The Gathering, page 7
“You are quite something, Beloved. Your name suits you well. I have friends I’d like you to meet. I’m sure you’d love them too.”
So, Beloved thought, this is a bit hurried. I didn’t expect to be invited home to meet your cult, so soon. “You’re different, By...” She spoke the first syllable of his real name before she was able to stop herself, then moved quickly to recover. “You’re different in every possible measure.”
He moved from the chair opposite her to the one next to her. “Are we going back to your place tonight?”
This is the moment to let out the line, Beloved thought. You may think you are the fisherman, my friend, but you may find that you are the fish. “I’m sorry it can’t be tonight. I just dropped in for a quick drink.”
“That’s all right.” His eyes clouded with disappointment that was not an act.
“Look, Charles...” This time she had the name right. “...this is moving a bit fast for me. Give me a day or two to catch my breath.” Also, she thought, I want you to remember this reluctance.
“Oh. That’s all right.” After his declared desire for greater depth in a woman, he could hardly complain about her wanting to deal with her own insecurities. “You take all the time you want.”
Beloved brought a card out of her purse. “My number’s on it. Call me tomorrow.” It was not her usual card and the number on it was not her usual number. When a call came through on it she would know it to be something singular.
“I will. You can depend on that.”
Beloved left the bar, walked quickly for some twenty paces and stopped in the entrance to a building. After just a few moments Evers appeared on the sidewalk, looked up and down, probably wondering where she had gone, then crossed the street, got into his car and drove away. Not your lucky night, she thought.
She waited in the same place for five minutes, but he did not return.
She had gotten into her own car when she again saw a man sitting in a parked car. In the bad light she was not sure he was the one she had seen earlier. She was not sure it was the same car either. I should have noticed that, she thought, at least the make and the colour.
While she watched, he got out and crossed the street, coming towards her. She unclipped the clasp of her bag. Her nine millimetre was where she expected it to be. By the time he reached her, the gun was in her hand and resting in her lap. She rolled down the window and waited for him.
He leant forward to bring his head down to her level. His eyes flicked in the direction of the gun, then back to her face. “I’m Jones,” he said. “Agent Needham sent me to see if you were okay.”
“I’m fine, Mr Jones. Tell Agent Needham I appreciate his concern.”
“That’s okay, Ma’am. I’ll let him know.”
Jones crossed the street again, got back into his car and waited for her to leave. As she drove away, she could again see his silhouette against the lights of the bar.
NINE
When she woke the next morning, Needham had left a message on her cell phone. It gave an address and a note that said simply, “Meet me there as early as you can. Wear sneakers.”
A cluster of cars and police vehicles filled the end of a quiet suburban street. Beloved parked some distance from them and approached on foot. She did not want her exit to be blocked by other cars arriving later. If this was another victim, she thought, let it not be Jeanne. She considered the possibility for the moment and added another thought – or the woman from the pub. Let it not be either of them.
A uniformed officer came to meet her. She recognised Jones. The previous night he had not been in uniform. He was young, broad shouldered and had a face that gave the impression he expected the best in people. Unusual in a police officer, Beloved thought.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning to you too, Officer Jones.”
“Officer Lyle, Ma’am.”
“Weren’t you Jones last night?”
“In plain clothes, Ma’am. In plain clothes I’m Jones. In uniform I’m Officer Lyle.”
“Ah.” The expression included a degree of understanding. She smiled.
Officer Lyle looked very pleased at Beloved’s smile. He returned it. Not every day did you meet a senior member of the team who looked the way she did.
“Did you sleep well, Ma’am?”
“I did, thanks partly to you taking such good care of me.”
He smiled, rather shyly, and changed the subject under discussion. “Could you come with me? Agent Needham is expecting you.”
She followed him between the parked cars. Police officers, more than seemed necessary at the scene of a crime, if that is what this was, were scattered individually and in small groups between the cars. The street ended against a wire fence that had been cut and bent back to allow more comfortable access. The fence had been constructed along the edge of a concrete-lined water course with sloping sides. In its bottom a stream flowed strongly, having been fed by the recent rains. Perhaps one hundred metres downstream a wooden packing case had struck a blockage caused by a few large branches. A few smaller branches and some refuse had piled up behind the packing case. Needham and some other men in plain clothes were at the top of the bank while two detectives, wearing what looked like waterproof waders for fishing, were busy with something at the water’s edge.
“There’s a path, Ma’am. Do you need some help?” Jones held out a hand.
The path sloped towards the stream, but was not slippery. Nevertheless, she accepted his hand for the first few steps. “Thanks, Officer Lyle, for the help. I can manage now.”
Needham came along the path to meet her. She saw Agents Graves and Peters behind him. They both watched her approach. Peters called a greeting. “Hi.” Graves just nodded to her without saying anything. She hoped he had gotten over his resentments.
“We’ve got another,” Needham said. “I thought you should see it.”
