The Rapture of Omega (8 page)

I had no reason to believe this particular death was in any way related to those of Kelly Dixon and Ben Rader. Nonetheless, I felt my car pick up speed as I neared the storage facility. A uniformed officer stood at the front gate, allowing only law enforcement in. Coop was already waiting for me outside of the storage locker.

“Take a look first.” He nodded toward the opening.

I only had to walk a few yards before I saw the grubby blue sneakers swaying back and forth about three feet from the floor. As Coop had explained, the victim’s feet were tied together with a thin piece of twine. As I entered farther, I noticed his hands were tied behind his back with the same. Both of these things the victim could have done before hanging himself except for one major problem. There was another piece of twine that connected his hands to his feet; he had been hog-tied.

“See what I mean?” Coop had quietly entered the locker and stood next to me, looking up at our victim.

“I certainly do.” I pointed to the sole piece of twine. “They left some slack on that piece, or else his feet would’ve kicked up more. His knees are barely bent.” I began looking more closely at the surroundings. “Another thing,
what the hell did he get pushed off of or jump from? There’s no table, chair, ladder, nothing.”

In fact, there was nothing inside the storage locker at all; it was completely empty.

“Maybe whoever did this had a ladder, pushed him off, and took it with them,” Coop surmised. “He’s not a small man, that’s for sure. It would’ve taken some strength. J.P said he’s probably been here for at least sixteen hours.”

“So everything’s been processed? Tell the lab to go ahead and cut him down and bag him. I’m assuming we don’t know who he is yet?”

“No, but from that bulge in his back pocket that looks like a wallet, we may know soon enough.”

Coop and I stood silent as the coroner’s other assistants (J.P. had already left) carried in a ladder and very delicately cut down the body before placing it on an opened body bag that lay on a gurney.

“Before you zip him up, can you pull his wallet out?” I asked.

As I watched two assistants roll the victim onto his right side in an effort to pull his wallet out of his pocket, I had another thought.

“Wait!” I announced. “Before you put him back down can you lift his shirt? I want to see the back of his left shoulder.”

The two assistants glanced at each other curiously. Then one of them slowly pulled the back of the victim’s T-shirt upward, exposing the back of the victim’s left shoulder. Coop let out a low whistle as we all stared at the tattooed
O
that was identical to the other victims.

“Holy shit,” Coop muttered under his breath.

“Keep the shirt just like that. Coop, go grab the lab, and have them get in here and photograph this.”

When I first arrived, I hadn’t been convinced that this was related to the others. In fact, I really hadn’t given it much thought. Checking for the tattoo was a last-minute epiphany. While the crime lab technicians photographed the tattoo, Coop looked through the victim’s wallet, finding only a state identification card.

“Edward Honeycutt, age thirty-one. He’s from Dayton, CeeCee.” He held out the ID for me to look at.

“Dayton? It’s like the others. I mean, why leave him here and not in the woods somewhere, and with his state ID? Whoever’s doing this wants us to find these people and
wants
us to know who they are.”

Coop nodded. “Do we officially declare a mass murderer on our hands?”

“Multiple
murderer for now. But this one is definitely going to be categorized as a homicide.”

Coop went outside to speak to the owner of the storage facility while the body was being loaded into the van. I took the opportunity to call home and check on the kids. Michael worked from home today since we had the funeral.

“They’re good. They’re outside playing with the neighbor’s puppy again. Listen, Cee, I have a little good news, just a little, so don’t get too excited. The private detective called me back a while ago. He’s found something on Paula Terman.”

“He did? What?” I prayed she was running a prostitution ring, or maybe he found a marijuana field in her backyard.

“She’s a multiple lawsuit offender.”

I had no immediate response since I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.

“Huh? What the hell is that?”

“He’s found that she’s filed over twenty-three lawsuits
in the last fifteen years—all frivolous—in an attempt to get money.”

My excitement dissipated. “So? That’s it? How is that going to help us, Michael?”

“It’ll support the theory that she is only after custody of Lola for the money. She’s already on welfare, and soon as Henry rattles off the lawsuits, she’ll be done for!” Michael’s premature excitement lingered in his voice.

