'd never get the places rented. People think I'm gonna do credit checks on them if they fill out a lease so they walk away."
"You must lose a lot of money in rent and damages doing that."
"Not as much as if the places stayed empty for months at a time." He coughed again, loudly, into the phone. "Well, I sure as hell ain't having a perv living in my building, that's for sure. As soon as I'm done talking to you, I'm gonna go over there and toss 'em!"
"I suspect by the time you get there, they'll already be gone."
It was just a hunch, but I was right. Gary called within the hour to inform me they had abandoned the place. Since there was a lack of furniture, he knew this only because the wall decorations and telescope were gone. It would take less than fifteen minutes for Don and Deborah Long to abandon ship. But, I wondered, why right now? I could only assume Don (if that was his real name; I doubted it) saw me writing down the number to the building owner and panicked. That particular theory didn't feel right to me---there was another reason. I wracked my brain trying to figure out what it was, but it remained a mystery---until Naomi called. She was the messenger, delivering the answer I had sought for almost an hour.
"I need you to drive down to Illeana's farm. Now."
My pride immediately overtook logic. She wouldn't ask me to do that if there wasn't a major problem. But for a split second, I was unable to understand that.
"You want me to what? I thought I wasn't allowed---" I stopped as my sense, and heart rate, kicked in. "What happened, Naomi?"
She breathed a loud sigh into the phone. "You were right. But now isn't the time for apologies---"
"What happened?" I roared, interrupting her.
"We received an anonymous call early this morning. The uniforms were dispatched to the farm in reference to a body in the barn. Two officers were sent down and found the place abandoned. They're gone, CeeCee, all of them. When the officers went into the barn they immediately noticed a mound of dirt in one corner, and the smell gave it away."
I knew this was hard for her, only because Naomi had a significant amount of pride as well. Telling me this was like confessing to me that she was an ignorant dumb-ass for not believing me.
"Go on, I'm listening," I said authoritatively, sensing what was coming.
"There was a large pool of dried blood by the mound, and a few severed body parts at its base---some appear to be small children's. We're getting everything set up for the dig, but we'll wait until you get here."
I couldn't help but let it rip at that point. I was beyond incensed, and horrified.
"Jeez-us Cahrist! I fucking knew it!" I screamed. "I hope you and the sheriff are fucking proud of yourselves. I'm on my way!"
I slammed the phone down and put my face in my hands. My stomach was turning and I began to feel the familiar anxiety of knowing we could've stopped a murder, or murders, and didn't. The goddamn children! They were probably all in that hole, and it was our fault for not protecting them.
In a blind rage, I grabbed my keys and began the drive to the farm. At one point, I had to pull off to the side of the road for a few moments to calm down. My heart raced and I was starting to feel nauseated. We could have stopped this!
I had broken out into a cold sweat by the time I made it up the long driveway and parked next to Naomi's car. I grabbed my briefcase, latex gloves, and camera before walking to the crowd of law enforcement officials, crime laboratory personnel, and others that would aid in the dig. As I walked past the main house, I slowed down and noticed the front door stood wide-open, as if inviting all those who walked past to enter and share the memories of the Children of Eden. Even from my viewpoint, I could see the walls were bare. The large picture that dominated the foyer, the one of the woman in the field, no longer faced the door.
The sheriff was the first to spot me---actually, I believe he was waiting for me---and left the crowd, meeting me halfway to the barn. As we approached each other, the tension grew. I made no effort to hide the contempt on my face, but I couldn't understand why he looked the same. On the defense, no doubt.
When we stood face-to-face, I locked my eyes on his and let him speak first. I couldn't imagine what he could possibly have to say. I was more disappointed in the sheriff at that moment than I had ever been since I'd known him. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his spine, his ability to put politics on the back burner and do what was right.
"Before you fly off the handle, I had no other choice." His voice was low, but stern.
"That's fine, why don't you go explain that to those children. Oh, that's right, you can't---they're all dead!" I was sarcastic and downright insubordinate.
"Keep yourself in check, Sergeant," he said, growing angry. "I am still the sheriff here, and I don't care how pissed you are at me, you still need to be professional and do your job."
My eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Are you serious? Now you're telling me to do my job? Two days ago you didn't give me the courtesy to even listen to what I had to say---some things that may have prevented this." I noticed Naomi had joined us, but she remained tight-lipped. "I told you both something like this was going to happen. But I wasn't respected enough to be listened to."
They both remained quiet as I continued staring at the sheriff and shaking my head in disgust.
"I never in a million years would have imagined that you would turn into a politician, but it's official. You've finally put the lives of others second to your own status with the higher-ups. Congratulations." I walked away.
I would probably be fired and, honestly, I just didn't care at that moment. Expecting the sheriff to order me off the crime scene any minute, I was slightly shocked to see him walk to his own car and drive away.
Guilt flooded in. I had known the man since I was a child and what I'd just said had been hateful---hurtful. I knew him well and knew he was dying inside at his own mistake, feeling responsible. Having to listen to my little diatribe made it considerably worse, I'm sure. Naomi walked up behind me as I approached the barn. I braced myself for a verbal assault from her.
"CeeCee, wait!" she called out.
I stopped, turned around, and prepared for war. It reminded me of the old days when I couldn't stand to be in the same room with Naomi; I absolutely loathed her then. Those were the days she used her rank to fight me, rarely winning the battles, regardless. I was surprised to see the lines in her face showing the depth of her concern.
"We were wrong," she admitted softly. "Unequivocally, undeniably, fucking wrong and, yes, you were right on the mark, but would you mind just hearing me out for a few minutes? Calmly, please?"
I crossed my arms and nodded.
"You really hurt him, you know," she said, referring to the sheriff.
I broke my hardened stare and my eyes drifted to the ground, guilt overthrowing the strength I had intended on maintaining. She continued, knowing I felt like an asshole for the way I had treated the sheriff.
"I want you to really think about something right now, CeeCee, and don't argue, say anything, or talk---just listen to what I'm saying." She paused, testing the waters. "If we hadn't pulled you off of this thing two days ago, what, realistically, would you have done in that time to prevent this?"
Unfortunately, for her, I was prepared for the question.
"I'll tell you what, Naomi." I tried to remain calm, although there was a distinct trembling in my voice. "You can reprimand me all you want, but I'll clue you in on something. I continued with this under the radar and found out some more interesting information. Jax Zapone is holding over a half million dollars in a Mansfield bank account. What I would have done had I been authorized, is to bring him in for questioning and either have him acknowledge the money in the account was being hidden for Illeana, or turn him over to the IRS. What do you think he would have done? I'm fairly confident he would have cooperated, aren't you? After getting a formal statement, I would have obtained a search warrant for the farm. Since Illeana knowingly disregarded a legal subpoena, I would have included that fact, along with all the other suspicions about the homicides in the affidavit. You know as well as I do the warrant would have been signed immediately."
It was Naomi's turn to look at the ground. However, I wasn't finished.
"I'd say we would have probably had the warrant served by yesterday evening. We would have found the bodies and would have been able to make immediate arrests, if not prevent the murders, period. Is that enough, Naomi? Or shall I go on?"
She stayed quiet, soaking it all in, knowing that she and the sheriff had fucked up in epic proportions. It would be a hard fact to take, knowing you allowed the deaths of multiple people to take place. This was one of those rare situations in law enforcement that inevitably ends on the department shrink's couch. Naomi's eyes were red when she eventually looked up.
"I think you may have forgotten what just happened in the last two days with Lola," she reminded me, and I cringed.
She was right. I had gotten so caught up in my own victory I couldn't believe I had to be reminded of what I had just gone through. No, it wouldn't have mattered. Even if I hadn't been taken off the case, the events of the last two days would have put everything involving Illeana on hold. It was almost as if I could hear Illeana Barron laughing at me in the distance. It was almost as if she and Paula Terman had planned this together---to keep me occupied. Knowing that was impossible, I closed my eyes and hung my head in defeat.
"Naomi, I'm sor---" I whispered.
"Why don't you go on in," she interrupted, her voice trembling like mine. "The cadaver dogs are searching the rest of the property right now. I'll be in shortly."
She turned and began walking abruptly toward her car, most likely to take a time-out for a good bawling. I've been there myself, but, as guilty as I felt about how I treated them, I believe the sheriff and Naomi earned their grief---and I, unquestionably, earned mine.
I was approximately twenty feet from the barn when I resolved one aspect of the crime---the time of death. Maybe not to the hour, but as the smell bowled me over from that distance, I was positive the victims had been dead for much longer than twenty-four hours. The smell of the dead is like no other. "It's like trying to describe a color," my father used to say. It was as distinctive as the crime itself.
Spotting J.P. near the entrance, I made him my first stop. He was shaking his head, looking concerned as he spoke to the lab technicians.
"Other than the obvious, is something wrong, J.P.?"
"Hi, CeeCee, good to see you." He patted my shoulder. "Nah, not really, there's something that isn't really making sense to me---outside of the fact that multiple people were slaughtered."
"What is it?" He had my full attention.
"The outer layer of dirt. It's filled with rose petals. People aren't very smart in their covering bodies 101. Using roses to hide a smell is about as useless as a pogo stick in quicksand."
"They didn't use the rose petals to cover up the smell, J.P.," I stated matter-of-factly.
He raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know that?"
I went into a very brief explanation of the symbol and iconic representations of the Children of Eden. J.P. let out a low whistle.
"Man, just when you think life in itself couldn't get any worse." He paused. "Well, let's go get this over with."
I accompanied J.P. into the barn. As bad as the smell was outside, nothing prepared me for the stench that hit me once I entered. Rarely did I react to the smell of death, but this was so overwhelming, I found myself reeling backward out the door, gagging. Coop saved the day by sticking a large bottle of Vicks under my nose.
"I meant to grab you before you went in," he said somberly. "It's one of the worst I've ever seen. We're trying to get some fans in there."
Graciously helping myself to a small spoonful, I slathered the greasy menthol over, and in, my nose. I even stuck two pieces of gum in my mouth before I was able to venture back in. J.P. was waiting.
"I'm gonna say by the smell and the condition of the body parts at the mound's base, the time of death was approximately two to three days ago. With this heat and being inside this barn and all, decomposition was accelerated something fierce." He nodded at the large mound of dirt that was situated near the corner.
Two or three days ago would have been at or pretty damn near the time I was watching the ritual unfold in this very barn. I wondered if the murders had already taken place then and was the cause of the bizarre celebration. It would be hours before this particular question was answered.
Noticing a small blackened hand, several toes, and an ear at the base of the mound, I took a deep breath and prepared myself. The other investigators and personnel took positions approximately ten feet away from the mound and formed a circle as the laboratory technicians began to dig.
The deeper they dug, the farther back the onlookers stepped. With each inch of dirt thrown off the mound the already-unbearable stench grew stronger. Ten inches down, two of the lab techs threw their shovels to the side and ran outside to vomit. The hole they were digging was filling with red water, with what appeared to be pieces of flesh floating on top.
Holes were knocked into the walls of the barn as large fans were set up to provide the workers with some relief, however small.
After roughly an hour of digging, the first body was found; an adult woman, lying on her side. The FBI was notified, and a high-priority alert was issued for any member of the Children of Eden. From that point on, the digging would take hours to ensure the meticulous process of evidence collection. Two hours later, the first child was found, hands and feet bound with duct tape. Something like this takes an overwhelming emotional toll on the workers involved. The little girl couldn't have been more than ten or eleven years old. Several investigators and technicians excused themselves, tears in their eyes. I, on the other hand, remained stoic. Not that I was emotionless; dead children will always bring me an indescribable grief---but I was angry. The anger overshadowed any other emotion that tried to fight its way through, no matter how powerful.
In total, two adults and two children were found---a family. Only the children had their hands and feet bound, which indicated to me the parents were killed first. All had been shot in the head; they were executed. An abomination for which Illeana Barron was directly responsible, and I would see her pay dearly, no matter what it took.
While the digging was halfway through, Coop drove back to the station to prepare the search warrant and get it signed by a judge. Quite frankly, the warrant wasn't necessary---the place had clearly been abandoned. But, considering Illeana's legal power, we thought it best to have our asses covered. He arrived back at the farm as they were loading the last body into the coroner's van. We, along with Naomi, stood silent and watched. Michael and his two subordinate agents had arrived several minutes before, and would be executing the search warrant with us. Once the first body was located, Naomi had called him to find the source of the anonymous phone call. This took the FBI less than an hour before they had a man by the name of Kirk Richards in their interview room. Coop and I recognized the name instantly.
"The smart-ass on the bike!" he exclaimed.
"He was the one on the bike at Kelly Dixon's murder, Michael," I explained.
"I'll have to pass that along to the agent," he said.
Michael was on the phone with the interviewing agent every fifteen minutes getting updates on his statements. The statements he relayed to the rest of us were almost as disturbing as the murder scene itself.
"He was a former cult member," Michael told us, although we had already figured that out. "And I say former loosely---he only left the cult yesterday, snuck away without them knowing."
We all stood on the front porch of the main house, listening to the horrific series of events that Kirk told the investigators.
"The murders happened the night after the ceremony, Cee." He paused and looked at Naomi, who looked at the ground in shame. "After the ceremony, someone apparently found some type of journal written by one of the women in the cult. According to this guy, she was one of Illeana's right-hand women---her top aide."
"Francesca Tracy!" I exclaimed. "It has to be!"
I remembered the night of the ceremony and the look of distress on her face as she turned the corner. She knew! She knew what was coming but stayed silent. Why?
"Which one was Francesca?" Coop asked.
"Hang on a minute," Michael interrupted as he watched one of his agents approach. "Kirk told the interviewer he got a hold of the journal after the meetings and hid it in the woods. Tom's bringing it over now."
We watched in anticipation as the agent handed Michael a light blue hardcover book with the word "Journal" printed on the front. Michael told Tom to find any information on Francesca Tracy he could, as soon as possible. My impatience growing, I grabbed the book from Michael's hand and began flipping through the handwritten pages. There were only seven entries. Everyone stood quiet as I read the brief, but disturbing, accounts of Francesca Tracy's time spent with the Children of Eden. It was the last entry, written the night of the murder, that made our blood run cold and our hair stand on end:
August 17
It's been a while since I've written, but I haven't been able to get my journal from its safe place in the woods. It seems like someone is always around me, Ken and Jake, especially. It was so bad two days ago, I would bet my life that Illeana is having me watched. I think the unrest in the group is making me paranoid. Tonight was a little calmer, but I sensed an unfamiliar tension as we all sat down to dinner.
Gary, Tyler, Jake, and Ken met with Illeana in her room. Probably to make the last of the arrangements for the wilderness retreat we are all taking tomorrow. The girls are so excited to go to West Virginia. I've never heard of Beckley, but it sounds nice. Little do they know we are not going.
I've made my decision and I'm taking the girls before everyone wakes tomorrow. I can't possibly stomach another ceremony like tonight. If it wasn't for Sarah and Molly, I'd probably kill myself. Not to mention, I'll see Illeana burn before it's all said and done. I'm planning on giving Gallagher everything I have on this place.
