Southern Cross (20 page)

“And
the upside-down crosses they’re torching all over town?” I asked.

“Similar
meaning,” Blaze said. “A way for them to identify those unworthy during the
judgment that Barnel has set in motion.”

Diggs
raised his hand. Blaze glared at him, but she gave him the floor. “You said
four of Barnel’s boys have been killed and marked with the Latin cross. The
last I heard, though, there were only three: Marty Reynolds, Wyatt Durham, and
Roger Burkett.”

Juarez
looked to Blaze, who nodded. “Last night,” Juarez said, “we looked more deeply into town archives, and found something. In 1963, a
nineteen-year-old college student named Billy Thomas took a bunch of kids
hostage while they were on a field trip in the Justice Town Hall. He let most
of the kids go. He kept three girls, however, saying they were possessed by
demons. That night, he raped and killed all three girls.”

“I
remember that story,” Diggs said. “What does that have to do with this? Billy
left the town hall after he killed the girls, went back to school, and hanged
himself.”

Juarez
rearranged a couple of images on the Smart Board, enlarging one: Barnel’s
cross, excised and reattached—though not nearly as neatly as those on Wyatt or
Roger Burkett’s chests. This one looked like it had been reattached with a
staple gun.

Diggs
turned away. I blanched, but held strong.

“According
to the coroner’s report at the time,” Juarez continued, “this was
self-inflicted by Billy.”

I
studied the gory handiwork doubtfully. “There’s no way it could have been,” I
said. “Any idiot would know that. And it must have been done shortly before he
died—the blood hadn’t even had time to dry.”

Blaze
nodded. “That was our determination, as well,” she agreed.

“So,
what does this have to do with what’s happening now?” I asked. “You think the
same person is behind all four deaths?”

“The
date the girls were murdered and Billy Thomas allegedly killed himself,” Blaze
said, “was March 15, 1963.”

“And
the date Barnel gave for judgment is March 15, 2013,” Diggs said. “Exactly
fifty years later.”

That
statement hung in the air for a minute before Diggs spoke again.

“There
was a rumor that Barnel put together some kind of a review board to follow the
progress of the boys he cleansed,” he said. “Supposedly in the mid-1960s. I
could never substantiate that while I was here, though.”

Blaze
didn’t look surprised, which made me think this wasn’t the first time she’d
heard of this.

“If
there was something like that, do you have a sense who might be involved?”
Blaze asked.

Diggs
didn’t hesitate. “Sheriff Jennings, of course. Ron and Walter Reese—I think
Jack and Solomon already had the pleasure with those two. The mayor, possibly…”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure who else.”

“Is
it possible that if we can either find Barnel or force him to stay in hiding,
we could just wait this whole thing out?” I asked. “People may be panicked
right now, but if they can just chill out ‘til midnight passes and it doesn’t
start raining toads, shouldn’t we be home free?”

“In
theory,” Blaze said. “But this is much larger in scope than we ever imagined.
The sheriff’s act was clearly one he’d been planning—it was very carefully
orchestrated. Our chatter now indicates that Barnel and whoever he’s working
with have a series of similar scenarios planned for the hours leading up to
midnight.”

“And
what about what happens at midnight?” I asked. “Do you have any clue what’s in
store?”

Blaze
looked grim. Shook her head. “We don’t know. We’ve tried to track down Barnel’s
followers, without a lot of success. Those we have tracked down insist they
don’t know anything about this. Everyone else has gone underground. Whatever
they have in store, it will be bigger and bloodier than anything we’ve seen
thus far.”

Wonderful.

“So,
is there a plan?” I asked. “Or are we just gonna ride out the coming storm and
hope for the best?”

“Our
priority continues to be tracking down Jesup Barnel,” she said. “As well as
monitoring any likely targets over the next twenty-four hours. In the meantime,
schools and local shops will be closed. A strict curfew is in effect beginning
at eighteen hundred. Guards are stationed with orders to search every vehicle
entering or leaving town.”

“What
about churches?” Diggs asked. “Because you better believe these people will be
flocking to them right now.”

“We
won’t keep residents from that,” Blaze said, “because we can’t. We will,
however, be monitoring those services closely. If a pin drops within Justice town boundaries in the next twenty-four hours, we’ll know about it.”

“And
where do you want us?” Agent Keith asked.