His theory, in my opinion, was flimsy at best. It still didn’t change the fact that she was related to Lola, and from what I’d heard about Judge Cramer, nothing else mattered.

“I think the detective better keep checking, and find something more solid.” I sighed. “I don’t know if the lawsuits will be enough.”

“Honey, you need to stay positive, okay? It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

I prayed he was right. “I’ll be here for another half hour or so and then Coop and I are going to drive down south and check out that Mormon farm. I shouldn’t be too late. Do you want me to pick something up for dinner?”

“I had already planned on making lasagna, but you can pick up a bottle of wine if you’d like.”

“Sounds wonderful. See you soon.”

Coop had approached halfway through my conversation with Michael and stood patiently until I finished.

“It wasn’t a rental,” he informed me. “The lockers that aren’t rented don’t have locks on them. Anyone can pull them open, they just have to get over the outside fence first.”

“That wouldn’t be difficult. Security cameras?”

“Yup, but they malfunctioned a week ago and the owner sent them in to get fixed.”

“Of course.” We needed a substantial break in this case, and weren’t finding one anywhere.

“Also, from what we can tell so far, Edward Honeycutt was a vagrant. I had records contact Dayton police and the only crimes they had him for were loitering, public drunkenness, and shit like that. He never had a permanent address and was always listed as a transient.”

“What was the date of last contact with him?”

“Roughly a year ago. So, now what?”

“We can’t do much more here. We’ll have to wait on the autopsy report. C’mon, let’s go check out the Mormons.” I tugged his arm.

“It’s getting late, you sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m sure.”

The drive didn’t take long, maybe twenty-five minutes or so. The farm, situated on Benedict Road, was almost to the county line in one of the most scenic areas in the county. Turning onto Benedict Road was like looking at a postcard. A one-lane steel bridge took a driver over the massive river and onto a winding road that almost guaranteed sightings of wildlife. Just before the bridge, a century-old water mill stood ominously gray and dilapidating, but with an air of historical mystery.

Just beyond the bridge, Coop stopped in front of a dirt driveway that led to the top of the largest hill, actually a small, wooded mountain. Whatever was at the top couldn’t be seen from our viewpoint.

“This is it. I’m telling you, they’re not going to let us look around,” Coop said.

The children’s services worker was unavailable on short notice, so we were on our own. If nothing else, I just wanted to see the place.

“Drive, please.”

Coop shook his head and maneuvered his car up the rutted and uneven drive. As we climbed up the hill, the tops of the house and barns came into view, and eventually Coop came to a stop. Before us stood a large, weatherworn, white farmhouse with a wraparound porch. There were three other buildings on the property, all white. One of the buildings, which I assumed to be a barn, was much larger than the others. The lawn, which took up approximately three acres before turning into woods, was meticulously kept. A large garden could be seen just beyond one of the smaller buildings, and several clotheslines with bed sheets and blankets lined the opposite side of the house.

I felt like I had traveled back a century in time. Even worse, I felt like a futuristic intruder who was invading this peaceful existence in an old blue Chevy Blazer. The farm itself gave me the chills, and sent off an eerie vibe that I undeniably didn’t care for. And lastly, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Unlike the forty or fifty people that Coop had previously described.

“Should we get out?” Coop whispered.

“Why are you whispering? Yes, let’s get out, and go knock on the damn door.” I opened my door and motioned for Coop to do the same.

“This seems creepier than when I was here the first time.”

As we stood in front of the car, we were both quiet. I was listening for any signs of a large group of people somewhere off in the distance, but didn’t hear any. This concerned me. All I heard was the chirps of crickets and the last calls of the birds before nighttime.

“I don’t know where a group of people that size would’ve gone. Did they have cars when you were here?”

“Just that old pickup truck that’s over by the barn.” He nodded toward it. “Other than that, nothing.”

“Let’s see if anyone answers the door.” I started toward the house.

We had arrived at the bottom of the steps that led up to the front door when I heard someone clear their throat from behind us. It startled both Coop and me and we spun around. Standing there were four women who must’ve literally tiptoed up to us; we had heard nothing. One woman, who wore a wry smile, stepped forward and extended her hand.