“Who is it?” The question had come abruptly and unintentionally.
Needham understood what she was asking. “It’s not Jeanne,” he said. “In fact, it’s a guy. We haven’t yet identified the body.”
As Needham had said, the body was that of a young man this time. The stream, which must have been running more strongly the day before, had done its work on his clothing, tearing his cotton shirt and ripping away most of the sweater he had been wearing over it, till only one sleeve and a few other strands remained. Most of the abdomen was uncovered. His skin was pale, almost green. His jeans had been split open from the left knee by a member of the team, just far enough to reveal the tattoo.
One of the detectives who had been examining the body straightened up and addressed himself to Graves. “He was in the water for a while, maybe forty-eight hours, then the level dropped. He spent maybe another twenty-four out of the water.”
“So three days ago,” Graves said.
“Plus, minus. Maybe a bit less.”
“Maybe?” Graves asked.
“The time in the water makes it harder to be sure,” the other man said. “The face is a little swollen, probably as a result of being submerged for the first twenty-four hours. The maggots would have appeared since then.” The detective rolled the body over and Beloved could see the maggots swarming densely in the mouth, around nose and eyes and in a neat wound on the left wrist where the blood had been drained. “Look at his eyes,” he said. “The corneas are opaque. His eyes were open when he died.”
Beloved looked at the face of the dead man. His lips were slightly parted. “He looks shocked,” she said. “Do you think he was surprised when he died, detective?”
“No, he died very slowly.”
He glanced at Beloved, then at the agents. Needham came to his aid. “Like the others, the victim was unconscious when he died. His eyes may have been open, but he was not seeing anything.”
“No one could have died that way where the body was found,” Beloved suggested.
“Probably not,” Needham said. “That means they brought it to the water.”
She nodded to the detective. Three days, she was thinking. Sometime between my visit to Martha’s home and my first meeting with Agent Needham and his friends. She turned her back on the scene, took a few steps away and waited for Needham to join her. “Do you know where Evers was three nights ago,” she asked.
“I know where his car was, but not where he was. I also don’t know who this victim is. When we know that, perhaps we’ll be able to put the two together.” He stepped close to Beloved, facing her and tilting his head towards the far side of the river. “There’s a man on the other side. Don’t look immediately. But tell me if you’ve ever seen him before.” She started turning in the direction he had indicated. “I said, don’t look immediately.”
“Sorry.” She cringed inwardly at the thought of revealing to Needham that she was, after all, just an amateur playing a professional game.
“He’s middle-aged and has a square face. Ordinary looks. Wearing a suit.”
“Very precise,” she said. “Could you find someone, using that description?”
Needham laughed softly. “His hair is brown, greying at the temples. Skin tanned, he spends a lot of time either out in the sun or in front of a sun lamp. His hands are broad, the fingers short and stubby. He is above average height, most of the height residing in his body, not his legs. He has sloping shoulders and looks physically powerful.” He looked pleased with his description.
“Easy when you’re looking at him,” Beloved said.
“Look now,” Needham said. “Quickly.”
She was too late to see his face. He had already turned and was walking away towards a street on the other side of the stream. Beloved watched him go. His walk was slow and measured, but the strides short. At best she saw a quarter face from diagonally behind. “I don’t recall ever seeing him,” she said.
Graves was coming towards them from the group gathered round the body. He passed them without stopping, nodding to Beloved, but speaking to Needham. “We got to get this thing sorted,” he said. “Soon.” He moved on towards the street where the cars were parked.
“Agent Graves has not changed towards me,” Beloved told Needham. “He seems to find my presence here unnecessary.”
“You misunderstand him,” Needham said. “He doesn’t want you involved because he’s concerned for your safety. He has a daughter about your age and is not in favour of women being involved in dangerous work.”
“I see. An old-fashioned gent.”
“He is that. He’s not what he appears to be at first glance. He wants you to be safe.”
Beloved resisted the impulse to turn round to look at Graves again. Despite herself, she appreciated men who were concerned for her safety. “I think I should go now,” she said.
“Yes,” Needham agreed. “I wanted you to see this, but now let’s get you out of here. I don’t want the wrong people to notice you here.” He walked back along the path with her. “You saw the tattoo?”
“Of course. We all look for that first, don’t we?”
“I’m sure we do. When do you expect to see Evers. Tonight?”
“No, not tonight.”
“Not?” Needham looked troubled.
“I know how urgent this is, even more so now. But I can’t appear too eager. But if I want to catch him he has to think he is the one doing the chasing.”
“I see.”
“One more thing.” She had stopped to ensure she had Needham’s full attention. “He was with a woman when I spoke to him last. She was angry when he left her to sit with me. She’s neither young nor attractive, but she may have money.”
“We saw her there and identified her. And she does have money. She’s a partner in a successful property business.”
“So, she’s a sitting duck for our Mr Evers. Won’t you put a man on her? Look out for her, protect her?”
