A Mass Murderer - Coffin for the living (ADDITIONAL BOOK INCLUDED ) (2 page)

“Well damn you and your high and mighty manners, Roy Klyne! If it hadn’t been for me, back home, that rich puppy would have cold-cocked you with his Derringer.”

“True. And if it hadn’t been for me, you’d have ended up in some stinking bar with your belly full of rot gut.” Klyne reminded him.

“Right. That does it. Since we’re both here in Yuma then we’ll kill this Reverend. After that we might just go our own ways.” Bates said.

“Bill, that would suit me fine. Now where does this Reverend Smith live?”

“Outside of town, he’s got himself the plainest looking woman I ever seen as a housekeeper. Maybe we hit him Sunday, right in front of everyone.”

“No. Revange is mine. That’s what the Good Book says. It doesn’t say nothing about going and glorying in the killing. Tomorrow. At his home.”

Bates flopped back on the pillow, turning his face to the wall. “Wanted to do it in the church.”

Klyne padded back to his own bed. “Tomorrow, Bill. We do it my way or not at all. All right? Or do you want to argue it?”

“Okay. Roy. Your way. This time.”

“Right. Now get some sleep. Goodnight.”

There was no reply. Just a burst of loud snoring from the other bed.

1. Day of Reckoning
   

The morning saw both men quieter. Bates nursed a hangover and Klyne had done some thinking and decided that it would be better if they could gather more information about the Reverend.

What better place could there be for this purpose other than a barber’s chair or a friendly talk with a barkeep. They booked out of the hotel, walking aimlessly around the town and entered a bar.

Bates talked about the Reverend to the bartender and was able to gather quite a lot of information.

A year back, in the Fall, the Reverend had lost his wife and had been quite shattered by it. But at the same time he had been left a very considerable sum of money on the death of his wife.

At this point the bartender had leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. Things weren’t the same out at the Reverend’s house. He’d taken a housekeeper, which was to be expected. A lady so lacking in any kind of beauty that not a tongue could wag among the ladies of the church circle. Indeed, the woman seemed to make every attempt she could to make herself ugly, wearing awful shapeless clothes and hats that hid her face.

But, and here the voice of Bates’s informant dropped so low that he had to crane across the bar to hear him, there were still some mighty strange rumors. Strangers getting off the train and visiting the Reverend’s place. Lights on in the house all night.

“Did he mention any names? Any folks calling there that he might have known?” asked Klyne.

Bates grinned. “Thought that might interest you. I can be useful, you see. Yeah, he named a name or two. Like the son of a senator and someone knew the undertaker from a town not far from here. Couple of twins that he said were kind of sinister, and some others.”

And there had been rumors about the housekeeper. Whatever she might look like, there was talk that the inside didn’t match up to the outside.

“Sounds like the Reverend is playing fast and loose with the ladies of the town,” commented Klyne.

They reached a clump of trees on the right of the road, with narrow track winding to the house of the Reverend.

“Isn’t he taking a risk living this far out of town? All on his own. What about burglars?” Bates asked.

“Safe except from folks like us,” answered Klyne.

The house loomed up through the trees, set firm and solid in the centre of an acre or two of cultivated ground. There were cows and some hogs, with chicken all over.

There was a sign on the gate that said: ‘Positively No Admittance Without An Appointment. Dog Trained To Attack Trespassers.’

“Right friendly bastard for a Reverend, isn’t he?” said Bates, clearing his throat and spitting a dark stream of tobacco juice at the notice.

Klyne swung the iron gate open, nearly catching his hand on a strand of heavy-duty barbed wire wound round the top. Bates shut it behind them, swinging round at the noise of a snarling dog.

Jaws gaping, it darted like a streak of lightening, paws scuffing up the dust, jumping for Klyne’s throat. Bates took a step back, hand reaching for his gun but he was too slow.

Instead of trying to dodge or run from the brute, Klyne simply waited for it, ignoring its open mouth, and grabbed at its leading front feet. Quicker than Bates could follow, he jerked the dog’s legs apart, hard. There was a snapping noise, like a large log being split with an axe, and the dog gave an almost human cry of pain and shock.

Blood jetted from its jaws as Klyne flung it casually from him. The legs moved spasmodically, as though it was trying to run, and then it was still.

“God! My God, Roy. That was….I just didn’t see how you did that.” Cried Bates in disbelief.

They waited a long time for the Reverend to turn up at his home but there was no sign of him. It being a Saturday the Reverend spent the whole day in church preparing for the Sunday Mass.

It was getting dark, the thunder crumbling the still air about them, and an occasional flash of lightening rending the day apart.

“There’s no point in our staying here for the Reverend, let’s go to the church and pay him a visit.” Klyne suggested.

“Us going to church? I haven’t been to a church since I got married to Backy. All this makes me feel like I’m knocking right on heaven’s doors.” Bates declared.

“I hope they let you in,” said Klyne, turning the heavy handle and walking into the church.

Inside it was cool, with that odd, damp darkness that so many churches have. The light had faded so fast with the impending storm, but there was enough roll of thunder to drown any kind of noise to the outside world.

“Reverend Smith?” called Klyne, finding that he instinctively raised his voice in the din of the roll of thunder. A rumbling from outside drowned any sound of movement, but they both saw a figure edge from behind the small harmonium near the window.

“Yes? What can I do for you? I was not expecting anyone, so unless it’s important, then I’d be most grateful if you could call back sometime later.”

The two men walked forward through the dusty stillness their shoes sounding surprisingly loud. The Reverend stood still by the organ, resting a hand on the ivory keyboard.

“Pretty instrument, Reverend,” commented Bates positioning himself ready to block off the avenue of escape to the main door.

“Yes. My late wife played it for me, until she passed on some years back.” The Reverend said.