“We’ll
switch things up this time,” Blaze said. She was looking right at Diggs and me.
“Solomon, you’ll ride with me. Mr. Diggins, Special Agent Juarez will have the
pleasure of your company today. And I’d like to remind you that that means
Agent Juarez’s career is in your hands—if you pull something, it’s his butt on
the line.” 

Diggs
grimaced, but he didn’t argue. I pulled him aside before everyone saddled up.
I’d seen him look better.

“In
the past twenty-four hours, you’ve been bitten by a rattlesnake, beaten down,
and blown up,” I said.

“And
your point?”

“My
point is: Let Jack do his job. Please. Work together, and you’ll be two hundred
and forty-five point six times more likely to get this done than if you freak
out and take off on your own.”

“I
can’t believe I’m getting this lecture from you.”

“Trust
me, I’m well aware of the irony. Just… be normal, okay? Don’t be you.”

“Ah, the
message every mother tries to instill in her young.”

“I’m
not your mother. And I
will
kick your ass if you get yourself killed.”

“Solomon!”
Agent Blaze shouted. I jumped. Seriously, the woman would freak out a squadron
of Marines. “Everyone’ll get a few hours’ rack time as soon as I can manage.
For now, I need your ass in the truck.”

“I
have no idea what that means,” I whispered to Diggs. “But I’m pretty sure it’s
a threat. I have to go.” I hesitated. It occurred to me that with Armageddon a
mere twenty hours away now, it might be a good time to say… something. The best
I could manage was, “Be careful.”

He
nodded, holding my eye. “You, too.”

17:05:08

The
town square was deserted. Shop owners had boarded the windows at the hardware
store and the Qwik E. Mart. The town hall was locked up tight and the movie
theater was abandoned, a couple of flyers washed up outside the ticket office.
The only one still working was Jake Dooley, sitting behind a plate glass window
at WKRO—home to one of the most schizophrenic programming mixes around:
country, hip hop, gospel, bluegrass, top forty… and Jake.

Juarez
and I walked down a dark corridor, turned a corner, and found the ON AIR sign
lit above a glass door. Jake waved us in, adjusted a couple of sliders on his
control board, and removed his headphones. We were into hour seven of Jake’s
twenty-four best records list, which was a genius way to go out as far as I was
concerned. He’d blown over two hours on the complete
Muddy Waters Anthology
,
which meant we were only up to number nineteen on the list:
The White Album
. 

Jake
wore John Lennon glasses, a baseball hat with a peace sign on it, and an Elvis
t-shirt. He’d gained maybe twenty-five pounds since I’d seen him last. If that
put him over a buck fifty on the scales, you could slap my ass and call me Lady
Gaga. He got up and gave me a hug, shook Juarez’s hand vigorously, and sat back
down—the whole circuit completed in the space of maybe fifteen seconds. Good to
know the end of the world hadn’t slowed him down any.

“Seriously,
Jake—
The White Album
? You think you could be a little more obvious?” I
started out.

“Oh,
I know it ain’t edgy enough for the likes of you,” he said. “I guess you’d
rather I stick with records nobody never heard of. Sorry, boy, there’s a reason
somethin’ gets to be a classic.”

“Sure,”
I agreed. “Because unimaginative DJs the world over are too timid to spin
anything new.” Jake grinned at that, rolling his eyes. “How much you wanna bet
I can guess the rest of that list in two tries or under?” I asked.

“We
don’t actually have time for that,” Juarez said. Jake looked disappointed. I
was a little disappointed myself. 

 “All
right, fine. Business it is,” I said. “Listen, I know Barnel does a show here.”

“Never
misses a Sunday, the old bastard,” Jake agreed. “One of the drawbacks of this
kind of thing—can’t turn ‘em away so long as they come with a check.”

“Have
you noticed anything… off, about his message the past few weeks?” Juarez asked.

“You
mean more than usual?” Jake asked. “Now that you mention it, I did. He’s been
real weird the last couple months—paranoid, you know? And actin’ like the
Lord’s put this heavy burden on him. He’s been talking more than usual about
being called home, too—that’s what he always calls it. I thought maybe he was
sick, but when I asked he said the Lord showed him the future. Said the world
was in for a wake-up call.”

“Did
he say anything specific about that wake-up call?” Juarez asked.

Jake
thought about it for only a few seconds before he shook his head. “Nah—and it’s
not like I listened too close. He seemed to think his days were numbered, but
it was pretty clear that he didn’t think he was goin’ down alone.” He shook his
head, uncharacteristically serious. “I wish to hell I’d paid closer
attention—to tell the truth, it never even occurred to me he might talk the
sheriff into somethin’ like what he pulled last night, blowin’ that place up.”

