A Time of Torment (44 page)

‘She wasn’t prepared to intervene a second time, judging by what happened to him in Portland.’

‘Could be that she didn’t know what was planned for him. But Sherah’s with Oberon now, and whatever she had with Griffin was a long time ago. She’s a cold one. I doubt she shed many tears for Harpur Griffin when he died.’

‘What about Norah Meddows, Burnel’s ex-wife?’

‘I know the name. The Cut’s women weren’t alone in occasionally venturing beyond dirt roads for their pleasures. They say she was with Cassander, before he married.’

‘You have a complicated county here, Sheriff Henkel.’

‘It does keep me entertained. Obviously, I’m obliged to warn you that if you’re considering starting trouble with the Cut, I’ll have you arrested and charged in the event of any injury – or, God forbid, fatalities.’

‘What about self-defense?’

‘As long as you can prove it with independent witnesses.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

‘You do that. May I ask what it is that you’re planning on doing next?’

‘I’m going to talk to Oberon, and ask him to deliver up the two men who were last seen with Harpur Griffin before he died.’ Parker had described them in detail to Henkel, and the sheriff had been pretty certain that the individuals in question were Lucius, the older son of Cassander, and another man named Jabal. ‘Unless the Portland PD’s budget extends to sending detectives down here to question them, they’ll accompany me back north of their own volition, where they’ll be handed over for questioning about Griffin’s death and the disappearance of my client, Jerome Burnel.’

‘I can tell you now that Oberon’s not going to let that happen.’

‘I’m obliged to ask. It’s only polite.’

‘And after he refuses?’

‘Then I’ll have to go in and get them myself.’

‘With company, I hope?’

‘With company.’

‘The Cut may decide to come at you first.’

‘Good.’

Henkel stared at him.
By Christ
, he thought,
this guy means it
.

‘You’ve been shot before, if what I read about you is true.’

‘Yes.’

‘For a man who’s been shot a lot, you sure seem anxious to get shot again.’

‘I’d like to think I’ve learned some avoidance tactics since the last time.’

‘I certainly hope so.’

Henkel raised his hand for the check, and simultaneously slid a piece of folded paper across the table to Parker. When Henkel looked back, the paper was already gone.

‘What is it?’ asked Parker.

‘A map of the Cut. The distances are approximate, and it’s only partial. There are parts of it I didn’t see, and about which I couldn’t approach anyone else for information. Before you go wandering in there, you should know that they’ve secured it over the years. Shortly before I became sheriff, a couple of good old boys ventured in there after a twenty-point buck, figuring it was worth the risk.’

‘And?’

‘One of them lost a foot to a bear trap, and I don’t believe they get too many bears through the Cut. In other words, I wouldn’t venture into it without a guide, but the only guides who know the Cut are its own people, and they’re not likely to be offering their help to you.’

The check came. Henkel paid it, and carefully placed his copy in his wallet.

‘What about you?’ asked Parker. ‘If they know I’m here, then they’ll also know that we’ve been talking.’

‘Let them.’

‘You don’t think they’ll come after you too?’

‘They haven’t yet, and killing a sheriff might be a step too far, even for them. Or that’s what I’m banking on.’

But he sounded uncertain as he spoke, and his smile was strained.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a ride back to your car.’

Parker followed him, and did not even glance at the table beside the register, where Angel and Louis, each with a gun close at hand, were seated by a window, watching the vehicles come and go, waiting patiently for violence to erupt.

R
oss knocked on the door of Conrad Holt’s office. His superior was working through a mound of paperwork, a task that appeared to be giving him little joy, so he looked almost relieved when Ross appeared, at least until he saw the look on Ross’s face.

‘What is it?’ Holt asked.

‘You asked me to keep you apprised of Parker’s movements.’

‘And?’

‘He’s in West Virginia.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s investigating something called the Cut – a community of recluses, possibly with criminal connections.’

‘Anything we should be concerned about?’

‘Probably no more than usual.’

Holt scowled.

‘That bad, huh?’ he said.

‘It remains to be seen. And there’s this.’