Illeana may not burn in hell with the almighty Jim Jones right now, but she'll join him soon enough. He, for taking my parents, and her for taking my life and those of others. Our things have already been packed and loaded into the trucks. Right now, the children, including Molly and Sarah, are watching movies and bouncing around with excitement.
The rest of the members are in the field having prayer, except for Gary West, Tyler Briggs, and Jake Ellis; they're out in the barn cutting wood. Quint went out to help a little bit ago. I can hear the sound of the chain saw all the way up here in this godforsaken room.
Knowing we are leaving this hell will make this night one of the longest of my life. I have to make this short. Connie just called up and said they needed my help in the barn. Till next time.
R---
I slowly closed the book, knowing what happened next. For Francesca, there wouldn't be a next time.
"Jesus!" Coop voiced our thoughts. "They murdered her right after she wrote that, didn't they, Michael?"
Michael took a deep breath. "You all better prepare yourselves. If what Kirk Richards is saying is true---and I believe it is---it's one of the worst things I've heard in my life."
The depth of Michael's disgust showed on his face, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it. He could take a lot, but this got to him. I was sure everything that happened in the last several weeks had something to do with it. I could tell Michael was as emotionally and physically drained as I was.
"Apparently, Francesca had been acting strange, so Illeana put her husband and Jake on her tail for several weeks, something she clearly was aware of." He nodded at the book. "The day of the murders, Jake followed her and saw her put her journal underneath a log and he took it. Of course, he took it right to Illeana. Kirk apparently heard the entire conversation. Illeana told Jake to put the journal back where he'd found it, and tell no one what he'd read---"
"I just thought of something," I interrupted. "All of the journals are signed with the letter R at the end. Are we sure it's Francesca?"
Michael thought for a minute. "According to Kirk it is, but we'll get to that."
Michael went on, painting an accurate and detailed picture of the murders. Coop, listening to the horror of it all, had to sit on the front step as he took it all in. Naomi stood as pale as the white porch post next to her while I felt my grip on the journal tightening.
"After the ceremony, Illeana held a meeting with Ken, Gary, Jake, and Tyler. It was during this meeting that the murder plan developed. It had been planned, initially, that the cult would move into the deep, desolate Appalachian Mountains near Beckley, West Virginia. Illeana had become increasingly irritated at the intrusion of local law enforcement. She wanted to pack up and disappear. However, after reading Francesca's journal, she went into a complete and psychotic state of paranoia, afraid Francesca would endanger Eve's ceremonious 'coming.'
"Tyler Briggs stood watch outside the barn," Michael continued, "while Ken, Gary, and Jake dug the hole. After they were done, they called Quint to the barn to help them with some last-minute preparations. Once Quint entered the barn, with Illeana behind him, Gary started up a chain saw to block the noise from the gunshot. Jake Ellis shot Quint in the head and threw him in the hole. And believe me when I tell you---Quint Tracy got it the easiest. Kirk Richards knew something was coming down. He watched the entire thing from outside through a slit in the barn wall."
"What the fuck..." Coop murmured, shaking his head.
"After Quint, they called Francesca outside to the barn. This time, Jake and Gary held her while she screamed after seeing her husband. Kirk said he couldn't hear everything because of the chain saw, but Illeana screamed at her as she was being held. He heard her tell Francesca that her children would be joining her soon and that's when Francesca really lost it." He paused, glaring at the barn. "It was Illeana who walked up and mercilessly shot Francesca right in the head."
My stomach was churning and I felt ill. However, nothing prepared me for what happened to the children.
"After that, Ken went and got the ten-year-old and told her there was a surprise in the barn. When they got her in there they bound her hands and feet with duct tape and threw her in the hole alive..." Michael stopped, appearing to choke up.
"Man, I can't listen to this shit," Coop mumbled before standing up and walking away.
Michael watched him as he continued. I felt the bile begin to rise in my throat---along with a significant amount of tears in my eyes.
"They shot her when she was in the hole but, apparently, didn't shoot her right---she was still screaming..." He paused. "They left her like that while they brought the six-year-old in. The first shot killed her, but it seems the ten-year-old was still alive when they buried them..."
"Oh fuck, enough!" Naomi was sobbing and put her hand up. "I don't want to hear anymore..."
She ran toward Coop as I felt ill, dizzy, and hot. I grabbed the porch rail to sit down as I put my head between my legs, taking deep breaths to keep from vomiting. Like Naomi, I was sobbing. I looked around, amazed at the lack of emotional strength displayed by my fellow veteran police officers. We saw horrors all the time---dead babies, children, wives beaten beyond recognition, and senseless car accidents---but this, this was something different. This particular crime reached into the emotional core of all of us. It was a frightening scene that alerted us to the fact we were still human beings.
"That fucking bitch!" I yelled. "So help me God, Michael, I'm going to get her..."
He knelt down next to me and gently rubbed my back while I got it together. I saw Coop near the woods' edge, comforting Naomi. I knew this got to her, especially the guilt. I would never say another word to her again about calling me off the investigation. No one could have possibly predicted a nightmarish scenario like this one. It wasn't her, nor the sheriff's, fault---it was Illeana Barron's. Given the state I was in, I was a little surprised when I thought of something.
"What about the body parts at the base of the mound?" I sniffed. "Did they belong to the family?"
Michael nodded. "I'm going to guess they were left as markers. They wanted us to find the bodies. It's not surprising when you deal with someone as narcissistic as Illeana."
As I sat, taking long breaths and holding Michael's hand tight, I thought of the fear the family suffered. The old adage "the fear of death is worse than death itself" rang true in this incident. I truly believed that. I could only hope the family is in a better place, reunited. Regardless, my sensibilities took over again when I thought of Kirk Richards.
"Does Kirk Richards have any fucking type of explanation why he waited two hours before he called the police?" I barked. "Please tell me you're going to charge him federally and throw his ass in jail. At the very least, he knew they were stockpiling weapons---according to Francesca's journal!"
"Just calm down, Cee. We're still getting some more information and we don't know where the cult is right now---he may be able to help us find them." Michael stopped to answer his phone.
While I waited, I couldn't help but think of Francesca's last journal entry, where she spoke of the excited children, and the prospect of getting out. The thought alone sent a chill running through my body. Like I normally do in situations involving the murders of children, I felt a desperate need to run home and hug my own. The most terrifying aspect of it all was that the family in the barn could have been Kelly and Lola. I didn't even want to go there. I had been through enough real scenarios; I didn't need to start imagining more.
"You'll have a hard time believing this," Michael said, interrupting my thoughts as he closed his phone. "They found out who Francesca Tracy really was. This entire case is almost too much."
"Spit it out, Michael."
"Her real name was Rebecca Allen---there's your R at the end of the journal pages. I noticed she referenced Jim Jones in one of the entries so I had the agency check it out. Rebecca is the sole surviving daughter of Jesse and Sharon Allen. Jesse was a radical preacher who moved his family to Jonestown, Guyana, when she was five. She was only six years old at the time of the mass suicide, and watched her mother and ten-year-old brother get gunned down by Jones's maniac soldiers. She escaped and hid in the woods for two days before she was found."
"This can't be real. How did you find all of that out?" I was dumbfounded.
"The FBI kept files on the few remaining survivors of Jonestown. Because of the brainwashing and psychological effects on the members, they had to ensure one of them didn't start up where Jones left off. Rebecca's statement was in her file and they lost track of her years ago---apparently when she changed her name."
"She made it her life's work to seek out deranged religious figures, like Illeana, and take them down---revenge for her family---didn't she, Michael?"
"It would appear so. Only it wound up costing her her life along with those of her innocent children," he surmised.
I found myself almost as angry at Rebecca Allen as I felt sympathy for her mere seconds ago. It was one thing to put herself at risk, but her children? She should have never brought them here in the first place, especially since she knew the risks. A survivor of Jonestown? My head spun. Michael was right; this case was becoming too much to absorb.
Naomi and Coop rejoined us shortly and we all spread out, helping with the search warrant. The four of us searched the main house first; everything was gone. The silver lawn chairs had been thrown in a pile behind the house in the woods, an attempt to burn them resulted in a pile of melted plastic that smelled something awful. The couch had also been burned, along with mattresses and a kitchenette set. My experience with sexual assaults kicked in and I worried the mattresses were burned to cover up any evidence of rape or child abuse. I washed the thought away quickly when I remembered they were guilty of murder. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't give two shits worrying about rape charges. The eerie symbol on the floor remained, along with the haunting series of numbers on the wall, screaming out at us for the last time.
In the room off the foyer---the one that Illeana had been in when I discovered the prayer room---lay a single thorny rose. As the setting sun cast a foreboding, dismal light into the room, I walked in and picked up the rose. This time, the thorns failed to poke me, and I knew unequivocally that Illeana had left the rose for me---she was sending a message. In my mind, the message was that she had won our tempestuous battle. Looking out the window, across the grounds to the barn, I let out a grieving, low sigh. I had failed.
"It's not your fault, Cee," Michael whispered from behind me.
I hadn't even heard him come into the room. He gently put his arms around my waist and rested his chin on the top of my head, looking out at the barn with me.
"Those children," I said quietly, feeling the tears burn my eyes again. "There are so many, and she has them all. We have to find her, Michael."
"We will, don't worry."
We embraced for several minutes before Coop poked his head into the doorway.
"Michael? Oh, sorry, guys." He looked embarrassed to have interrupted such an intimate moment. "Um, I just wanted to tell you those freaky white tents are still standing at the river. Should we tear them down?"
"No, not yet. Everything has to be photographed and processed." Michael let go of me. "They should be done in a couple of days, but just leave it for now."
Coop nodded and left.
"C'mon." Michael grabbed my hand. "We still have some searching to do."
It proved fruitless; the cult was gone. We found where they were storing their weapons: a makeshift storm cellar at the edge of the woods. It had been covered with brush, leaves, and logs, which had made it impossible to find before. However, the wooden trapdoor now stood wide-open, like the house, inviting all of us to enter and see what we missed earlier. I swear I could hear Illeana laughing at us.
With the shelves that lined the small cellar walls, it was apparent they had a pretty impressive arsenal with them. They had enough firepower to hold off law enforcement for days. And that was an extremely disturbing thought. Michael clearly felt the same. Without speaking a word, I knew he was battling his own guilt for not tackling the initial complaint about the group stockpiling weapons more seriously. I thought it best not to bring it up. Standing above the cellar door, he looked at his two agents with unreserved concern.
"Put out a nationwide security alert. We need to find these people---now."
The day at the farm proved to be one of the longest I could remember. Of course, in retrospect, I had no idea what lay ahead. It seemed as if each day of the past several weeks blurred over into the next. I felt like I had no sense of time or awareness, as if I was walking around in a dream state.
Michael and I were both exhausted when we left the property around midnight. On the drive home, I desperately thought of a means to catch up with the cult. Michael had every local, state, and federal law enforcement agency across the country watching for them. Kirk had said he abandoned the group yesterday afternoon, when they were on the Ohio/West Virginia border.
"What Kirk said doesn't make sense, Michael," I said, breaking into our silence. "I know for a fact that Don and Deborah Long were still in the apartment across from the station watching me this morning."
"That doesn't mean anything, Cee." He let out a loud yawn. "They were probably kept there to make sure you didn't prevent them from escaping. They'll meet up with the group later, no doubt about it."
"But Illeana knows the journal is missing, she has to!" I contemplated. "She knew that Francesca/Rebecca wrote about the cult going to West Virginia. She has to know that we know where she's going."
"Not necessarily. Remember, Rebecca wrote that last entry right before she was killed. After the murders, Kirk snuck up to her room and took it. Illeana never saw the last entry."
"I never thought of that," I admitted. "But she has to suspect that Kirk is going to give their destination to law enforcement. Are you going to have your people waiting in Beckley, West Virginia, just in case?"
Michael raised an eyebrow at me, a nonverbal indication that I knew better than to ask a question like that. I knew more not to ask for an answer.
All of the children and Rena were asleep when we got home. Michael and I dragged ourselves upstairs to rest up for what would predictably be an even longer day tomorrow. After checking on the children, we peeled off our clothes and fell into bed, sound asleep in seconds.
Surprisingly, the next day turned out to be fairly uneventful. The cult wasn't found in West Virginia. In fact, they seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. I asked Michael how that was possible.
"As much money as they have, they're certain to have safe houses all over the place. If they're remote enough, they'll be hard to find. You may have been right about Kirk, too. Maybe they had a secondary location and used it because they think Kirk gave them up."
Obviously, in an event such as this, the media was all over the case. Illeana's face was on every news station across the country every fifteen minutes. Arrest warrants for aggravated murder, kidnapping, and gross abuse of a corpse were issued for Illeana, Kenneth, Jake Ellis, Tyler Briggs, and Gary West; their pictures were streaming across televisions and newspapers as well. The number of federal warrants for harboring weapons was over thirty. Wherever Illeana and her cult were, they were extremely uncomfortable and most likely having a hell of a time hiding out. It still concerned me that they hadn't been found immediately. With all of the media coverage, it solidified my notion they had an intricate and well-thought-out plan.
Since I couldn't get my hands on Illeana, I brought in the person closest to her: Jax Zapone. Of course, he was very uncooperative---at first. After calmly informing him that I may call the IRS, have a warrant issued as an accessory to murder, and have him disbarred, he was in my office within an hour. Michael, wearing his mischievous smile, sat behind him in the interview. Like most attorneys finding themselves on the other side of the law, he tried to control the interview. Tried, but failed miserably.
"Could we make this quick? I have a two o'clock appointment in Columbus," he announced arrogantly.
I studied Jax Zapone; thin, with gel-soaked hair in an unbecoming comb-over, and pock marked face. His $10,000 watch told me his career defending degenerates was quite lucrative---but probably not for long.
"We'll get you out of here as soon as possible, Jax---"
"I would prefer Mr. Zapone," he interrupted.
"Okay then, Jax. The only thing I want to know, right here, right now, is where is Illeana Barron and her cult?" My face showed I wasn't playing games.
His face turned three different shades of red, but I silently commended him on his conscious effort not to blow up at me for ignoring his title request.
"I have no idea. That's it, then. Have a nice day." He stood up.
"Okay, since you aided the cult in defying a court order when the subpoena was issued, I'd say they may strongly consider jerking your license. And it shows me you're dirty and you're a liar. I can only assume based on the precedent you set for yourself, that you're covering for her, and therefore, obstructing justice. As you know, the warrants for aggravated murder have been issued. You're looking at a third-degree felony." I stood up and faced him.
"Then charge me," he challenged, smiling, calling my bluff.
"Jax Zapone, you are under arrest for obstructing justice in an aggravated murder investigation. I need you to turn around, place your hands behind your back, and interlock your fingers." I grabbed my handcuffs and stepped toward him.
