Devil's Kiss d-1 Page 4

  He looked out the window while waiting for the coffee to make. Almost dawn over the town of Whitfield.

  A strange dawn, Sam thought, standing by the sink. Birds should be singing, dogs should be barking, there should be movement of people. But there is nothing except the stillness of silence. Nothing at all.

  Why?

  Peripheral vision caught a glimpse of some . . . thing slinking by the side of the house across the street. Not a dog. It was too large for an animal. And it had not moved with the fluidity of an animal. The movements had been jerky. It looked like a man. Sort of.

  Sam looked more closely. Whatever it was—if anything—was gone.

  Sam was suddenly and unexplainedly very uneasy. There had been something. He had seen it. But what? The house belonged to Max Steiner, and the Steiners had a dog—a Doberman. Why hadn't the dog barked? Perhaps the dog was familiar with . . . whatever it had been?

  Sam shook his head in annoyance, feeling he was allowing his imagination to run rampant. Despite that, he again looked toward the Steiner house, remembering something the Episcopal had told him a few weeks before.

  "I don't understand it, Sam," Father Haskell had said. "Max and Irene Steiner are devout Christians; good church workers—or used to be. Last month they stopped attending services. No explanation. And they won't see me; won't even allow me in their home. The dog had always been friendly to me, now he snarls and lunges at me when I come around. Sam, it's not just the Steiners—you know that. Church attendance is down town-wide. I don't understand what is happening. Do you?"

  No, Sam did not. His own church attendance was down. It was as if some . . . force was pulling members away from God. Pulling them toward—what?

  He did not know.

  Sam left the kitchen, slipping quietly down the hall to his bedroom, gathering up his clothing. He showered and shaved, then dressed in old, comfortable jeans, pull-on boots, and a shirt slightly worn at the elbows. He fixed his coffee, then walked softly through the house to the front porch. He sat on the steps, sipping his coffee, watching the eastern sky do its magic, working its multicolored change of hues.

  Dawn over Whitfield.

  The morning was not cool, yet Sam suddenly shivered. A long, hard trembling. The ragged edge of tension touched his mind, narrowing his eyes. He had felt the same sensation in combat—and just before combat—in Korea, and he had learned to trust his instincts. They had saved his life before.

  "Saved my life?" Sam muttered. Why did I think that? Do I believe my life to be in danger?

  Maybe.

  He sat his cup on the steps. "I think I'll do some prowling," he said aloud.

  He did not see the eyes that watched him from across the street. In the Steiner home, the Barlow home, the Piper home. Burning eyes. Evil eyes. He could not hear the heavy breathing.

  Not yet.

  He backed his car carefully around Michelle's and drove the streets of Whitfield. He did not know what he was looking for; something out of the ordinary, perhaps. Some . . . thing that would dispell his suspicions. As he drove, he could not find the elusive Thing.

  At full light, Whitfield started showing signs of life. People in bathrobes stepping outside to get the morning paper. People sitting on their front porches sipping the first cup of coffee, smoking the first cigarette of the day. Everything appeared normal. Still, some . . . thing was not quite right.

  5am waved at a few of the people. None returned his greeting. He drove past the Conway house. Tom Conway, his wife, and their two children had left the church three weeks ago, offering no explanation as to why. Tom and his wife and kids sat on the front porch of the rambling two-story home. Sam drove slowly past, waving a greeting. The oldest of the kids shot him The Bird, right hand clenched, middle finger rigidly extended. The universal sign of contempt. Up your ass! The man and wife and youngest child, Laurie, laughed.

  Sam stopped the car dead in the street, not believing his eyes. The father was caressing his daughter's thigh, his hand shoved up her short robe. The teenager spread her legs further apart, father's hand moving upward.

  Tom Conway, Jr. shot the preacher two Birds.

  Sam drove on, his face flushed. He had seen it. A father caressing his young daughter. The son popping him Birds. "Young man," Sam muttered, "I would very much like to get out of this car, break off your fingers, and shove them up your—"

  He caught himself before his anger got the best of him. Calm down, Sam, he cautioned himself. Just calm down. Aloud, "Excuse me, Lord. But I don't know what is wrong in this town. Something sure is. Won't You help me?"

  Nothing happened as Sam drove on down the street. He had to smile. "Well, Balon, what did you expect, flaming words written across the sky? Perhaps the hand of God to appear and pat you on the shoulder? He hasn't worked that way in over two thousand years. But He did give you a brain—use it!"

  Sam could not get the sight of Conway caressing his daughter out of his mind. He had heard rumors of incestuous behavior in Whitfield during the past weeks. He had not wanted to believe the rumors. Now he'd seen it.

  Then he realized he was driving down Jane Ann's street, slowing at her small house, pulling in the driveway. "Sam!" he railed at his actions. "You're an idiot!"

