Black Widow (16 page)

After Janine had gone to bed, he took the cordless into the kitchen and called Kathryn. She answered the phone sounding sleepy and disoriented, and his stomach knotted from the need to lie down beside her in the heart of those cool, crisp sheets. “Please don’t hang up on me,” he said. “This is important.”

There was a moment of silence before she said softly, groggily, “Nick.”

“I’ll be tied up for a few hours tomorrow,” he said, “so I won’t be here if you need me. I want you to be careful. Somebody decided to paint my truck a new color tonight.”

“What?” Her voice sharpened, and he imagined her sitting up with the covers falling down around her. “What are you talking about?”

“Janine and I went bowling. When we came out, some joker had painted ‘fornicator’ down the side of my Blazer.”

“Oh, Christ. Poor Janine. How did she react?”

“She asked a few questions I wasn’t expecting to have to answer. I told her the truth. What else could I do?”

“You told her about us? About last night?”

“Hell, Kat, she knew about us before I did. That night we bumped into each other at the grocery store, she was already asking questions.”

“I don’t like this,” she said. “This hatred, overflowing onto you. And now your daughter. I don’t want you involved.”

“I’m the goddamn chief of police. I can’t help being involved.”

“It’s not because you’re the chief of police,” she said bitterly. “It’s because you made the mistake of fornicating with the town pariah.”

“Damn it, Kathryn, don’t let them turn what happened between us into something dirty. It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”

“No? Just what was it like, Nick?”

He heaved a mighty sigh. “What do you want me to say, Kathryn? You tell me what you’re expecting, because I can’t read you anymore.”

“I have to go now.” There was an almost inaudible tremor in her voice. “Talking with you just confuses me.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

There was a moment of silence. “You, too,” she said. “Take care of that beautiful daughter of yours. Good night, DiSalvo.”

And she hung up the phone.

The autopsy report was waiting on his desk the next morning. While Janine played with Rowena’s typewriter, he skimmed through it. He didn’t find any surprises. Official cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the head. Ellsworth had removed a .38 slug, and it had been shipped off to the state crime lab for examination. The angle of the bullet indicated the gun had probably been fired by a right-handed person, from a distance of about five feet. Only minute traces of gunpowder had been found.

Nick set down the report, sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. Now all he needed to do was check out every right-handed person in Rowley County. Shouldn’t take more than a year or two. They’d spent most of yesterday taking statements from everybody who’d been even peripherally involved. Bucky and Earl had canvassed the neighborhood where they’d found the body, talking to everybody they could find, but nobody had seen a thing. There was nothing to link anybody to the crime. Except for that damning piece of paper with Kathryn’s phone number on it.

The NCIC report on Wanita Crumley that he’d asked Rowena to run before he left yesterday was far more interesting. Apparently Crumley had spent some time in Baltimore since the McAllister trial. She had a lengthy arrest record with the Baltimore PD. Solicitation. Shoplifting. Possession of a controlled substance. Attempting to solicit sexual favors from an undercover police officer. “Well, well,” he said. “Our little friend Wanita was a busy girl.”

He phoned Baltimore, and was connected with a Vice cop named Houston. Nick introduced himself, then said, “We got us a DOA down here by the name of Wanita Crumley. I understand you boys might be acquainted with her.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely Wanita. One of my all-time favorites. What happened to her?”

“She took a .38 slug in the back of the head, night before last.”

“Aw, geez. Hang on while I look for my crying towel. Shit happens, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, thinking of the white lettering he’d attempted to cover with black spray paint this morning. “Shit happens, all right. Anything you can tell me about her?”

“She peddled her ass on the street to keep herself and her boyfriend rolling in powder. Got any idea who did her?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. What’s the scoop on the boyfriend?”

“Sorry, DiSalvo, you just missed him. He checked out a couple of months ago. Got into some bad shit that somebody cut with strychnine. By the time we found him, the rats had been at him for a while.”

