‘Leave that point for now,’ Sebastian ordered. ‘According to Major Hexton, the CSIs have found traces of human blood and tissue on one of the inverted crosses and on the floor in the barn house, though the knife Nora Jacobson pulled was clean. The jawbone we turned up has small cuts all over it, suggesting the flesh and other matter was scraped off. Identifying the person the bone came from will not be easy.’
I closed my eyes and tried to black out an unwanted vision of the mutilation being carried out. Could one elderly woman have killed and dismembered the victim on her own? Could Mary have been dissembling? If so, she was very good.
‘As regards the fugitive mother,’ the senior FBI man continued, ‘witnesses have placed her in Portland around the times of all four Hitler’s Hitman murders. Apparently she’s a fixture in the markets and shops, telling people what she thinks of the way they live.’
‘So what are we saying?’ Quincy asked. ‘She’s involved in this Antichurch, but she’s not our killer?’
Arthur Bimsdale laughed. ‘That’s quite a deduction, Sergeant.’
The big man looked on the verge of introducing Bimsdale’s laptop to his head.
‘Indeed,’ Sebastian said, nodding at Quincy. ‘If she’s a follower of Rothmann, she probably is a Nazi. Judging by what we’ve seen here, she may well also be a murderess. But it seems she’s not up for these four killings.’
‘Far as I’m concerned, she’s going down, whoever she killed,’ Quincy said, his face set hard.
I studied him, then turned to Sebastian. ‘Mary Upson. I suggest you let her go.’
He gave me a black look. ‘You had the handcuffs removed from her mother, Matt. That wasn’t such a good idea.’
‘Keep her under surveillance. Maybe her mother will contact her, or vice versa.’
He thought about that, and then nodded. ‘What did our friends in Houston tell you, Arthur?’
Bimsdale hit keys on his laptop. ‘They sent a profile of the area. As the sergeant said, it’s heavily wooded and treacherous ground, largely unpopulated. There are no ongoing Bureau investigations in Tyler County, and no recent buildings on the 1943 road other than private homes.’
‘So if Rothmann’s down there,’ I said, ‘he’s using an existing structure.’
‘Correct.’ Sebastian looked at me. ‘Are you sure you want to go?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I turned to Quincy. ‘You still in?’
He grinned. ‘Sure.’
‘How do you want to do it?’ Sebastian asked.
‘No FBI planes. We’ll go to Houston by commercial flight-Quincy at least five rows behind me. I’ll hire a car at the airport. I want to be obvious to Rothmann’s people. When I locate him, you can send your people in.’
Sebastian frowned. ‘You’ll be taking a big risk.’
‘You put a bug in my arm, didn’t you? Just make sure you’ve got people close by-but not too close. Quincy can take point on watching my back.’
‘Not many black folks in those parts,’ the sergeant observed.
‘You’re good at camouflage, aren’t you?’
He laughed. ‘Yes, sir, that I am.’
‘We’ll give you a locator so you can track Matt,’ Sebastian said.
‘What about weapons?’ Quincy asked.
‘I’ll arrange for some to be waiting for both of you in the airport luggage lockers. You can pick the keys up from airport information.’
That seemed to cover most of the bases. I had turned myself into bait, but I didn’t care. Getting to the piece of shit who killed my family was all that mattered.
Sara Robbins, currently Colette Olds, got out of the Lexus and went to the diner opposite the police headquarters building. She was wearing a black wig and pulled a Boston Red Sox cap low over her eyes-even though she knew Matt was still in the cop shop, she wasn’t taking any chances.
She bought a decaf and sat near the window. The place was full of uniformed police, but that didn’t bother her. She was used to being in the belly of the beast-there was no better place for a professional killer to merge into the background.
‘This seat taken?’ The cop was young and fresh-faced. He was on his own, the gear on his belt shaking and jangling.
‘Go ahead,’ she said, giving him a restrained smile. ‘Busy day?’
‘Busy night, more like.’ He took a slug of black coffee.
She decided to probe. ‘You at that fire in Springfield Road?’
‘That’s right.’ He looked at her quizzically.
‘I saw the flames. Got to admit I did a bit of rubber-necking. What happened?’
‘You didn’t hear the explosion?’ He was keen to impress now. ‘Seems one of the residents took it into her head to blow the place up.’
She winced. ‘Was anybody hurt?’
‘No one, by some miracle.’ The cop took a bite from his doughnut. ‘We’re still looking for the woman.’
‘That would be Ms. Jacobsen.’ The Soul Collector had done her research.
He nodded. ‘You know her?’
‘Not personally.’
He laughed. ‘But she has a reputation.’
She went along with that. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black Grand Cherokee move forward slowly on the other side of the diner.
The driver was a well-built white woman wearing a woolen hat. It wasn’t the first time she had seen the vehicle-it had been in her mirror, three cars behind, when she had driven out here earlier in the morning. Maybe it was a coincidence, but there was no point in taking a chance. Since the pain had started, she had become more prone to acting on impulse.
‘Oh, no,’ she groaned.
‘What is it?’ The young cop was the picture of concern.
‘It’s just…oh, never mind.’
‘No, really, I’m here to help.’
Sara sighed. ‘I don’t know…it’s embarrassing, really.’
‘Whatever it takes,’ said her admirer, following the direction of her gaze.
‘All right, thanks, Officer. You see the Cherokee? It’s been following me all week.’
The young man craned forward. ‘You know the driver?’
‘Well, like I say, it’s embarrassing…I met her in a club last Saturday night. Em, not the kind of club you go to.’
He got her meaning, attempting to conceal his disappointment.
‘We…we went back to her place, but I got frightened. You see…she wanted to do something…extreme. When I refused, she turned nasty. She found out where I live and she’s been on my tail ever since. I’m…I’m frightened.’
The combination of sexual deviance and the old-fashioned damsel in distress scenario hooked the officer.
‘Come with me,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘We’ll get this fixed.’
The Soul Collector followed him, but not too closely.
‘Get out of the vehicle!’ the cop ordered, when he was ten yards from the Cherokee. ‘Now!’
The woman at the wheel looked at him in a way that looked lethargic to the layman, but Sara could read it was full of menace. She slowed her pace and stepped behind a pickup.
‘Out of the vehicle!’ her savior yelled again.
This time he provoked a reaction. The woman floored the gas pedal and the SUV roared forward. As it did so, an elderly man in a Lincoln Continental crunched into the side of the Cherokee, pushing it toward the police officer. Before the young cop could take evasive action, he was knocked into the air, landing with a crash on the hood of a pickup. His head made solid contact and he stopped moving. Cops immediately filed out the door of the diner and went to their comrade.
The Soul Collector watched as the SUV sped off, swerving out of the parking lot and accelerating up the road. She walked back to her car at normal pace and started the engine, and that’s when it happened.
A line of cars came out of the underground lot beneath the police building. In the back of a Crown Victoria sat her lover, Matt Wells. This was as close as she’d been to him in a long time, and it made something in her mind click with a strange mixture of hatred and desire.
Nineteen