Crimson Falls (The Depravity Chronicles) (4 page)

“Alone?”

“Certainly not,”
she said.

“How many?”

“One, maybe two
others,” she guessed. He shook his head. “How many then, Sheriff?”

“I took ten.”
She studied his expression, confident he was joking. “Anna, if you see a large
animal pulled off its feet with a man-made weapon in a fraction of a second, I
think you and your one officer would be in a shit-heap of trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” she
said.

“I don’t want
your agreement or subservience, Anna. I need your understanding.”

“I understand,
Sheriff.”

“Good, then,” he
said. As he put out his pipe, he looked up at Anna with haunted eyes. “I’ve
seen a lot of fucked up shit, pardon my language,” he whispered. “And if it’s
one thing I’ve learned in almost forty years of service, it’s that you learn to
trust your gut.”

“Of course,
Ron,” she agreed. “And what did your gut tell you that day?”

“I took ten men
with me to check it out. What do you think my gut said?”

“What did you
find?” she finally asked, almost not wanting to know.

“What do you
think we found, Anna?”

“I think you
found the deer with their necks broken and unusual bite marks.” His expression
convinced her she was right.

“And ever since
that day, we have been waiting for the murderer to strike again,” he said.

“Do you think he
will?”

“Let’s just say
that those who do great – and terrible – things get bored easily.” Sheriff
Kelly stood up and motioned for her to join him. “Enough small talk, Anna.
Let’s get back to the law and order of Crimson Falls.”

Now in his
eighties, Sheriff Kelly had just left for Florida the previous week. Anna
missed her mentor, but figured he was enjoying some well-deserved time in the
sunshine.

“Mom!” Trevor’s
shouting jolted Anna back to the present.

“What?” she
cried.

“I was talking
to you and it was like you were in another world.”

“I’m sorry,
Trevor,” she said earnestly.

“So?”

“So what?”

“So where were
you?”

“Someplace I
hope we don’t have to go again.”

“True that,” he
laughed. “Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“What the hell
just happened?”

“Language,” she
whispered. She put her arm around his shoulder and helped him into the car.

1

As Jake O’Reilly
pulled away from the crime scene, he shook his head in disgust.

“A bunch of freakin’
idiots,” he mumbled to himself. Jake had been born and raised in Crimson Falls,
and was an avid hunter. How could they not have recognized human footprints?
Jake also thought himself above most people. Most of the townsfolk were simple
and arrogant, with no real reason to be proud of themselves. As he drove toward
St. Mark’s to question Father Matthew McMillan, he wondered if the town would
support him in a bid against Anna for sheriff next year.

The church was
across town from the Brickton estate, but still only a distance of about five
miles. He passed a few rundown sawmills, most of which had closed their doors
and migrated to the Pacific Northwest for greener pastures. The majority of
houses in town were clumped together in three large neighborhoods at the center
of town. Jake’s father had been a lumberjack, working sixteen hour days for the
Brickton family before they sold most of their businesses. Alan had been the last
remaining Brickton in Crimson Falls, although there had been rumors that he had
a brother who had been given up at birth. Jake figured that there had been an
affair, and Alan Brickton, Sr., had forced his lover to give the child up for
adoption.

F’ing rich
people
,
Jake thought to himself. He waved to a few pedestrians as he made his way
toward the church. As in many small towns in America, St. Mark’s sat on the
hill, quietly watching over its residents. It was the first building you would
see when driving into town via the main road, long before reaching the streets
that were lined with modest, working class houses. It was as if the lights of
St Mark’s welcomed you home. Although most people were Lutheran and attended
St. Paul’s down the hill and across the street, a sizeable Catholic population
had grown throughout the decades. Jake was one of those Catholics.

He pulled into
the parking lot of the church and walked into the small administrative building
that also housed Father McMillan and his two Dobermans. As he walked down the
hall toward the offices, the priest appeared in the hallway with a wide smile.
Standing almost 6’7, Jake thought Father Matthew could intimidate people if he
felt the urge. But the black suit and Roman collar made him more approachable.
Not to mention the fact that Jake used to enjoy making fun of Matthew when they
were kids.

“Well, Mr.
O’Reilly! How nice to see you,” Father Matthew welcomed.

“Hi, Father.”

“It’s been
awhile since I’ve seen you at mass,” Father Matthew grinned.

