Blind Spot (19 page)

“Getting better. Still unaware. Still pregnant,” Claire said with a smile in her voice. “How are things going with you?”

“The emergency room’s run over by people who think they’ve got the flu. I was just wondering…did that nurse ever get hold of you? The one who thought she could identify Jane Doe? Dark hair. Medium tall. From Good Sam?”

“No one’s contacted me. Maybe she talked to Freeson, though I think he would’ve said something.”

“I gave her your name specifically.”

“It didn’t happen.”

“Huh.” Leesha sounded perplexed. “Maybe she changed her mind. I was kinda pissed, ’cause I thought the girl at the front desk gave out Jane Doe’s whereabouts, but she said no. This nurse must’ve figured it out on her own. She sure acted like she was going to come your way.”

“I thought the authorities were sifting through would-be identifiers.”

“They are. It just seemed like she might know something…hmm…”

They chatted for a few more minutes before Claire’s next appointment knocked on the door, a stunning athlete whose dream of playing college football had been dashed when he’d been diagnosed with an enlarged heart. He was having serious trouble redirecting himself and was so low that Claire had prescribed antidepressants and made sure he was never alone.

She hung up as he slouched himself into a chair. “How are you doing, Jeremiah?” she asked and spent the next hour pulling out monosyllabic replies that didn’t bode well for his overall mental health.

Cade was still in the same position when Lang got back. He lifted his head a little, peeking from beneath dark brown bangs, as the back door squeaked open and Lang reentered the kitchen. His gaze zeroed in on the manila envelope in Lang’s hands and he swallowed hard. Lang pulled out the photograph, the one of the victim on the ME’s stainless steel gurney, most of his body covered by a sheet, though a stab wound near his collarbone was plain to see, and held it up for him.

Cade swallowed. “Shit,” he whispered.

“It’s Rafe?”

“Fuck…oh, God…holy shit…”

“Put your head between your knees,” Lang ordered, seeing the color drain from his face. When Cade didn’t seem to hear, Lang dropped the picture on the floor and pushed Cade’s head down for him, using more speed than finesse. Cade was gulping air.

“Can you tell me about him?” Lang asked after a couple of moments. “He was your cousin and a friend. You both grew up around here.”

He lifted his face and his eyes were red. He wasn’t exactly crying; Cade was a tough guy. But he sniffed and wiped his nose on his arm. “Rafe’s dad was never a real dad, y’know. He was gone early. I don’t know. Maybe somebody knows where he is, but Rafe didn’t. And he didn’t care. His mom died a coupla years ago. Some kinda cancer. Rafe was rentin’ with me for a while but he moved.”

“To where?”

Cade shook his head, either not knowing or maybe just not eager to tell.

“You haven’t been aware that he’s been missing,” Lang said.

“He goes off sometimes. He just works in people’s yards and doin’ stuff like hauling crap away and fixes fences and stuff.”

“A handyman.”

“Yeah, a handyman, I guess. And a lover.” He shot Lang a weak smile. “Really got the girls. Just, they were all over him.”

“A good-looking guy,” Lang said. In this kind of interview, it was all about keeping them talking.

“Yeah, but, more’n that, too. He was kinda stupid-good? Never really knew what was going on with women, what they were thinking. He just sorta ignored all their shit and was okay with it? You know what I mean?”

“I think so.” Lang’s own experience with women was limited to a couple of half-assed relationships that he sensed might be his own fault. He sorta ignored them, too, but he wasn’t really okay with any of it. He just thought they should stop acting hysterical or emotional or ridiculous, and they had a tendency to object to that opinion.

“Women are all over that shit,” Cade said.

“Was he dating a blond woman? Someone around twenty, maybe?”

“Nah.”

“No? He was with a young blond woman who was pregnant.”

“Hell, no!” Cade blinked a couple of times. “Maybe you got the wrong guy! Rafe was with Rita. She just, like, took him over!”

“That couldn’t be this girl?”

“Nah, she’s part Injun. Dark hair. Kinda fierce-lookin’ in that cool way, like she’s gonna eat you alive, y’know? He was really hot for her…although…” He thought a long moment, staring off into space.

