In a tone of simmering resentment, he said, "Knowing the protocol doesn't guarantee me an opportunity to speak, Sheriff, as you well know. The last council meeting was moved up a day without notice — to keep me silent."
Unmoved, she said, "I believe the date was changed due to an illness in a councilman's family, Justin. I wouldn't take it so personally if I were you."
"I was denied my constitutional right to speak my mind, Sheriff, and I do take that personally."
"Nobody's trying to silence you."
"I beg to differ. And I've tried three times since yesterday to reach the mayor, to no avail."
"It's a busy time," she said dryly.
"So busy that John MacBride won't even speak to someone who helped put him in office?"
"We have this murder investigation going on, Justin." There was nothing at all sarcastic in her voice.
"Which is just what I want to discuss with the mayor."
Miranda didn't seem to find anything peculiar about the conversation, which told Bishop a great deal about Justin Marsh. Curious to observe the man's reaction, Bishop butted in. "If you have any information that could aid the investigation, Mr. Marsh—"
"Information?" He drew himself up stiffly, eyes blazing. "What I know is what any decent citizen of this town knows, Agent Bishop. The wicked have been silenced!"
Bishop saw Miranda's face harden, and wasn't surprised when she spoke in a quiet tone that could have cut steel.
"Lynet Grainger was fifteen, Justin. Kerry Ingram was fourteen. Now just how much wickedness do you suppose they'd had time to learn?"
"Youth cannot excuse iniquity," he said fiercely, holding his Bible aloft in emphasis. Or possibly because he knew what a dramatic gesture it was. "And the sins of the parents will be visited upon them."
"Which is it?" Bishop asked with spurious interest. "Were they wicked themselves, or paying for the sins of their parents?"
Justin characteristically ignored the direct questions. "The righteous are duty bound to punish the world for their evil and the wicked for their iniquity."
"If you're paraphrasing Isaiah," Bishop said, "I believe it's supposed to be God doing the punishing."
Justin glared at him. "The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a tiger!"
"Bold as a lion," Bishop corrected politely. "Proverbs, chapter twenty-eight, verse one."
"They have sown the wind," Justin snapped, "and they shall reap the whirlwind!"
"Hosea," Bishop said. "Chapter eight, verse seven."
Whether because he was unwilling to match wits with one who might just possibly know the Bible better than he did or simply because he knew he was standing on shaky ground generally, Justin looked away from Bishop with splendid indifference and addressed Miranda in freezing tones.
"I trust the next council meeting will not be rescheduled without due notice, Sheriff."
"Since I don't schedule them," she returned politely, "I really couldn't say, Justin. Good afternoon. Bye, Selena."
Justin gritted his teeth and reddened under his tan, then turned on his heel and stalked away. Selena sidestepped to avoid being run over, offered Miranda and Bishop a timid smile and an unintelligible murmur, and followed her husband.
"I don't suppose we could pin it on him?" Bishop said.
Miranda smiled. "I'd love to. Unfortunately, he wasn't even in the state when Kerry disappeared, and he was in church all evening the night Lynet vanished."
"Besides which," Bishop said, "he's the type who'll always be urging others to take action while doing absolutely nothing himself."
"That too."
"Does his wife ever say anything? I mean, other than that wordless murmur?"
"Seldom in public, as far as I can tell." Miranda shrugged. "It wouldn't be the life I'd choose, but Selena seems content enough. Then again, I'm told she's been with Justin since they were fifteen years old, so maybe it's just that she doesn't know any other way to live."
Bishop thought that was depressing in and of itself, but it also made him think of something else. "Are there any other religious fanatics in town?"
"Who might have decided to punish the wicked themselves?"
"It's possible, Miranda."
She thought about it for a few moments. "I don't believe so, though I'm probably not the best person to ask. It's always been my impression that most of the people around here aside from Justin take their religion a lot more casually — at least to the extent of leaving it up to God to punish the evil in the world." There was no mockery in her tone, just matter-of-fact tolerance of other people's beliefs.
"We haven't seen any signs of religious mania connected with the crimes," Bishop mused. "Still, if Justin Marsh perceived those kids as wicked, someone else might have as well."
"I would say only a lunatic could have, but since it's obvious this bastard is mad as a hatter, I suppose it goes without saying." Miranda sighed. "One more possibility to throw into the hopper, I guess." The weak winter sun made a sudden appearance in the overcast sky, and she winced and pulled a pair of sunglasses from her jacket pocket.
Bishop hesitated and then, as neutrally as he could, said, "Before we got here, you had a vision of where Lynet Grainger would be found."
Miranda put the sunglasses on and straightened away from the side of the Jeep, obviously preparing to get in and leave. "If you're implying I could see something useful about Steve Penman, I told you I can't control it."
"I know that. But you aren't open to it either."
She laughed under her breath, but without amusement. "Some things have certainly changed in eight years. From jeering skeptic to dedicated believer is quite a journey for any man to make, even in a lifetime."
"I never jeered."
"About precognition you did. Nobody could see into the future, that's what you said. It was impossible to see what hadn't happened yet, simply impossible. You were absolutely convinced. Until—"
"Until I had a vision," he said steadily. "Your vision. "
"Wasn't quite what you expected, was it, Bishop?" Behind the sunglasses, her eyes were invisible, unreadable. "You thought it put you in control, made you master of your fate and the fate of others. You thought seeing the future had given you all the answers."
"And I was wrong. Is that what you want me to say one more time? I was wrong, Miranda." He was conscious of people moving past them and wondered what they made of the obviously intense, low-voiced conversation. If he was lucky, they thought their sheriff was at odds professionally with the FBI agent.
If he was lucky.
"And no matter what you think, I don't envy you that ability." The certainty in his voice sounded convincing because he was telling her the literal truth.
"Then don't ask me to open myself up to it. If I could help that boy, I would, but I can't. Not that way."
"How do you know? Goddammit, you're so closed, nothing can get in. Even your intuition is blocked, smothered—"
"We've been through this, Bishop. However I choose to shield is my business, not yours. I understand my abilities a hell of a lot better than you do, and I don't appreciate this attempt at emotional blackmail—"
"That is not what I'm trying to do. I know you honestly believe you can't control the visions, but I also know you can't think clearly about them, not now. Miranda—"
"You always know what's best, don't you? Always have to make everybody else's decisions for them. No one else is even capable of rational thought, are they?"
He drew a deep breath, trying to hold on to his patience even though he knew she was deliberately goading him, that it was another of her defense mechanisms, at least where he was concerned. "You're not listening to me. All I'm saying is that you're choosing to shut down your abilities at the worst possible time. You can shield yourself without shutting down, without closing yourself off like this."