“I’d like to introduce myself…I’m Illeana Barron.”

Illeana Barron stood close to six feet tall. She was severe-looking and dreadfully unattractive. I estimated her age to be somewhere around the late forties to early fifties mark, but in cases like hers, one couldn’t pinpoint it without an actual birth certificate. Her dull, lifeless coal black hair was parted in the middle and hung straight down to her waist. What set off her hair even more was her chalky white, pockmarked skin, which showed a lifetime of acne damage. And, to top it off, she was not just thin—she was downright skeletal. God forbid a strong wind would come through. She’d break into a million pieces and blow away like a house of cards.

All four women wore silky white robes that draped to the ground and covered their feet. I distinctly thought of my high school graduation gown. Hell, if I could find it, I’d fit right in here at the farm with Illeana and friends, with the exception of the leis. Each woman had a rose lei draped around her neck. I thought if a nun went to a luau, this would be the result. The three other women’s leis consisted of pink roses, but Illeana’s was the only one that was red. I assumed this indicated her status as the leader.

I didn’t shake her hand. Something inside of me froze,
and I found myself merely staring at her. I still couldn’t figure out what had allowed them to sneak up on us so covertly.

My blatant disregard of her offered handshake caused the arrogance in her expression to fade, but only slightly. This woman wasn’t intimidated or rattled easily.

“I can see our attire might be a tad disconcerting to you, Sergeant Gallagher, but we wear these only during our prayer meetings. I hope that puts your troubled mind at ease. You, too, Detective Cooper.” She looked at Coop.

Two of the women flanking Illeana appeared in their late forties like her. What caught my attention was the look of concern, however brief, that passed between them as Illeana spoke. The other woman, a very pretty thirtysomething redhead, stood statuesque and pompous, her eyes locked on Coop and me.

“I’m sorry, how do you know our names? Have we met before?” I smiled, asking my question kindly, but with purpose.

I was curious. Illeana had casually, but pointedly, slipped our names into her introduction, and I was more than confident that her sole purpose in doing so was to dominate the conversation. A trick used by the most amateur of criminals during an interrogation. I decided at that moment that I irrefutably distrusted this woman from the start.

“How do you think I know your names, Sergeant? I believe you met one of our members not too long ago—Kirk Richards. In fact, he gave us a play-by-play of being slammed to the ground by Detective Cooper here.” She tilted her head at Coop, but kept her eyes on me.

“Of course, he must’ve explained to you the blatant disrespect he showed us that day as well, ma’am,” I told her, my own arrogance rising. “I have to say, considering
your religious beliefs, I was more than shocked to find he was nothing more than a foul-mouthed little thug.”

Her smile faded completely—point for me. “I can assure you, Sergeant, that minor problem has been addressed and won’t happen again. Now, is that the reason you’re here, or is there something else? As you can see we’re in the middle of prayer.”

“Actually, there is another reason we’re here.” I paused just long enough to get her attention. “Our office recently received a complaint regarding the neglect of children living on this property.
Do
you have children living here, Ms. Barron?”

I watched for a look of surprise on their faces, but my attempt to unnerve them was met by smiles.

“Of course we have children here, Sergeant. But I have to tell you, I’m a little surprised that two prominent homicide detectives drove all the way down here to investigate a simple complaint of child neglect.”

Okay, so she wasn’t completely ignorant. Another fact that told me she was going to be extremely difficult to deal with.

“We were in the area already and heard the call dispatched,” Coop finally lied. “Instead of sending a patrol car all the way down here, we told them we’d go ahead and check it out. It’s called making the most out of our resources.”

I doubted she believed him. In fact, I know she didn’t, but what else could she say?

“That’s fine, Detective. But pardon me for being curious, especially since you were just here the other day inquiring about one of our members.”

“That was for a friend, who was obviously concerned.” He looked angry.

