Dance For The Devil (20 page)

Sex would be different with Amy. Warmer, more intense. Jason really cared for Amy. Liked her a lot, loved her even. Maybe one day they would marry. He was thinking about
this when Amy reached the top of the stairs and as their eyes met he held out his arms. Amy hesitated for a moment, unwilling to trust him. But then the comfort of familiarity overtook everything else and she flung herself into Jason’s arms. “Oh, Jason,” she sobbed.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, stroking her matted hair. She looked awful and he tried to hide his look of shock.

“Please, Jason, take me home. Take me back to my daddy.”

“Shhh,” he said, averting his eyes from his father’s knowing gaze. Jason turned away as the other girls shuffled past, trying not to look at them. He’d seen them before. Well, maybe not them, but others like them, and it always bothered him. Like seeing cattle. There had been girls like these ever since Jason could remember.

Jason led Amy away and she followed, barely noticing they’d split from the group. She was crying heavily now. It had all caught up to her – the exhaustion, the fear, the worrying. Seeing Jason had brought everything to a pinhead. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, finally, holding his hand as she put one foot in front of the other.

“Away. I’m taking you away.”

**

Dawn’s first rays painted the far eastern reaches of the wintery sky. Jake blinked twice and yawned. So he
had
slept a little. Amazing. For the first hour or so he doubted the possibility. With Cari nestled behind him, tantalizingly reflected in the adjacent mirror, illuminated ethereally by the dim glow of the outside streetlight, Jake felt his resolve crumble. Why not bury his pain for a brief while? Why not lose himself in Cari’s sweet distraction? Because, he told himself, coupling with Cari Valentine promised to be more than a diversionary tactic. When the time finally came, the wait would be worth it.

A few hours later, he was
sitting in Benny Carmichael’s office, waiting for the good sergeant to arrive. If Benny was surprised at Jake’s early arrival, he didn’t show it. He cut short Jake’s explanation by holding up a hand. “Let’s do this somewhere else, over some grub and a strong cup of mud.”

“Pardon?”

“Breakfast. Correct me if I’m wrong but I’m guessing you haven’t eaten.”

Jake shook his head. “Eating’s not important in context with the urgency of my information.”

Benny put his fingers to his lips and shook his head. “Not here,” he mouthed. Jake frowned but followed him outside the police station to the drab-grey sidewalk. Benny pointed. “There’s a greasy-spoon around the corner. We’ll talk there.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The walls have ears. You hear me?”

“Your office is bugged?”

Benny shrugged. “It makes sense to take precautions dealing with dangerous people.” They’d reached the street corner. The November sun did little to dispel the chill and a thin sheen of frost covered the pavement.

Jake stopped abruptly, forcing the bigger man to halt. He stared at Benny as if seeing the older cop for the first time. Benny’s face was unreadable. “Are you saying the police station is compromised? That this cult has members on the force?”

Benny took his arm and continued walking. “I’m saying no such thing. It pays to be careful, that’s all. Sometimes information, even things said in the privacy of one’s office, has a way of filtering through the system and leaking out.”

“My God! Your office
is
bugged. That’s unbelievable.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Let’s play on the side of caution. Besides, I’m hungry and you look like you haven’t eaten in days.” They reached the restaurant and Benny opened the door, leading Jake to a quiet table in the corner. “You look bloody awful, Montclaire. Like hell.”

“Thanks. As a matter of a fact, I feel like I’ve been in Hell. The full tour. Dante’s version.”

“Oh? How was it?”

“Overrated. Can we talk now?”

“One minute.” Benny signalled the waitress and ordered for both men. “Keep the coffee coming,” he told her with a wink, “and I’ll remember you in my memoirs.”

“Forget about your memoirs and remember me in your tip.”

Benny chuckled as she swayed off cheekily. “Alright, son, what’s chomping at your short hairs?”

“I believe my daughter is being held prisoner at the Vandercamp household.”

