“Did Mrs. Steiner say what Emily ate that night?” I asked the group.
“She told me they had macaroni and cheese and salad,” Ferguson said.
“At what time?” According to the autopsy report, Emily’s stomach contents consisted of a small amount of brownish fluid.
“Around seven-thirty in the evening is what she told me.”
“That would have been digested by the time she was kidnapped at two in the morning?”
“Yes,” I said.
“It would have cleared her stomach long before then.”
“It could be that she wasn’t given much in the way of food and water while held in captivity.”
“Thus accounting for her high sodium, her possible dehydration?” Wesley asked me.
“That’s certainly possible.”
He wrote some more.
“There’s no alarm system in the house, no dog.”
“Do we know if anything was stolen?”
“Maybe some clothes.”
“Whose?”
“Maybe the mother’s. While she was taped up in the closet, she thought she heard him opening drawers.”
“If so, he was right tidy. She also said she couldn’t tell if anything was missing or disturbed.”
“What did the father teach? Did we get to that?”
“Bible.”
“Broad River’s one of these fundamentalist places. The kids start the day singing” Sin Shall Not Have Dominion Over Me. “”
“No kidding.”
“I’m serious as a heart attack.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, they talk about Him a lot, too.”
“Maybe they could do something with my grandson.”
“Shit, Hershel, nobody could do nothing with your grandson because you spoil him rotten. How many minibikes he’s got now? Three?” I spoke again.
“I’d like to know more about Emily’s family. I assume they are religious.”
“Very much so.”
“Any other siblings?”
Lieutenant Mote took a deep, weary breath.
“That’s what’s really sad about this one. There was a baby some years back, a crib death.”
“Was this also in Black Mountain?” I asked.
“No, ma’am. It was before the Steiners moved to the area. They’re from California. You know, we got folks from all over.” Ferguson added, “A lot of foreigners head to our hills to retire, vacation, attend religious conventions. Shit, if I had a nickel for every Baptist I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
I glanced at Marino. His anger was as palpable as heat, his face boiled red.
“Just the kind of place Gault would get off on. The folks there read all the big stories about the son of a bitch in People magazine, The National Enquirer, Parade. But it never enters no one’s mind the squirrel might come to town. To them he’s Frankenstein. He don’t really exist.”
“Don’t forget they did that TV movie on him, too,” Mote spoke again.
“When was that?” Ferguson scowled.
“Last summer. Captain Marino told me. I don’t recollect the actor’s name, but he’s been in a lot of those Termination movies. Isn’t that right?”
Marino didn’t care. His private posse was thundering through the air.
“I think the son of a bitch’s still there.” He pushed his chair back and added another wad of gum to the ashtray.
“Anything’s possible,” Wesley said matter-of factly
“Well.” Mote cleared his throat.
“Whatever you boys want to do to help out would be mighty appreciated.”
Wesley glanced at his watch.
“Pete, you want to cut the lights again? I thought we’d run through these earlier cases, show our two visitors from North Carolina how Gault spent his time in Virginia.”
For the next hour horrors flashed in the dark like disjointed scenes from some of my very worst dreams. Ferguson and Mote never took their wide eyes off the screen. They did not say a word. I did not see them blink.
2
Beyond windows in the boardroom plump groundhogs sunned themselves on the grass as I ate salad and Marino scraped the last trace of the fried chicken special off his plate.
The sky was faded denim blue, trees hinting of how brightly they would burn when fall reached its peak. In a way I envied Marino. The physical demands of his week would almost seem a relief compared to what waited for me, perched darkly over me, like a huge insatiable bird.
“Lucy’s hoping you’ll find time to do some shooting with her while you’re here,” I said