No longer smiling, he was, in fact, terrified. I've battled defense attorneys in similar scenarios before. They try to call your bluff, truly believing you don't have enough to arrest them. In this case, I really didn't, but I was upping the game to an entirely new level. Michael merely sat back, watching the scene unfold, smiling as he'd done many times before.
"What the fuck are you doing? You can't arrest me, you don't have shit! Where's the sheriff?" He frantically looked around.
"Are you resisting? Michael, do you have your Taser with you?" I grabbed Jax's arm.
Michael stood up and Jax Zapone conceded. I honestly thought he was going to vomit right there in my office, going by the gagging sounds he was making.
"You throw up, you clean it up." I slammed him into a chair.
"Jus-Just give me a minute!" He started taking deep breaths. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you what I know, but please, believe me, it isn't much. I'm telling the truth."
I leaned in, stopping less than two inches from his face.
"Don't you fuck with me, do you understand? You were protecting a monster who is ultimately and directly responsible for the deaths of seven people. I don't play your fucking games and I have no qualms about throwing your ass in a cell for a very, very long time!" My eyes locked on his. "I'm tired of you arrogant, sniveling little pricks thinking you can fuck up an investigation and always get away with it. Not anymore---not today! You tell me what's going on, and I'll consider not throwing you in the hole with the scum you defend!"
He recoiled with alarm. I walked around my desk, sat down, and clasped my hands together.
"I'm listening."
"Look, all I know is Illeana called two days ago to pull all the money out of the account and close it. She told me they were relocating and would no longer be needing my services. That's it! I swear!" He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.
"Where are they, Jax?"
"I don't know! She said something about West Virginia, but she didn't say where exactly, and I didn't ask!"
"How much did she pay you to hide the money in the accounts?"
He looked at his shoes. "I---I don't think I really have to tell you that. You know I could file a helluva lawsuit over this little meeting."
I waved at him dismissively. "Take a number and get in line. It'll be a long wait."
I picked up the phone and made a brief, and very quiet, phone call. It was a matter of minutes before two uniformed officers arrived at my door.
I stood up. "Please take this man into custody and book him in. I'll be down in a while with a warrant for obstructing justice---a third-degree felony, no bond."
"You told me I wouldn't be charged if I cooperated!" He stood, incredulous.
"Yeah? Well, I lied."
"You fucking bitch! I know what you're about, Gallagher! I'll have your fucking badge before this is all over!" The officers grabbed him and placed his handcuffs on.
"Why wait? You can have it now if you want. I really have no use for it, in fact, I'm looking to retire soon." I smiled.
As the officers dragged Jax Zapone to jail, Michael couldn't help but laugh.
"That's my girl. Do you really think you have enough to charge him with felony obstructing?"
"Nah. They'll drop it to a misdemeanor, but I proved my point. I hate assholes like that, and he had his hand a lot deeper in Illeana's affairs than he's letting on."
I chewed on that thought while I called the jail and told them to make room for their newest resident. I determined that the offer I put on the table, and later withdrew, would most likely be considered coercion and any possible charges facing him would be dropped. So I called a friend of mine at the IRS and the state bar association. He would have more than enough to occupy his time---Jax Zapone's career was over.
Naomi allowed me to shadow Michael for the most part. Not that we had much choice; he took over my office, preferring to stay in the area in case a hot tip came in. The sheriff didn't mind; in fact, he hadn't spoken to me much since the day I ripped his ass. I felt awful about it, and decided to make it right. It had been three days and that was entirely too long for us to be at odds. I walked right into his office and shut the door before taking a seat in front of his desk. He was deeply engrossed in some paperwork on his desk and didn't even look up.
"What can I do for you, CeeCee?" He kept his eyes on his paperwork, and sounded cold.
I stood up, took the paper off his desk, set it aside, and sat back down, wearing one of my famous million-dollar smiles, hoping it would do the trick. It did. Slowly, a slight grin began to spread across his face. Progress.
"All right, you have my attention," he sighed.
"Good, because I owe you one hell of an apology, and I want your undivided attention when I give it---as you know, apologies are a rarity in my life."
He laughed out loud, put his pen down, and looked at me intently, still holding a smile.
"Actually, CeeCee, I'm the one who owes you the apology. I've been wracking my brain for the last several days trying to figure out how I turned into this---"
"Sheriff, you're still the same person you've always been, it was my---"
He put his hand up to silence me. "No, now listen. I know listening for you is as hard as apologizing." He genuinely laughed. "You were right. I turned into one of those political assholes I spent my entire career resenting. I remember as an officer and supervisor the days I would go home stewing because the upper management never had balls to fight for what we believed in. When you said that I had become one of those people I just..." He paused, his smile fading. "I just had to take a good look in the mirror. It was a scary awakening, but I'm glad you told me. To think, those people could've possibly been saved..."
"Don't do that, Sheriff," I said. "I told Naomi the same thing. You're right, I was angry and blamed you two, but in retrospect, none of us could have predicted such a horrendous outcome. Remember what I went through with Paula Terman. Even if you hadn't pulled me off, it wouldn't have mattered. Illeana Barron is walking evil, and no matter how hard we pushed or tried to stop her, she would have found a way to murder those people under our noses."
The next few minutes were quiet, while we reflected on the past week, wondering what any of us could have done to stop it. There really were no answers. For the last several days, the nagging image of Lola and Kelly in place of the victims in the barn continued to haunt me. The lives this evil woman had taken pushed my anger to a level I had rarely known---a very personal level of anger. I wanted vengeance, I wanted to watch her die, and I wanted her to see me watching her die. If I had to, I would go to hell and back to make my wish come true.
"Did you hear me?" the sheriff asked.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" I was so deep in thought I hadn't heard a word he'd said.
"I said, consider the matter closed---you and me, I mean. We're as good as we've ever been. Okay?" He stood up and walked around his desk.
"Okay by me." I stood up and gave him a friendly hug.
"Now go find this abominable woman and put her where she needs to be---whether it's a jail cell or in the ground---I'll be happy with either." He winked.
"Now there's the sheriff I know and love," I laughed. "I think I would prefer the latter." I winked back before leaving his office.
I felt a significant weight lifted after our conversation. I've never been one to accept "things left unsaid."
When I got back to my own office, Michael was talking loudly on his phone, buried in piles of paperwork. I only caught the end of the conversation, but it lit my fire, nonetheless.
"...on my way. You sure it's them? Okay, give me about two hours. I'll get a plane to fly me down." He slammed the phone down and stood up.
"They found them? Where?" I was elated.
"West Virginia, a remote mountain area outside of Beckley." He was grabbing papers, keys, and his briefcase.
"I thought they had been watching the area? I thought the helicopters had been all over that place?"
"They did," he said breathlessly as he strode toward the door, "but Illeana fucked up. One of her robots went into town to buy food---the agents tailed her back. They're in several cabins at the bottom of a large gorge. They can't be seen from the air."
"Michael, slow down!" I was almost in a jog trying to keep up with him in the hall. "I'm going with you."
He stopped immediately and turned around. "No, you're not."
I smiled. "Yes, I am."
"She murdered Lola's mother, Michael, and she murdered those innocent children and their parents. I told you, I will not stop until Illeana is finished. You know if you don't take me with you, I'm just going to drive down there myself anyway."
He looked a mite angry, but conceded. "There isn't a doubt in my mind you would do that, even after everything you've been through. All right, let's go. You need to call Rena and tell her."
I hurried behind him, my adrenaline rising at the thought of facing Illeana Barron again. This time I would win the battle. I would not settle for any other outcome.
The FBI had a small charter plane waiting for us at the Mansfield Lahm airport. Within ten minutes, we were in the air: destination West Virginia. I had called Naomi on the way to the airport, and also Rena. Michael explained that over one hundred federal agents were gathering, along with ATF and local police, at the small airport just outside of Beckley. Other agents were strewn around the property, far enough away they had to use binoculars to keep an eye on the compound.
The scene at the airport was astounding. It had been closed to any air traffic except for incoming law enforcement personnel. Agents, police, and SWAT teams stood in unison by the hundreds. I had never personally witnessed such an impressive gathering of law enforcement in my entire career. Since Michael was in charge of the case from the beginning, he was the ultimate leader of the largest raid in history. I couldn't help but beam with pride as we stepped off the plane and the large crowd quieted. The boss had arrived, with his wife tagging along. They looked at him with respect and envy, nodding as he passed them by. Michael had made a name for himself, with a little help from me, and it was apparent on their faces they had been waiting to rub elbows with the famous Michael Hagerman.
Michael, of course, paid no attention. He walked toward the airport hangar where the top officials had gathered to prepare the execution of the raid. I watched with utter admiration as Michael took the lead, reminded of why I fell in love with him years before.
Michael was at the large board, marking points for entry on a satellite photo of the area, when a cell phone rang. Stan Henderson, another top agent from Washington, answered. His face went pale within seconds, and I immediately knew something was very, very wrong.
"...team C will enter through this area here," Michael continued.
"Um...Agent Hagerman, Michael?" Stan interrupted, his voice trembling. "I need to speak with you, immediately."
Michael looked confused until he, too, saw the look on Stan's face.
"Mark, take it from here, will you?" Michael handed off his pen to another agent before walking away to talk to Stan.
I had an overwhelming urge to butt in, but decided against it. Whatever the problem was, we would all undoubtedly hear about it very soon. But when I saw Michael's expression mirror Stan's, my concern grew into sheer panic. For some reason, my immediate thought was that it had to do with our own family. The thought of Illeana going back for Lola crossed my mind and I just about came unglued. Fuck this! I thought as I headed toward Michael. I wasn't going to wait with everybody else. I wanted to know what was going on, and I wanted to know now.
"Michael, what is it?" My voice was trembling.
"CeeCee, I'll tell you in a minute. Would you please go back with the others?"
"I'm not going anywhere. Tell me what's going on!" I raised my voice.
He sighed. Then he reached up and began rubbing his eyes with one hand, nodding toward the group. Stan got the hint and walked away.
"There's a serious problem..." Michael began.
"Please tell me it doesn't have something to do with our family," I interrupted, visibly panicked.
Michael looked shocked. "What? No! Of course not! Why would you think something like that? Never mind. Here it is: Alan T. King, a local congressman who has a strong hold with the Democratic Party in Washington, caught wind of the raid. He decided to play hero, gather his staff, and drive out to the compound to try and talk them out, and to ensure no one is being held against their will."
My jaw fell to the floor. "Is he out of his fucking mind? Does he know the arsenal of weapons they have at that place?"
Michael nodded. "He apparently didn't care. It's an election year and he felt he would prevent a Waco-type situation with his expertise. As of now, we've been ordered to wait until we hear from him. He's got strong ties in Washington---all the way to the top."
"How can he do this, Michael?" I was enraged. "How does a congressman supersede criminal law and public safety?"
"He just did it, CeeCee!" Michael snapped. "Please, I don't need this right now. I'm fucking pissed as it is, and there isn't a goddamn thing I can do about it. Fucking politics!"
Michael stormed toward the group, who had grown quiet at his outburst, and explained the situation. No one was happy about it. There was a lot of yelling and obscenities being thrown around before Michael held up his hands.
"All right! Everybody quiet! Enough!" He waited, clearly incensed at the situation. "I've made a decision. I don't care what they said, I want everybody in their positions and ready to go in case the congressman's plan goes to shit. In the miniscule chance he succeeds and they surrender, we simply pull back. If not, we move in as planned. Let's move it---now!"
People started scurrying to their awaiting vehicles, taking their place in the large procession to Illeana's compound. I rode with Michael and Stan in an SUV that was second behind a West Virginia State Police cruiser. Michael continued his rant in the car. I can't say I was accustomed to seeing him so angry, thankfully.
"Who is this fucking guy that thinks he's gonna waltz in and talk these clinically insane people into giving up?" He scowled. "I mean, c'mon, Stan! How is he authorized to do this? Do they realize the number of children's lives he's putting at risk? Do they?"
"Michael, they were told, and they were told again. After Waco, they became complete pussies when it comes to shit like this. Anything to avoid negative press."
"Un-fucking-believable." Michael shook his head.
I stayed quiet, a bright move on my part. It wasn't as if I had anything to add to the conversation, so it was just as well. The ride to the compound was close to half an hour. We had to park over a mile away and hike through the dense woods to our position. I had my vest on and gun ready. Michael was in constant communication with the others, and once we were at our post, we waited. The plan was, after the congressman was out of the picture, the command center would be at our location. Other investigators were waiting to bring tables and communication and video equipment to us once the word was given. From there, Michael would give the order for the waiting teams to move in.
Michael had been given no specific time that the congressman and his entourage were arriving at the compound, so we had no idea how long we would have to wait.
Two hours and several bathroom breaks in the woods later, we heard the first blip on the radio. At first, it sounded like someone accidentally hit their transmitter. Michael held the radio up to his ear for a few seconds. Then he set it down again. He closed his eyes, leaned back against a tree, and sighed.
"Move! Move! Move!" the radio screamed, causing the three of us to jump to our feet.
Every nerve ending in our bodies came alive at that moment, mixed with a massive amount of adrenaline. Michael grabbed his radio and frantically tried to talk over the traffic.
"What's going on?" he yelled.
"They killed them!" the voice screamed. "The congressman and his staff---they gunned them all down as they were getting out of their car!"
"Teams A, C, and F, move in! Now! Move in!" Michael turned and ran toward the compound just as gunfire began erupting through the woods.
"Retreat! Retreat!" the radio screamed louder.
I was following Michael, horrified he would run right up on one of the cabins and get shot. Stan was behind me.
"Michael! Stop!" I yelled. "Listen! They're retreating! Stop, goddamn it!"
He began to slow his pace while he furiously tried to find out what was going on. It was difficult because everyone was talking over others on the radio. Michael switched channels.
"I need an update! Somebody give me a fucking update! Why are we retreating?" he barked.
"There's too much firepower, sir!" a breathless voice answered. "We can't even get to the congressman and the other victims. Two of us have been hit!"
Michael stopped and tried to catch his breath. "Everybody retreat and keep a secure perimeter---that's an order! No one goes in! Keep back fifty yards from your original post! Command post is ready!"
Michael turned and started walking hurriedly in the direction we'd just come. He gave the order for the other investigators to bring in the equipment for the command post.
"Motherfuck!" he mumbled as he flew past me.
As the others were setting up the tables and equipment, Michael was on the phone to Washington, informing them their hero congressman and staff had been gunned down and murdered. And, he added, we were in the midst of a full-fledged standoff, not even being able to recover the bodies. I don't know whom Michael was talking to, but whoever it was took the brunt of his wrath.
"You fucked up! You fucked this up! We would have gone in there and taken care of it, but now they know we're here and you have a dead congressman."
Michael looked up at the first media helicopter that flew above us.
"Oh, as an added bonus, the media's here! You better get a statement prepared because this is your ass, not mine!" He slammed his phone shut.
I gently touched his arm. "Michael, settle down." I was quiet and calm. "I've never seen you this upset before. Walk with me for a minute."
