Speak the Dead (22 page)

73

T
here was a knock on the front door as Sally dipped her fingers of buttered toast into the bright orange yolk of a soft-boiled egg.

Father Black crossed the room and stopped in front of the door. He casually flicked aside a small disc of metal that covered a glass peephole and peered out.

There was a second knock as he turned to face the kitchen. His eyes were flat and cold; rocks in a glacier runoff.

“Take her upstairs,” he ordered. “Now!”

Mother instantly grabbed Sally's arm and pulled her from the table. Sally yelped, but before she could protest further, Father Black stormed across the room and clamped his hand over her mouth. He squeezed, hard, fingernails digging into her cheeks.

“No noise,” he hissed. Then, to his wife, “Keep her quiet.”

Mother's hand replaced Father's across Sally's mouth as she pulled Sally to the stairs and up to the second floor.

There was a third knock before Father Black removed a brass key from his pocket and unlocked the formidable front door.

Jersey squared his
shoulders and subconsciously sucked in his stomach as the blue door opened. He didn't know what he was expecting, but the broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and clerical collar, wasn't it.

Jersey flashed his credentials, trying to make the movement quick yet perfectly innocent.

The man's eyes glistened amber in the morning light. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn't catch that. You're police?”

The man held his palm out flat, forcing Jersey to hand over his I.D. The man read it carefully before looking down at Kameelah. “Do you have a card, too?”

Kameelah handed over her credentials.

“Interesting,” said the man, “you work in different cities.” He studied Jersey's face. “You're Portland Homicide and… “ he turned to Kameelah, “you're Seattle Sex Crimes.”

Jersey bristled. “We know who we are.”

“And now so do I.” The man smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “What can I do for you, detectives?”

“We're looking for a missing woman. Her name is Sally Wilson.”

“I'm afraid I've never heard of her.”

“You might know her as Salvation Blue,” said Kameelah.

The man's eyes narrowed, crow's feet deepening into troughs as though he spent a lot of time outdoors squinting at the sun.

“Salvation Blue was my niece,” he said. “She disappeared almost twenty-five years ago. Surely you can't be looking into her disappearance after all this time?”

“Your niece was living in Portland until two days ago,” said Jersey. “We think she may have been brought here.”

A full smile lit up the man's face. “That would be wonderful. I never dreamed I would ever see her again. I… we all assumed the worst, but to hear she's alive.”

“Is she here?” asked Jersey.

The man shook his head. “No, no, I wish she was. I haven't seen Salvation since she was six years old. She vanished the same night my brother, Salvation's father, died in a tragic accident.”

“Her mother, too,” said Jersey.

The man's face twitched. “Yes, yes, it was a terrible blow.” He shook his head, the movement much slower than before as though his skull had suddenly grown heavy. “I fear we'll never know exactly what that poor girl witnessed that night. I'm sure that's why she ran away.”

“Could we come inside?” Kameelah interjected. “We've been driving a lot of hours.”

The man seemed to consider it for a moment, but then he fastened a friendly smile on his face and stepped aside to grant them access.

“I'm Father Black,” he said as Jersey crossed the threshold. “The spiritual leader of the federally-recognized Church of a Sabbath Day's Journey. Would you care for coffee?”

The two detectives followed Father Black into the large kitchen. When Father Black moved ahead of them to fetch the coffee, Jersey turned to Kameelah and whispered, “Federally-recognized?”

“He's letting us know that he's got a whole army of religious-rights lawyers ready to stomp all over us if we get out of line.”

“And why tell us that?” Jersey asked.

“Pre-emptive strike,” whispered Kameelah. “He's got something to hide.”

74

S
ally could hear voices drifting up through the floorboards, but they were so distant they might as well have been echoes of long-forgotten conversations.

Helen sat beside her on the bed, one hand clamped on her plastered arm, the other sealed across her mouth. Sally strained to listen, hoping for anything that might identify the unexpected guests. She didn't want to risk more pain unless it was a viable bid for escape.

Jersey took a
gulp of strong coffee and felt the blood vessels open in his brain.

“Good coffee,” he said.