“So
the whole thing was a surprise to you,” Juarez said.

“A
surprise only because you just don’t think that kind of thing really happens,”
Jake said. “Not because I never thought he was capable. Everybody else might’ve
loved him, but I always said Jesup Barnel was a creepy son of a bitch.”

“You’ll
get no argument from me,” I agreed. On the radio, George Harrison was just
kicking into his mournful back-up vocals while Paul and the boys sang of gently
weeping guitars. I looked around, trying to find some sign of the rest of
Jake’s list. “What about top five? You’ll have Robert Johnson in there—you may
be mainstream, but you’ve got taste. And I know
Astral Weeks
will be in
one of those top slots.”

Juarez
shot me a look meant to shut me up. I took the cue. “Do
you have any idea where Barnel and his followers might have gone?” I asked,
getting back to the point.

“I
know him and the sheriff were either out at Barnel’s camp or they were out
playin’ with themselves over to the town hall. They got that ping pong table in
the cellar, you know? They was always down there doing something or other. You
checked the camp, I’m guessing?”

“Deserted,”
Juarez said. “We’re trying to contact some of the more prominent members of
his congregation now.”

“The
Reese boys?” Jake asked. I nodded.

“My
guess is most everyone’s gone underground,” I said. “We’re trying to figure out
their next move, but it would be a lot easier if we could smoke out at least a
few.”

“There’s
a hell of a lot of places to hide in these hills—you know that,” he said to me.
He hesitated.

“What?”
I prompted.

“A
couple years back, Barnel started gettin’ real antsy about the government
nosin’ around in his business. I didn’t pay much attention—he was always
paranoid, and it got old real fast listening to him. But I happened to walk in
while he was talkin’ to Ronnie Reese—you know those boys owned the woods out
around Barnel’s compound? I got the sense he was lookin’ to extend his property
lines.”

“The
woods are thick out there,” I said. “It would be a good place to get lost.” 

“Barnel’s
a lazy S-O-B,” Jake said. “Way I see it, he wouldn’t go too far out of his way
if he needed some privacy.”

“That
could be a good lead,” I said. “Thanks. Anywhere else that comes to mind?”

“Not
that I recall. Sorry. Hope I was at least a little help to you, though.”

“You
were, thank you,” Juarez said. He paused. “Listen, we’ve got generators and
we’ve set up a shelter at the local elementary school if you change your mind
about staying here. You can stop by anytime. There’s food and blankets… it’s
somewhere to keep warm until this passes, anyway.”

“And
leave all this?” Jake asked. “Thanks but no thanks. I’ll stay right here ‘til
the final bell’s rung, if it’s all the same to you.”

Not a
surprise. Juarez looked torn before he finally conceded. “Suit yourself. But
you’re always welcome.”

“I’ll
remember that,” Jake said. He shook my hand again, more solemnly this time.
“Good to see you, Diggs. Nice to know you haven’t changed too much since you
been gone.”

“Not
in the ways that count,” I said. “Number one’s
Pet Sounds
, isn’t it? I
mean—it’s the obvious choice. And then you’ll have a little Zeppelin in there,
some Dylan:
Blood on the Tracks
… maybe
Blonde on Blonde
?”

Juarez
grabbed my elbow and hauled me out the door.

From
WKRO, our next stop was the police station. The lobby was empty—no secretary,
no lights, no phones. We found Buddy in his office, stretched out on a
too-small sofa with his hat over his eyes. He sat up and wiped the drool from
the corners of his mouth at our entrance.

“Sorry
you caught me like this,” he said. “All-nighters ain’t quite so easy as they
once was, huh, Diggs?”

“You
got that right,” I said. “Listen, I know someone’s already going through the
sheriff’s files, but we thought you might be able to answer a couple
questions.”

“Shoot,”
Buddy said.

Juarez
pulled up a chair and sat, his elbows resting loosely on
his knees as he leaned forward. “We’ve got two priorities right now: Finding
Barnel’s people, and figuring out what their ultimate target will be at
midnight. If Jennings ever mentioned any place where he may have met with
Barnel…”

“I’ve
been thinkin’ about that,” Buddy said. “The only place I can think of where
they’d be out of the way would be the reverend’s camp—but we already sent folks
out there to check it out. No luck.”