“What a picturesque vision on this lovely Sunday morning. Anything else you can tell me? Anybody who might’ve wanted her out of the way?”

“Crowd she ran with, who could say? Any one of ‘em would probably sell their grandmother for a couple of snorts.”

He thanked Houston and went into the outer office to check the files. Chances were slim to none that Crumley had discontinued her extracurricular activities when she returned home to Elba. If so, there had to be an arrest record somewhere.

The file cabinets were locked. “Damnation,” he said, and Janine looked up from her typing.

“Are we going soon, Daddy? I’m bored.”

“Soon,” he said. He opened the desk drawer and rummaged through it, hoping to find a key for the files, but there was none.

Cursing, he flipped through the Rolodex, found Rowena’s number, and called her. “I’m sorry to call you at home on your day off,” he said, “but I need the key to the file cabinet. Where is it?”

There was a silence, and then Rowena cleared her throat. “Well, Chief,” she said, “if you really need it, I suppose I could prob’ly drop it off on my way to church.”

He leaned against the desk and closed his eyes. “Why am I not surprised? There isn’t one here, is there?”

“I keep it on my key ring,” she said defensively. “For safekeepin’. Chief Henley always had one of his own. I assumed he gave it to you when you took over.”

“The only thing Chief Henley gave me when I took over was his headaches.”

“Well, then,” she said cheerfully, “looks like we’ll just have to get one made up for you. Shall I drop mine off to you this morning?”

Nick sighed. “Never mind,” he said. “It can wait until tomorrow. Sorry to bother you, Rowena.”

He hung up the phone and rubbed his knuckles on the top of Janine’s head. “Come on, squirt,” he said. “Let’s go hunt us up some snakes.”

“There’s sin in this world, brothers and sisters. The devil is mighty powerful, and he tempts us all!” Dressed in his Sunday finest suit, outdated by about fifteen years, Brother Leroy looked out over his congregation.

“Amen!” said a man in the first row.

“Hallelujah!” said somebody just behind Nick.

The wispy thatch of sandy hair that Brother Leroy had combed over his bald spot fell to one side. “But them that’s got a strong faith,” he said, “them that believes in the Lord Jesus with all they got in ‘em, that faith is gonna make ‘em strong, help ‘em to fight Satan.”

“Hallelujah, brother!”

“And the Bible tells us, brothers and sisters, that if our faith is strong, we can do mighty things. Like healin’ the sick.”

There were fervent amens scattered around the room.

“And raisin’ the dead.”

“Praise the Lord Jesus!”

“And drinkin’ strong poisons.”

“Thank you, Jesus!”

“And the takin’ up of serpents in his name!”

Around Brother Leroy’s neck hung a four-foot copperhead. The snake writhed and squirmed, clearly uncomfortable, clearly wishing to be somewhere else. Brother Leroy closed his eyes and raised his beatific face to the Lord. “My faith is strong,” he said. “And I know that my Lord won’t let this serpent, this tool of Satan, hurt me. Long as my faith never wavers, I won’t be hurt by followin’ the signs.”

“Yes!” a woman shouted. “Thank you, Jesus!”

Nick shot a glance at Janine. She looked back at him from the corner of her eye, raised both eyebrows, and inched closer to him on the hard wooden pew. Across the aisle, a woman stood up and began babbling a stream of nonsensical syllables. “Yes, Sister!” Brother Leroy shouted. “Thank you, Jesus, for givin’ our dear sister Beulah the gift of tongues. A sign of her purity and unwaverin’ faith in the Lord!”

“Amen!”

All around them, people were weeping, wailing, crying out the name of their Lord and Savior. A man in patched overalls got up and stood in the aisle. “Thank you, Jesus,” he said. “I got a powerful love for you, Jesus.” And he fell into a dead faint.

“Daddy?” Janine whispered.

“Shh. It’s okay.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it.