  He glanced at his watch. Six-thirty. He started to back out of the drive when the screen door opened. Jane Ann stared at him. She looked tired.

  She neither told him to come in nor to go away. She merely spoke his name. "Sam."

  The minister nodded his head. "Are you all right, Jane Ann?" Why did he ask that?

  She shook her head. "No, Sam. I'm not all right."

  He cut his engine and walked to her. She stood on the porch, the minister on the front steps, both of them very much aware of the spark that moved between them, looking for something explosive to ignite. Both knew they must be very careful.

  "Will you walk around the side of the house with me, Sam?"

  They walked, not touching, around to the back. The back door was shattered, pulled from its hinges. A crude picture had been drawn on the bottom half of the door. A naked woman with legs spread wide, exposing the genitalia. JANE ANN printed above the obscene drawing.

  It was embarrassing for both of them.

  "When did this happen?" Sam asked.

  "Last night. I haven't slept since."

  "Did you call the police?"

  She looked up at him, her eyes flashing dark anger. "Sam, it was the police!"

  It was the first time Sam had been in her house in more than a year. When he had sensed her feelings toward him, and his feelings toward her, he'd stopped his visits, thinking it best for both of them.

  They stood in the kitchen, looking at each other.

  "Let me fix you some breakfast, Sam."

  "No, that's not necessary. Coffee will be fine."

  "Have you eaten?"

  "No—but, I just don't think it would be right."

  "Sam, nothing is right in this town, and you know it. Sit down, I'll fix breakfast."

  He had to admit, it was pleasant, watching Jane Ann prepare breakfast. He sipped his coffee, very good coffee, and watched her move around the smail kitchen. Very little wasted motion. Jane Ann was nothing like his wife.

  Michelle was tall, five seven, with black hair and eyes of the darkest blue, almost black; her complexion was dark.

  Jane Ann was small and blonde, with a very trim figure, unlike Michelle's truly magnificent figure. Although, Sam smiled, no one in his right mind would ever mistake Jane Ann for a boy. Her hair was cut short, framing her face.

  She turned, as if sensing the minister's eyes on her, and caught him appraising her. "It never hurts to look, Sam," she said impishly, softening the remark with a smile.

  "Only if the man is a minister, or married," he countered.

  "You're a minister, yes. But I wouldn't say your marriage was made in Heaven."

  He shrugged his reply as she placed his breakfast before him. It was everything he liked, prepared as he like
d it. Sam lifted his eyes from the plate.

  "Eggs scrambled, with green peppers and onions. Sausage cooked just right. Toast with real butter and strawberry preserves. How did you know this?"

  "I know lots of things about you, Sam. I hope those preserves are still good. I put them up last year. I never opened them till now."

  He nodded, chewing on a piece of toast.

  "Michelle hasn't fixed—" He stopped short, feeling guilty about being here, feeling guilty about speaking disparagingly of his wife.

  "—fixed your breakfast in a long time," Jane Ann finished the remark. She kept her eyes on her plate as she spoke. "Or slept with you, either."

  Sam chewed his food slowly, looking at the top of her head. "Ugly rumors."

  She met his eyes. "They are not rumors, Sam. Stop trying to kid a small town. You can't do it."

  Sam said nothing. He knew what she meant. Very little got by a small town.

  "Annie Brown has disappeared," she abruptly changed the subject.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've been tutoring her this summer. Yesterday she simply did not show up. I went to her home to speak with her parents—her stepparents, really. They were very rude; very evasive. They refused to allow me in the house. They said Annie had gone to Bradville to visit relatives—her relatives. The girl has no relatives, Sam—anywhere. I know that for a fact. She's been telling me for a month or more that her stepfather has been—making advances toward her. Her stepmother even told her she'd like to see them—you know, do it!"

  The scene of Conway caressing his daughter filled 5am's brain. He told Jane Ann what he'd seen that morning. All of it.

  "That's been happening all over town, Sam. Whitfield is turning into a cesspool. I've been propositioned two dozen times this past week and some of the remarks from men have been really nasty."

  "I've heard some pretty rough things about Brother Farben," Sam said. "If they are true, Jane Ann, I just can't believe he's a minister."

  "I don't think he is, Sam. He and Otto got together the other night."

  Sam's eyes widened when she said, "I saw them, Sam. Otto is one of the men who propositioned me."

  "Too many things happening to this town to be counted off as coincidence."

  "What do you think is happening in Whitfield, Sam?"

  He almost spoke of his suspicions, then held back, shaking his head.

  She smiled at him. "Everybody tells their problems to you, Sam. Who do you tell your problems to?"

  "The greatest listener of all—God. Now about that back door?"

  "Don't you trust me, Sam?"

  He was being honest when he said, "I don' trust myself, Janey."