“Although?” Lang prompted.

“Although, I don’t know. He didn’t talk about her much lately. I haven’t seen him a lot, really. He was busy at that job with the cult.”

“The cult?” Lang was half-amused, half-exasperated. Cade’s rambling view on women and relationships, and now the mention of a cult, made him wonder how much of this recount was truth and how much was Cade’s own weird take on life as he knew it.

“You know them? The ones that live at the lodge with the big fence around it? Been there forever, like some of them are really ancient. I’ve seen some younger ones, though. Once in a while. They all wear those long dresses and their hair’s up.” He motioned upward in a spiral that Lang took to represent a bun. “Rafe’s been doin’ work for them for a while. They really don’t let anybody in but him.”

“Could this girl have been from there?”

“Was she wearin’ a long dress?”

“Uh…” Lang wasn’t sure. “A smock, or something. She’s pretty pregnant.”

“Too bad you can’t just ask her,” Cade said.

“No one’s come forward to identify her, even with all the press.”

“Bet she’s from that place, then.” Cade nodded. “They don’t have TV. They don’t do nothin’, like, modern. It’s like
Little House on the Prairie.
You ever seen that old show?”

“I know of it.”

“That’s what they dress like.”

“Are they blond?”

Cade rolled that over. “Maybe. I’ve seen the old lady. She’s gray. And she’s the one who lets you through the gate, or not. Mostly not. The younger one I saw mighta had a hat on. Coulda been blond.”

“Maybe I should go talk to them. See if one of them’s run away.”

“Good luck with that.” Cade snorted. “I bet you don’t get past the gate.”

“Where is this place?”

Cade described it as being closer to the highway, near Deception Bay, with a view across the road to the ocean but back down a long, rutted lane. “You know where the lighthouse is?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“And then there’s an island out there? Rocky and kinda in like a hospital?”

“Inhospitable?” Lang guessed.

“Yeah, that’s it. Their lodge looks right out over that. If you’re on the water, lookin’ back, you can see their place. All fucked up, spookylike. Candles and shit. Looks like it’s lookin’ back at ya? You know what I mean? Like its windows are eyes and it sees you.”

“Uh-huh…”

“But don’t go out on the bay if you don’t know what you’re doin’. That’s why it’s called Deception Bay, y’know. My dad told me. Because boats get smashed against the island, or the lighthouse, or the jetty. Lots of accidents with stupid boaters who don’t know what they’re doin’.”

Lang realized Cade had a lot more imagination than most thieves he’d run across. Most of them were in the clutches of meth or heroin or some other addictive drug that forced them to steal to make money to buy more drugs. Maybe Cade had an addiction problem, maybe he didn’t. But he sure as hell wasn’t the usual lost soul Lang ran across.

“I’m going to give your name to a friend of mine at the Winslow County Sheriff’s Department.”

“I told you everything I know! What do you mean? Thanks a lot, you bastard. I don’t have the truck no more. You guys have it! It’s not my fault it’s stolen!”

“Actually, yeah, it is. You stole it first,” Lang corrected him. “But that’s not what I meant. We need someone from Rafe’s family to make arrangements for the body.”

“Oh, shit, no.”

“Looks like it’s you, unless he has some other closer relative?”

“No…no…” He was on his feet, absorbing, starting to pace.

“Can you name me another relative? What about your dad and mom?”

“Mom’s remarried. She’s not around. Dad lives in Seaside. You can call him.” Cade looked relieved. “That’d be about it.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Lang picked up the picture and slid it back into the folder.

“Dad doesn’t like Rafe. He thinks he’s a bad influence.”

Since Rafe had a job and it looked like Cade’s source of income was from criminal activity, Lang wondered who was the bad influence on whom.

“I know you’re tellin’ me the truth,” Cade said, “but I still think Rafe could walk in here any minute. I don’t really believe he’s gone, though I know he is, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

Lang left, thinking about Melody all the way back to his house.

Lang had a laptop as old as Methuselah. Its wireless capabilities, though it purported to have them, were cagey. Sometimes they acted like they were there, but then, mysteriously, they were gone. He couldn’t remember the last time his laptop had connected to the Internet unless it was actually plugged directly into the modem. Maybe never.