“The
man at the radio station mentioned something about Barnel extending the
property lines at his compound. Do you know anything about that?”

The
deputy shook his head. “Can’t say I ever heard anything about it, but I’ll look
into it.”

“What
about targets?” I asked. “This isn’t making a lot of sense to me: I would think
the point of whatever they have planned at midnight is mass casualties… but
with the warning they’ve given and the amount of damage they’re doing leading
up to it, everything’s shut down. The Feds are keeping a close eye on the few
gathering spots left—mostly churches.”

“Don’t
seem like Barnel would want to take out the churches, though,” Buddy said. “I
expect the sheriff picked the Dairy Queen because that’s where all the local
kids in rougher crowds hung out—used to drive him crazy.”

“And
this is a dry county, so I’m assuming there are no bars,” Juarez said.

“We
used to have the Wilson Club,” Buddy said. “You remember that place, Diggs…”

“Sure,”
I said. I remembered it all too well, as it happened. “It’s an old factory they
turned into a bar back in the ‘70s. There’s a loophole in the law where private
clubs can serve alcohol, so we’d all go there to raise hell.”

“That
sounds like a good bet,” Juarez said.

“Except
the reverend and Sheriff Jennings shut ‘em down last year,” Buddy said. “Now
some rich fella from away owns the place. He keeps to himself, mostly.” He
shook his head. “No… thanks to Reverend Barnel, there’s not too many places
left to cause trouble ‘round here.” 

The
deputy took off his hat and scratched his head. “You know, for a while there it
seemed like Wyatt was gettin’ along all right with the reverend. George was
never much of a fan, but I think Wyatt made more of an effort ‘cause Mae was so
partial to Reverend Barnel. Whatever happened between ‘em back this fall,
though…”

Juarez
looked at him expectantly.

“They
cut all ties,” I finished for him.

“More
than that,” Buddy said. “Seems to me around that time is when the sheriff went
just a little more off-kilter than he’d been before.”

“But
you don’t know what their falling out was about?” Juarez asked.

Buddy
shook his head. “Wish I did. I’m not sure that anybody did, really, short of
Wyatt, Reverend Barnel, and the sheriff. And…”

He
looked at me guiltily. I knew exactly what was coming next.

“And…?”
Juarez prompted.

“I
could be wrong,” Buddy said. “But it seems to me that the only other person
Wyatt would tell that stuff—short of you, Diggs—would be his sister.” He winced
sympathetically. “Sorry. I don’t know if she’ll talk to you or not, but it
seems to me Ashley’s the surest one to know why all of a sudden the reverend
just up and cut Wyatt out of his flock.”

As
soon as we were in the truck, Juarez looked at me. “You know where we need to
go next, don’t you?”

“Disneyland?”

He
rolled his eyes. Juarez is funny, in that you think you have him pegged as this
Latin creampuff until he gets tired of playing that role. Not a lot gets by the
guy—something I’d learned while he was staying with me the year before. “Have
you talked to your ex-wife at all since you got here?”

“In
passing.”

“So
you think the deputy’s wrong: You don’t think she might have some idea what’s
going on?”

Actually,
I thought Buddy was completely right: Ashley would have a better idea what was
going on than anyone in Justice. Ashley isn’t just some hillbilly I picked up
after Sunday service when I was sixteen—between scholarships and summer jobs,
she paid for a private high school back east out of her own pocket, graduated
summa cum laude from Wharton, and knows money better than the Pope knows Rome.

“She’s
not real fond of me these days,” I said. “Truth is, I’m a little afraid of
her.”

“Get
over it,” he said simply. “I’m not sitting by while this town implodes because
you’re too much of a pussy to talk to your ex.”

I
looked at him in surprise. “Pussy? Damn. You’ve been spending too much time
with Solomon. All this time I thought you were a nice Catholic boy.”

He
started the truck, shaking his head. “Between the two of you, you’ve knocked a
lot of the nice out of me.”  He continued before I could reply.  “You knew about
the falling out between Wyatt and Reverend Barnel.”

“Yeah,”
I said.

“Yet
you never mentioned anything. Why?” He put the truck in gear.

“I
don’t know,” I said. “George and Wyatt and I disagreed on just about
everything… except Jesup Barnel. It doesn’t seem like George’s feelings have
changed any. According to Mae, though, Barnel and Wyatt developed some kind of
friendship. I’m not clear on why that changed.”