White Heat (10 page)

“Where do you think she
might
be?”

“You're asking
me?
” He pressed a hand to his chest, which gave like a sponge beneath the pressure.

“I figure you grew up here. Surely you know who's privy to town gossip and who isn't.”

“Not really. But—” he shrugged “—maybe the cops do.”

That was possible. Maybe even likely. But Rachel preferred not to involve the local police, who'd be all too interested in finding out why she and Nate were searching for Martha. “Right. Thanks.”

She turned to see if Nate was ready to go and, suddenly, the obvious occurred to her. The clerk had mentioned a newspaper article, hadn't he? If the police knew Martha's whereabouts, it was possible the local press did, too. The press usually kept close tabs on such sensational cases. And that wouldn't be too hard in a town this small.

“What about the local newspaper?” she asked.

“What about it?”

“Do they have offices here in town?”

“Yep.” He gestured to the west. “Just down the street.”

Nate, who'd been listening, came over with the coolant and the clerk rang it up.

Rachel eyed the bag as they walked out of the store. “You sure that's all you need to fix the air-conditioning? What about tools?”

“I've got tools. You don't own a badass truck like mine and not have tools.”

“The question is—do you know how to use them?”

He scowled and shook his head as if he was disappointed in her. “Babe…I can do anything, remember?”

She rolled her eyes. Anything but fall in love.

 

According to Jay Buckman, the editor they met at the newspaper office, a single woman in her early thirties named Laura Thompson had written the article on Martha Wilson. Although she occasionally submitted pieces to the paper, mainly to see her name in print, she worked at the drugstore across the street. Fortunately, they happened to catch her during her lunch break. They talked to her standing outside the store. She promptly gave them Martha Wilson's address as soon as Nate mentioned his “sister's” imaginary thesis.

The fact that Laura kept giggling and gazing up at Nate, eyes wide, told Rachel the woman's willingness to accommodate them had a great deal to do with Nate's appearance and charm. But Ethan was handsome, too. What would she do if the Holy One ever
came to call? The Auto Zone clerk had said that someone was asking after Martha at the gas station a few days earlier. Rachel couldn't imagine it'd be a good thing if the Covenanters had Martha's address….

“Don't tell anyone where you got the information,” the would-be journalist added as they left, but fear of exposing someone to danger was definitely a lesser concern than impressing Nate.

“So much for protecting a source,” Rachel said. She'd noticed her demotion from “wife” to “sister,” but after asking Nate to do this undercover assignment as brother and sister, she couldn't complain, even if it did seem rather convenient in the face of Ms. Thompson's adoration.

“Don't be too hard on her,” he said. “This is a small town. The mentality is different. And it's a weekly paper with a volunteer staff. She doesn't know the meaning of privacy—or danger. What can you expect?”

“Is a little common sense too much to ask? I mean, you heard the clerk. We're not the only ones looking for Martha. It wouldn't be any fun for Laura to learn that Martha got hurt as a result of
her
loose lips.”

He twirled his keys around the ring. “You sure Laura Thompson's loose lips is all that's bugging you?”

Hearing the hint of suggestion in his voice, she stopped and narrowed her eyes. “What else could it be?”

“I don't think one of us slept very well last night.”

“I can't imagine why.” She smiled sweetly. “It was so nice and cool in that tin can you call a trailer.”

“You could've left your bedroom door open.”

“That wouldn't have helped.”

“It helped me.”

She had no response to that. Shooting him her best glare, she donned her sunglasses. As long as they were together, it was going to be too hot no matter where they were.

T
hey found Martha Wilson's address easily enough; she lived in an apartment at the edge of town. But Martha didn't come to the door when they knocked. Nate was about to break in when Rachel caught the back of his shirt and called out, “Martha? My name's Rachel Jessop. I'm an ex-cop who works for a private security company, and I'd like to see what I can do to help you get your son back. Will you please let me in so we can talk?”

“Why don't you just tell her who we really are?” Nate whispered sarcastically, but Rachel didn't have time to reply. The door opened the width of the safety chain, which was still in place, and the dove-gray eyes of a small woman stared out at her. Rachel knew she was looking at Martha because of the brand on her forehead.

“Who did you say you were?” she asked.

Rachel had had a feeling Martha was home, and she'd been right. “I'm Rachel Jessop,” she repeated. “I've been hired to find out what's going on with the Covenanters, and I need to ask you some questions.”

The door closed and they heard a chain slide. Then Martha poked her head out and looked both ways. When she saw Nate, she started.

“It's okay,” Rachel told her. “This is my colleague. He's trying to help, too.”

“I'm sure they're looking for me. I—I can't take the chance that you're lying.”

While Rachel was contemplating whether or not to tell her that there were indeed people in Willcox searching for her, Martha began to close the door. “They tried to kill me,” she murmured. “They want me dead.”

Nate blocked the door with his foot. “If
we
wanted you dead, you'd already be dead.”