“Gotta stop paying for that service,” he said to the empty family room. The television was on, flickering with an action movie he thought he’d seen before but couldn’t quite place. Not that he was paying much attention. His thoughts were elsewhere, on his case that wasn’t really his case, and on his upcoming employment with the TCSD, and on Claire Norris, though he sought to deny it.

It had been an interesting week and a half.

He’d been to Seaside to talk to Cade Worster’s father, Silas Worster. Silas was a developer whose business had died in the housing slump and now he worked as an electrician, his original trade. More accurately, he was currently an electrician’s assistant, as the amount of work had dwindled from a rushing river to a trickle that sometimes was a mere drip.

Lang met Worster outside Palmer Electric, which Worster suggested after Lang called the office and left a message on the man’s cell phone voice mail. Worster was picking up some supplies before his next job the following morning, and when Lang connected with him, it was while he was checking off a list he had on a clipboard of various and sundry wires, tools, and equipment.

“You’re the guy who called?” he questioned, giving Lang the once-over.

Worster himself was about five-ten, going to gray though he still had most of his hair, lean enough except for the beginnings of a middle-aged belly. He wore gray work pants, a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a Columbia Sportswear jacket with a hood and a lot of pockets, most of them weighted down with tools of the trade.

Lang introduced himself as working with the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department and explained about the body at the Winslow County ME’s office, waiting for identification and dispersal. He showed him the picture of Rafe’s body on the gurney.

Worster turned back to his checklist. “Cade gave you my name.”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s just about what you’d expect. Pass the buck. Make dear old dad clean up every mess.”

“This isn’t about Cade,” Lang said slowly, feeling his way.

“My son and I don’t talk. We don’t really like each other. The only time he contacts me is when he needs something from me.”

“He said that Rafe Worster was the man in the picture and that Rafe is his cousin. He also said there’s no one else in the family except him and you.”

“Well, he was telling the truth there, for once.” He tossed the clipboard into the back of his truck and slammed the doors shut. “So, how’d Rafe get himself killed?”

Lang explained about the rest stop and the knifing, and Silas Worster suddenly woke up.

“Shit, man. The murder. Holy Christ. That was Rafe?”

He hadn’t looked at the picture closely enough to even notice the knife wound, Lang realized. No love lost in this family. He’d seen it before, but it never got any easier to understand, especially when he himself missed his sister every day. A part of him wanted to shake Worster and tell him to make up with his son, no matter what it took, but he also knew some things that were broken simply couldn’t be fixed.

“You may have seen on the news about the girl he was with. She’s not been responsive since the attack.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The pregnant one. I saw her on that channel with the Kirby woman.”

“Channel Seven.”

“Jesus…” It seemed to finally penetrate once he realized Rafe’s murder was a top news story. It took Lang another twenty minutes to get him to agree to make arrangements for Rafe’s body, muttering all the way about the expense.

Lang had already called Will Tanninger after his meeting with Cade, and they agreed that Lang should stop by the sheriff’s department after seeing Cade’s father. He waved at Dot on the way in and she buzzed him through. When he entered Will’s offices he met the other detective, Barbara Gillette, slim, with short dark hair, whose caseload was enough that they’d allowed Lang to come on board. She’d been on medical leave for a while, Lang recalled, but she seemed fit and determined and slightly suspicious at their first meeting. Lang didn’t blame her. If the situation were reversed, he’d wonder what the hell was going on.

After Lang brought them both up to date on what he’d learned about Rafe Worster, Tanninger said he would coordinate with O’Halloran and the TCSD to do further follow-up on the man’s history—where he lived, his job, if there were any other living relatives, what events had taken place directly before his death—anything at all that would help with the investigation. He concluded by thanking Lang for his help.

Lang responded with, “I’ve got a lead on Jane Doe.” Both Tanninger and Gillette looked up with interest, so he then explained the intricacies of Rafe’s active dating life, per Cade, and brought up the lodge in Deception Bay.

