“All of them?”
“The devil is God’s oldest enemy, and no fool. When the exorcist doesn’t believe, the Evil One wins.”
“And you believe.”
“With my whole being.”
“So you armor up and go at Satan freelance.”
“My authority comes from God, not Rome. Luke ten, seventeen to nineteen: ‘And the seventy returned again with joy, saying, Lord, even the devils are subject to us through thy name. And He said to them, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven. Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing shall by any means hurt you.’ ”
Hoke’s eyes were shiny with something I couldn’t identify. Piety? Madness? I had to get away.
I cocked my head ever so slightly, pretending that I’d heard a car but was trying to mask it.
Hoke fell for the ploy. His gaze slid from mine, went over my shoulder toward the road.
Make a run for it? Grab the gun? Kick Hoke in the nuts?
A nanosecond’s hesitation. Then the moment was gone.
When Hoke looked back, the glint in his eyes chilled me.
“Why have you come here?” he hissed.
“You exorcised Cora. Things got too rough. Or perhaps she had a seizure.”
“I’m not who you think I am.”
“I know you’re not a killer. Cora’s death was an accident. Like the child in Indiana.”
From where I stood, I could see Hoke’s breathing get faster.
“Did Mason find out? Did he confront you?”
My voice was rising. I forced it to stay even.
“Or was Mason also a victim of one of your little parties?”
Even Hoke’s bones seemed to stiffen. Still he said nothing.
“We found him, you know. Off the overlooks. What the animals left, that is. His bones. His head in the bucket of concrete.”
Hoke licked his lips, a fast flick of pink.
“What did you do with Cora? Did you dismember her too?”
“I loved Cora. It should never have happened.”
I hadn’t spotted that coming.
“What should never have happened?”
“Such a beautiful child until the devil laid claim.”
“The devil.” Not attempting to hide my disgust.
“You didn’t see her. The bulging eyes, the wicked smiles, the twisted limbs—”
“The devil had sweet fuck-all to do with it. Cora Teague was epileptic. Where did you dispose of her body?”
Hoke’s Adam’s apple was now running an elevator service. He said nothing.
“Did Cora also end up ransom for the Brown Mountain Devil?”
“No, no. We don’t worship Satan. We battle him. We offer ourselves as hostages to those he torments.”
“We? Who helped you?”
“You must stop.”
“That won’t happen. Deputy Ramsey knows I’m here. He’ll arrive any minute, and he’ll have a warrant. Ever experience a crime scene search?”
Hoke only glared. In the pale afternoon sun his acne-scarred flesh looked like a grainy close-up beamed from the moon.
“Let me draw you a picture. A police team will pull up in a big black truck. They’ll go over this place with tape and tweezers and powders and sprays.” My voice was spiraling again. “They’ll dig up your lawn, shoot video and stills, confiscate your records. They’ll find every dirty little secret you have shoved up your pulpit or stashed in your underwear drawer.”
I took a deep breath. Fought to recover my grip.
Several seconds of absolute stillness hummed between us.
Hoke looked down at the gun in his hands, blinked, as though surprised to see it there. Then he looked back at me. “I wish you had left us alone.”
A beat, then the barrel jerked toward the rear door of the church.
“Inside,” he ordered, voice sharp as razor wire.
I knew that being cornered would limit my options. That it might mean death.
“No,” I said.
“Now!”
I held my ground.
Hoke’s finger slid forward into the trigger guard.
I walked as slowly as I dared without provoking Hoke. He followed up the steps, right on my heels.
“Open the door.”
My mind ricocheted for words that might turn the situation around. Finding none, I obeyed.
The hinges squeaked softly.
The muzzle of the Browning nudged my left shoulder blade.
I stepped across the threshold. Inhaled a cocktail that transported me through time and place. Candle wax. Wood polish. Incense. Smoke.
The only illumination came from cracks outlining the shuttered windows, two on each side, one in back, to the right of the door we’d entered. The oozing sunlight formed slivers of white, rectangular at the bottom, arched at the top.
As my eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom, something clicked behind me. A chandelier kicked to life, bringing the room into focus.
The nave, which wasn’t large, took up the entire building. A row of wooden pews ran down each side, angled to allow room for a center aisle. There were maybe twenty in all.
Up front, six feet beyond us, was a lectern, centered and facing the pews. Beyond it was the altar, a simple wooden table draped with a white linen cloth. Empty now.
A piano occupied the corner to our far right. On the wall above it was a board for posting hymn selections. The last sung were 304, 27, 41, and 7.
Every surface was wood, no plaster. The walls were painted cream. The ceiling and floor were stained the same dark walnut as the pews.
“Look around.”
I turned, arms still held high. Hoke was standing with his feet spread, his Browning pointed at me.
“I don’t understand.”
“You accuse me of murder. Look around. Satisfy yourself.”
“I never used the word ‘murder.’ ”
“This is God’s house. I would not defile it.”
“I prefer to leave the search to—”
“Look around.” Sharp. “I have nothing to hide.”
Hoke’s eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that sent the hairs on my neck standing tall. I held his gaze and didn’t move. He made a tight circle in the air with the muzzle, indicating, I assumed, the space in which we stood.
“May I lower my hands?”
“I’m watching you.”
I explored the room, feeling crosshairs on my back. There was little to search. No closet, restroom, cellar, or lobby. No drawers or cabinets. Nothing under the altar, on the lectern, inside the piano; only sheet music in the bench. The place was immaculate.
But almost four years had passed. Plenty of time for scrubbing and purging. Still, knowing Hoke’s stance on God, I doubted he’d chosen the church for his dirty work.
I looked at my captor. “I have luminol in my purse. May I use it?”
“What’s it for?”
“Indicating the presence of blood.”
Hoke nodded, once, reluctant, and tightened his grip on the gun.
Moving slowly, I reached into my bag and withdrew the plastic bottle. Sprayed around the altar, near the piano, at a couple of pews. Nothing lit up. No surprise. I was sure this wasn’t the place. Was going through the motions more for Hoke’s reaction than as an actual test.
While returning the bottle to my bag, I tried for a peek at my mobile. It was lying facedown. No way I could see if I even had signal. No way I could tap in my code and a speed-dial selection without drawing attention.
I turned and looked a question at Hoke. A challenge?
“Now we go to the family center.” He repeated the jabbing thing with the shotgun.
“How do I know you won’t shoot me?”
“You don’t.”
Hoke killed the light and closed the door behind him as we single-filed out. Our steps sounded loud in the stillness, one set of footfalls echoing the other.
I smelled danger, hot and coppery as fresh blood. But the Browning allowed me no options.
The sunlight was slanted now, angling golden across the sea-green tips of the newborn grass. Trees were casting long shadows inward from the western edge of the clearing.