Looked at the minister, trying to imagine him laying with Louise. Straining in the dim light of the single bulb to see the man’s face. A great flash of lightening made them all jump, seeming to come right on top of the church, followed by a peal of thunder that seemed to shake the foundation of the building. It actually set the small bell in the tower over the front entrance to jingling softly in protest at the noise and viberation.

Smith’s face was clearly illuminated in that great sheet of silver light and Klyne recognized the sign of everything they had been told about him. A soft face, pink-cheeked. A halo of silvery hair, and long sideburns, neatly trimmed. Dark suit, expensively-cut. At a glance the image that any town would be glad to see in its minister.

“Doesn’t your housekeeper play at all?” Klyne asked.

“Who?”

“Your housekeeper, the lady who looks after you.”

Bates laughed. A course, rasping sound that was at odds with the shadowy church. “Yeah. I figure that little lady has played on a whole heap of organs in her time. What do you say, Roy?”

Klyne didn’t answer, watching the man they had come to kill, as he stood quite still in front of them, fingers idly tugging at a loose button on his waistcoat.

When the Reverend finally spoke, they had to strain to hear his quiet words. “I think that you must have come from out of town. Am I right?”

“Damn right!” Bates took a step forward, his lip curling with anger, fist clenching, but Klyne held him back.

“I…..I have been expecting you. I….shall we sit down, I fear my legs do not seem able to support me?” Together the three men walked slowly across the aisle and sat down in the front row of the carved wooden pews.

1. The Gates of Hell
   

The Reverend buried his face in his hands, as though he was at prayer. When he spoke his voice came from an immense distance, and it was the voice of a tired and beaten man.

“I did expect you. There is little that I feel able to say. I was there while it went on. I was drunk, as most of them were. I even…..I did it, as the others did. But I was outside when the killing was done. I think it was one of the twins, but I don’t know. They are a most Godless couple.”

“You don’t seem all that close to God yourself, Reverend,” said Klyne quietly.

“No. Yet I shall walk with him and all the Saints in that blessed peace that comes with true repentance. I have sinned most grievously, and I do repent of it with all my heart.” His voice grew stronger, filling out as though he was preaching a sermon to a packed congregation, instead of talking to the men come to kill him.

Overhead, the storm seemed to be reaching its peak, and the building vibrated to each new crash of thunder, and the lightening was almost continuous, making it easy for all three men to see each other the whole time.

“You aren’t going to run? Nor fight?” Bates couldn’t believe that it was going to be this easy, and sounded almost disappointed.

The Reverend smiled gently at him. “No. I shall return to your town with you and I shall simply tell the truth. And throw myself on the mercy of the law.”

Klyne finally saw it. With both women dead, then the evidence would be at best sketchy. And with two of the killers already dead, it might be hard to press anything against such a pious man of God. He knew that the folks in his town and they might not be all that enthusiastic to see a minister swinging from the gallows.

Bates might not be all that bright, but he could spot a rat wriggling free from the trap as fast as most men.

“Wait a damned minute! You don’t quite get the message all that clear, Reverend.” Said Bates.

“What do you mean, my son? And how, if I may ask, sir are you aware of the existence of my housekeeper’s real name? Did she tell you where I was?”

“It is common knowledge in this town; let’s say we gathered the information from a reliable source.” Klyne said.

The Reverend smiled again, his gleaming teeth flashing in the lightning. “That is well. You did her no harm? Nor my brother?”

“No. And none of this taking you back for a fair trial crap, so you can slip the noose off your soft bitching neck.” Bates added.

“Nooo!” The Reverend leaped forward, followed by Bates. The cry rang out round the small church, louder now that the storm was passing, leaving only an occasional slash of light and a distant sullen rumbling of thunder.

The Reverend moved with the frantic speed of desperation, swinging his arm out to knock over the oil lamp, sending it spinning to the wooden floor. Its fluted green shade smashed into a thousand glittering shards, and the brass base rolled round and round, clattering like a child’s top. Its wick still glowed red and oil poured from it, spilling and bubbling across the aisle.

The minister dived for cover behind the front row of pews, scuttling into the instant darkness like a fat beetle. The moment he’d disappeared, Bates fired twice in the direction of the movement, but there was only the noise of splintering wood, and a soft chuckle from the black coolness.

“Just in case of trouble with the town rowdies, I long ago hooked a scatter-gun beneath this row of seats. So, my brethren, the first of you who comes near me will receive a belly of prime lead-shot. And then the Lord will have no mercy at all on your souls.”

There was another laugh, like gas bubbling through honey, and quite unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked. The twin hammers clicking back.

Bates and Klyne both crouched under cover, waiting and watching. Behind the Reverend, near the alter, the oil-lamp had started a small fire, the flames licking hungrily at the dry wood, edging along cracks in the floor-boards, reaching out for the faded curtains that hung from the walls.

“Whole place’ll go,” hissed Bates from the left, over near the harmonium.

“And you with it, unless you try for that door,” called the Reverend. “I, on the other hand, have a small exit ready for me, well-covered by furniture. The bullet or the fire, my brethren. Which shalt thou choose?”

1. Hell Fire
   

Klyne lay flat on his face, the smoke already stinging his nostrils, when an idea came to him. An idea that would mean the end of Reverend Smith. But it had to be fast, and there wasn’t going to be room for any error.

“Go left on my shout, Bill!”

“Ready!”

“Now!”

Firing his gun Bates dodged across to duck behind the harmonium. Silhouetted for a moment against the rising flames, he presented a fleeting target for the crouching minister. The scatter-gun boomed, sending its splintering load of death starring out across the burning church. There was a macabre shriek from the harmonium as the lead shot ripped into it, tearing strips of white wood from its front and shattering its keys.