"I had high hopes for Jimmy," John said, putting his notepad in his hip pocket. "He was shaping up to be a good officer—so I thought. I was going to recommend him for the Highwa Patrol." He looked at Jane Ann. "I'm sorry this had to happen to you, Jane Ann. I've known you since you were a baby. I was on duty the nigh your mother died. Helped investigate that tragedy. I also helped in the investigation of your father's disappearance."
"Disappearance?" Sam cut in, looking at Jane Ann. "I thought your father died?"
"He disappeared, Sam," she said. "Nine year ago. He's listed as dead, now."
"Earl Burke was an alcoholic, Sam," John said. "In his later life, that is. He never touched the stuff until his wife was killed, then he went over the line in a big way. He used to get drunk and roam the area where the tragedy occurred."
"The Tyson's Lake area?"
"That's correct. One night he went out there and never came back."
"How'd he get out there?"
"In his pickup. We found the truck, but we never found Earl."
"And the assumption is—"
"He climbed the fence surrounding the area and fell into one of the deep pits or caves out there. It's a very unsafe area, Sam. Caves, holes, a few lava pits that are very unstable. A hundred and fifty acres, all told. 'Bout sixty acres in timber. But—"
"You've seen these holes and caves and pits?" Sam interrupted.
"Well, no, Sam. But the area has been posted since my father was just a boy, back in the 1890s. No one goes in there except Karl Sorenson—he owns the land."
"He is a disgusting man!" Jane Ann blurted.
Sam agreed with her, but asked, "In what way, Janey?"
John smiled, waiting for Jane Ann to elaborate.
"He ridicules God and anyone who worships Him. Sorenson says if he ever decides to worship anything, it'll be Satan, because the devil is more 'practical.'"
"Yes," Sam said. "I've heard that Sorenson says that."
"There are probably a lot of other things people won't discuss around you, Sam," John seemed ill at ease. "He's a womanizer, Sam. He's some pretty raunchy parties out at his ranch. Not the kind of stuff you'd want to discuss in front of a lady. He's been known, from time to time, to import some—talent, if you want to use that word, out to his ranch. These people would perform, if you know what I mean." Benton flushed. "I don't feel right discussing this before you, Sam."
Sam grinned. "John, before I became a minister, I saw lots of things knocking around the country, including a lady with a donkey. Do I have to say more?"
Benton shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. "I heard you were quite a rounder before you became a minister. Guess the talk was true."
"What about a lady and a donkey?" Jane Ann asked.
"Never mind, Jane Ann," Benton said sternly, fatherly. "Point I was making, Sam, is this, rumor has it that some of those people never left this area. There's been some real horror stories come out of Sorenson's ranch."
"Can't the authorities do anything?"
"No evidence, Sam. Nothing to prove anything out-of-the-way took place. Besides, Karl is a very wealthy man, with connections at the State House, if you know what I mean."
"Money talks?"
"And swears, sometimes."
"Interesting," Sam said softly. He did not elaborate, and John did not pick up on his softly spoken innuendo. Jane Ann looked at her minister, as if attempting to read his thoughts.
"I'll put Best and Perkins on suspension until this is all proven or cleared up. You will press charges, Jane Ann?"
"Oh, boy, will I!"
The chief walked to the door. "I've got some plaster in my car. I want to make some impressions of some prints out back. I'll get back to you both."
Five
Benton had taken his impressions in the earth, thanked Sam and Jane Ann, and left, saying he was going to get to the bottom of this. He was going after Best and Perkins right now.
Sam glanced at his watch, shocked to discover it was only eight-thirty.
"You look tired, Sam."
"Somewhere between tired and confused. I don't believe I've had a restful night's sleep in several weeks."
"Michelle?"
"She's part of it, I suppose." He looked at Jane Ann, sitting across the small living room from him, one leg tucked under the other. It looked like an awfully uncomfortable way to sit. Sam started to tell her of his dreams, then decided against it. No point in dumping his problems on her. His gaze swept the room, stopping at a book on demonic possession. It lay on the coffee table.
"I didn't know you were interested in that stuff?" he pointed toward the book.
She leaned forward, picking up the book, a slight smile on her lips. "I wasn't—until a couple of weeks ago."
"Why all the sudden interest?" Sam tried to keep his voice cool, but he had a feeling Jane Ann could see past his calmness.
"I saw the book in a store in Rock Point. It seemed to pull me toward it. That must sound awfully stupid, Sam, but I swear I couldn't take my eyes off it. Do you know much about possession and devil worship?"
"More than most Protestant ministers, I should imagine. I almost got kicked out of seminary several times because I wanted to probe more deeply into the subject. I'm afraid most Protestants tend to take that subject rather lightly."
"Do you take it lightly?"
"No, I don't."
Their eyes met, locked, held. A chiming clock rang the quarter hour, the melodious donging echoing through the house. Sam stood up, knowing if he did not get out of this house—right then!—one of them could very easily do something they both would regret.
"Let's sit outside, Janey. On the porch."
"Are you afraid of me, Sam?" Her eyes were very mischievous, shining at him.
"I refuse to answer that question. Come on."
She followed him, carrying the book on possession and devil worship. She sat in the porch swing, Sam in a straight-back chair. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.
"Can you feel it, Sam?" she asked, her voice low, little more than a whisper.
"What are you talking about?" But he knew very well what she meant.
"This town."
He sighed, nodding his head. "Yes. I can feel . . . something. For several weeks, now."
"What is it, Sam?"
The one question he had hoped she would not ask. "I don't know," he admitted.
"Want to hear a theory?"
"Go ahead."
"Church attendance is down—all over Whitfield. I don't have to tell you that. People are behaving strangely, as if the word morality no longer existed. Two police officers tear down my door and threaten to rape me; draw dirty pictures on the door. Kids are disappearing. I'm practically throwing myself at my minister. I'm ashamed of myself, Sam. But I'm scared."
"So am I, Janey. So am I. I've a confession to make: my own thoughts of you have not exactly been pristine the past few weeks."
She smiled, hearing what she wanted to hear. "Have you talked with Wade lately?"
"No. Not in several weeks—in depth, that is."
"Chester?"
He shook his head. She was getting to something in her own way.
"Sam, for years Whitfield has been a nice place to live. People always got along well, helping each other in times of need. We're not growing in population, but we're not shrinking, either. There hasn't been any major crime in this town for years. We had a Red Cross chapter, a March of Dimes, a Rotary, a Lions—all the normal clubs and organizations. Yet in less than two months' time, they've all shut down. And there is this: nothing, and I mean nothing was ever done about Brother Hayes's murder. This man Farben comes in, professing to be a Baptist minister. But he isn't. Don't ask me how I know. I just do. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, though, am I, Sam?"