“Got proof?”

Jake hesitated. “None that you’d believe. But you might find this interesting.” He slapped down a sheath of papers. “I downloaded this from the Internet yesterday. It concerns Gil Vandercamp and allegations of cult involvement. Most of it’s conjecture but some is fairly incriminating.”

“Uh huh,” Benny said, shuffling th
rough them. “Yes, this parallels my information. I learned something else that may or may not be relevant: Vandercamp is sterile, that’s why he adopted his son. The sterility stems from childhood abuse. Child Protection Services weren’t as prolific in those days but I dug up some old police reports. Seems Vandercamp’s father was an abusive alcoholic, beat the boy regularly. I mean, really cleaned his clock. As a child, Gil was hospitalized several times for injuries ranging from a broken arm to burns suffered from being tied to a radiator. The sterility likely resulted from being kicked repeatedly in the testicles, so viciously that he couldn’t walk for days. All this at the tender age of seven.”

“Jesus.”

“My thoughts exactly. Not much information about Mama Vandercamp. A background figure, probably abused. Today a kid like Gil would be apprehended and placed with a foster family. Back then,” Carmichael shrugged, “people thought it was a father’s right to discipline as he saw fit. Society didn’t condone it, exactly, just turned a blind eye. Anyway, the mother died when Gil was twelve and the father died under mysterious circumstances four years later.”

“What happened?”

“Beaten to death, dumped in an alley.”

“Did Gil have anything to do with it?”

“Some speculation, no evidence. Gil went to live with an elderly relative who lived in the Saguenay region of Quebec. Uncle Horton, I believe, who may or may not have been Gil’s induction into the cult scene.”

“Is Uncle Horton still alive?”

“No. He died a few years later of an aneurysm, leaving a moderate inheritance which Gil used to put himself through college.”

Jake rubbed his chin. “That’s where I met him.”

“How exactly did you meet?”

“I don’t remember
. Perhaps he was in one of my classes or maybe I met him at a campus party.” Jake frowned, struggling to recall. “It could have been through Elizabeth. We dated all through college and she was much more social than me. Always joining some society or study group. I met a lot of people through Elizabeth.” A twinge of guilt for how little thought he’d spared for her recently. “Have you learned anymore about Elizabeth’s whereabouts?”

“No. We’re working on it, though.” Benny stopped talking as the waitre
ss brought their breakfast, huge platters topped with bacon and eggs and pan-fried hash browns. Jake was surprised to hear his stomach rumble hungrily. The two men ate in silence for a few minutes before Benny spoke again. “Considering the amount of information we’ve compiled on Vandercamp, I might be able to scare up a search warrant.”

“How soon?”

“Let’s see. It’s eight o’clock now... do a little ass-kissing, get the paperwork, assign some officers... should be ready by afternoon.”

Jake’s disappointment was
ripe. “That long?”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, lad.”

“Maybe not, but my daughter has been missing three of them and I don’t relish the thought of her being held captive by that sadist for a moment longer.”

Benny considered a moment before nodding. “You’ve got a valid point. I’ll see what I can do.”

**

Lunchtime. The bell released Skeeter from enduring further torment known as his mathematics class and he groaned with relief. He used to be good at math but he
couldn’t seem to concentrate lately, and he’d fallen so hopelessly behind in the past few days it seemed he’d never catch up. Nothing made sense. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the numbers. They just floated up from his textbook, surrounded by decimal points and fractions and algebra equations that appeared to be written on another planet. Worse, he’d gotten a giant zit on the end of his nose and some of the other kids laughed at him. Jerks. He couldn’t wait for Darren to come back from Hawaii.

Skeeter slunk out of his class
room and was surprised to find Jason Vandercamp waiting at his locker. Jason was holding a huge pile of books and talking to a pretty brunette in a tight, neon-pink skirt that was so short Skeeter could almost see her bum. He flushed red just thinking about it. Their heads were bent closely together and Skeeter heard the girl giggle. Skeeter felt awkward for interrupting, wondering what to do, feeling annoyed. Sheesh. A guy should be able to get his own lunch from his own locker.

