Grounds To Believe. Shelley Bates
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are the tool of an evil government, Ross. They’ll rot her mind. Everything she needs to know, she’ll learn here. With me and God’s chosen Church.”
“And that’s final?” he asked. His arms trembled. His rage and fear were threatening to overcome his faith that God would give him the words to convince her. He had to try one more time. “Isn’t there some kind of compromise we can work out?”
She held out her arms. “We can’t compromise with the world and keep ourselves pure. Give her to me, Ross.”
Involuntarily, his grip tightened, and Kailey woke. She pushed back and gaped at him. Her eyes widened, tears spurted into them, and she shrieked, her little hands pushing fearfully at his chest.
Anne snatched her away from him. “I told you. You’re a total stranger to her. She stays with me, where she belongs.” She wrenched the door open.
“I wouldn’t be a stranger if you hadn’t run off and—wait!” The door slammed, and he was alone in the shabby porch.
Heat shimmered around him as he ran back to the truck. Jamming it into gear, he roared into town, throwing up a plume of dust that spiraled thickly in the rearview mirror.
Lord, help me. Help me.
As he burst into the sheriff’s office, Ross knew he looked like a crazed gunfighter, covered in dust and sweat, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.
“What happened to you?” Sheriff Cornoyer looked up from the blizzard of reports on his desk. “You get run over by a cattle drive?”
“It’s not funny, Corny,” he told the sheriff, who had been patient in helping a fellow officer with his quest. “I need a warrant.”
Cornoyer gave him a searching look. “You have grounds to believe there’s a crime somewhere in my jurisdiction?”
“My ex-girlfriend won’t give me access to my daughter.”
“She’s a Sealer. I told you she wouldn’t listen. But you had to go out there and prove it for yourself.”
“Knock it off, Corny.”
“Get real, Ross. You’re supposedly on leave, and you’re on my turf. Show me some evidence that will give me the Sealers and we’ll talk.”
“How about this?” Ross pulled the empty casings out of his pockets and rolled them onto Cornoyer’s desk, where they scattered dirt all over his reports. “If those aren’t from an HK with a thirty-round clip, you can send me home.”
Corny sat back in his chair and considered. “I hope you take the detective’s exam some day, son. Apply to that organized crime task force I hear they’re putting together in Seattle. You’re wasted on patrol. Okay. We’ll go have a look around first thing tomorrow.” He looked up. “But you need to calm down. Get some rest. You’ve been running on nerves alone since you got here.”
Every instinct demanded that he pound on a judge’s door and get the piece of paper that would allow him to search the compound until he found his child. But instinct had to give way to common sense. They’d go tomorrow, when his head was clear and he could think rationally instead of emotionally. And after he’d spent a good long time on his knees.
I’ve never been so afraid, Lord. Help me.
“Okay. I’ll be here when shift changes,” he said aloud.
“Good man. Don’t worry, it’ll all work out. With any luck, we can get ’em on a couple dozen weapons charges and seize the property.”
But luck had run out. When he and Corny drove up to the compound the next day and prepared to demand entry, only the hot wind answered them. The door he’d knocked on yesterday stood partly open, swinging on rusty hinges. They ran inside, then searched the other houses and the barn in about twenty minutes, but came up with nothing more incriminating than some broken windows and another cache of bullet casings out by the field of vegetables.
The Church of the Seventh Seal had pulled up and moved out, and taken his daughter with them.
Six years later
Memorandum
Date: June 3, 2004
To: Sergeant Bruce Harmon
Organized Crime Task Force
From: Lt. Leslie Bellville
Hamilton Falls P.D.
Re: Cult
File Ref: HF04-193
Per my e-mail yesterday, attached please find Forms 17A and B outlining evidence of what is believed to be a religious cult known as the Elect of God operating in the Hamilton Falls area. We believe there is child abuse among members of this group, but are unable to investigate with uniform members due to its closed social structure.
We understand Investigator Ross Malcolm specializes in cults as part of his duties in the OCTF. We request his assistance for a period not to exceed three weeks, overtime and expenses to be charged to the Town of Hamilton Falls.
Please advise Investigator Malcolm’s availability ASAP.
Chapter One
Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth.
—Romans 8:33
The pager beeped as Ross pulled off the freeway for gas. He glanced at the number and frowned. What was the matter with those guys? Couldn’t they survive for two days without yanking on his electronic leash for help?
He tilted the motorcycle onto its side stand at the deserted pump and pulled the pager off his belt. He frowned at the number on the display and stalked over to the pay phone next to the ice machine.
His partner picked up on the first ring. “Organized Crime Task Force. Harper.”
“This had better be good, pal.” Ross leaned on the dented metal of the bracket protecting the phone from the weather.
“Oh, it is. How’s the vacation?”
“Two days isn’t a vacation. It’s a weekend. I’m scheduled for five days leave, Ray. Five. You page me, you better be telling me my apartment building’s burning down.”
“Nope. Worse than that. They got a live one.”
“Who?”
“Hamilton Falls. We just got a memo asking for your services. The lieutenant out there says their fink just blew the whistle. A near-miss this time—which adds up to two and a half kids total over the last couple of months. That’s ‘reasonable and probable grounds to believe,’ in my book.”
Ross stood silently, watching a flock of children spill out of the fast-food place next door. Shrieking, their giggles high-pitched, they tumbled into the play area.
One small town. Two deaths and a near-miss in four months.
“Ross?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think fast. Harmon knows I’m talking to you.”
So much for his hard-earned five days. “Tell him I’ll call him from Hamilton Falls.”
“What about your vacation?”
“I guess scenic Interstate 90 was it. Look on the bright side. The woman of my dreams could be anywhere, even in Hamilton Falls.”
Ray Harper snorted. “Just make sure she doesn’t have kids.”
Ross sipped a cup of coffee and considered the manila file folders on the blotter. The lieutenant who usually occupied this office was out at an accident scene. At the front counter, a uniformed patrolman just out of the academy took a complaint, while a telephone rang insistently at an empty desk in the bullpen. Outside the door of his borrowed office,