Father Black accepted the compliment with a nod. “It's one of the few things we can't grow ourselves, but we make do.”

“How did Sally's parents die?” Kameelah asked. She hadn't touched her coffee.

Father Black moved to the far end of the kitchen table and sat down. “As I said before, it was a tragedy. We don't like to talk about it.”

“But Sally witnessed it,” Kameelah pressed.

“Yes, she was in the house when it happened.”

“And then she disappeared?”

“That's correct.” Father Black lifted his mug to his lips but didn't drink. “I'm sure she was frightened, but I'm also sure she didn't mean to become lost and disappear. We searched for her but came up empty. The police, I might add, were not helpful.”

“And she's never come back? Never visited?”

Father Black blew across the top of his cup and took a sip. “Not to my knowledge.”

“Could she have visited without your knowledge?” Jersey asked.

Father Black's lips creased into a thin smile. “No.”

“Have any members of your church been to Seattle or Portland lately?”

“No.”

“You sound awfully sure,” said Jersey.

“I am. We are a close-knit community. We don't keep secrets from one another.”

“And why would a trip to Seattle be a secret?” Kameelah asked.

“It wouldn't,” said Father Black. “But unlike your world, we look out for one another here. If a member of our church were planning a trip to a major city, he would make sure everyone knew in case something was needed that couldn't be acquired locally. No one has planned any such trips in recent memory.”

“Did you ever stop looking?” Jersey asked. “For Sally, that is?”

Father Black placed his mug on the table and rubbed his face in a blatant display of weariness. “Yes. We gave up and moved on with our lives. Is that a crime?”

“Not at all, I was just—” Jersey stopped as the back door opened and a younger man walked into the kitchen. Like Father Black, he was dressed in black pants and a collarless black shirt. The only thing missing was the white collar.

The man didn't lift his head until he had fully entered the room. When he did look up, he was startled by the sight of the two strangers sitting at the table.

Jersey stared at his face. Beneath a mop of wavy, jet-black hair, the right side of the man's face was blistered and raw.

“Uh, sorry,” the man stammered, “I didn't know you had company.”

Father Black pushed back from the table and stood. “That's okay, son. The detectives were just leaving.”

Jersey took another swallow of coffee, making no show of getting up from the table.

“Tell me,” he said to the newcomer, “you been to Spokane lately?”

75

T
he younger man glanced at his father, then quickly shook his head. “I haven't left home in months.”

“You sure?” Jersey asked.

“Yes. Positive.”

“Only, we received a report of a man with facial scars matching yours from a gas station in Spokane. He had a woman with him. A very frightened woman.”

“My son,” Father Black interrupted, “burned his face only yesterday. It was an accident with a cup of coffee. You can ask our doctor.”

“Strange accident,” said Kameelah.

“Indeed, but there you are. These things happen.”

“And what happened to your lip?” asked Jersey. “It looks like—”

“Being clumsy is not a crime, detective,” Father Black boomed. “I would like you to leave now.”

“I still have questions.”

“But no jurisdiction, am I correct?”

Jersey shrugged. “It's a gray area.”

“I think not.”

Father Black moved forward until he loomed over the sitting detective. On the other side of the table, Kameelah got to her feet, her body language tense. Growing uncomfortable beneath the man's unflinching glare, Jersey finally pushed back his chair and rose to his full height. Without giving any ground, he stared into the minister's flat eyes.

“I'll be phoning our lawyer,” Father Black said. “We have a special church ceremony happening today, and your presence will be disturbing to our congregation.”

“Why?” Jersey tilted his head forward, closing the gap until their noses almost touched. “You got something to hide?”

Father Black took a step back, the muscles in his face pulsating as if something underneath the skin was struggling to break out. His words had to squeeze through clenched teeth. “We have nothing to hide, but our rituals can be misunderstood by non-believers.”

“You quoting Jim Jones now?” Jersey quipped.

“How dare you!” The son rushed forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with his father. Despite their similar attire, they actually looked nothing alike except, Jersey thought, for the eyes. Their eyes were soulless. “I suggest you leave before my father is forced to take this matter to a higher authority.”

Kameelah placed a hand on Jersey's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

Jersey remained stiff, unyielding. He focused his attention on the younger man.