I tugged on his arm and he didn't protest. We walked several feet away from the others. Michael put his hands on top of his head and took a deep breath. He eventually settled on a large rock.
"Listen, you're not going to do anyone any good when you're completely crazed like this," I lectured. "Take a deep breath and focus. This was out of your hands, and now it is what it is. Deal with it that way and put everything else on the back burner."
"I know, you're right, I'm just so completely pissed. There are five dead people lying down there, and it didn't need to happen." He began to calm down. "I'm okay. I need to get back."
I stayed put for a few minutes while Michael walked quickly back to the command post. He was already on the phone with a state police supervisor who had blocked off the road. Apparently, the media was swarming in by the hundreds. It didn't take a genius to figure that out; there were at least ten helicopters hovering above the area. After he finished on the phone, he turned to the crucial topic of establishing communication with the cult.
"We can't even get close enough to throw a phone in, Michael," Stan acknowledged. "How are we going to communicate with these people? If they see us, they'll shoot."
"Start with the bullhorn. Get the negotiator in a position where the sound will echo off the base of the gorge so we know they hear him." Michael spread the map out on the table. "Here, this looks like a good spot to start with."
Stan nodded.
"We can keep talking until dark, and team C can work their way in from the east, right here, and throw the phone in," Michael continued.
I hated to interrupt, but couldn't help it. "Michael, you might want to assume they have their people strategically placed around the compound anticipating something like that. It's a pretty big risk."
He sighed. "You're right, but at nightfall we can scan the area with night vision. Any guards will stand out like a sore thumb. We'll also have copters scanning with thermal detection. Whatever guards are in place, the teams can take out and continue their approach. Stan, start with the bullhorn right now and we'll see how it goes. In the meantime we'll work on an alternate plan."
The other teams had positioned cameras at their locations, giving us a view of the front of the largest cabin. It was eerily quiet. Once in a while someone could be seen darting past one of the windows, much too fast for the snipers to hit. As I sat motionless, staring into the screen of the laptop computer that held the image of the cabin, I became convinced that something was wrong. Something about the cabin---and Illeana. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I expressed my worry to Michael.
"Something's off here, Michael," I announced.
"You don't say?" he chided.
"No, you don't understand. Something's not right about that cabin, or the ones next to it."
I clicked the arrow button on the computer, causing the camera to pan back and forth across the cabins.
"I'm not following." He put down his radio and walked over to me.
"There are almost two hundred people in that cult, Michael. According to Kirk, there are almost fifty children. With all of the gunfire we surely would have heard them crying! There are no basements in the cabins. Do you think they're dead already?" The thought horrified me.
He looked as concerned as I felt. "Let's not think that way, okay? C'mon, stay focused."
Easier said than done. I kept studying the computer screen until I began to feel the familiar thud of an oncoming headache. From what the beginning tremors told me, it would be a monster.
"Anyone got some aspirin?" I groaned, rubbing my temples.
"We've got a first-aid kit. I'll grab some for you," Stan offered.
Graciously accepting the medicine, I pushed the computer to the side and left. When I found a comfy spot underneath a large pine, I closed my eyes and rested, waiting for the medicine to kick in.
Since the group had been constantly chatting away on their phones or radios, I immediately noticed when things became quiet---too quiet. The silence startled me. Realizing I had drifted off to sleep for a while, I sat up straight and opened my eyes. Michael was standing in front of me holding his cell phone, surrounded by the others. All eyes were on me.
"What? What's wrong?" I was alarmed.
Michael put his fingers to his lips, telling me to stay as silent as the others. I was completely unaware of what was going on. He quickly, quietly, and calmly filled me in.
"Sergeant Gallagher," he said slowly, "you have a phone call. It's Illeana Barron. She wants to speak to you personally."
Holding out the phone, he mouthed the words, "Keep her talking as long as you can!" He then pointed up at the sky and I understood completely.
The longer I kept her on the phone, the more time the feds had to zero in on her cell phone signal. She had to be on a cell phone, because it was impossible there were any landlines in the remote cabins. I took the phone and slowly walked over to the table and sat down.
"This is Sergeant Gallagher," I said into the phone.
"Sergeant Gallagher, it's been a while but I found myself in dire need of speaking with you. I felt with our many connections together we had become friends in a way." She laughed the same evil laugh I remembered.
It took every ounce of energy I had to stay calm. The images in the barn flashed before me and I had to consciously shut them out.
"Then you felt wrong, Illeana. I'd rather be friends with Satan himself," I replied in a flat monotone.
"Don't worry, you will, I'm sure. I've seen the special place in hell reserved just for you, Gallagher. Eve has shown it to me, just as she has shown me so many other wonderful things---like this day. I saw this day months ago."
"Did you see the day you brutally murdered two innocent children as well? Did you see the day you became the ultimate monster? Did you see that, Illeana?" My voice began to rise, but Michael put his hand on my shoulder, signaling me to take it easy.
"It was Eve's will, Gallagher. They were the demon seeds of the nonbelievers. Just as God cast Eve out of her rightful place, Francesca tried to do the same to me."
"What is it that you want, Illeana? What will it take for you to release those children and the others? What do you hope to accomplish here today?"
"Ah, one question at a time. It's getting dark, you know. I suspect they will try to move in soon, but they best be careful. Eve had a plan, and no man on earth could possibly foil it!" Then came the hideous laugh again. "The only thing that will be accomplished here is that you will all leave us in peace and pray that Eve finds forgiveness in all of you. Other than that, expect a wrath that will have God himself cowering in a corner." Her voice rose to the level of a bona fide madwoman. "The children are hers! They are the children of Eden! When you understand that, you will understand everything!"
I held the phone away from my ear and shook my head at Michael. She was clearly in the throes of a complete psychotic episode and there would be no rationalizing, negotiating, or coming to an agreement with a woman like that. He nodded, and insisted I continue.
"You know what I think, Illeana?" I became overly calm. "I think you're full of shit. I don't think you believe in Eve any more than you like getting fucked by a man. By the looks of your husband, I can understand why you feel that way, my sympathies for sure, but this little charade you've done a wonderful job of creating isn't enough for me. I still can see you for what you are: a murdering, thieving, pussy-eating fraud. It's that simple. Oh, and Illeana? I'm going to watch you die."
I could see the eyes of the surrounding agents widen as their jaws dropped halfway down the mountain. Michael was the only one not surprised; he knew me well. I waited for the explosion on the other end of the phone. I could hear her sucking in her breath as I uttered the last sentence, but when she spoke, it was me who was surprised.
"Did you figure it out yet, Gallagher?" she asked calmly.
"Figure out what?"
"The number on the wall. I told you to figure it out, and quite frankly, expected you to. So, have you?"
"A while ago, actually." I was growing impatient, irritated that I hadn't set her off with my foul-mouthed analysis.
"Really? No, you haven't, but I have one last thing to say. You remember, don't you? Life is punishment for the sins of our fathers. Only when our souls return to Eden, our eternal home, will we be forever cleansed. Good-bye, Gallagher. I'll leave you a rose." She hung up.
"Did you get it?" I eagerly asked Michael, referring to the phone signal.
"No, damn it! Just one more minute and we would have had her. Fuck!" He slammed a radio on the table. "What the hell was that all about? What did she say?"
I quickly filled everyone in on the colorful conversation with Illeana Barron. Michael wasn't overly optimistic.
"She's still alive, but I don't know for how much longer. I didn't like the last sentence. It's almost dark now and I think we need to move in with the phone and hopefully take all three cabins."
Within minutes, Michael was on the radio giving the order. We all sat and watched the screen, holding our breaths. The helicopter had flown over just seconds before with the thermal imaging equipment and gave an all clear. The teams with their night vision also reported no one around the cabins. It didn't make sense. Illeana was smarter than that.
"Michael, pull them back, don't let them go in," I whispered to him nervously.
"What are you talking about? It's clear, Cee."
"I don't know, but trust me, she would never open herself up like this."
He looked concerned, and I knew he believed me.
But he said, "We have to, there's no other option!"
There was nothing else I could do. I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and waited. In less than five minutes the first team began their covert approach, and only two minutes after that they hit the first trip wire that set off a series of grenade blasts all around the cabin. The team members were screaming into the radio, and several called, "Officer down!"
"Pull out! Call off the other teams!" Michael screamed into the radio before throwing it. "Fuck!"
I looked at the ground, knowing an "I told you so" would generate a volatile response. Illeana was smart all right, but what else she had planned was anyone's guess at this point.
The rest of the night came and went with little activity. Thankfully, none of the officers were killed, although a few were injured and taken to the local hospital. Michael didn't chance another team going in. He wasn't about to be responsible for the deaths of other officers. At this point, it was a matter of who was going to make a move first. Throughout this whole ordeal, the bodies of Alan King and his staff remained where they had fallen. The entire nation was watching it all unfold as half the networks aired the footage live, preempting other programs.
By the second day of the standoff, with no activity around or inside the cabins, Michael suggested I go home. At first, I protested.
"You need to be home with the kids," he explained. "Rena needs a break and Lola isn't used to being away from us for this long. Please, I'm not trying to get rid of you, I'm just thinking of them, especially Lola."
He was right. I missed all of them horribly. And Lola hadn't been away from us for more than a day---the horrible day she spent with Paula. I had called home earlier and Rena told me Lola was getting more and more upset that we were gone. I had relayed this to Michael.
"Look, if and when something happens here, I'll call you immediately. I promise I'll have the charter plane standing by in case you need to get back here. Please, Cee, do this for me," he pleaded, his eyes narrowing.
"All right, but you promise you'll call if something happens?"
"I promise." He pulled me into a tight embrace. "C'mon, I'll have Stan take you back to the airport."
I hadn't realized how wonderful a shower and a change of clothes sounded until I got on the plane. Makeshift tents had been set up at the command post with cots and neither Michael nor I had so much as a toothbrush. I had only slept about four hours and I felt absolutely filthy.
The first thing I did after hugging and kissing the kids, who were thrilled to see me, was take a shower and eat real food. The awful fast food we had been living on the last two days was beginning to take its toll on my stomach. Rena, anticipating this, prepared a wonderful home-cooked meal. Afterward, I spent time with the children and watched the live feed of the standoff on the news. Everything was at a standstill. Finally exhaustion caught up with me and I fell asleep on the couch and didn't move until the following morning.
I went into work, and filled Naomi and Coop in on almost everything, although they already knew a lot just from watching the news. Naomi had brought a television set from the audio/visual room into Major Crimes so we could keep abreast of the standoff.
Regardless, from the moment I hung up with Illeana, my last conversation with her weighed on me. She said I hadn't figured out the numbers. But I had! Damn her! Her incessant riddles and games were beginning to push me toward the edge. There couldn't possibly be another explanation. O is omega, 800---the number omega represents, and 24---the Greek alphabet ranking of omega. It was simple.
Deciding not to punish my brain any further, I called it a day and went home. Around 6:45 P.M., Michael called.
"They're gone, Cee." He hadn't even said hello.
"What? How?" I couldn't believe it.
"I don't know, but I suspect they were never here to begin with. This whole thing was a decoy. About an hour ago, Jake Ellis, Tyler Briggs, and Gary West came out the front door of the main cabin and shot themselves. We decided to take our chances and go in. No one was there, nor did it look like anyone had been there---certainly not two hundred people," he sighed.
"Then where in the hell are they?" I was getting nervous.
"I don't know, it's not like we can question any of the three men..."
"So now what?"
"I'll be home in an hour or so. These guys here have mostly everything under control, and I need a shower and some sleep. I'm at the airport now."
After hanging up with Michael, I couldn't think straight. Rena was nagging at me to drive to the store for spaghetti sauce since dinner was already late. She was a stickler for dinner at 6:30 P.M. I figured the drive would give me a few minutes to think and I decided to pick up the homicide files at my office while I was out.
Whatever it took, I was going to find Illeana Barron.
I went to my office first. I wasn't surprised to find Naomi there. I had put a lot of my other cases on the back burner and she was catching up. I took a moment to thank her for the help.
"No problem. I just heard the news about the cult. Where do you think they are?" She set a file down and looked at me.
"I have no idea, but I'm grabbing the case files to try and figure that out. They used the whole standoff as a decoy to distract us from something, but what?" I turned to leave. "Michael is on his way right now, so I suspect we'll go over the case together later."
"I heard about Jax Zapone. Believe it or not, the prosecutor's office is standing behind the felony obstructing. With his knowledge of the subpoena and such, they decided to take their chances. What a fucking dumb-ass."
"Yeah, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Amazing who's passing the bar exam these days. I think he knows where they are, I really do. All I can conclude is that his time spent in jail or his license revocation doesn't compare to what Illeana has set up for him financially---it's got to be in the millions. If it wasn't for that, he'd be singing like a bird."
"Or he could be scared of her," Naomi offered.
"I think it's all about the money with him. An arrogant male-chauvinist like that wouldn't dare let a woman like Illeana push him around." I thought for a second. "You don't think he's fucking her, do you?"
Naomi made a face. "Eew. The visual alone makes me nauseous. I hope not, but anything's possible, that's for sure."
"I'll pass on the visual as well. Have a good evening." I waved as I walked through the door.
"Just let me know what you come up with."
After gathering my files, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner. Of course, the lines were horrendous and while I waited I noticed the cult was all over the news and magazine headlines. I grabbed a paper at the checkout line and rushed to my car. I put the groceries in the backseat and threw the newspaper on the passenger seat next to me. According to the clock on my dashboard, it was almost 7:45 P.M. Shit! Rena would be on the verge of sheer panic by now and Michael would most likely be home soon---if he wasn't already there. As I backed out of the parking space, I glanced at the newspaper again and slammed on my brakes. It wasn't the headline that made my nerves come alive; it was the date---August twenty-fourth. At that precise moment, it all clicked.
The faces of the children in the cult flashed before me, then the barn, then the murder scene. The numbers written on the wall, Illeana laughing, back to the children's faces, the standoff, the ritual, Francesca turning the corner, the journal, Illeana, "...only when our souls return to Eden, our eternal home, will we be forever cleansed."
I understood now.
It was ten minutes until eight. If they had performed the ritual at eight this morning, I was entirely too late. I was anticipating they would wait until dark, not wanting to chance getting caught. I cranked my wheel in the opposite direction, hit the gas, and began driving toward Illeana's farm.
Illeana constantly spoke of the coming, declaring the day was approaching and would be here soon. The numbers O-800-24 stood for something else; Illeana was right, I hadn't figured it out. Omega was coming on August twenty-fourth, the apocalypse in their minds, the rapture---Omega's rapture. I merely guessed at the eight o'clock time since it coincided with the rest. I didn't know at that point what she was planning, but she had used the standoff to distract law enforcement. She had it planned perfectly. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that the cult had hidden out in the cabins, but they left the day Illeana purposely sent one of the members to the store, knowing he'd be seen.
