Witch Hunt (41 page)

“Sixteen.”

“Your sixteen-year-old niece went out to this maybe drug dealer’s house last night and hasn’t come home yet, so you want us to go look-see, right?”

Leigh nodded.

“Why don’t you two just drive out there yourself?”

“We’re concerned because of the questionable nature of the people involved,” Marek said. “We thought it prudent to have some protection.”

“Don’t you think you may be overreacting a little? I’ve seen this Essex fellow about, and he’s not bad looking. Maybe she had a, you know, romantic interest and — ”

“She’s in trouble and needs help!”

The whole room quieted, and everyone looked at Leigh with curiosity.

“How do you know?” Cosworth asked.

Leigh struggled to regain control. “I’ve got a feeling.”

Cosworth sighed. Well, precedents had been set for women’s intuition. But, more likely, the woman was merely a little unbalanced from all she’d been through. Cosworth had come to feel a measure of responsibility toward the Hawthornes and their plight. “Okay, ma’am. I’ll accompany you to go check on your niece.”

“Just you? I mean, shouldn’t we take some backup or something?”

“This is Montvue, not Miami. I don’t think it’ll take a whole squad to bring home one wayward little girl.”

Cosworth led the way to Essex’s house. At the last minute, he decided to take the back way into the property. When he was a teenager he had dated the overprotected Bessie Snyder; she had often snuck out this way to meet him. Her father quickly put the kibosh on that romance, and even pulled Bessie out of school to keep them apart. Cosworth hadn’t seen her again until, as a young police officer, he discovered her body in the living room of her home, along with those of her mother and father. The old man had killed his women and then blew off his own head; no one ever quite figured out why. He pulled up alongside the seven cars parked behind the house and shook his head with disgust. He hoped the house would remain abandoned, as it had been since the tragedy, until this Essex fellow bought it and turned it into a—

“Party house,” he muttered.

Marek and Leigh parked behind Cosworth, then joined him as he walked around the house to the front door.

“Don’t like people comin’ to my back door,” Cosworth explained. “I like them to come in the front. It’s more respectful.”

All the curtains were drawn, and the house looked sleepy. Cosworth knocked on the old screen door. Inside, a dog barked and muffled voices quieted it, but no one answered. He opened the screen and banged on the inside door.

There was still no response.

He became irritated. They should have had enough time to flush their drugs down the toilet by now. “Come on! I hear you, and I’m sure you hear me! Open up! I’m a cop!”

It was then that he thought he heard the muffled scream. Adrenaline surged through him, and he pulled his gun from its holster.
Damn, I’m too old for this
, he thought. “On the count of three we’re goin’ through that door.”

Marek nodded.

“One, two — ”

The two men kicked in the door.

The scene that greeted them froze Cosworth in his tracks. A bloody, mutilated body — barely recognizable as a young woman — lay on display in the middle of the room. Cosworth’s mind struggled with the memories its sight dredged up. One moment it was the body of Bessie, the next moment it was another, younger victim. Before he could completely get a grasp on the situation, a bullet slammed into his shoulder, spinning him around and throwing the gun from his hands.

Chaos erupted as young people screamed and ran.

A beautiful collie stood in the middle of the room and barked.

A .357 Magnum
, his mind informed him.
Shouldn’t we take some backup?
she had asked.
How did she know?

Marek dove for Cosworth’s gun, rolling across the bloodstained floor as two shots peppered his path. Gripping the weapon in both hands, he aimed at the man who held Melanie as a shield. The bullet found its mark and Melanie shrieked as Essex’s head exploded against the wall behind her.

Cosworth scrambled to recover Essex’s Magnum. Despite his shoulder wound, he held the gun steady as he leveled it at the crowd. “I’ll shoot anyone who makes a move to leave this room.”

Marek got to his feet and blocked the door.

Leigh ran to Melanie and wrapped her arms around the hysterical girl.

Cosworth felt a sharp pain in his chest.
Too old
, he thought again. “Who’s the dead girl?”

Melanie tried to answer, but couldn’t control her sobbing.

“That witch there brought her,” Lilith said, pointing at Melanie. “We had a full moon ritual last night.”