“All right.”
“And what about Martha. You have a picture of him with her at a flower show.”
He looked at Beloved and nodded slowly. “Very well, Ms Childe, I’ll put a man on both of them.”
“Beloved,” she said.
“Beloved,” he agreed.
“Have you had the chance to read Jeanne’s letters to Knox?”
“I read them as soon as you left me, but I’m not sure they are exactly letters. They’re more a declaration of faith. He’s her teacher, but it’s not one-way traffic. Did you notice her telling him to expect that she was going to have a profound effect on his life.”
“Yes. I thought she may even be a participant, not a victim.”
“Yes, but in these cases the line between participants and victims can become blurred. Above all, remember what I told you.”
“Assume nothing.”
“That’s right.”
The men at the young man’s body were still in a tight knot around it, continuing to study it where it lay in the water because someone believed the water would wash away his sins , his weakness or perhaps his disloyalty. Beloved had heard on other occasions that detectives needed to learn to think like the one they were pursuing. She wished them luck with this case. Learning to think like a fundamentalist cult killer or a group of killers would not be a simple task.
As she found her way through the growing crowd of police officers, reporters, and casual onlookers at the end of the street, she looked back just once. Watching her walk away, Needham was scratching his chin with one hand. He still looked to her like a rather flustered academic, nothing like the common picture of an agent in the organisation he worked for. He had lowered his head a little to look over the stronger lenses in his bi-focal glasses.
Now he’s wondering if I am as good as I seem to think I am. Well, relax, Agent Needham, she thought. I am. You can depend on it.
As Needham had told her, Frederick’s reports were not worth much. He had met Evers on three occasions, twice in pubs and once in the crowd at a football match. He had pretended they were chance meetings. A bit obvious, Beloved thought, an unlikely coincidence, no wonder he was spotted.
Fredericks did not seem to have been the most perceptive agent. His observations were all fairly obvious. He had reported that Evers was strong and would be able easily to overpower female victims, that he was operating under an assumed name and that he was employed as an insurance adjuster which gave him the opportunity to be away from the office. Of some interest was the observation that, apart from occasional pick-ups, Evers did not seem to have many, if any friends.
After she finished Agent Fredericks’s reports she started reading a book with the title, Cults that Kill. She had bought it some years before, but had not got round to reading it. Needham interrupted her reading, calling to say that Evers was in another bar, but in male company. He also said that the woman they were protecting was back at the counter of the Devonshire. With her habits, she might not be that easy to protect. “We’ve ID’d the latest victim. He was a property agent from out of town. Evers’s car was nowhere near him. We’re not sure, but he doesn’t seem to have been there either.”
“Does that change anything for me?”
“No. If this is a cult and Evers are involved, he will not be the only one.”
Concentrating was not easy. When faced with a problem, Beloved could find no ease for her soul until she was making progress at resolving it. Now, she could not work on it. She knew she had to wait. The only way to convince Evers that she was just another ordinary woman who had no professional interest in him, was to wait for him to make his next move. Like a game fish, she had to give him more line, but unlike a fish she would not be able to haul him in. He had to swim to her of his own accord.
It was early evening before he called on the number she had given him. “Hello,” he said. “Remember me?”
“Charles.” Beloved sounded happily surprised. “So nice of you to call.”
“I’m alone tonight.”
If we exclude your male company, she thought. “Where’s your other friend?”
“What friend is that?”
“The one who was with you in the Devonshire. You seemed to be getting along fine with her till I spoiled things.”
“Oh her? I don’t even know her name.”
A practiced line, Beloved thought. How often have you used it? “Let’s get together soon,” she suggested.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Why not? Come round to my place. I’ll prepare something.”
“Fantastic.”
“Maybe not. You haven’t tasted my cooking yet.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the cooking.”
TEN
Beloved had read till late to finish the cult book. It was not a satisfying examination of the subject to someone who needed badly to understand everything about cults in which people had been killed. The author was newspaper man and Beloved thought his knowledge of the subject was superficial, rather like news reporting in fact.
A call came through on Beloved’s regular cell phone. It was a public relations woman from the prison where Jordan Carey was behind held and where the riot she was to study had occurred. Apparently, they had decided to replace their male PR person in dealings with her. Damn, she thought, I can’t do this now. “Good,” she said. “Will your people be able to start next week?”
“We can start tomorrow,” a capable, rather officious voice told her. “In fact, we are counting on you to start tomorrow.”
Corrections was not a client Beloved could afford to disappoint. The pay for the report was good and it was safe work. “I’ll be there,” she said.
“At ten,” the officious voice said.
“Ten is fine.”
In the meantime Beloved had a more pressing matter to attend to. She tried to call Needham to discuss her evening date with Evers, but got only voice mail. She did not have the numbers of any of the other agents, so she waited an hour then tried again, with the same result. The message she left was – I need to discuss this evening. I’d like to survive it.