“But for no reason, right? You saw her for yourself and
she was fine, just like the children here. I can’t help but think we are becoming the victims of outside antagonism, or you people feel the need to continuously harass us. I’ll bet you don’t have any type of warrant whatsoever, do you? No need to answer, I can tell by your faces that you don’t. But I will show local law enforcement just how peaceful and cooperative we are. I will give you a tour of the grounds, show you some of the children, and then you will leave. I will only tolerate this type of outside involvement for so long before I contact our attorney. Yes, as hard as it is for you to believe, we do have an attorney on retainer.”

She was making me angry. “Let me explain something to you, Ms. Barron. Whether or not you
tolerate
our presence here is of no consequence to us. If there is a valid complaint received by our office, by law, we have to investigate it whether you
tolerate
it or not. Now, there have been minor complaints that have come in about your members harassing patrons at local businesses and such that we have, until now, ignored. However, if you choose to make our visits here difficult, we can certainly investigate
all
of those complaints and make life for you and your members
uncomfortable.
The bottom line—you’d do best to cooperate fully and lose your condescending attitude.”

There was a significant stretch of silence. The redhead, who showed such a confident display earlier, became increasingly uneasy. It didn’t take a genius to understand that not many people, if any at all, questioned Illeana.

“Is that a threat, Sergeant?” She spoke low but angry.

“Not at all, merely a fact. Now, one of my
many
concerns at this point, outside of your attitude and atrocious formal wear, is that Kirk Richards told us there were only a few people living here. When Detective Cooper came
the other day he saw close to fifty. What’s your explanation for that?”

“Kirk gets a little
confused
sometimes, Sergeant.” Her smile flashed again and she regained her composure. “Of course, you’re right. I’ll cooperate any way I can. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you around the grounds and explain what we’re all about.”

“We’d appreciate that, but you forgot to introduce us to your friends here,” Coop mentioned, trying to gather some information that I’d missed.

“Oh! Please accept my apologies for being so rude.” She pointed to the two women in their forties. “This is Connie West and Sally Blake. And this”—she pointed to the pretty redhead—“is Francesca Tracy, my closest confidant and right-hand leader.”

The other two women nodded slightly at being introduced, but not Francesca. She didn’t acknowledge us at all, and only stared at the ground. I kept trying to make eye contact to see if I could read anything, but it was almost as if she knew what I was doing. She didn’t want me analyzing anything about her. This raised my level of curiosity about Francesca Tracy. There was something there, and I wanted to know what it was.

“If you’re ready now, I’ll start with the grounds first. We own forty-two acres of property, so, if you want the entire tour, it’s going to take a while.”

“I don’t believe that’s necessary. I’d like to see the children and the living areas.” I began walking ahead of her.

“I will show you food in the refrigerator, running water, and electricity, as well as the children, Sergeant, who are clean, clothed, well fed, and lack bruises. Other than that, the rest of the home is off limits today. As I’ve told you before, we’re having several prayer meetings, and I will not disrupt them unless you have a warrant. Make us
uncomfortable
if you must, but the house will have to be viewed another day.”

As much as I hated to admit it, she had me. I suppose I could’ve pushed the issue, but it wasn’t worth being called in front of the sheriff first thing in the morning. I’d save the rest for another day.

Connie West and Sally Blake excused themselves and started walking toward the largest barn while Francesca stayed glued to Illeana’s side. Illeana, in the meantime, put on her best tour guide persona and began leading us toward, and past, the barn the other women had entered. It was one of the buildings I would’ve liked to have seen, but I wasn’t expecting any miracles.

“I already told you several times that a prayer meeting is being held in there and I am not going to disturb it,” she huffed. “The other two buildings are for storage purposes. Sometimes, when members join, they don’t want to get rid of all of their personal belongings, which they no longer need. We understand their feelings and allow them to store everything here.”

“Ms. Barron—”

“Please, call me Illeana.”

“All right…Illeana. What, exactly, are these people a member
of?
Is this a church, a camp, or
what
is it really?”

She stopped walking, turned to us, and smiled. We had been walking toward the woods, and were only a few feet away at this point. Francesca remained stone-faced and continued to evade eye contact with me.

“We are neither a camp nor a church, Sergeant. We are the Children of Eden.”