“Cade called it a cult,” Lang finished with a shrug. “I don’t know about that. I banged on the gates for quite a while but no one heard me. Either that, or they just didn’t pay me any attention.”

Tanninger looked surprised. “I know of that place,” he said, to which both Gillette and Lang turned to him with upraised eyebrows. “My girlfriend, Gemma, was from Deception Bay originally. She went there to see what she could find out about her past.”

“She learned something about the cult?” Lang asked.

“The name of the lodge where they live is called Siren Song, and the townspeople refer to the women who live there as the Colony.”

“They’re all women?” Lang asked.

“Seem to be. When you get to TCSD, check with Detective Clausen. Gemma talked to him about her mother, and both he and O’Halloran told her more about Siren Song.”

“I’ll do that,” Lang said.

“Looks like this investigation is moving your way geographically, so do you want to continue?” Tanninger asked. “Or do you want Barb and me to take over?”

“I can keep going.” Lang wanted to, actually, but he didn’t want to step on any toes.

“Fine by me,” Barb said.

“Think O’Halloran or Clausen will know of a way to get beyond the cult’s gates?” Lang asked.

“O’Halloran’s the man to ask. Siren Song’s in his jurisdiction, and everybody in Deception Bay seems to have an opinion about the place.” He made a face. “That whole town’s a magnet for the strange and weird. O’Halloran’s words, not mine.”

Lang shook Will’s hand and promised to keep in touch. He’d then had another meeting with Sheriff O’Halloran; Detective Clausen wasn’t around when Lang arrived because he was following up on Rafe Worster.

“You won’t get Catherine to give you the time of day,” O’Halloran predicted when Lang said he wanted to find a way inside Siren Song. “She knows me and we leave each other alone.”

“Catherine is the older woman who runs the place?”

The sheriff nodded. “There’s a whole history to them. It’s common knowledge, or lore, I guess. You can hear any number of stories about them and other crazies by just sitting at the Sands of Thyme bakery, or on a bench at the beach, or just walking through the town.”

“Other crazies?” he asked, thinking of Will’s girlfriend’s mother.

“You know last year when that serial killer was attacking women along 101 and 26? The one at Halo Valley Security Hospital? He squatted in that lighthouse that’s in Deception Bay.”

“Turnbull,” Lang said with a small shock. He’d been so focused on Heyward III that he’d forgotten who else was incarcerated on Side B.

“That’s the one.” O’Halloran nodded. “Talk to Clausen. He and his old partner were involved in corralling him.”

“You’d think this Catherine would want to know where one of her missing flock was,” Lang said.

“If she’s even one of ’em.” He frowned. “You say this girl is pregnant?”

“Seven or eight months.”

“Then I doubt she’s one of the Colony.”

“Why?”

“’Cause they don’t leave that place. And there aren’t any men there. No way to get pregnant.”

“Rafe Worster worked there, according to his cousin, Cade.”

O’Halloran sniffed, disbelieving. “Okay, sure, that’s a possibility, I suppose. But if a man was anywhere around her girls, you can be sure Catherine had them all in chastity belts.”

“She rules with an iron fist.”

“She rules. Her way. The only way. That’s all.” He shook his head, then asked, “So, when are you coming on board?”

“Next week? I’ve got some moving to do. And I told Tanninger I’d still work on the rest stop murder.”

“Good.”

Lang made a face. “I can’t demand those women let me through the gates, seeing as I have no real authority right now. Any way we can get a warrant and storm that place?”

“Find me some probable cause. I think you’d do better with your charm.”

“I’ve driven to the gates twice and stood there like an idiot. I can’t get anybody inside to even look at me.”

“Oh, they’re looking,” O’Halloran said.

“If they don’t respond soon, I’d like to take more serious action.”

O’Halloran sighed. “Before it becomes a battle, make sure that this Jane Doe is really one of their own or we’ll be crucified by the press for forcing the law upon a private home that houses a group of passive, peaceful, law-abiding citizens, all of whom happen to be women.”

Lang did see the problem. Still, from all accounts, this Catherine of the Gates seemed more like a dragon lady than a serene keeper of the faith.