A second man approached the podium, carrying a small rattlesnake. He wrapped it lovingly around Brother Leroy’s arm, and the snake raised its head and hissed.

“Thank you, brother. Tell me, brothers and sisters, do you have a strong faith in the Lord? Do you believe with all your might? Is your faith in Jesus, our Lord and Savior, strong enough, pure enough, to keep you safe in His name?”

Around the room, there were soft murmurs of assent. While Brother Leroy stood by, beaming, members of the congregation began coming forward, one by one, and handling the serpents. “Can you feel the love?” Brother Leroy asked. “Can you feel it, brothers and sisters? Don’t it feel good, now?”

“Amen!”

“Thank you, Jesus!”

The service went on for another forty-five minutes, quite possibly the most bizarre forty-five minutes Nick DiSalvo had ever experienced. When it was finally over and the snakes had been returned to the wooden box from which they’d come, he relaxed his shoulder muscles and realized how tense he’d been throughout the entire service. “You okay?” he asked Janine.

“It gave me the creepy-crawlies,” she whispered back.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of snakes.”

She glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. “It wasn’t the snakes that creeped me out.”

He caught her by the back of the neck and squeezed affectionately. “Come on, squirt,” he said. “I have to talk to somebody.”

Janine rolled her eyes. “More cop business,” she said with resignation.

Brother Leroy was beaming and shaking hands. Nick stood by patiently, until he was done glad-handing the members of his congregation. “I don’t believe I know you, sir,” Brother Leroy said.

“Nick DiSalvo,” he said, shaking Leroy’s hand. “This is my daughter, Janine.”

“The Lord and I are very happy to have you with us this fine Sunday, Janine.”

She hooked her arm through Nick’s. “Thank you,” she said.

“Actually,” Nick said, “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”

Brother Leroy eyed him levelly. Some of the welcome left his face, and Nick knew he’d been made as a cop. “I will continue to fight the State of North Carolina,” Brother Leroy said curtly, “for my right to worship as I see fit.”

“And I’m behind you one hundred percent,” Nick said. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m the police chief in Elba, and I’m conducting an investigation into a recent incident we had with a big rattler. I thought maybe you could give me some information on snake handling.”

Brother Leroy continued to study him. And then his face eased a bit. “Why don’t we go next door,” he said, “to the parsonage? We can talk there.”

The parsonage was a small house trailer parked out back of the church. The linoleum was worn through in places, the tablecloth was threadbare, the curtains at the window limp and faded. Brother Leroy’s wife stood by nervously, her face as pale and limp as the kitchen curtains. “Can I fix you some iced tea, Mr. DiSalvo?” she said.

“Thank you,” he said. “we’d like that, wouldn’t we, squirt?”

Janine, who’d probably never ingested a non-carbonated liquid since she lost her milk teeth, nodded assent.

“Now,” Brother Leroy said, “how can I help you?”

“I’m not really sure. I’m flying by the seat of my pants here, so bear with me. Last week, a local woman came home and found a five-foot rattlesnake in a cardboard box on her front porch. I’m trying to figure out how it could have gotten there. How do you people handle snakes without getting bit?”

“By the power of the Lord, Mr. DiSalvo. There’s no big secret. If your faith is strong enough, you can do anythin’.”

“So, you don’t, like, train people how to do this or anything?”

“It’s a God-given power, a sign of purity in our faith.”

“And nobody ever gets bit?”

“Oh, lots of us get bit. But if our faith is strong enough, God don’t let that bite hurt us. He takes care of us, you see.”

Brother Leroy’s wife set tall glasses of iced tea in front of both of them. “Thank you,” he said. “Now let me be sure I have this right. The members of your congregation don’t die if they get bit by a rattlesnake?”

“If their faith is pure, Mr. DiSalvo. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, over and over again. Folks gettin’ bit, and the Lord just cleansin’ that venom out of their bodies.”

He took a drink of tea and considered Brother Leroy’s words. “And if their faith isn’t pure?”