  She touched his hand and the sensation was almost electric to him. Sam feverishly hoped God was not taking this moment to peer inside his head, for his thoughts—despite his efforts—were borderline erotic.

  Sam pulled his hand away from her fingertips. "About that back door?" he said stubbornly.

  She laughed. "Can't blame a girl for trying. All right, Sam. George Best and Jimmy Perkins."

  Sam nodded, returning to his breakfast before it got cold. No great shakes in the kitchen, he wasn't about to let this good meal go to waste.

  He said, "It doesn't surprise me about Best, he's a first-class horse's behind. Jimmy, though, that comes as a shock. Jane Ann, let me ask you something, other than the obvious, were they acting strangely?"

  "I—don't know quite how to say this, Sam. Best. well, he acted the way he always acts—you know, what you said. But Jimmy—he wasn't himself."

  "Explain that, please."

  She pushed her breakfast plate from her, the meal only half eaten. "Sam, I don't believe Jimmy knew what he was doing. He acted . . . drugged, or something. His movements were—jerky, I guess. But they weren't drunk—neither of them. I know how a drunk person acts, my father died an alcoholic. Perkins and Best were not drunk."

  Sam finished his breakfast and Jane Ann poured him another cup of coffee. He said, "Perkins acted as though—well, perhaps his mind was being controlled?"

  "Exactly, Sam! Yes."

  "Interesting," he said dryly. "How did you prevent them from coming into the house?"

  She smiled grimly. "I was raised on a working cattle ranch, Sam. My father was foreman for years—before the bottle got the best of him. Let me show you something."

  She left the kitchen, returning in a moment with a 12 gauge pump shotgun. "Best told me how well-endowed he was, and what he'd like to do to me. I pointed this at his crotch, chambered a round, and told him if he didn't leave me alone, he wouldn't have any equipment to do it with—to anybody! He got the message."

  "I should imagine so," the minister said with a half-smile. He had been told by Chester Stokes, a member of his church, that Jane Ann was gutsy; not the fainting female type. He believed it. "Is that thing still loaded?"

  "Yes, it is. Best said he'd—they'd be back when the fifteen was complete—whatever that means. Said he'd be back to finish the job. He went into a lot of detail as to just what he was going to do to me. I told him when he came back, badge or no badge, I was going to shoot first and ask questions later."

  "The fifteen?" Sam said, puzzled. "You sure he didn't say the fifteenth?"

  "No. He said when the fifteen was complete."

  "Did Jimmy say anything?"

  "He never opened his mouth."

  "I've talked with rape victims before, Janey—those who have been threatened with rape, and those who were actually physically assaulted. But you seem—I don't know—especially bitter, but not afraid."

  "Yes. Well, there's a reason, Sam. I don't remember my mother. I was about two or three when she died. She'd gone horseback riding by herself. She liked to do that, so daddy told me. She was a superb rider. But that day she didn't come back. I was—oh, I guess fourteen or fifteen years old before daddy told me what really happened to her. He was drunk when he told me. Mother had been raped—horribly. Very badly used. Then she was mutilated almost beyond recognition, with knives. The police never caught those who did it."

  "Where did this happen, Janey?"

  "About halfway between Tyson's Lake and the Dig site."

  "Tyson's Lake is the area that's all fenced off?"

  "Yes. It's been fenced off for as long as I can remember. Caves and bottomless pits out there. It's to keep the kids out—for their own good."

  "I see," Sam muttered. "Yes. Mutilated with knives, you said?"

  "Yes. They—whoever did it—cut patterns on her skin. Old Mr. Kramer—he used to be chief of police here—told me that it looked to him like some kind of ceremony. A rite of some sort."

  "Kramer? I don't know the name."

  "Oh, he's dead, Sam. He's been dead ten years, Yes, that's right. He died right after he told me that. I was seventeen, so that was ten years ago."

  "How did he die?"

  "Well, that's a good question, Sam. He just disappeared one day. He was an old man. Some said he was getting senile, but I don't believe that." She shrugged. "His body was never found."

  "Just disappeared, huh? Where was he when he 'just disappeared?'"

  "Why, out by Tyson's Lake, I think. I know Mr. Kramer used to prowl around out there."

  "I see." A small ray of light shining on a still tiny idea beginning to form in Sam's mind.

  "Well, let's call the chief, Janey. Let's tell John what happened here last night. We'll let him handle it."

  "Incredible!" John Benton said, shaking his head in disgust. "I've got to ask you this, Jane Ann, are you sure it was Best and Perkins?"

  "Oh, yes. I had the back porch light on. I know them both very well."

  The Chief nodded. "I just don't understand why Jimmy was with Best last night. It was his night off."

  John had her repeat the story several times; she did not waver in the telling. The Chief took careful notes in his neat handwriting. A retired highway patrol officer, John Benton was rated an excellent police officer, very thorough in
his investigations.

  "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."