Cosworth felt a different kind of pain in his chest. He glanced around at the Satanic symbols that adorned the room, then fixed a look of betrayal on Leigh and Melanie. “Damn.”
Was the preacher right about them all along?
He retrieved his gun from Marek and called for backup. He glanced at the mutilated body that lay on the coffin, then his angry eyes scanned his prisoners.

“If you ask me, burning’s too good for the likes of you.”

Diane Fox awoke and stretched, glancing at the clock. What a wonderful Saturday surprise; Tiffany had let her sleep in until nine o’clock.

She decided to lie there just a few more minutes and luxuriate in the afterglow of a good night’s sleep. She had slept so well, she was sure, because she finally found the guts to respond to the harassment she had been enduring. The article she wrote was scathing, and had included carefully chosen snippets of the actual letters that were sent her. She was grateful to her editor for having the balls to print it. Actually, he had been rather courageous about the whole damnable Preacher Cody/Hawthorne affair. She wondered when the attacks would begin against his family.

She sighed and decided to greet the day. They were going to the pound that morning to pick out a new family member. Diane had decided it would be wise to have a dog around the house. Good companion, better protection.

She threw a bathrobe on over her negligee, stuck her feet into slippers, then padded out to the living room. It surprised her to find that the television wasn’t on.
What is Tiffany doing with her morning
? She hurried to Tiffany’s room, and caught her breath when she saw that that the window was open. Ballerina-covered curtains danced wildly in the wind.

Her eyes flew to Tiffany’s bed. The bedding was chaotic, but one thing stood out. On rubber legs she somehow made her way across the terrifying expanse of room. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, and in disbelief, read the message that was pinned to her daughter’s pillow.

You’ve now stepped over the line. You’re not fit to be a mother any longer. Tiffany’s better off with us.

Cody had a late night. He arranged for the relocation of the Fox girl, and stayed up until he received word that it had gone down successfully. So it was understandable that he had slept in. But why, he wondered as he rolled over in bed to see that the clock said 9:47
AM
, did Rachel sleep in so long? A woman mustn’t become slothful; it was the way of the sinner. Irritated, he gave her a rough shake, but she didn’t respond. He shook again, but she didn’t budge.

“Rachel?” He pressed his hand against her neck and could barely discern a pulse. “Oh, my God.” Panic-stricken, he lifted her, but her body hung limp. He laid her back down and raced from the room. Eden squalled in her bed, and he checked on her to make sure she was okay, then ran for the nearest phone. He reached for the handset and began to dial for help when he noticed the message light blinking on his answering machine. The caller
ID
showed that a Hawthorne had called. Dread filled him as he pressed the play button.

A muffled man’s voice said, “Stop the witch hunt and we’ll lift the spell that binds your wife.”

By eleven o’clock, the Montvue police station was swarming with prisoners, their families, their lawyers, reserve police officers, and the press.

Leigh sat across from Lieutenant Brody and repeated the story that Melanie had told her.

“Melanie was invited with her friend, Amber Whittaker, to attend a party. Neither had ever been out to that house before, nor had any prior relationship with those people. When they arrived, they were taken captive, Amber was killed, and Melanie was raped…when are you going to let her see a doctor?”

Lieutenant Brody’s bald head and perfectly manicured fingernails reflected the light. So did his capped teeth, his badge, his watch, and his two gold rings. Leigh could feel his vanity clearly enough; she wished it didn’t advertise itself like a neon sign.

“The other teenagers who were arrested all unanimously implicated your niece as being Mr. Essex’s accomplice,” Brody said.

“They all lied … unanimously.”

“Where is her attorney?”

Leigh sighed. “We’re trying to locate one in Denver. We’ve been unable to secure one locally.”

“Mmmm. I see.” He yawned and stretched. “If I were a small-town attorney, I’d be afraid to represent her, too.”

“I’m sure you would.” Leigh struggled with her anger. “Melanie needs to see a doctor, dammit!”

“Lady, I’ve got a mutilated teenage corpse, a forensic expert on the scene who’s already found evidence of more murders, a dead Satanic priest, twelve little Satanists in custody, a wounded cop, and a town that’s probably going to riot when the news breaks. I can’t worry about one little witch — ”