Ross produced a wrinkled map of the United States from a file beneath his arm. He spread it on Holt’s desk, allowing him to see the markings that had been added. They were GPS coordinates, written in red ink. Holt instantly felt a chill. He’d seen such maps before.

‘Body dumps?’ he asked.

‘I wish,’ said Ross. He handed over a small index card to Holt. On it, in the same hand as the GPS coordinates, were written the words ‘FBI Restrooms’, followed by a question mark.

Ross pointed a finger at a set of coordinates in the Midwest.

‘This,’ he said, ‘is the location of the National Mustard Museum in Middleton, Wisconsin. Close to it, in Neillsville, and also marked, is the location of Chatty Belle, the World’s Largest Talking Cow.’ His finger moved south. ‘Here is the Chasing Rainbows Museum, at the Dollywood theme park in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. That, in San Antonio, is Barney Smith’s Toilet Seat Art Museum. We’ve also got the Idaho Potato Museum, the International Banana Museum in Mecca, California, and the World’s Largest Chest of Drawers in High Point, North Carolina.’

‘And that?’ asked Holt, gesturing resignedly at a set of coordinates in the Mojave Desert.

‘Area 51,’ said Ross. ‘I don’t think we need to run a fingerprint analysis to figure out who sent it.’

‘That fucking Angel,’ said Holt. ‘I hate these guys.’

C
assander lay on the bed, and considered when might be best to deal with Oberon, who seemed determined to retain control of the Cut even as his grasp on it continued to weaken.

That morning, Oberon had informed the elders of the Cut of his intention to take Paige’s next – and final – child, and raise it in his house. Few voices had been raised in open dissent, but Cassander’s was among them, restating publicly what he had told Oberon in private. He pointed out that it had been agreed the next two children would be sold, and the proceeds divided equally. These last years had been difficult for them all. In his desire to prolong his line, said Cassander, Oberon was forcing hardship upon everyone in the Cut.

But Oberon was their leader, and the decision was ultimately his to make. Afterward, Cassander heard a few mutters of discontent from those who had kept their peace during the meeting, but he ignored them all. They were no use to him after the fact. There would be no open rebellion by the Cut against Oberon’s leadership, but that in itself was not entirely bad news. It meant that Cassander and his sons could take control without fear of competition.

Although Lucius was the elder of Cassander’s boys, he was not a leader by temperament, only by inclination. Marius was more balanced – even if it had been his decision to burn Harpur Griffin – and it was he to whom Cassander was intent upon entrusting the future of the Cut. Of course, Marius was not yet ready: he was too green, too weak. If Oberon were no more, Cassander would have to take on the leadership of the Cut, with Marius shadowing him until his father adjudged his son ready to succeed him. It was a responsibility that he was prepared to assume. He had spoken to the Dead King about it, and received its blessing.

And Cassander had already begun taking on the mantle of leader. It was he who had received the call from Starcher informing him of Parker’s visit to Norah Meddows, and he who had sent Marius and Jabal to make her disappear. When the detective came to Plassey – as he most assuredly would – then Cassander would deal with him if Oberon was too cautious to act.

A hand splayed itself over Cassander’s chest, the fingers like pale snakes writhing through the graying hairs. Sherah was naked beside him. Her child was playing in the house of Hannah, far to the south.

‘Again,’ she said. ‘Do it again.’

Oberon was probably on his way, but still Cassander took Sherah for a second time, heedless of the risk of discovery, even desirous of it, so that the hostility between the two men might come to a head and be decided at last.

But Oberon did not arrive, for he was engaged in a confrontation of his own.

O
beron had stopped to pick up a few essentials at Sampson’s, Turley’s largest general store. The Cut was almost entirely self-sufficient, but some items still needed to be brought in, coffee, sugar, and salt among them. After a moment’s thought, Oberon had also purchased a box of 9mm ammunition, two boxes of buckshot for his 12-gauge, and three boxes of 7.62×39 for the AR-15.

Cassander was the Cut’s armorer, but Oberon no longer trusted him. It wasn’t just about Cassander’s apparent unwillingness, or inability, to control Lucius, or his objections to Oberon’s plans for Paige’s infant, or even Oberon’s belief that Cassander wished to rule the Cut. No, Oberon had seen the way Cassander looked at his wife. He still trusted Sherah, or thought he did.