They returned to their own Eden to prepare without interruption. It was brilliant, really. But there was something Illeana hadn't planned on---me.
I didn't know what I was driving into, but I pushed down harder on the gas as I noticed the clock nearing eight. I was still fifteen minutes away and it was 7:59 P.M. The sun was setting low on the horizon, and I had less than an hour of light left, if that.
Nearing the long driveway, I felt my pulse quickening. The large and looming pines blocked out the setting sun, creating an ominous atmosphere that could only be described as menacing. Every noise I made was magnified a thousand times, at least in my own mind. The slight creak of my car door opening echoed throughout the valley, ricocheting its way back to my own ears, putting every nerve in my body on high alert. Otherwise, it was distressingly quiet. No birds singing their good-night songs, crickets chirping their awakening melodies, nor the familiar sounds of the animals in the forest: no deer, no raccoon, no howling coyotes. Silence. Dead silence.
As I neared the end of the driveway, the opening into the farm grounds, I drew my gun from its holster and prepared.
I had expected to see the large cult huddled on the grounds, or lights within the barn, but there was nothing. It was the same as when I left the day of the murders. I stood, watching, waiting, and praying. Could I have been wrong?
Impossible! I walked slowly toward the farmhouse. They were here, somewhere near, maybe even watching me now. I knew not to question a familiar instinct that, for fifteen years, saved my life and the lives of others. In my heart of hearts, I was a cop, and a damned good one. I had learned to trust myself, knowing all too well how the alternative could prove fatal.
Thunder rumbling in the distance was a disturbing warning that my time to search the grounds was limited.
I quickly made my way through the main house before heading to the barn. With the bodies gone, the smell had dissipated a great deal, but it still lingered, tickling my nose.
After confirming the makeshift gun-storage cellar was empty, I began to slowly scan the edge of the surrounding woods. It was dark now, and I stood still---no light, no sound. If you can imagine what it feels like to close your eyes in a crowd of a thousand people and pretend you are alone, that's what I felt like. I felt eyes on me from every direction within the woods. I felt naked, violated, but couldn't see or hear a living, breathing soul. At that moment I was terrified.
If they ambushed me, I would be outnumbered. No one knew I was here. But I would fight. I would fight harder than I had ever fought in my life. If they attacked, I would die, no doubt, but I'd be damned if I didn't go down fighting for the people that no longer have a voice.
I would fight for my children, Michael, Kelly Dixon, Benjamin Rader and his family, Edward Honeycutt and the family that prayed for him. I would fight for the families of the cult members that fought their own battles to bring them back, for Rebecca Allen, who spent a lifetime seeking justice for a stolen soul, and, most importantly, I would fight for Lola, my daughter.
Taking a deep breath, I began a slow walk toward the edge of the woods, still not entirely convinced anyone was there, but preparing for the worst. I was only about ten feet away when I felt my phone vibrate. Michael.
"Where in the hell are you? Rena is on the verge of a breakdown because of dinner being so late," he laughed. "It's almost nine o'clock, you know how she gets!"
"Michael," I whispered, "listen to me. I've found the cult."
There was a short period of silence before Michael unleashed. He'd been down this road before, and really didn't want to venture there again.
"I'm trying to do my best to stay calm, but did you just say you found the cult?" He was quiet, but obviously unnerved.
"Yes, they're back at the farm---"
"Let me guess, you're there, right?" he interrupted, growing angry.
"Yes, you don't understand, I figured it out at the last minute---"
"I'm on my way, right now. Call for backup! Fuck, CeeCee! Haven't you learned by now? What is it going to take? Stay there and wait until other units arrive!"
I heard the soft music in the distance, coming from the river, and knew at that precise moment what I had missed. No, I wasn't being watched now. The members were clearly too busy.
"I'm sorry, Michael. I can't wait---I think we're out of time."
I quietly shut my phone before Michael could protest. He needed to call Naomi and the others to get here quickly; he couldn't do that if he was lecturing me.
The music was coming from the area of the tents near the river but it seemed to echo all around me. Illeana no doubt had several members keeping guard, so I thought it best to stay off the trail several feet. I would work my way down to the river, far from the tents, cross it, and approach from the other side. I didn't think they would expect that. It was warm, and the sweat began pouring into my eyes. My mind played images of what could possibly be happening, but nothing prepared me for what I was about to encounter.
I walked slowly and with determination, careful not to make any noise. With each step, my portable radio clanked against my belt, reverberating throughout the woods. I suppose I could've gotten on my radio and started units down here, but I was worried the other radio traffic would be too loud and draw Illeana's guards my way. Michael would take care of it.
Wiping more sweat from my brow, I took another step. The thunder was moving closer, becoming louder, and commanding me to take cover before it unleashed its fury. Unfortunately, Mother Nature was about to take on Illeana Barron, and, honestly, I didn't know who would win---God versus evil in its most human form. I took another step.
The music grew louder as I stepped closer. Holding my gun in front of me, I noticed my hands were trembling.
hade made tu e ma cora...
hade made tu e ma cora...
haye, waye! haye, waye!
The music blared now, chanting in its strange language that I couldn't quite make out. I almost swore I had heard the song before in an airline commercial, but shrugged the thought out of my head. I was at the river's edge now, and found a shallow rock-covered area to cross. Quickly, I leaped over to the other side and found a similar trail that looped around before ending farther down the bank. I followed it.
A bend in the trail opened up to a full view of the riverside and tents. I suppose I should've waited right there until Michael and the others arrived, but suddenly I heard screaming, the screaming of children, loud enough to punch through the deafening music.
With my heart beating like a hummingbird's wings, and sweat burning my eyes, I stepped out onto the trail and looked down at the tents.
It couldn't be possible.
The bodies. I felt my legs start to give. The children, clutching each other. Their red faces and screams. I fell to my knees, unable to move. The bodies. The small blond boy. I felt the bile begin to rise and before I knew what was happening, I was vomiting---violently. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. My eyes were shut and I opened them. They were still there. At least a hundred bodies.
"In the water you shall enter from earth and emerge in Eden!" Illeana screamed through a megaphone, standing at the riverbank. "We will see you soon, my brothers and sisters!"
They were drowning each other. All of the surviving members, dressed in the silky white robes covered with roses, stood in line waiting to approach the riverbank. At their turn, they would voluntarily walk into the river and be held down by two men I hadn't seen before, and who were heavily armed. They were held until they were dead. After, the men would carry the body to the cleared hillside and place them with the others, forming a large circle: an O.
Almost fifty children, some as young as two years old, had to stand by and watch their parents die, screaming and holding on to one another for comfort. Illeana shouted prayers as the last of the adults were drowned, swaying back and forth to the music.
I couldn't move. It was as if my body had been permanently frozen to that spot on the trail, forever doomed to watch this abomination. God help me! my head screamed as the tears poured out of my eyes. As the body of the last adult was carried to the circle, the children were herded like cattle to the edge of the bank, screaming in terror.
Wearing their white robes, the men began to duct-tape the children's hands and feet one by one. My stomach convulsed. Illeana had drowned the parents first, so there would be no interference when it came time for the children.
"Come now, Eve's children! Have no fear! Your parents are waiting for you on the other side, in the water, in Eden---you must rejoice! This is a time for celebration!" she shouted.
I blindly fumbled along my belt for my radio. My hands were shaking so uncontrollably I had to use both of them to turn the radio on.
"Headquarters, this is Sergeant Gallagher! I need units at 4566 Benedict Road! I have multiple homicides and homicides in progress---officer in trouble!" I shrieked.
Never in my life had I ever sounded like that over the radio. I guarantee that every officer who heard it just about came out of their skin. And Michael, who no doubt was monitoring the radio, just pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
adie adie a mus ta de...
adie adie a mus ta de...
ha une wa en, ha un wa hee e!!!!!
That damned music! My ears were ringing as the men carried the first child, a small blond boy who couldn't have been more than four years old, to the river's edge. No! Do something! my mind screamed at my frozen body.
The men that had held the adults down, and who were carrying the children, were armed with handguns and automatic weapons. There were four men. I couldn't possibly go up against their weapons alone.
The boy, screaming his last cries, furiously bobbed his head back and forth as he was placed into the water. As they held him under, I finally found my voice.
"No!" I screamed.
They didn't hear me---they couldn't have---but the sound of my own cries empowered me to fight back at the reign of terror that held my body hostage. I stood up, strong now, as the men continued to hold the boy under the water. I began to walk toward the river, quickly breaking into a dead run. They saw me when I was about five feet from the bank. It was too late.
Their hands were occupied with holding the boy down, so I was able to fire four shots, striking both men and catapulting them backward. The other two were busy with the other children so, before they realized what was going on, I took aim and fired. I struck one of the men in the forehead, blowing the back of his head against the white tent. The children, still screaming, scattered. The other man lifted his AK-47, aimed it at me, and furiously jerked on the slide. He clearly had no idea how to use it. Regardless, I shot him twice in the chest.
I didn't see the boy anymore. He was still underwater. Illeana had fled into the tent. My mind was broken into bits and pieces of what was real and what was not. As I wedged my gun into my belt, I heard Michael screaming from behind the white tents in the distance. I had no idea how much time had passed when I sat frozen, unable to move. Nothing mattered right now except for saving the little boy.
Taking a deep breath, I dove into the river. It was deep; I dove hard and never touched the bottom, which was going to make it difficult to find him. I made my way underwater to the other side, feeling all around me, but finding nothing. As I came up for air, I heard Michael screaming again, this time closer. There was a helicopter above, its spotlight illuminating me in the river. The wind from its blades churned and chopped the water violently, making my situation much worse. I took a deeper breath and dove down again.
Where are you? I frantically waved my arms about in the murky, dark waters, hoping to connect with the child. My lungs were on fire, screaming for air, and feeling as if they would burst. But I would not leave him in this water.
I began to feel light-headed and I knew I had been under entirely too long, when my hand brushed against the material of his robe. I grabbed it and pulled his body to mine, pushing off the river's bottom. I prayed I would make it to the top before I passed out.
It felt like forever, but I finally broke through the surface, gasping for air. Still holding the child, I made my way up the riverbank and put him on the ground. Michael was there.
"Jesus! Cee, I thought you drowned! Are you okay?" he screamed over the noise of the helicopter.
I ignored him as I stared down at the body of the lifeless child. Knowing the chances were bleak, I straddled myself over him and started performing CPR. I was weak from the river, and found myself tiring quickly. As I gave him compressions and put air into his water-filled lungs, I was unaware I was sobbing. Michael knelt down next to me and put his hand on my back.
"Cee, stop, he's gone."
"No! He's not!"
I continued until I physically couldn't go any further. Still straddling the little boy, I stopped, sobbing louder than before. Michael tried to put his arms around me but I shoved him away.
At that moment, I heard a small cough.
I looked down just in time to see the boy turn his head and spew the dark water from his lungs. He began screaming now, the most wonderful screams I had ever heard in my life. I slowly lifted him off the ground and held him as he laid his head on my shoulder. We cried together.
I now was able to comprehend what had happened while I was in the water. There were law enforcement personnel everywhere, something I clearly hadn't noticed after coming out of the river and saving the little boy. Michael yelled at one of the uniformed officers to get an emergency medical technician to tend to the little boy. There were two EMTs gently pulling him off me within seconds. He didn't want to let me go.
"Ma'am, we need to take him to the hospital as soon as possible," one of the men said softly.
I nodded. "Go on, honey, these men aren't going to hurt you, I promise."
"I want Mommy! Mommy!" the boy cried.
After more sobs, he relented and was carried to a waiting ambulance. I had never felt more tired in my life. Soaking wet and covered in mud, I looked around me at the loss of life, thinking I must be in the grips of a nightmare. The human mind wasn't made to absorb such a sight. All of these people were someone's parents, children, brothers or sisters, aunts or uncles. Again, I felt a horrific rage surge from within.
"Where is Illeana?" I sternly asked Michael.
"They've got her cuffed inside the tent. Cee, listen, you've been through a lot. Why don't you---"
I ignored him and headed straight for the tent. Michael followed, pleading along the way. We had been past partners, we were lovers, and best friends; he knew me better than anybody. That said, he knew something was coming down between Illeana and me.
"Cee, think before you do something stupid---she's not worth it!" he begged.
Hundreds of uniformed and plainclothes officers were around, covering bodies, tending to the children, and keeping the ever-growing media out. However, when I entered the tent and saw Illeana standing to the side, it grew immediately quiet. She was standing between two federal agents and had her hands cuffed behind her back. The instant she saw me, the sickening smile that I had grown to loathe began to spread across her face. I stood in front of her, inches away with a hardened stare.
"Well, hi there, Sergeant. Did you have a good swim?" she said calmly.
She must have known what was coming because her smile faded just as I threw the hardest punch I'd ever thrown---hitting her square in the face and knocking her backward. My hand was still sore from the punch I laid on Paula Terman, a punch that didn't compare to this one. I was becoming a regular Muhammad Ali.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing? You can't do that!" one of the agents yelled as he grabbed her to keep her from falling.
The blood from her nose poured down onto her white robe, splattering it in a sickening reminder of the blood of others she had shed. Michael put his hand up to the agents, a silent order to let the assault go unnoticed. My hand began to instantly swell, but I no longer felt any pain.
"Take this piece of garbage and get her out of my face," I ordered two federal agents.
Although shocked to be given an order from a local police sergeant, they conceded when Michael nodded at them. As they were escorting her from the tent, she turned ever so slightly and looked at me. Through the flowing blood, I saw her smile had returned.
After she had gone, I noticed a group of living adults that had been handcuffed and seated on the floor.
"Who are they?" I asked Michael, gripping my swollen hand.
"They're members. They stayed in the tent and were going to kill themselves after the children. They didn't go with the others in case those men you shot couldn't handle drowning all those kids. Fuck, CeeCee! I heard you scream on the radio and heard the gunshots when I got here and thought I was too late."
"Michael." I felt the tears well up in my eyes again.
"C'mon, let's go outside." He put his arm around me.
We went to the side of the tent that was opposite the bodies. I had seen enough. I sat down on a large rock and Michael embraced me.
"I'm so tired," I said quietly. "Michael, you can't imagine what I saw. They were holding them under the water and I couldn't save them all! It made me sick and I couldn't..." My voice began to crack.
"Shh, it's okay, baby." He rubbed my shoulders. "CeeCee, these people were sick. They made a choice! If you stopped them today, they would have done it another day. But you did save those children!"
He stepped in front of me. "Listen, I have to supervise the scene here. Why don't you rest here for a while, and I'll find someone to take you home. You can give a statement tomorrow. God knows this is going to be an awful scene to process and clean up. I can only hope that storm passes us," he said, referring to the rumbling in the sky.
"CeeCee! Are you okay?" Naomi asked breathlessly.
I hadn't even noticed her approach us. Coop was with her, a look of shock on his face at the gruesome display of bodies and traumatized children.
"I'm okay. What are they going to do with the children?"