Rachel sent him a dirty look and hurried to smooth over his rough edges. “We know Ethan's background, Ms. Wilson. We have copies of letters he once wrote to Charles Manson. We're aware that he's been…violent. We agree with you that he's dangerous, that he has to be stopped.”

“Charles Manson?” she echoed weakly. “The Helter Skelter Charles Manson?”

“One and the same.”

She fingered the
C
on her forehead. “Ethan never mentioned Charles Manson, not that I ever heard.”

“It's been ten years since those letters. By the time you met him, he'd probably distanced himself from that earlier behavior.”

The hesitation that followed made Rachel nervous that they'd be refused entry, but as Martha stared down at Nathan's foot, she seemed to realize he could've forced his way in but hadn't.

Thank God for small favors.
Commando style wasn't exactly the best approach to enlisting a woman's help.

“Can you show me any ID?” she asked.

“Not ID that tells you who we really are,” Rachel said. “We're undercover.”

“So…wait. You're cops?”

“We're from the private sector but we fulfill basically the same function.”

Her expression revealed a conflict between her desire to believe them and the memory of recent betrayal.

“If you want to get your husband and son out of Paradise, we might be your only chance,” Nate said.

“I know you're frightened, but you've got to trust us,” Rachel added.

Tears glistened in Martha's eyes as she stepped back and waved them in.

The apartment was a mess and so was Martha Wilson. Her uncombed hair and wrinkled clothing indicated she'd just rolled out of bed. The blinds were drawn tight, blocking the sunshine. Dishes cluttered the counters of the kitchen and spilled into the living room, some with food that had been left out so long it'd hardened.

Depression seemed to be taking deep root.

Trying to ignore the stench of rotting food and cigarette smoke, Rachel opened the blinds, cleared away some newspapers, as well as several bowls, which she stacked on the coffee table. Then she sat down on the sofa; Nate apparently preferred to stand. For all his rugged ways, he was meticulous about hygiene and probably repelled by the filth, but she knew he could deal with germs if he had to. He'd been through a lot worse when he was a SEAL. “Are you okay?” she asked Martha, and pulled him down beside her.

Martha shook her head. “No, I haven't been okay for a long time. But…how'd you find me? No one's sup
posed to know where I am.” She gestured at the room around them. “This is some stranger's apartment, someone who lives in Minnesota during the summer. My attorney arranged for me to stay here. It's not even in my name.”

“Willcox is a small town,” Rachel started to say. “So it's not hard to—”

“If you're truly concerned about your safety, you need to move,” Nate broke in.

“I can't move,” she complained. “I have nowhere else to go. My—my husband turned on me. Just like the rest of them. Even my son—” her throat worked as she wrestled with her emotions “—even my son turned on me.”

Rachel softened her voice. “I'm sure he didn't understand what he was doing.”

“I want to see him,” she whispered with desperate entreaty.

“We're hoping to make that happen.”

Her eyes darted to Nate. “Who hired you?”

“Someone who's concerned about the situation,” he replied. “We plan to infiltrate Ethan's cult and put a stop to any illegal activities, but in order to be successful, we'll need some help.”

She reached for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “There's nothing I can do. I can't go anywhere near Paradise. I—I told you. They tried to kill me.”

“We don't need you to take us there. We just need information. When was it that they tried to stone you?”

“Six weeks ago.”

No wonder the bruises were gone. “You told the police you thought other people in the church were in danger.”

“It's true. He's got weapons, explosives.”

Rachel exchanged a look with Nate. “He does?”

“A whole cache.”

“What are they for?”

“The Final Battle, when Satan's army comes against the people of God. He says that God's warned him to be prepared and that we must be valiant in resisting evil.”

“Where does he keep the weapons?”

“Locked up. In an old shed.”

“Does everyone know about it?”

“Yes. There are…rituals that are essentially drills on how to respond to an outside threat.”

Ethan was serious about protecting what he'd built.

“What else can you tell us?” Nate asked. “Who or what should we watch out for? How can we gain Ethan's trust?”

“That takes time.” She tried to light her cigarette, but her hand shook too badly.

Taking the lighter, Nate held it for her. “Time is the problem,” he told her. “That's why we need you. Do you know anyone on the inside who might be able to get us in, to act as a sponsor of sorts?”

Smoke curled out of her mouth as Nate closed the lighter with a snap. “No one I could contact,” she said. “All my former friends would be terrified to hear from me. Even if I could reach them, no one wants to get on Ethan's bad side.”

“What will happen if they do?” Nate asked.

“They'll be punished.”

“Stoned?”

She studied her cigarette. “He'll take away little privileges at first.”

As inconspicuously as possible, Rachel slid a plate
with a hard yellow substance that looked like egg yolk farther to the left, away from her foot. “Like?” She could tell Nate hadn't missed the movement, but then…he didn't miss anything.

“Like being put on restriction.”

“Which means…”

“Being denied the opportunity to socialize with others, being denied contact with loved ones.”

“That happened to you?”