In truth, he was no longer sure.

He hefted one of the boxes of bullets in his hand. In terms of accuracy, the AR-15 ammunition wouldn’t be much good beyond two hundred yards, but it wasn’t meant to be. If trouble came to the Cut, the fighting would be at close quarters. He savored the weight of the box for a few seconds more, and was just stowing it in the cab of his truck when he had the sense that he was being watched. He looked up to see a man leaning against a nondescript sedan, the car too clean and too new for these parts to be anything other than a rental.

The investigator: Parker.

Oberon closed the truck door, checked the lot for oncoming traffic, and walked over to stand before the hunter.

‘I know who you are,’ said Oberon.

‘Then you know my purpose.’

‘No, that you’ll have to tell me.’

‘I want you to hand over the two men, Lucius and Jabal, who were recently in Portland, Maine.’

‘To what end?’

‘So that they can be interviewed here or back in the Northeast about the death of Harpur Griffin and the disappearance of Jerome Burnel.’

‘I don’t know either of those names.’

‘I didn’t ask if you knew them. I asked for Lucius and Jabal.’

‘You’re a private investigator. You have no authority here, and neither Lucius nor Jabal has been charged with any crime. You need to go back to Maine, before this gets ugly for you.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Then it will play out as it must.’

Oberon began to move away, then paused.

‘Why can’t you just leave us in peace?’ he asked.

‘I don’t believe you’re peaceful men, or that the Cut is a peaceful place,’ said Parker, ‘so the question has no meaning.’

‘I’m warning you,’ said Oberon. ‘You should stay away from us.’

‘Lucius,’ said Parker. ‘And Jabal.’

Oberon said nothing more, but climbed in his truck and drove away. When he glanced in his rearview mirror, Parker was already gone.

It didn’t take Oberon long to establish where Parker was staying, because there weren’t many places to stay in Plassey County, or none in which a man would want to linger. Parker had a room at Dryden’s Inn, and Morton Dryden knew better than to cross the Cut.

Oberon drove back to his home. The bedroom windows were open, the mattress was bare, and the damp sheets were hanging on a line to blow in the breeze. They had been on the bed for less than a week. Oberon did not comment on it, but kissed Sherah and asked her how Paige and Gayle were faring. She told him that she had not yet visited that day, but would check on them after the evening meal. She would bring Hannah with her. The women had not been examined since the previous week, and Hannah was the expert in these matters.

Oberon left his wife and walked across the Square to Cassander’s house. Cassander appeared on his porch before Oberon reached the steps. He did not seem surprised to see Oberon, who noted that Cassander’s hands had bunched instinctively into fists at his approach. He was also wearing a jacket indoors, which could only mean that he had a gun under it.

Oberon was too old, and too wise, to pretend that there was nothing wrong.

‘We have matters to discuss, you and I,’ he said, ‘but now is not the time for them. There is a bigger problem.’

Cassander relaxed slightly, and waited to be told.

‘Parker has come.’

P
aige had spent so long in the Cut that despite being trapped in the hut, and able to observe the community only from a distance, she had become attuned to its rhythms. Just by taking in the comings and goings from her window, she could tell when there was trouble, or a cause for celebration. She had also become quietly adept at manipulating Sherah, Hannah, and the other women for hints of useful information, and had even managed to glean a little about the organization of the Cut during the sexual assaults that had culminated in her three pregnancies, every grain of insight purchased with a violation. Now she could feel it in the air: something was wrong. It was in the way that Oberon and Cassander had emerged from the latter’s house and begun gathering men to themselves, and she was not particularly surprised when the guns appeared. Her only concern was what it might mean for her and Gayle. She was not going back in that basement. She’d die first.

Actually, she realized, she might die anyway.

She and Gayle had hidden the stone and the brick in the cistern of the toilet. Gayle’s eyes had retained a disconcerting animation ever since she’d acquired the weapons. It wasn’t quite the light of sanity, but at least it was some form of engagement with the world around her. It had been all the older woman could do to prevent Gayle from sulking, and thereby drawing attention to the captives, when her prizes were not put to immediate use.