"Usual rules apply?" Jamarcus asked.
"Meaning you'll let my carcass rot in jail rather than come forward and confess to being my source?"
Catherine's caustic remark created a brief silence. When Jamarcus spoke, his voice was more somber. "Do you want the information or not?"
She studied the horizon beyond the boardwalk-the sun hanging low in a beautiful light blue sky. Honestly, she didn't know.
"Cat?"
"Let me ask you a question," she said at last. "Why do you want to give it to me?"
Jamarcus paused again. "I want to see how one of the persons of interest might react if his name was in the paper. I think he might slip up. I think it might help the investigation."
Catherine sighed. She felt like she was being manipulated. But still… "Let me have it."
"The Reverend Harold Pryor," said Jamarcus. "He was questioned yesterday. He has no solid alibi. He was in the D.C. area when Sherita Johnson was attacked. He was in the Hampton Roads area when the Carver kids were taken."
Catherine stopped walking when she reached the concrete boardwalk. She leaned against the railing. "Interesting. But there must be a thousand men and women who meet those criteria. What else do you have?"
"Dead man's talk?" asked Webb.
"If I haven't proven myself by now-" Cat felt a rant coming on, but Webb cut her off.
"Sorry; you're right." He took a deep breath. "The Avenger is sending messages with biblical quotes. Old Testament. Somebody who claims to be a member of Harold Pryor's church sent us an unsigned note that quoted these same verses. Said the reverend has been referring to them a lot recently."
Cat felt her stomach drop. She pressed her ear against the phone. The morning breeze made it difficult to hear. "Did you say biblical quotes? Old Testament?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Cat leaned hard against the railing. She brought her fist to her mouth-confused, frightened.
"Catherine?" Webb said.
The visions flashed in front of her eyes. Biblical quotes. The sins of the fathers will be visited unto the third and fourth generation.
"Catherine?"
She tried to get hold of herself. "What were the exact quotes?"
"I can't say, Catherine."
Her voice became sharp, insistent. "I need to know, Jamarcus. What were the exact quotes? "
"Catherine, I'm trying to help. But I'm not willing to jeopardize this investigation."
"He will visit the sins of the fathers unto the third and fourth generation," Catherine said. "The offspring of evildoers will never be remembered. Prepare a place of slaughter for the sons because of the iniquities of their fathers."
There was silence on the line. Catherine had known Jamarcus Webb for a number of years. She had never seen or heard him flustered. She had never known him to be at a loss for words.
"Who told you this?" he asked.
"If I said, you wouldn't believe me."
"Try me."
Catherine stared out over the ocean. Once she told him, there would be no turning back. "I saw it in a vision. Actually, two visions."
Another period of uncomfortable silence followed. "I think we need to meet," Jamarcus said.
22
Catherine thought Jamarcus was being overly paranoid, but she still followed his instructions to a T. She drove into downtown Norfolk to get beyond the jurisdiction of the Virginia Beach police. At the last possible moment, she jumped aboard the Norfolk-Portsmouth ferry and made sure that nobody got on after she did. Then she called Jamarcus and told him she was not being followed.
He picked her up on the Portsmouth side of the river in his white Ford Taurus. For a fleeting moment she considered the possibility that Jamarcus might be the Avenger. From what she could tell, the killer had some sort of law enforcement experience-who else could commit such crimes without leaving even a trace of DNA or hair or fiber samples? And what did she really know about Jamarcus? A nice guy. A good cop from all reports. A family man. But she didn't really know him.
It dawned on her that he could snuff her out today and nobody would even know she had been meeting with him.
"Excuse me a second," Catherine said. She dialed her editor on her cell phone. "I'm meeting with my source," Catherine explained. "And I won't be able to get you those journal entries until later this afternoon."
"That wasn't smart," Jamarcus said sternly after Catherine hung up.
"Sorry," she said. She tried to put her suspicions aside and focus on her story. After all, if Jamarcus really wanted to kill her, wouldn't he have asked her to meet him at night?
They drove around Portsmouth, Jamarcus checking the mirrors, while Catherine started explaining about the visions. She watched for a reaction, but the man was stoic, working his tense jaw muscles but little else. When she finished telling him about the handwriting on the wall in the first vision, Jamarcus pulled into a 7-Eleven convenience store parking lot.
"Who have you told about this?" he asked. He looked shaken, his face a lighter hue than normal.
"Just you."
"Good. Until I figure out what to do, you've got to keep it that way."
No way am I making that promise. "So the kidnapper must have used basically the same words in some kind of ransom note or phone call?" Cat asked.
"Not basically, " Jamarcus said. "Almost word for word." He stared straight ahead, deep in thought, watching folks file in and out of the convenience store. "Tell me more about your second vision."
Catherine continued her narration, providing Jamarcus with every detail she could remember about the second vision. The detective immediately started quizzing her about the appearance of the hooded figure. White or black? Male or female? What size? What age?
As he did so, Catherine realized that the person inside the hood was more of a formless ghost than a real person. Her answers alternated between "I don't know" and "I don't have any idea."
"I know this sounds crazy," Catherine interjected, "but you know how some police detectives work with mediums to find killers? Maybe I'm some kind of medium." She shuddered a little at her own suggestion. Mediums were supposed to be whacked-out older women, chunky charlatans who spent too much time with Ouija boards and cats, not serious working women. And certainly not a cynical newspaper reporter who didn't even believe in this kind of stuff.
"Maybe you saw Clarence Milburn at some point in the past, and your brain just registered it away in your subconscious," Jamarcus reasoned. "Maybe you recalled his face for this dream."
Catherine had already considered this possibility but couldn't recall ever having seen Milburn before the vision. She wondered if it had been smart to even say anything to Jamarcus. She hadn't wanted these visions, hadn't asked for this gift or curse or whatever it was. But she knew it couldn't be explained away through simple logic-she had already tried that. "How would I know about the messages?" she asked.
Jamarcus shrugged. "You're a newspaper reporter. You've got sources."
Catherine turned in her seat to face him. "Not for this," she said sharply. "I'm not making this up, Jamarcus. I don't go around quoting Bible verses. And I don't particularly like the fact that when people find out, if people find out, they're going to look at me like I'm some kind of nutcase. But there are three babies missing, and maybe more that you guys haven't linked up yet. I can't just pretend this didn't happen if it might help you find them."
As Catherine talked, a volatile mix of emotions stirred in her. Fear of the unknown. Frustration at the conversation she was having right now. Confusion at what this meant. And power. Undeniably, there was a certain vague sense of some new and mysterious power. But mostly fear.
Given everything she had just been through, she felt like she was losing control of her life, maybe even her sanity, being dragged into something that shouldn't be her burden.