She nodded. “I couldn't be with my son anymore. When I tried to fight that, I was told I couldn't have sex with my husband. But I fought that, too. So Ethan ordered me stoned.”

Rachel grimaced. “Isn't that a bit harsh?”

“I'd been involved in the most sacred rituals, yet I'd dared to stand up to him.” She touched the brand on her forehead again. “He couldn't tolerate it for fear others would do the same. He wanted to get rid of me, or he wouldn't have left me in the same tent with Todd. How long did he think I could deny my husband—or myself?”

“What started this string of punishments?” Nate asked.

She took another drag. “I thought James was too young to fast. Ethan demands that everyone go without eating for twenty-four hours once a week. To show that we can master our bodies. But my son's only two years old. I could see that he wasn't growing like he should, so I began slipping him food on fast days. Rosie Lester, someone in my tent, caught me, so he took away some of my privileges.”

“How could he keep your son from you? Weren't you living with your husband and son?”

“Each tent houses about twenty people, equal numbers of men and women, all married couples, unless someone's been widowed. The children are in a nearby tent, with a caregiver who stays there during the night. My son was removed from the tent next door and placed in another one across the compound.”

“And you still made an effort to see him.”

“Yes, but the women in the other tent wouldn't allow it. They didn't want to get into trouble. My husband could visit James in the evenings and on weekends, but I couldn't. When I tried, and wouldn't quit trying, they told Ethan.” She grimaced. “The women are especially watchful. They get small rewards for helping Ethan and they'll do anything to gain his favor. They're all hoping to become the Vessel—the one to bear him a son.”

At this, Rachel's fingernails curved into her palms. “Even the ones with husbands?”

Martha held her cigarette to her lips. “It's a privilege,” she said through the smoke. “Like the Immaculate Conception.”

Only there wouldn't be an immaculate conception. Rachel was quite sure this pregnancy would be accomplished the old-fashioned way.

Leaning forward, Nate rested his elbows on his knees. “How did he find out that you had sex with your husband? Did you confess?”

“No, someone told. I thought the others were asleep. We were very careful not to make any noise. But…”

Nate's eyebrows shot up. “There's no privacy?”

“None. A Covenanter is never alone. We believe that only those who have reason to be ashamed need to hide what they do.”

Rachel tried to mask her own horrified reaction. “What does the brand signify?”

“That I've taken the Covenant of Brotherly Love.”

“Which is…”

“A promise to live closer to God. It prepares you for rituals and worship the others cannot partake of.”

“What kind of rituals?”

She grew morose. “I can't say. They're sacred. Or, at least, I thought they were at one time.” She rubbed her face. “I don't know anymore.”

“What if someone in the commune is unwilling or unready to accept the Covenant of Brotherly Love?” Rachel asked. “Can they still be part of the group?”

“Of course. For as long as they like. They're learning and progressing toward that ideal. You should never take the Covenant until you're ready. Ethan says it's too sacred to do it lightly. Even if you decide you are ready, you first apply to the Spiritual Guides and get their approval.”

“They're the governing body.”

“Sort of, although Ethan has the most say.”

“How does the application process work?”

She put out her cigarette in a slice of cold pizza and managed to light another one. “You go in for an interview. They bring it before the Lord. Then they vote.”

“What if they turn you down?” Nate asked.

“You keep trying to purify your soul, hoping you'll be accepted at some point.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Sounds as if everyone's very serious about it.”

“They are. They have to be. If you take the Covenant and aren't able to live up to it, the consequences are dire. That's what this little line signifies.” She pointed
to the small dash that cut through the
C
on her forehead. “If you break the oath of secrecy or your promise to keep the faith, you accept death as the punishment. Ethan claimed I broke the Covenant. That's why he felt justified in having me stoned. That's why the others went along with it.”

Rachel wanted to say,
You've got to be kidding,
but she bit her tongue. From all indications, this woman had taken the covenant of her own free will, so she must've agreed with the commune's practices at that time, even if she'd become disenchanted since.

Fortunately, Nate spoke up, giving Rachel a chance to control her reactions. “Does sex have anything to do with these rituals?”

“Sex is the ultimate spiritual manifestation, a celebration of life and the procreative power. But that power is not to be abused.”

“Is that a yes?”

She didn't respond.

“That's a yes,” he said.

Apparently, Ethan got to designate how the procreative power was used.

“What about any babies that might be conceived?” Rachel asked.

“Babies are considered a gift from God. You raise that child with your husband and with the rest of your group.”

Ethan had thought of everything….

“What happened after Ethan learned you had sex with your husband?” Nate asked. “How did he pronounce his punishments?”

“Three of the Brethren showed up at the cheese fac
tory where I worked and told me they were going to hold a council, which is like a…a trial. But my council didn't last long. After they brought the accusations against me, they turned me over to Ethan to see if he could gather proof of…of my crime. At that point, he took me to his room.”

“He doesn't sleep in a tent?”

“No, he has a whole wing in the Enlightenment Hall. Sometimes he invites members to stay with him. Or he visits various tents, spending one or two nights in each.”