"First they're going to have to find out who all of them are, which is going to be a chore in itself. Then, I really don't know. This is a hell of a mess," she mumbled.
I couldn't help but wonder if she still felt guilty over her earlier decision to end the investigation. I hoped not. The thought that the bodies we'd found in the barn didn't come close to being the worst of it made me shudder.
"How did you figure out they were back here, CeeCee?" Coop asked.
"Something Illeana said to me on the phone when we were in West Virginia. This whole time I thought I knew what the numbers on the wall meant, but she told me I hadn't figured it out yet. I thought she truly believed in what she preached, about Eve's coming and all, and how she kept saying they were preparing because it would be soon, and all that." I reached up and pulled a clump of mud out of my hair. "She would have never just hidden out. She felt too strongly about the coming, and when Michael told me they were not in West Virginia, I noticed today's date and it pretty much all came together."
"8-24," Coop announced. "I would've never figured it out. Fuck! This is unbelievable."
"You saved that little boy," Naomi said. "I looked in on him in the ambulance and I think, physically, he's going to be okay. He's beautiful."
"To think that innocent child watched his parents die, knowing he was next. Imagine what he was going through," I said.
"Don't do that to yourself, CeeCee," Michael said. "You can think about it until the end of time and you'll only make yourself nuts. Most times we'll never understand the reasons why, but we have to accept those reasons regardless."
"Agent Hagerman, we need you over here," a fellow agent called.
"I'll be there in a minute!" He looked down at me. "You'll be all right? Coop, can you take her home?"
"Of course we will," Naomi answered for him.
As Michael walked away, I told them both I was perfectly capable of driving my car home. The only injury was my hand.
"How did you do that?" Naomi asked, inspecting the swelling balloon.
"I must've caught it between rocks when I was in the river," I lied. "Right now, I want to see who those survivors are, and see if they're talking."
We walked into the tent where the group was still seated, guarded heavily by officers in uniform. Naomi asked the sergeant, Jim Keyes, if they'd said anything.
"Nope, not a thing, Captain. We can't even get their names, let alone if any of the children belong to them. They just sit there and stare like a bunch of zombies." He shook his head.
"If you can, let me know when you get them identified, Jim," I requested.
"Sure, CeeCee. You okay?"
"I'm okay, thanks for asking," I said, patting his arm before leaving the tent.
Naomi, Coop, and I stood quietly, staring at the sea of bodies that covered the clearing. It was surreal. In my opinion, none of them looked at peace. Death was marked on each of their faces, some with their eyes open, painting a disturbing portrait of their frame of mind when they took that first step into the river. Their heads rested on the feet of the members that died before them, and so on, forming the large circle.
For them, the Rapture of Omega had finally come.
The media helicopters hovered above, no doubt showing the rest of the nation the gruesome and final resting place of the cult members. I realized then that the children were no longer there.
"Where are all the children?" I asked Naomi, scanning the landscape.
"They took all of them up to the farmhouse. Every children's services worker in the county is up there with about a dozen counselors, trying to calm the children down and find out who they are, and if they have any relatives. It's a mess." She rubbed her eyes.
I wanted to go up there. I thought if I saw the children again, knowing I had saved them, I'd feel a little better about the situation. As I started up the trail, I saw the sheriff talking to one of the federal agents at the opening of the tent. I gave him a slight wave; he nodded back.
Once I reached the front porch of the main house, I realized I had made a serious mistake. The screams and cries coming from inside told me that the children were just as hysterical as they'd been earlier, if not more. I found Lori near the front door. Her eyes were red and swollen; this night was taking its toll on everyone involved.
"How are you holding up?" I asked.
"Um, not great, as you can see," she sniffed. "I've never in my life imagined anything as horrible as this. I can't imagine what those children went through when they watched their parents die."
She began to cry softly and reached into her purse to grab a tissue. I looked down the hallway into the prayer room, where the children had converged with the other caseworkers. I touched Lori's arm and asked her if she would be okay. When she said she would, I went down to the room.
There wasn't much room to walk around. With fifty children and twenty caseworkers, it was packed. The workers had separated the children into groups by age. The older children had seemingly calmed down, while the little ones were still hysterical. I walked over to a group of the youngest children and saw little Jack Martz huddled against another child, crying. I bent down and gently brushed his cheek.
"Hello there, Jack Martz. Do you remember me?" I said softly.
Hiccuping and rubbing his eyes while maintaining a grip on his friend, Jack looked up and nodded ever so slightly.
"You gave me the wose," he said, barely audible.
"That's right, I gave you the rose. My name is CeeCee," I said slowly, calmly, and kept a warm, inviting look on my face. "Do you remember a long time ago, a little girl, just a baby, named Lola?"
The little boy Jack was holding on to perked up at this. His face lit up and he raised his head. "I do! I 'member Lola!"
"You do? Good. What about you, Jack Martz?"
He nodded, his tears appearing to lose their momentum. "I wember Lola, too."
"Very good. I want to tell you a story about Lola. You know Lola's mommy died, too. And she was very sad," I began, and when Jack let go of his friend and crawled up on my lap, I certainly didn't protest. "But then, Lola came home to live with me. She has two sisters, a brother, and a mommy and daddy who love her very, very much."
"You Lola's mommy now?" Jack asked.
"Yes, that's right. And she's very happy, just like all of you will be strong little boys, and will one day be happy again, like Lola."
They were quiet for a few moments, drinking in what they could understand. I noticed the other children around me had quieted down a little, to listen to the story about Lola.
"Can you be my mommy, too?" Jack asked.
He caught me off guard. Knowing children as I do, I should have anticipated that question, but given my state of mind, I can't say I was thinking all too clearly. I needed to be extremely careful when choosing my words. God knows if I could have taken them all home, I would have---but that simply was not an option.
"Oh, Jack, I would love to be your mommy, but there's lots of other nice mommies out there, too! Some that would love you just as much, give you puppies and toys"---I tickled him slightly in the belly and he giggled---"and make you just as happy as Lola! But I'll always be your friend. Okay?" I smiled wide.
Jack reciprocated. "Okay! When will I meet my new mommy?"
"How about if we all try to calm down and answer the nice lady's questions for right now, and I'll work on it. Deal?"
Jack and his friend nodded up and down furiously, tugging my heartstrings with a vengeance. An image flashed through my head of Jack being carried to the river and drowned, and I almost had to physically shake my head back and forth to remove it. I suspected I would have a lot of those images in the coming weeks, and most likely months.
I stood up and lightly kissed the top of Jack's head. "I'll see you soon, Jack Martz."
One of the women social workers mouthed a silent, "Thank you," as I walked away. Scanning the crowd of children, I noticed something. When Lori had come back into the room I asked her about it.
"Lori, there were four children living in this cult that had fumarase deficiency. I don't see them anywhere."
"What's fumarase deficiency?" She was visibly confused.
"It's an extremely rare genetic disorder. The children have physical impairments, facial disfiguring, body deformations, and other things. Believe me, you couldn't miss them. I don't see them anywhere."
"Let me check around." She paused. "You don't think they were..." She let her voice trail off, not wanting to admit the horrific possibility.
Unfortunately, I was thinking the same thing.
"I hope not, but I'll go check it out. Let me know if you find out something different."
I started down toward the river again, but was met halfway by Naomi. Unfortunately, she was already looking for me, holding the answers I wasn't sure I wanted.
"I've got some bad news," she sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "There were some children down there, in the circle."
"Oh, Jesus!" I muttered. I started to pace back and forth. "Let me guess---four of them, all with facial deformities?"
She nodded, but I knew there was more coming. "There were ten children total. We got some of the survivors to talk. Apparently, some of the parents wouldn't go without their children---they were all drowned together."
My stomach gave a quick flip, and I groaned loudly.
"I swear to God, Naomi, we've been through a lot together, but I think this is just entirely too much to take."
We stood quiet for a few moments, listening to the bustle of a large crime scene. I felt helpless and hopeless.
"Naomi, would you do me a favor?" I stared down at the bright lights coming from the riverbank. "Would you go to my car, it should still be parked halfway up the driveway, and get in my trunk? The keys are in the ignition."
"Sure, why?"
"In the trunk I always have a box of stuffed animals. Of course, I never thought I'd need all of them at once..." I swallowed the lump that began to rise in my throat. "There should be enough. Could you take the box up to the house and pass them out to the kids? There's a big yellow stuffed dog in the box---the biggest, I want you to give it to a little boy, he's four, and he's sitting with all the littlest ones by the hallway. His name is Jack Martz. He's blond with big blue eyes, you can't miss him. Tell him it's from me. I'd do it myself but I don't think I can go in there again tonight."
"Of course, CeeCee." She started walking by me and stopped. "You know, I keep thinking about that little boy you saved. I've checked in on him in the ambulance about three times now. His name is Mason---he told me. There's something about him..." Her eyes began to fill with tears, which she promptly wiped away. "I think I'll go see him at the hospital tomorrow."
She walked away without waiting for a reply.
I made my way to the river again and found Michael among the hordes of people. They were trying to figure out how to get the bodies out, since it was impossible to get any vehicles down there. Michael was clearly overwhelmed and I had to tap his shoulder, firmly, to get his attention.
"Sorry, Cee. You okay?" He looked distracted.
"I guess. I wanted to know if we identified the surviving members in the tent. Specifically, I want to know if any of them are parents to some of those children up at the house."
I really wanted to know because I wanted to waltz in the tent and spit in their faces, although I didn't tell Michael that. Also, I was simply curious.
"Actually, we did. Brace yourself. One of them is Illeana's son."
My eyes widened. "What? I didn't know she had a son!"
"Yup, his name is Donovan---he's twenty. And he was her silent partner through this whole thing. Kirk Richards failed to mention his part in the murders of Francesca Tracy and her family. Donovan Barron was there, and he pulled the trigger more than once."
"Where's her husband?" I looked around.
Michael gave a sarcastic laugh. "He's over there, heading up the circle of death. Illeana made him go first in the suicide, to show everybody it was 'easy,' and they shouldn't be scared."
"Of course she did, that cowardly bitch." I felt anger rising again. "Who are the other people?"
Michael pulled his notebook out and began flipping through several pages of handwritten notes. He kept flipping back and forth; I was growing impatient.
"Um, let's see...Oh! Here it is: Donovan Barron, Derick Strock, Kimberly France, Susan Brody, Jill Campbell, Elgin Daniels, and Donald Long."
"Donald Long? He was the one who rented the apartment across from the station to watch me. Derick Strock? Benjamin Rader's wife said he befriended a guy named Derick before he left his family---it had to be him."
"Make sure you note all of that," Michael said, as if I needed to be told. "We've got a lot of interviews to do."
"There's only one person I'm interested in sitting across a table from---Illeana Barron."
"I don't know if that's a good idea, Cee," Michael said. "Especially since you punched her out. We need a lot of information from her, specifically helping to identify these people. Plus, I don't think she'll talk to you."
"Believe me, she'll talk to me. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure I'm the only one she'll talk to."
"I hope you're right." He looked up at the sky. "I think I got my wish. The storm seems to have passed, thankfully. What a nightmare that would've been, cleaning up these bodies in the middle of a monsoon."
"Not to mention the river is pretty near crested. Any more rain and this entire area would be underwater. We would've been cleaning up bodies miles down the river."
"I don't even want to think about it."
"Now what?"
"The vans are lining up at the edge of the woods, by the trail. We have to tag each one of these bodies with numbers, before carting up them up the trail and loading them. It's gonna be a bitch! We also have to sketch the area, mark where each body was located, with a description of each. We're going to be here for several days." He rubbed his temples. "We have to take dirt and water samples and do a shitload of other stuff. We've photographed just about everything from the air and the ground."
All of the evidence was still being collected, including the guns. According to Michael, they had recovered over 300 various weapons ranging from assault rifles and handguns to live grenades. The bomb squad had arrived earlier to collect those. The shell casings from the shooting I was involved in were being collected as well. However, Michael gave me an interesting piece of information.
"You said that none of the gunmen were able to get shots off before you killed them, right?"
"That's right."
"So far, they've recovered over eleven shell casings from the area of the tent. Yours were found on the other side of the river, just as you said. But someone was shooting here, there's no doubt about it."
I was taken aback. "Michael, I was here, at the farm for probably half an hour to forty-five minutes before I confronted them. I would have heard gunshots even if I were standing at my car. There weren't any."
"Maybe they shot them off earlier, who knows? I think we're going to find out a lot more when we start the interviews---if they'll talk."
Just then, another agent approached Michael to alert him to another useful piece of information.
"Sir, we've found them, about a mile south of here, in a wooded ravine."
"How many?"
I was snapping my head back and forth between the two men, unable to quell my curiosity.
"How many what?" I hoped they weren't talking about more bodies.
"Cars. They drove here somehow so we've been out looking to see where their cars were stashed. How many, Bill?"
"We found seven vans, five cars, and two campers."
"All right, photograph them and have them towed out. We can process and inventory all of them at the lot."
"Yes, sir." Bill scurried away.
Michael turned to me. "Listen, Cee. I'd like you at the interviews. Why don't you go home and get some sleep, and plan on being at the station at seven tomorrow morning. I want to interview all of the members before Illeana, and I'll need your help."
"Okay, I'm exhausted. I'll head home." I paused, waiting. "Anything else?"
He smiled. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
My exhaustion completely took me over by the time I arrived home. Rena had stayed up, anticipating a late night. She had food ready, although I still had the spaghetti sauce in my car with the other groceries. I wasn't hungry, but helped myself to a small portion of the pot roast she had made. I peeled off my clothes and threw them in a garbage bag before taking a shower. Although they had dried, the unpleasant smell of the river water was taking its toll on my stomach---along with everything else. After checking on the children, I was asleep within five minutes.
When the alarm went off, I still felt pretty groggy. Michael hadn't come home at all; not that I was surprised. I've seen him go for two days straight in an intense investigation like this one. I quickly dressed and headed for the station, anxious for my interview with Illeana. Michael was in my office, his head on my desk, sound asleep. I smiled.
"Hello there, sleepyhead!" I patted his shoulder.
He jerked himself awake, sitting upright and immediately looking at his watch.
"Damn! I didn't mean to fall asleep. Oh, hi, baby. You sleep okay?" He rubbed the sleep from his bloodshot eyes.
"I'm all right, but we need to get going. If we're going to interview the seven survivors first, it's going to be a long day. I'll grab you some coffee."
We met the other agents, Coop, and Naomi outside the interview and interrogation rooms, waiting for the corrections officers to bring in the first group. Michael and I were going to watch the interviews via closed-circuit television. I wanted to save my mental strength for Illeana.
What we learned throughout the day was almost as horrific as the crime scene. Bits and pieces of the events that took place were put together from the survivors and painted a gruesome and disturbing picture.