Lang had then said his good-byes and asked O’Halloran to have Clausen give him a call. As he was heading out the door, O’Halloran hollered after him, “Got those five rivers for me?”

“Still working on it,” Lang yelled back.

Which brought him full circle to the problem of his grinding laptop and its lack of connection capability. One more thing to do before he left the greater Portland area: buy a new computer.

Glancing at the clock, he grabbed up some boxes that were hurriedly packed and ready to go, carried them outside, and stowed them in his truck. Since meeting with the sheriff he’d started packing up his house, and he’d already half-filled his vehicle with his belongings. He’d done some halfhearted apartment hunting, reluctantly putting down a deposit on a unit in downtown Tillamook, close to the department. He already knew he wouldn’t be there long, but it was at least someplace for now. Eventually he planned to rent a house. Even more eventually, if the job worked out, maybe even buy a place. Time would tell.

Also since the meeting with O’Halloran, he’d made another fruitless attempt to engage Catherine of the Gates, but the lodge seemed almost abandoned. If they were watching him, they were damn stealthy about it. It was frustrating. He decided to shove a note through the bars in the hopes that someone would come and pick it up.

“Candlelight,” he muttered aloud.

Talk about the dark ages.

He’d wondered over the past couple of weeks if Catherine and the other women could be behind Rafe Worster’s murder. It wasn’t impossible. If Cat was from the Colony, maybe her pregnancy could cause a violent reaction? Was he being overly melodramatic? Stranger motivations had definitely surfaced throughout his years in law enforcement, and O’Halloran had mentioned the chastity belt thing. Catherine clearly didn’t want her chicks defiled.

But if they were involved in the murder, how could he find out?

Maybe from Cat herself…?

He realized the idea had been rolling around in his brain ever since he’d learned of Siren Song, and now as the thought crystallized into action, he decided to make one more trip to that hellhole known as Halo Valley Security Hospital and speak to Cat herself. This meant, of course, getting past the hospital staff, which was almost as difficult as Catherine of the Gates. It also meant he expected Cat to be able to communicate.

He thought about his last trip there and made a face. Not his most shining moment of restraint. He’d wanted to punch out both Marsdons and had pretty much thrown Dr. Norris to the wolves.

But she’d lied about Melody and what she’d said…hadn’t she?

Lang shook off a faint pang of remorse. To hell with all of them. They deserved whatever they got. They were bound and determined to move Heyward III to Side A, and he owed them nothing.

Grabbing the strapping tape, he pulled a strip across the top of a box of office supplies. Stacking it with a smaller box, one that had been sealed for some time that contained family mementos—Melody’s meager belongings—he toted them to the Dodge.

The transfer of Heyward Marsdon III from Side B to Side A was done quietly and without a lot of folderol. Claire felt suppressed anger toward Avanti and Freeson and even Radke, the head administrator, the way they’d professed to need and value her consent and then had gone ahead and done what they wanted anyway.

She was no longer Heyward’s doctor, but he didn’t seem to understand why not. Freeson was in charge of him and he took over the job with relish. In his way, Heyward III was a celebrity, and Freeson loved that kind of spotlight.

By default, Claire had been given care of Cat. A kind of consolation prize. An appeasement. Claire had accepted the assignment with a nod of her head while inside she’d been more than happy with the exchange. She’d always wanted to be in charge of Cat’s care, but Freeson had superseded her. And she knew she couldn’t have been fair toward Heyward, given the circumstances, even if the Marsdons and the rest of the staff had believed in her.

But that didn’t mean she was comfortable with having Heyward on her side of the hospital. Logically, she could tell herself that he was no threat when he was on his meds. She knew that to be true. But fear was irrational at the best of times. It was gut deep. Lodged in her cells. She was superstitious enough to walk a little faster past Heyward’s door than anyone else’s, which was ridiculous, and she would never admit it to anyone.

Now Claire consulted her watch. Eleven o’clock. She’d already met with several patients earlier today in her office and she was en route to Cat’s room to check on her. Then lunch, followed by a one-thirty appointment and a surprisingly light afternoon, as her three o’clock had canceled.