“Right, I’m
sorry,” Jake said. It irritated him to no end when priests got all high and
mighty, using guilt trips so they can make money for the Church. He looked down
at Father Matthew’s shoes. Sure enough, there were small traces of mud along
the sides at the bottom.

“No worries, no
worries,” Father Matthew said, leaning down to look Jake in the eye. “I can’t
imagine you’re here for the finance committee meeting.”

Jake wondered if
the priest was getting nervous. “No, Father, I’m not. Can we talk in your office
for a moment?” The joy faded from the priest’s face when he realized it was
serious. Jake enjoyed using his authority as a police officer. He eyed the
priest for any signs of paranoia. People acted strangely when they know they’ve
been caught. So far the priest seemed normal. But Jake knew that looks could be
deceiving, especially with anything involving religion.

As Father
Matthew led Jake into his office, he closed the door behind them and showed
Jake to a couch across from an overstuffed leather chair. The priest fell
heavily onto the chair with a sigh.

“So what can I
do for you, officer?”

“Alan Brickton
is dead,” Jake said with very little inflection.

Surprise covered
Father Matthew’s thin face. Although only in his early forties, Jake thought he
looked old and tired.
Probably from not getting laid
, Jake thought to
himself with a chuckle. The priest looked at him almost coldly, probably
wondering why Jake was laughing.

“Are you
serious?” Father Matthew asked.

“Do you think I
would joke about such a thing?” Jake asked, somewhat insulted.

“Of course not,”
he answered, though a confused look remained on his face. “Well I didn’t know
Mr. Brickton very well. If I am not mistaken, Pastor Amy visits him once a
month or so and takes him communion, and I am pretty sure you are aware of
this. Why aren’t you speaking with her? She would be the one to assist with the
funeral arrangements.”

Jake leaned
forward in his chair. “I’m not here about that, Father.” He liked making
suspects feel uncomfortable.

“Okay,” Father
Matthew said. “It seems to me you’re here on official business. Why don’t you
just tell me what it is you need from me?”

“Well, I have a
few questions,” Jake said, frustrated that the priest didn’t seem even remotely
shaken.

Father Matthew
leaned back in his chair. “Then ask them.” Although jovial and said to be one
of the funniest men in town, the priest had an unrivaled poker face.

“Can you account
for your whereabouts today?”

Father Matthew
actually laughed out loud, surprising Jake. “Jacob O’Reilly, are you asking me
if I have an alibi?”

“Um, why? Do you
need one?” Jake was caught off guard by his priest’s candid speech.

Father Matthew
began laughing again. “I’ve been here all day with the Loving Hands Women’s
Quilt Group. We have been making blankets to send to the troops overseas.” He
leaned forward in his chair, mimicking Jake’s actions from only a moment ago.
“You are aware that your nephew William is in Afghanistan?”

Jake’s face
turned three shades of red, nearly matching the color of his hair. “How dare
you!” he said loudly.

Father Matthew
held his hands up in protest. “Now, now, Jake. I mean no disrespect. I only
mean to say that your sister and mother have been here with me. In fact, your
mother brought her famous green bean casserole. She is still in the Social Room
if you would like to speak with her.”

Jake sank into
his chair. “No, Father, that won’t be necessary.”

“Jacob, what’s
happening here? You seem angry with me. It is not my intention to upset you.
What’s troubling you?”

Jake
deliberated. Did he really want to talk to a priest again after all these
years? His gut told him that Father Matthew was genuine. His mother, the rest
of his family, and come to think of it, everyone he knew had only positive
things to say about him. He decided to take a leap of faith, something he
wasn’t used to doing.

“Father, we’re
not sure what happened today. To be honest, I think Anna is in over her head.”

Father Matthew
looked at Jake, making him feel as though he was peering into his soul. “Is
that really your concern?”

“What do you
mean?” Jake asked.

“I get the
impression that you have deep feelings for her. I am not making any assumptions
about those feelings, but they seem conflicted.”

Jake wondered
how the priest could have possibly known about his feelings for Anna. Sure, if
he ran against her and took her job it would complicate things. But he believed
that deep down Anna just wanted a man to take care of her and her children. God
knows Trevor needed a firm hand. Anna wouldn’t need to work anymore. He became
so lost in thought that he forgot to answer Father Matthew.

“Jake? I’m sorry
to pry, but it seems there’s something you need to say.”