We learned where the shell casings came from. According to Kimberly France, who was one of the more cooperative members, anyone who walked into the river and began to have second thoughts, or tried to escape, was shot dead by one of the gunmen. They were shot while standing in the river, which explained why no blood was found at the scene, with the exception of the blood of the men I shot. Illeana strictly ordered the men to shoot them in the head so the white robes wouldn't be splattered with blood or get holes in them. I expressed my horror to Michael at Kimberly's revelations.
"I already found that out last night, Cee. It was too late to call you but when the bodies were loaded and carried up to the vans, several had gunshot wounds to their heads. It wasn't difficult to assume that they were the ones not cooperating."
I had a thought. "Did you check for the tattoos?"
"I didn't see it on any of the bodies. Do you want me to have Bill ask Kimberly in there?"
I nodded. Michael walked out of the room while I watched on the television screen as he lightly knocked on the door of the interview room. He whispered into the agent's ear as Kimberly sat quietly. Within seconds, Michael was seated next to me again and the agent was asking Kimberly about the tattoos.
She looked genuinely confused. "I don't know what you're talking about. Honestly. I don't know anything about an O tattoo."
"Damn!" I muttered. "Michael, we've got to be able to connect those other homicides to Illeana."
"Well it's not like she's not facing execution with the hundred-plus murder charges we've already got on her," he countered.
"That's really not the point, is it?"
I made a mental note to put the tattoo question before Illeana.
"How's it going with Donovan Barron?" I asked, changing the subject.
"It's not. He invoked his attorney rights and didn't say shit. I just hope his mother doesn't do the same."
"She won't," I muttered, more to myself than to Michael.
It was nearing five o'clock in the afternoon by the time the interviews with the surviving cult members were finished. We had learned these people actually believed in Illeana. They believed in her so much, they were willing to kill, steal, and organize a mass suicide---and homicide. What was even more interesting was that they survived only because Illeana did not intend to kill herself. In the broad scheme of things, she was nothing more than a thief and a murderess. Illeana had made a secret pact with the surviving members that, after everyone was gone, they would continue spreading Eve's word. They would take the dead members' money and start over somewhere else. After the suicides, the remaining eight were going to flee to a remote region in Brazil where they would start recruiting again. Kimberly France's last words in her interview haunted me.
"We believe that the sacrifices made by the others will only strengthen Eve. If we continue her fight, there's no doubt she'll take the rightful place that God stole from her," she said matter-of-factly with a smile. "There are more of us out there, you know. Do you think Illeana would let this stop here? Of course not. She sent a large group out weeks ago, in case something like this happened."
Kimberly refused to give the agent the names of the people that had left. It was going to be extremely difficult to find out who they were, especially if they had left the country. They would be located eventually, only after they began recruiting and gathering a large membership like Illeana had. I could only pray they could be found before it was too late.
Michael suggested we grab a quick bite to eat before my interview with Illeana. I relented, not because I was hungry, but only because I knew I would need all of my strength to deal with her. Intense interviews, like the one I expected with Illeana, could be mentally and physically draining.
She had already been delivered to the largest interview room when Michael and I returned. She was waiting. All of the agents and other personnel were gathered around the closed-circuit television to watch---and study. Any information that came from a profoundly disturbed individual like Illeana would no doubt prove useful in future psychological profiles and apprehensions. Somewhat unnerved, I took a few deep breaths to relax. If I went in there in my current state, she would control the interview. I couldn't let that happen.
When I was confident that I could hold my own, I entered the room. Illeana was seated at the old wooden table facing me, her white ceremonial robe replaced by a red jumpsuit. An image of Paula Terman just days earlier in the same garb flashed through my mind. Illeana's eyes were closed, her head tilted back, and she wore her trademark smile, as if she were in the throes of a happy memory. If she was aware that I'd entered the room, she gave no indication of it. This immediately annoyed me.
I walked over to the table and slammed my notebook down. Slowly, she brought her head forward and opened her eyes.
"Good evening, Sergeant," she said, her eyes locked on mine.
I pulled the chair over, ignoring all formalities, and sat across the table from her, staring just as intently.
"Why don't we get started," I began. "I've been told your rights have been read and you understood them. Is that correct or do I need to advise you again?"
"I understood just fine. As hard as it is for nonbelievers like you to understand, I'm perfectly sane and logical," she said calmly.
"I beg to differ, but we'll talk about that later."
I noticed she was shackled at her hands and feet so I grabbed my key and unlocked her handcuffs. Michael and the other agents would clearly be fuming at this, but it was my interview and I would run it as I saw fit. I wasn't scared of Illeana. I knew that a physical confrontation wasn't her style. And if she were to write a confession, I needed her hands free.
"Ah, a gesture of kindness," she said. "I always knew there was something deep inside of you that was a true believer. You don't like to see me suffer, do you?"
"I think it's best if I don't answer that question right now, and don't take this as an act of kindness either. I have my own motives, but for now do you want anything to drink before we get started?" I sat back down.
"No, and what makes you think we are going to 'start' something? How do you know that I am going to say anything?" Her smile broadened.
"I know, and I know I'm the only one you'll talk to, right? You're dying to tell me everything, aren't you? Because you know the details of what you did will disturb me and make me uncomfortable, and that gives you pleasure, doesn't it, Illeana?" I folded my hands on the desk.
She sighed, her smile fading. "Is that what you think? That I want to make you uncomfortable? You have missed the entire message here, and I thought you understood."
"Go ahead and explain it to me then." I stayed focused on her eyes and spoke low.
She raised her head in defiance. "I already have, and you're testing me. Eve just told me. You do know what the message is, don't try to hide it in front of those chauvinistic coworkers that can only hide behind the glass." She nodded at the two-way mirror. "Remember the day you watched our ceremony, our tribute to Eve? I could feel you outside, I could sense your own sexual tension growing, needing and wanting to be a part of it. You wanted to be in there, didn't you! You wanted those men to make you feel alive like no man has ever done for you before!"
I tilted my head back and laughed. "Sorry, Illeana, I've had a man make me feel alive more times than I can count. The thought of partaking in the barn orgy doesn't seem to fit the bill of being alive. Nauseous, maybe, but not alive." I waited for a response, but she simply stared at me. "You murdered people down there. Do you understand that? You murdered children."
"It's not murder if you understand and believe. They wanted to join their families in Eden, but God put his evil grip on them and tried to make them believe what they were doing was wrong. We had to stand up to God for Eve's sake." She smiled again.
"Why didn't you kill yourself, Illeana?" I wanted to shock her.
Her smile faded. Clearly, I had succeeded. "You. Because of your intrusion, that's why."
"No, because you're a coward. That's the real reason, right? You were too scared and chickenshit because you don't believe what you preach. It was all about the money." I leaned back in my chair, visibly smug.
Her face turned red, and for a moment, I thought she might come unglued; I was hopeful. However, she took several deep breaths and smiled again. I was far from being finished.
"Why did you have your people tattoo the O on Kelly Dixon, Edward Honeycutt, and Benjamin Rader? None of the other members had them."
"The O saved them!" she yelled, startling me a little. "Don't you get it? They turned their backs on Eve! It was the only way for them to join her in Eden, putting her mark on them as their souls transcended!"
Now I had her on the three homicides, but like Michael said, it wouldn't change the possible sentence she was facing: death. But it would give the victims' families some closure.
For the next hour, I asked her questions pertaining to the inner workings of the cult, and where they obtained the weapons. She refused to answer any of those questions, only repeating the mantra, "Eve delivered them." She also refused to give the names of the members that had fled weeks before the suicide.
"Their names are of no use to you," she explained. "They will continue Eve's work throughout the world---after they finish one important task for Eve."
"And what might that be?"
She smiled and began twirling her fingers in her hair. She wasn't going to answer and I believed there was no more to say. That is, until Illeana Barron shocked the living hell out of me. I stood up and began gathering my things.
"How's Lola?" she said, almost in a whisper.
My head snapped up, and I glared. "What did you just say?"
"I said, how is Lola? You didn't think I knew, did you?"
My heart kicked into overdrive as I felt rage rising up at the mere mention of Lola's name by Illeana. I knew she was trying to bait me, so I did my best to calm down. It didn't work.
She clapped her hands together, laughing. "You wanted to know, didn't you? Well, Lola's mother wants her daughter back---with her, in Eden! Eve wants her, too!"
I realized what she was saying and every nerve ending in my body came alive. My mind was frantic with thoughts of getting home to Lola, to protect her. I would kill Illeana in this very room before I went through a repeat of the Paula Terman incident. Illeana, unfortunately, wasn't finished.
"After the new leaders grant Eve her wish and send Lola to Eden with the rest, their new world begins. Only then can their new world begin." She smiled, knowing she had me.
I completely snapped. Whether it was from the stress of the last several days, fatigue---I didn't know. But when I jumped over the table, grabbed her neck, stood her up, and slammed her against the wall while choking the life out of her, I had every intention of killing her right there. Logic and common sense seemed to escape me at that moment.
Fortunately, Michael and two agents pulled me off within seconds, hurling me back into reality. I wanted to tell her I would kill her if she touched my daughter but I realized she wouldn't care. There was nothing I could say that would faze her. Michael stood in front of me, holding me in a tight grip while the other two agents put Illeana's handcuffs back on and led her out of the room. I couldn't help but add one last comment.
"I'll keep my promise, Illeana," I said coolly.
She turned. "What promise is that?"
"That I'll be there watching when you die. You can count on it."
"Silly, silly sergeant. Death doesn't frighten me. In fact, I look upon it with longing and hope. You have delayed my reunion with Eve, but rest assured, I will be seated by her side soon. Very soon."
She smiled as she turned and walked through the door. I was wrong when I thought Illeana was only concerned about the money. She truly believed in Eve. The prospect of execution meant nothing to her; for her, there would be no punishment. Even with Illeana in custody, I felt defeated. No matter what, she had won. I gently nudged Michael to back off me before I sat down in the chair, collecting what sane thoughts I had left.
"Cee, you okay?"
"Did you hear her, Michael? Did you hear her threaten Lola? What are we going to do? We don't know who these people are, where they are, or what they're planning! I'm scared." My voice trembled.
He knelt in front of me. "I heard it and, quite frankly, I wanted to come in here and snap her in half, but you beat me to it." He chuckled slightly. "Those agents think you have some serious anger issues. What's that make? Three beatings in the last week or so?" He smiled again trying to lighten the situation. "We're doing everything possible to find out who these people are. I have a suspicion that Illeana merely said that to set you off---to have the last laugh. Those people are not going to hang around here and chance being caught. They want to spread Eve's word, right?"
"Right. But we need to keep extra eyes out just in case."
"Of course." He helped me up. "C'mon, it's time to go home."
"That's a wonderful idea."
Over the next several months, the story of Illeana and the Children of Eden dominated world headlines. The news media continuously speculated on the upcoming trials for the surviving members, and the future of the orphaned children. A total of 126 members of the cult were drowned that fateful day, including ten children. An extensive search for family members willing to claim the bodies proved mostly fruitless. Only family members of twenty of the dead came forward. A local farmer donated several acres of his land, not far from the cult's farm, to be used as a burial and memorial site. Local monument companies donated headstones, mainly for the children's sake.
Once the trials commenced, it was no surprise that the majority of the survivors took plea deals. Life imprisonment without parole if they pled; if not, they would be facing lethal injection. I found it humorous, although darkly so, that these people were so scared to die that they would spend the rest of their lives behind bars. Neither Illeana nor her son, Donovan, were offered plea deals. With the horrific accounts of Donovan taking part in the murders of Francesca Tracy's family, the prosecutor refused to offer him a plea. They wanted him dead, along with Illeana.
Donovan remained stoic and stone-faced throughout his trial. During the gruesome exhibition of the crime-scene photos, many of which made the jurors physically sick, he showed no emotion. After the guilty verdict was handed down and the judge sentenced Donovan Barron to death by lethal injection, he was still unmoved. The judge referred to him as evil in human form, a coldhearted monster that will never suffer enough. Donovan smiled at the judge as he was escorted from the courtroom.
Illeana was the last to go to trial, and shocked us all by pleading guilty, refusing a court-appointed attorney, and asking that all her rights to appeals be waived. During her plea, at which I was present, she told the judge, "I am not a coward," before turning around and smiling at me. By law, anyone that waives their right to appeal must be evaluated to ensure they are sane and making a competent decision. This worried me. Illeana might get out of being executed just by asking for it, and there wasn't a doubt in my mind that she knew this.
Shortly after the trials Coop came into my office and threw a magazine in front of me. It was Time magazine with the picture of all the children. The headline screamed:
THE REAL CHILDREN OF EDEN.
"I don't think they'll ever get enough, do you?" He referred to the media.
I pushed the magazine aside. "Probably not, but since you brought this in here, what's the word on the kids? I keep calling Lori but she must be too busy to call me back. Are they finding homes for them?"
His eyes widened. "Are you kidding me? Geez, CeeCee, haven't you been paying attention? They've had thousands and thousands of calls from people all over the world who want to adopt these kids."
"Good, I keep thinking about little Jack Martz and the little boy I saved, what was his name---Mason? Is Naomi still checking in on him from time to time?"
I knew there was a point that she stopped to see him every day at his foster home. I went with her a couple of times, but it continuously broke my heart. Jack had been placed with a foster family near Columbus, so it was hard for me to visit him.
"Yeah, she's still been visiting, which brings me to the reason I'm here. Naomi wanted to be here with me when we told you, but she got called out to that drug shooting on Lily Street. Close your eyes."
"What?"
"Just do it."
I couldn't imagine what he was up to. Giggling like a schoolgirl, I closed my eyes. It seemed like Coop was taking forever and I was growing impatient.
"I'm waiting, Coop. C'mon, I'm going to open my eyes in two seconds!"
Just then, I felt a small pair of hands gently touch mine. Opening my eyes, I was astonished to see Jack standing in front of me, grinning from ear to ear.
"Jack!"
I couldn't help but pick him up and give him a big squeeze. He was a sight for sore eyes and as cute as ever. Curiosity soon took over, and I wondered why he was here. Instead of asking, I gave Coop a look of confusion.
"Go ahead and tell her, Jack, why you're here," Coop instructed softly.
"I wanned you to meet my new mommy and daddy!" he exclaimed.
"You do! Where are they?" I looked toward the door.
"Wight there!" He pointed at Coop.
I was speechless, and my complete and utter shock clearly showed on my face. Coop began laughing as he walked over, picked Jack up, and held him.
"It took us a long time, which is why we didn't say anything. We didn't know if it would happen or not. But Naomi and I were officially given custody of Jack---and Mason. We're going to adopt them both, CeeCee."
I immediately burst into tears. Not knowing what to say, I stood up and hugged them both, sobbing like a maniac.
"Why you cry?" Jack asked, concerned. "I happy like Lola now! Just like you said!"
His attempt at consoling me did nothing but make me cry harder. Coop just stood there and laughed. I knew Naomi had desperately wanted children, but was having difficulties getting pregnant. Although she took great care of Coop's children from his previous marriage---she wanted her own.
"Where's Mason?" I wiped at my eyes with a tissue.