Jason save
d him the decision when he glanced up and saw Skeeter, his mouth smiling a mile wide. “Scram, Cindy. I’ve got to talk to this rug-rat here.”

Cindy didn’t seem to mind being told to scram. She glanced at Jason coquettishly and walked slowly away, pink hips swaying. “Later?” she called over her shoulder.

“Later,” Jason confirmed. “Skeet-man, how’s it hanging? Want to come to the arcade again?”

“Can’t. Dad wants me home immediately.”

“Why? Did he find out about yesterday?”

Skeeter shook his head. “No, he’s just worried because Amy’s missing. Wants to be extra careful. We had a long talk first thing in the morning and he doesn’t want me to be alone, ever. I’m
not sure exactly why but I think it has something to do with Cari. She was pretty upset when she came home last night. I think something happened at her bookstore but I don’t know what.”

Jason looked interested. “Was that the emergency you were telling me about?”

“Could be. No one tells me anything.”

Jason laughed. “Tell me about it, man. I’m sixteen and I have the same problem. Are you sure you can’t come?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Too bad. The guys really like you and they were impressed with the way you aced Python’s Pit.”

“Really?”

“Yep. They want to show you something else, something even better... but if you can’t, you can’t. Unless...”

“Unless what?”

“Well...” Jason said, screwing up his lips and thinking. “We could go now. At lunch, I mean. Marvelworks is only five minutes away. That would give you a half-hour to play. I promise to get you back for the afternoon session.”

Skeeter thought about it for a moment. “If I was with you then I wouldn’t be alone, would I?”

“Nope.”

“Then I wouldn’t be doing anything wrong. Okay, let’s go.”

Jason ruffled Skeeter’s hair affectionately. “Good man. Grab your lunch and let’s do it. We have game
s to play.”

**

It took some persuading but Jake was able to convince Sergeant Carmichael to allow him to join the search for Amy. The clinching argument was that Jake knew the layout of the Vandercamp house. “It’s against regulations,” Carmichael said gruffly, “but if you, as a private citizen, were to show up at the Vandercamp premises just as the search was about to commence, we wouldn’t stop you from entering. You’d just be one more body in all the commotion. However,” the sergeant cautioned, “should Vandercamp take exception to your presence, then you’ll have to leave the grounds immediately.”

“With any luck Gil won’t
be there – he’s always at Marvelworks in the middle of the day.”

“That’s what I’m counting on. By the time Vandercamp shows up we’ll have searched the house.”

It was a stunningly beautiful day. Last night’s storm had cleared the clouds leaving unseasonable warmth and a robin-egg-blue sky. It was a brief respite. The weatherman forecasted the cool temperatures to return tomorrow. By noon, the streets were dried of all remaining traces of the previous torrents and the joggers were out in full force, along with women pushing baby strollers and old folks walking miniature dogs.

Suzanne Vandercamp opened the door wearing a peach-colored velour track suit and a bemused expression. She wavered about letting the officers in but Carmichael persuaded her otherwise with the search warrant. “Wipe your feet,” she instructed the officers, her face reflecting the disdain at admitting what amounted to vermin into her home. The sergeant noticed a Barbie-doll quality about Suzanne: too perfect from her sculpted hair and manicured nails to the slightly vacant quality in her carefully made-up eyes. He got the impression Mrs. Vandercamp would rather be off playing with Ken and Skipper in the Barbie camper than living in the real world.

Suzanne’s expression changed as she saw Jake. “Jake! How wonderful to see you,” she said, air-kissing his cheeks. “It’s been ages!”

It had, in
fact, been less than a week. But the psychological barrier was much longer. “What’s this all about, Jake?” she asked, indicating the officers who were now combing her massive entrance hall.