Against his
better judgment, and certainly against what Anna would want, Jake unloaded his
concerns onto the priest as if he were in a confessional booth. Father Matthew
listened intently, sometimes holding up his hand and motioning for Jake to
pause. After a few seconds of deep thought, he would have Jake continue the
story. When he had finished, Jake immediately regretted telling the story.

“This is all
confidential, Father.”

“Of course,
Jacob.”

“I mean it. Just
like confession.”

“I understand.”

“If you say a
word to anyone, I will arrest…” but Father Matthew cut him off by raising a
large hand at him, a little too close for Jake’s comfort.

“I get it,” he
pushed back. “I am aware of the parameters of confidentiality.” He walked
toward the door, indicating to Jake that he was done with the conversation.
Although Jake admired the priest’s fortitude, he was irritated with his
presumptive attitude.

“I’m not
finished yet!” Jake insisted.

“I didn’t say
you were,” Father Matthew said as he continued through the door and into the
general office where his secretary, 78-year-old Martha Miller, was busy working
on Sunday’s bulletin.

“What else can I
do for you?” Father Matthew said as he turned to face Jake again. “I have a
meeting in a half hour and I need to crunch some numbers. If you like, I can
come to the station in a few hours and we can talk in more detail.”

Jake shifted
uncomfortably. He knew Anna would be able to tell if the priest knew any
information he shouldn’t have known.

“No, Father,
that won’t be necessary. If I think of anything else I will be sure to stop by
and see you.” Jake put his thumbs in his belt, grazing his gun as he did so.
Intimidation always worked. Well, almost always. Father Matthew watched him and
observed his stance. A wry smile formed on the priest’s wise face. He
straightened his Roman collar with his thumbs. His point was clear to Jake.
Both men nodded to each other as Jake brushed past him to leave.

“Oh, and
Father?” Jake said as he paused in the doorway.

“Yes, Jacob?”

“My name is
Jake.” Jake sniffed and walked through the office. Martha Miller stared at him,
shaking her head.

As he stepped
into his cruiser, Jake took one last look at St. Mark’s. He considered visiting
his mother, confident that the damned priest would tell her he had been there.

Something about
that priest pissed him off. Believing that most priests were always hiding
something sinister, he decided he would keep an eye on him.

* * * * * *

2

Father Matthew
watched through the window of the office as Jake pulled away in his cruiser. He
had never liked Jake very much. In fact, Jake had made the first sixteen years
of his life pretty miserable.

“Matthew is ten
feet tall and can’t even play basketball!” Jake had taunted in junior high.
“You look like a Sasquatch! Do you know what that is, retard?” And all the kids
had laughed.

“I’ll be here
all week!”
Matthew
chortled in disgust.

He continued to
look out the window, scanning the sky and feeling a chill. Winter was coming,
and Matthew knew it was starting again. He remembered being sixteen, finding
his hermit father dead in the backyard. Sheriff Kelly had told the family that
he drank himself to death. Truth be told, it could have happened. His father
had left them and lived on the old Brickton estate in a shack about a half-mile
into the woods. The sheriff said he must have wandered around town drunk and
ended up in their yard, trying to find shelter in a snowstorm.

But Matthew had
known better. He was the one who found his body only moments after he died. He
also saw that the back of his father’s neck had been gnawed by some massive
animal. When he told Sheriff Kelly about it, the sheriff said he had struck it
on a rock or something after he had collapsed. Matthew also told the sheriff
about the large footprints in the snow, but since they had been covered by
additional snowfall by the time the cops arrived, no one believed him.

For days after
his father’s death, he would stare out his window and into the trees that lined
the back of his yard. Several times he was absolutely sure someone was watching
him. Desperate to find the answers the cops couldn’t seem to find, he put a
motion sensor spotlight on the garage that stood in front of the trees in the
yard. After his mother and brothers would go to bed, he’d stare out the kitchen
window, watching and waiting. Finally, two weeks to the day after his father
died, he saw movement in the trees. It triggered the sensor and light flooded
into the trees. Matthew clutched the curtains in his hand as he watched in
horror. The upper body of a tall, lanky figure was standing behind a bush and
staring directly at him. It pointed at him, then turned and ran at lightning
speed into the woods.

Scared shitless,
Matthew called the cops. By the grace of God, Sheriff Kelly actually answered
the phone.

“Sheriff Kelly!
Thank God! I need someone to come to the house! There’s someone in the backyard
and I think it’s the killer!”

“Now son, your
teenage imagination is running wild. It makes sense that you would see things
so soon after your father died,” Sheriff Kelly lectured.