"He's with my parents right now. Both the boys have been with us for over a week, but we just got the official word two days ago. Naomi is ecstatic and I, well, I'm pretty happy about it, too!" He beamed, kissing Jack on his forehead. "Jack, this will be your aunt CeeCee."
I hugged Jack a hundred more times and promised lots of playdates with Lola before they left. I called Michael and told him the good news just before Naomi sauntered into my office, beaming just like Coop had been.
"Coop told me he brought Jack in---so now you know." She looked the happiest I had ever seen.
I gave her a tight squeeze, feeling the tears in my eyes rise again. I grabbed a tissue and handed one to her, knowing all too well she would get emotional. I was right.
Her eyes filled up. "You know, that night, when I kept looking at Mason in the ambulance, something happened to me. The same thing happened when I gave Jack the stuffed dog you wanted me to. I kept thinking, 'This is nuts! This can't happen!' But it did." She let out a deep breath. "Every night I sit there and watch them sleep. I try to go to bed, but I keep getting out of bed every five minutes to check on them. Is that crazy?"
"Welcome to motherhood," I laughed.
She laughed with me. "You'll have to come over and see their rooms. Coop said I went overboard, but what the hell, right? I bought tons of toys and even a couple of those little motorized Jeeps for them to drive around outside. They seem to really be happy!"
"Naomi, there isn't a doubt in my mind that they are."
Before she left, she stood in the doorway for a few seconds, silent.
"CeeCee," she said, then paused. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For saving them. If it wasn't for you, none of this would be happening."
I could only smile as she left. Looking at the magazine again and all of the children's faces, I knew she was right. These children would live; they would live with loving families who would never understand just how close they came to dying. To me, dying was never an option for any of them.
Nearly a year after the mass suicide, I drove to Lucasville State Prison to witness Illeana's execution. It was one of the fastest executions in the state's history. Normally, an inmate is executed anywhere from fifteen to twenty years after the death warrant was issued, but Illeana kept her promise. She fought for her right to be executed, and surprisingly, convinced the numerous psychiatrists that evaluated her that she was sane enough to make such a decision. She waived everything, and even had her attorney file a motion to expedite the execution date. Donovan, after losing his first set of appeals, followed in suit of his mother. Like her, he waived all future appeals and wanted his execution to come soon. Now, more than ever, I was convinced they truly believed in their theory of Eve. To me, they were clearly insane, but I certainly wasn't going to volunteer my thoughts to any court. They couldn't die soon enough as far as I was concerned.
It was a beautiful day, which brings me to the issue of global warming; Illeana's claim of Eve's wrath. It was a farce, a panic of epidemic proportions. There hadn't been a major weather catastrophe in almost a year. Governments and scientists worldwide were pointing fingers, blaming the other for the hundreds of thousands of deaths at the hands of man---not nature. The earth learned to remedy itself, just as it had for millions of years. Like a cold virus, its own immune system fought back and prevailed. The rain came again where needed, and things essentially evened out and went back to normal. Either that, or Eve simply grew tired.
I laughed silently at the thought as I pulled into the prison parking lot. Michael had offered to go with me, but I wanted to do this alone. I knew Illeana wouldn't be able to see me, but she would know I was there---I knew this like I knew my own name. She would sense me there, I was sure of it. Throughout her short incarceration, Illeana wrote me numerous letters, none of which I answered, except for one. When the twelve members that had fled the group were found in California, I felt compelled to rub it in, feeling a sense of relief that I no longer had to worry about Lola's safety. I ended the letter with, "I guess that's that. Eve and her Eden have officially come to an end. So sorry."
I imagined her face when she read it, that sickening smile. I wondered if she'd be wearing it while lying on the injection table.
She wasn't. In fact, I was shocked to see her looking pale and terrified. She lay motionless, staring at the ceiling while they inserted the tubes into her arms. Just before the lethal cocktail took effect she turned her head and looked at the window of the room I was standing in, watching.
"I see you kept your promise. She'll be back," she muttered almost incoherently.
I shuddered. I hated being right sometimes.
Illeana Barron was pronounced dead at 6:04 A.M. that day. Since she had no surviving family members, she was to be buried in a potter's field on the prison grounds. This was where all the executed who had no family, or anyone willing to claim the body, were buried. Quite frankly, I felt vindicated. Although justice will never truly be done---Illeana didn't suffer half of the pain her victims did---I was relieved. Relieved, but mentally drained. As I drove out of the parking lot, I began to feel that Illeana meant what she said about death not scaring her. Maybe it would have been better if she were to spend life in prison. For her, that would have been hell, knowing she couldn't join her precious Eve until nature took its course. Who knows, maybe she would have lived until her late nineties? I doubted it. Donovan Barron was scheduled to be executed a week after his mother. I did not attend his execution, but read in the newspaper that it happened.
Two weeks after Illeana's execution, I received a certified letter---from Illeana. What disturbed me most was that it came to my home. Somehow, she had managed to find my home address, a disquieting truth I shook from my head as I opened the letter. Dated the day after the execution, a spin Illeana would find amusing no doubt, it was her attempt at getting the last word:
Gallagher,
I am seated next to the great one as I compose these words to you. In the farthest reaches of your mind, you can't possibly imagine how beautiful it is here in Eden. You see, I have been rewarded for my endeavors on earth, and will enjoy those rewards for all eternity. I will think of you often, knowing when you close your eyes at night, I will be there. Knowing that every time precious Lola is out of your sight, I will be there. Donovan will be joining us soon, and he, too, will be rewarded. Those that escaped your wrath the day of the rapture are here, basking in unprecedented joy and gratefulness, thanking Eve for bringing them to salvation. But, as you must know, others will come. Kelly was saved, and although at peace, wants her daughter here with her to rejoice. I knew the day I looked into your soul that you were meant for greatness. You were meant for Eve. She has ordered those who remain to bring you to her---don't fight them. What waits for you outside of your reality is something you couldn't possibly comprehend. The power she will bestow on you is of an unimaginable magnitude. Give in. Join us, now and forever. Eve wants more, and she wants you. I will look for you in the garden, my sister, and we will be together very soon.
---Illeana
I slowly folded the letter, ignoring the chills that made their way up my spine. I realized that Illeana most likely wrote the letter the night before her execution, when she was probably more out of her mind than ever before, but the letter unnerved me just the same. I can't imagine who she would have gotten to mail it after her death. Sitting in her special place in hell, Illeana had undoubtedly had the last word. I fought the urge to crumple the letter up and burn it, and simply put it back in its envelope. I don't know why I wanted to keep it, but I did. Maybe someday I'll open it again, and put it in its appropriate place at the bottom of the garbage can, but for now, I couldn't bring myself to do it. The fears of an attempt by other members to harm Lola rose again, and I realized that was the point. Not only did she want the last laugh, she wanted me to live out my days in fear. Most importantly, she wanted to be a constant in my life. I refused to take part in it. I already knew the FBI had caught any remaining members of the cult and it was deemed completely disbanded. I would not worry. "So Illeana, I guess you lose, don't you?" I thought aloud. I wondered if she was out there somewhere listening.
On the one-year anniversary of the mass suicide, I made my first trip to the memorial of the victims. I couldn't bring myself to go there before, knowing the small grave markers of the children would remind me I didn't save them all. But, like others, I needed my own closure. Lola's memory of her mother had all but faded by now, something I would tell her about when she was older. I kept the photographs and the mementos of her mother, ready to show her when the situation arose. Her third birthday was one of the most memorable days, one of the most enjoyable days we had in a while. It was three days after her birthday that she legally became Lola Hagerman. We had more celebrations surrounding Lola in the past year than we'd ever had---something that made me take a step back and reevaluate my life. I was lucky to have such a wonderful family, and everything else would have to take a backseat to them. Period. Michael kept his promise about Florida. We took all of the children, including Sean, for a long, three-week reprieve. Naomi and Coop joined us. Mason and Jack had become an extended part of our family. Regardless, as Michael and I stood looking over the memorial, memories of that fateful day flooded me.
Large amounts of flowers, teddy bears, and memorial wreaths were strewn throughout the cemetery. I felt such an overwhelming sense of grief when I entered the tranquil burial place that I thought I would lose it. I saw their faces, all of them, on each tombstone. They were vivid images, as if the entire thing had happened just yesterday. Situated at the bottom of a hillside, within a clearing of trees, the place was beautiful, serene. The wind blew quietly through the area and the brightness of the sun was shaded by the large maple and elm trees that surrounded the graves. I had seen the cemetery in pictures, and knew it would be difficult to see in person, but I was unprepared for the grief that enveloped me that very moment. As incredibly tragic as the memorial was, I was truly overcome by how beautiful the site was.
"I'll never understand," I whispered quietly, looking over the graves of the children.
Michael lovingly put his hands on my shoulders. "There will always be people out there that find a savior in someone like Illeana. Unfortunately, given history's sick way of repeating itself, something like this will happen again."
It was something I didn't care to think about; not then. We stood silent for the rest of our visit before slowly making our way to the entrance. A young couple was placing a teddy bear at one of the children's graves. The woman wiped away a tear as she turned to leave.
"Let's get out of here. This is sad, and, frankly, it gives me the creeps. How could someone do this?" she whispered to her husband.
I stopped and looked at them, knowing they were the voice of the majority, citizens who couldn't possibly understand the scope of the grave markers they now faced.
"Lady, you have no idea..." I whispered back, before leaving the Children of Eden to rest forever.
In 1999, the FBI released the written analysis, Project Megiddo. A comprehensive look at religious cults and militias nationwide, it was their strategic assessment of the potential for what has become domestic terrorism. Even prior to September 11, 2001, the FBI has been actively tracking what they deem to be threats to our national security. While most of us think of religious cults, such as The Branch Davidians and The People's Temple, as nothing more than groups of apocalyptic visionaries, the FBI classifies them as terrorists that pose a threat to our daily existence.
Militias, along with the legendary "doomsday" cults, are no longer separate. They each hold a significant threat to the well-being and structure of our society. Since Y2K came and went without any world-disrupting events, the believers in the New World Order conspiracy theory merely faded away. However, groups such as the Ku Klux Klan, neo-Nazis, Christian Identity Churches, Aryan Nation, The Order, Concerned Christians, Phineas Priests, The House of Yahweh, the Black Hebrew Israelites, and the Posse Comitatus continue to exist in a well-organized, and well-funded manner. In 1998, even The Church of Scientology faced allegations of member suicides, deaths, and psychotic breaks. Only when Germany refused to recognize the cult as a true religion, and claimed it a threat to democracy, did it ultimately cause international diplomatic tensions. While in Clearwater, Florida, recently, I observed a front-page headline that accused Scientology members of aggressively trying to recruit new members, including allegations of assault.
A former law enforcement instructor of mine had the honor of knowing a sheriff that had been shot and killed by the leader of the Posse Comitatus. As I listened to him speak of the incident, I was clear on one important detail. These militias, cults, domestic terrorists, or whatever you choose to call them have one common denominator. They answer to no one, law enforcement included, and all are on a quest for nothing more than retribution and redemption; loss of life is nothing but a roadblock on their way to a greater salvation.
According to Project Megiddo, there are approximately 1,000 cults operating in the United States. Cult expert Dr. Margaret Singer estimates that 5,000 economic, political, and religious groups have used tactics of coercive mind control to deceptively influence 20 million victims in the United States alone in the last ten years, including 2.5 million at any given time. Worldwide figures are even greater. And Dr. Paul Martin, cult expert and director of Wellspring Retreat and Resource Center in Ohio, deduced that, "The cult problem is so prevalent, the chances of a family member joining a cult are greater than a family member catching chicken pox, four times greater than contracting AIDS, 90 times greater than contracting measles, and 45,000 times greater than contracting polio."
I had initially put this particular story line for CeeCee much farther down the road. Always anticipating a plotline involving a religious group, I happened upon a newspaper last summer that headlined the execution of the leader of the Kirtland, Ohio, cult murders, Jeffrey Lundgren. I began to research the story since I didn't remember much about it. I had only been a junior in high school when the murders occurred in 1990. After seeing a documentary on The People's Temple (Jonestown) suicides, I was thoroughly disturbed, especially for the children. What makes a human being stand by while another takes the life of their child? These were the minds I wanted to get inside of. I attempted to interview Jeffrey Lundgren's son, Damon, inside of the Mansfield Correctional Institution, where he is currently serving a life sentence for murder. I can only assume he didn't care to talk to me about his experience.
The subject of global warming was brought forth when I was thinking of a motive for Illeana Barron; some type of reasoning behind her actions. A brief news clip featuring global warming as an "apocalyptic era" put the story in motion. During my research, I found many of the aspects of global warming quite unsettling.
Although it is merely fiction for entertainment purposes, The Rapture of Omega portrays the realistic threat that domestic terrorists pose to all of us, especially when humanity is faced with the unknown. Sporadic doomsday cults are already beginning to surface with the end of the Mayan calendar---December 21, 2012. Some feel this is the true end of time, while others quickly dismiss it. Regardless, there are those out there, like Illeana Barron, who are quietly preparing.
Clearly, there is no logical explanation for the actions of these people. Whatever it is that makes a grown man, or woman, succumb to the misguided and psychopathic teachings of another, and cause them to take their own life or someone else's, will always remain a mystery. But, there is one regrettable fact that holds true: history does repeat itself and this will happen again.
---Stacy Dittrich
THE BODY MAFIA
"Another gripping tale from Stacy Dittrich will have readers rushing to the end, strangling on emotion and wondering just how much couples must be willing to forgive."
---Fresh Fiction
MARY JANE'S GRAVE
"The whodunit is terrific with its ties to the late nineteenth century atrocities as Stacy Dittrich provides a unique voice with a fresh brisk thriller starring a heroine who resonates with readers."
---Midwest Book Review
"A creepy ghost story lies at the heart of Dittrich's second thriller starring Detective CeeCee Gallagher. The crime is horrific and puzzling, and Dittrich does an excellent job laying out a clever procedural that is hauntingly laced with eerieness. A book to send true chills down the spine."
---RT Book Reviews
"Mary Jane's Grave provides a fast-paced storyline with a ghostly flair, emotional turmoil and multigenerational twists."
---Fresh Fiction
THE DEVIL'S CLOSET
"The Devil's Closet is jam-packed with mystery, suspense, romance and much, much more. A perfect combination of elements kept this reader's nose between the pages. I really like debut author Stacy Dittrich's style of writing."
---Fresh Fiction
"CeeCee Gallagher is the real McCoy---gritty and tough, but with smooth edges. She embodies what a true detective needs to be."
---Andrew Peterson, author of First to Kill
"Twists, turns and nonstop action."
---The Mansfield News Journal
Other Leisure books by Stacy Dittrich:
THE BODY MAFIA
MARY JANE'S GRAVE
THE DEVIL'S CLOSET
A LEISURE BOOK®
September 2010
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue New York, NY 10016
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Copyright © 2010 by Stacy Dittrich
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E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0926-9
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