“Forget Spokane,” he said. “How about a clearing in the woods outside Seattle, near the Mission of the Immaculate Heart? Ring any bells?”

“I demand that you leave,” Father Black insisted.

Jersey kept his gaze locked on the younger man. “Two nuns were attacked by some cowardly son-of-a-bitch. He stripped them and beat them until they were barely recognizable as human beings.”

“I-I don't—”

Father Black shut down his son with a look.

“There was DNA,” Jersey lied. “This bastard was vicious, but he wasn't as careful as he should've been. Plus, he made one very, very big mistake.” Jersey waited, his eyes scanning the younger man's scarred face.

“Get out NOW!” Father Black's face was near crimson.

Kameelah squeezed Jersey's shoulder again. Her grip was strong, her fingers like pincers.

“Do you know what that mistake was?” Jersey asked.

Jersey watched the son attempt to look away, but he followed him, eyes boring deep. Jersey's lips curled in a cruel sneer. “His big mistake was one any amateur could make.” He took a breath, drawing it out. “He left one of his victim's alive.”

The man blanched, and in that brief, flickering moment Jersey knew for certain, he was the one.

Father Black followed
Jersey to the front door, his hands vibrating by his side as he struggled to refrain from wrapping them around the detective's neck and using his thumbs to crush the cop's vertebrae to powder.

Kameelah exited the house first, but just as Jersey stepped over the threshold, he unexpectedly spun back around. Father Black stumbled, caught off-guard by the surprise move.

Jersey opened his mouth and yelled one word at the top of his lungs: “Sally!”

Upstairs, Sally heard
her name and, though she couldn't be positive, recognized the caller:
Jersey
.

Instantly, she struggled to break free of Helen's grasp. The old woman was caught by surprise, but Father Black had trained her well. As Sally squirmed, Helen used the weight of her body to hold her captive still. And when Sally scratched at her hand to loosen her fingers, Helen clamped her other hand on top, sealing Sally's mouth further and making it impossible for any noise to escape.

But Sally had more in her arsenal than her mouth. With a frantic lurch, she flung herself off the bed.

Their two bodies hit the floor with a heavy thump. And before Helen could readjust her grip, Sally started to bang her heels.

Jersey glanced up
at the sound of something heavy hitting the floor above, but before he could react, Father Black placed both hands on his chest and shoved him out the door.

Jersey stumbled backwards off the porch and over the lip of the steps, unable to find his balance until he was caught in Kameelah's surprisingly strong arms.

“She's in there,” he yelled before breaking free and rushing back.

Jersey pounded on the door and twisted the handle, but the door was locked and no one was answering.

76

J
ersey pounded on the door with one fist and reached for his weapon with the other. Before he could pull the Glock from its holster, Kameelah rushed up the stairs and latched onto his arm.

“She's inside,” Jersey rasped, emotion torturing his throat.

“How do you know?” Kameelah kept a firm grip on his arm.

“I heard… ” he hesitated, knowing it sounded weak even as the words left his lips. “It was a thump. A loud thump. Sally's upstairs.”

“That's not enough, Jersey, you know that. If you didn't hear a voice or a cry for help… that thump could've been anything.”

Jersey stopped pounding on the door and turned to Kameelah. His face was flushed; his eyes crazed.

“You saw that man's face, he matches the description from the gas station. You also saw his reaction when I mentioned Sister Fleur was alive.”

“I did,” Kameelah said carefully, “but we can't break the door down based on assumption.”

“Fuck the law,” Jersey seethed. “I just want Sally.”

Kameelah moved closer to him and stroked his other arm. The move was so intimate, it was almost a hug.

“Then let's make sure we get her out safely. You don't know what room she's in or what the level of threat is. They could be armed and now they're frightened. We have to think like cops, it's what we're best at.”

“She might not have time for us to act like cops.”

“They need her, Jersey. If she's in there, she's alive. Why else would they be holding a ceremony they don't want us to see?”

Jersey inhaled sharply through his nose, inflating his lungs to their maximum, before releasing it through his mouth. He did this three more times, before asking, “So what's your plan?”