“Yes, I’ve heard several versions of the tale. All of them strike to the soul.” Reverend McCamy slowly shook his head, his eyes on his fingers, which were still stroking his jacket, against the nap. He said nothing more. How strange.
Savich said, “Don’t you believe it’s quite a coincidence that Clancy was your wife’s brother and he brought Sam here?”
Reverend McCamy raised his dark eyes to rest on Savich’s face. “Coincidences are random acts that are drawn together by foolish men.”
“I gather you are not a foolish man?”
“I am a realistic man, Agent Savich, but yes, like most men, I am occasionally foolish. I believe that our Lord would have us study each random act as it touches us and try to determine how it will enhance our grace. You think my wife and I were involved with the boy’s kidnapping, Agent Savich? Just because Clancy was her brother?”
Savich said slowly, not really wanting to look in those black eyes, eyes that somehow seemed to absorb darkness from light, “What I think, Reverend, is that your wife’s brother brought Sam to Jessborough, Tennessee, for a reason. You’ll have to admit that both Clancy and Beau demonstrated a great deal of motivation. They simply didn’t stop trying to get him until they were dead. That, also, is very strange.”
Reverend McCamy merely nodded. He raised his right hand and stroked his fingers through his black hair. His hair was thick, long enough to tie at his nape, but he let it hang loose. Stroking his hair was a long-standing habit, Savich thought.
Savich wished he had another pain pill. “Why do you suppose they did that, Reverend?”
“I really have no idea, Agent Savich.”
“When Clancy was at the sheriff’s house last night, he said something unusual to Mr. Kettering. He said that he didn’t necessarily believe it. Believe what, Reverend McCamy?”
“I have no idea, Agent Savich.”
“Clancy also admitted to Mr. Kettering that someone had hired him.”
Reverend McCamy shrugged. “Then it seems that someone was paying them a great deal of money to get the child.”
“That much is obvious. But the question remains: Why is Sam so important to the one who paid them? What is it about Sam that makes him so valuable, if you will? No ransom demands, no obvious revenge motive, no pedophilia that we know of, so it must be something else. Do you know what the motive could be, Reverend McCamy?”
Reverend McCamy shrugged. “As I remarked, he is a precocious child, but I can’t personally imagine anyone going to all that trouble for a precocious child.”
“Then it must be something more.”
The reverend’s dark eyes rested on Savich’s face. “I have found that there is always something more, Agent Savich. It is a pity that men are given free will. There is endless abuse, don’t you agree?”
“Why do you say it’s a pity?”
“Free will allows men to make disastrous mistakes without end; what they should be focusing on is gaining God’s grace.”
Savich said, “I think the reason for many of men’s endless mistakes is a direct cause of their search for God’s grace. Witness the history of Ireland, England, Spain, France-men’s disastrous mistakes litter the landscape, Reverend, especially in their efforts to focus God’s grace on themselves, and to deny all other men’s claims to the contrary.”
“That is blindness, Agent Savich, and a man’s blindness can lead either to his salvation or his damnation. If a man focuses on God’s grace and His suffering for us, His creatures, his blindness will last but a moment of time. Ah, here is Mrs. McCamy with some refreshment for us, Agent Savich.”
“And how does a man do that, Reverend McCamy?”
“He places himself in the hands of the prophets placed on this earth to guide him.”
Elsbeth McCamy closed her eyes a moment at her husband’s words, and slowly nodded.
Savich asked, “Are you one of these prophets, Reverend McCamy?”
He merely bowed his head and turned his attention to the tea.
The tea tasted as dark as Reverend McCamy’s eyes, and it was so hot it nearly burned his mouth. Savich didn’t like it. He leaned over to place his saucer carefully on an end table, and instantly regretted it. Pain sliced through his back.
“I do think it’s time that you left, Agent Savich. Neither my wife nor I have anything more to say to you.”
“Thank you for seeing us,” Savich said, the pain nearly bowing him over. He needed a pain pill, fast. He shook Reverend McCamy’s hand, feeling the firmly controlled strength of the man. He looked for a moment into those intense eyes, eyes that either saw too much or saw things that were not of this world. Savich just didn’t know which. But he did know one thing.
Sherlock nodded to both of their hosts, but didn’t say anything. She had each child by the hand.
When they were out the front door and it had closed behind them, Savich said, “Please tell me you have a pain med with you.”
“You’ll have to swallow it dry.”
“No problem, trust me on that.”
Once Savich had managed to swallow the pill, and they were ready to go, Keely said from the backseat, “Mrs. McCamy gave us lemonade.”
“I didn’t like it,” Sam said. “It tasted funny.”
Sherlock turned to look at him and slowly nodded. “I thought it tasted funny, too.” She waited for Savich to get as comfortable as he could with the seat belt, and started the car.
“Let’s go see your mama, Keely.”
25
S he’s with Mr. Kettering,” Linnie, Katie’s primo dispatcher, told them. Savich smiled and nodded even as she gave a little finger wave to Keely and Sam.
“Tell you what, Sam,” Sherlock said, leaning down to Sam’s eye level, “why don’t you and Keely stay out here with Linnie, just for a little while.”
“That’s a good idea,” Linnie said behind her hand to Sherlock, rolling her eyes. “I think they’ve got a problem in there.”
Keely, who like every kid in the world could hear everything, said to Sam, “If your papa is yelling at my mama, she just might crack him on the head. My mama is the boss here, Sam.”
I would agree, Sherlock thought, and said to Keely, “Okay, here’s the deal. Your parents aren’t yelling, they’re just having a discussion,” and she hoped it was true. There was too much stress, too much frustration, on both sides.
Inside her office, Katie was saying, “Dammit, Miles, I can’t very well arrest the McCamys just because Clancy was Elsbeth’s brother. For heaven’s sake, you were in law enforcement, you know I can’t.”
Miles snarled, no other way to put it. “You know they’re involved in this somehow, Katie, you know it. There’s simply no one else. Maybe it’s just Mrs. McCamy. So bring her in and rattle her. No, better yet, I want to talk to that woman myself. I want to face her down.”
“Not going to happen. Anything else?” Katie wished she’d French-braided her hair. The banana clip was listing over her left ear.
“What are Agent Hodges and his crew doing?”
“Since they left all the interviewing to us, they’re following the money trail-you know, credit cards, church accounts, money transfers, stuff like that.”
“Is the TBI going to do anything at all except hassle you?”
Katie said patiently, “The Tennessee Bureau of Investigation has an obligation to see that the sheriff of a town in Tennessee didn’t just decide to up and murder two men. They’re just doing their job. They won’t be too much of a hassle.”
“Yeah, right. You’ve already spent hours with them.”
That was true enough, she thought, and she wasn’t looking forward to her next meeting with them. So far, they were satisfied that the two killings were justified, but the investigation-being cops, they wanted to know every detail of what was happening. She sighed, saying nothing.
“I want just five minutes with Mrs. McCamy. She’s got to be the weak link here.”
Katie sighed again. “Listen to me, Miles. The fact is we don’t have any evidence yet against either of the McCamys. What’s even more to the point is that none of us can come up with a single reason why either Elsbeth or Reverend McCamy would be involved in Sam’s kidnapping. Until we have evidence, and a glimmering of a motive, both of them have their rights.”