Judas Burning (34 page)

“Get her,” the man beside Eustace barked again, though he made no move toward her. Her lineage was her shield. No one wanted to lay a hand on Calvin Holbert’s daughter.

“Goddamn it, if I have to kick some ass—”

Two of the men started forward slowly, as if they were uncertain what to do.

“Run, Camille! Run!” Eustace yelled. The man beside him lifted his boot and kicked Eustace in the side of the head. He thought his neck would snap, but he didn’t lose consciousness. Through a haze of pain he saw Camille reach into the folds of her gown. The long barrel of the Winchester shotgun rose from her side. She brought it to her shoulder in one smooth motion and didn’t hesitate when she pulled the trigger.

Eustace felt the blowback of the man’s brain and blood as the tight scatter pattern of the shot hit him full in the face. He fell backward, missing Eustace.

One of the men started forward. Camille fired another shot. He reeled back, his chest blossoming red in the light from the skinning shed. He was dead before he hit the ground.

“Get away from Eustace,” Camille ordered as she pumped another shell into the gun. “You,” she pointed at the remaining man. “Untie him and then move back. If you don’t do exactly what I say, I’m going to kill you.”

The man knelt beside Eustace. His hands were shaking as he cut the ropes with a hunting knife, which he dropped into the dirt as he backed away.

“Don’t kill me,” he pleaded.

“Why not?” she asked. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Please,” Eustace said as he rubbed circulation back into his hands. To his shame, he wasn’t able to stand. “Camille, please stop.”

“They were going to kill you.”

“He killed those two girls,” the young man said, his voice unsteady with fear. “He killed those girls. We were just going to even the score.”

“Eustace didn’t kill anyone,” Camille said.

He inched forward on his knees. “Your mama said he did. It was your mama who sent us down here. She said to do what we did. She paid us three thousand dollars each.”

The gun faltered, but as soon as the man moved forward, Camille raised it again. When she pulled the trigger, the ground in front of the man jumped in tiny clods. “What else did my mama say?”

“She said the old man was a pervert. She said he had you down here and wouldn’t let you go, and that he’d killed those girls and would likely kill you.”

The gun shook in her hands. “Let me tell you about my mother,” Camille said in a voice Eustace didn’t recognize. “She forced me to take care of my father’s needs.” The gun waved dangerously. “She said she’d sacrificed everything for her marriage, and I could sacrifice a little to keep Daddy happy.”

Eustace got his feet under him, stunned at Camille’s revelation of the ugly things he’d only dared guess at. The circulation was back in his limbs, but his mind was numb. He shifted his weight. His leg hurt terribly, but he could walk. He had to take care of Camille.

“Please put down the gun, Camille.” As soon as this was over, he was going to drive into town and kill Vivian first, and then Calvin. Vivian’s betrayal was the greater. She’d forced her daughter into incest to protect her vested lifestyle. If Eustace spent the rest of his life in prison, it would be worth it.

The young man started to rise from his knees.

“Come on,” Camille said. “Give me a reason.” The gun didn’t waver any longer. It was pointed straight at his chest.

Eustace moved to Camille’s side. “It’s okay,” he said, afraid to touch her, afraid that it would set her off. “Can I have the gun, Camille? You could go in and call the sheriff.”

“Are you afraid to leave me alone with him?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I don’t care if you kill him. I’ll swear it was self-defense.” He stepped back. “Do what you have to do.”

“Please!” the man groveled. “Don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.

Camille handed Eustace the gun. “You watch them, and I’ll call J.D.”

Dixon held the basin of hot water as Olena cleaned Chavez’s wounded shoulder. The baby had fallen asleep in his playpen, and there was only the sound of the crickets drifting in through the open window and the baby’s gentle snores. There still was no sign of Zander, and both the women were worried, though neither spoke of it. Olena had called the prison, but the officials wouldn’t release any information to her about Willard Jones. Stalled on that front, Olena had worked on Francisco Chavez as if she could save her brother by saving the Mexican.

For the most part Dixon had watched quietly, holding the hot water, handing Olena clean gauze and unfamiliar powders. Olena was almost done, and Dixon could hold back her questions no longer.

“Chavez, did you destroy the statue at the Catholic church?”

He nodded, trying not to wince as Olena poured what looked and smelled like turpentine into his ragged flesh. It was some concoction the local healer had given Olena, and it obviously burned fiercely.

“Why did you do that?”

His face hardened in the overhead light from the kitchen. “Religion is a lie. A deliberate construction of lies.”

Dixon studied him. He was a handsome man, his dark hair long and his skin bronzed by the sun. There was a gentleness about him, until he spoke of religion.

“What kind of lies?”

“The Church does not forgive. It judges. The image of Mary, Mother of Jesus, woman among women, is a fraud.”

He was getting worked up, and Dixon hesitated for a moment. “You feel very strongly,” she offered, and she felt the angry look Olena gave her. It was clear Olena wanted the conversation to end.

“It is my mission to destroy images of Mary where she is portrayed as benevolent and loving. The Blessed Virgin.” His last words were almost a sneer. “The Church has many stories to excuse the conduct of the chosen. Everyone else is judged and sentenced to hell and damnation. Mary had a child that was not her husband’s. Instead of a bastard, she had a god.”

“Tell me about the girls on the river.”

Chavez shifted his position on the kitchen stool so that Olena could work on the exit wound at the back of his shoulder. “They were young. The blonde was loud; the other afraid. Then the woman came and took them.”

“Did you see Vivian kill the girls?” Dixon asked.

“The red-haired woman with the big boat got the girls to ride with her. They were laughing when they got in the boat. She took them up the river. When she came back, the blonde was hanging over the side vomiting. She was very sick. I couldn’t see the other girl. I think she was already dead in the bottom of the boat.”

It could have happened as Francisco Chavez said. But it still didn’t explain what had been done to the bodies. “You said you wanted to sanctify the flesh. How do you mean?”

For the first time, Chavez looked at the wound in his shoulder. It looked as if he were trying to determine if he’d been injured too badly to keep on running.

“The body is sacred, a temple for all emotions. Catholicism denies sexuality to women. Mary represents this repression. Mary, who had an immaculate conception, which is intercourse without sex.” He stared at Dixon. “I honored the idea of woman with a Judas burning.”

Olena had stopped working on him. “A what?”

“It is an old tradition, far older than any of the doctrines taught by the Church. The girls symbolized the female ideal, and they were hung in effigy and burned. This is what the Church does to women.”

“Where did you keep the bodies?”

“The red-haired woman first took them to her houseboat and kept them for a few days. Then she moved them with help from the man. They buried them down by an old cemetery about ten miles down the river. Then I dug them up and brought them back here.”

Dixon pushed aside the macabre vision of Chavez’s actions. “Who was the man with Vivian?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Could you identify him if you saw him again?”

“Si.”

Dixon put the pan of bloody water she’d been holding on the floor. “I have to call J.D.,” she said.

Olena rose slowly. “No, you don’t. I can’t let you. Not until Francisco is safely on his way out of town.”

“We have to,” Dixon insisted. “He can prove who killed those girls. Vivian Holbert has to be put behind bars.”

“And you can guarantee me that Vivian will pay instead of Francisco?”

“We have to call J.D.,” Dixon said. “Then we have to go looking for Zander.”

“I haven’t forgotten my nephew.”

“Good, because I’m worried about him. He’s been gone for too long. We don’t even know which direction he went.”

Olena taped the bandage into place on Chavez’s shoulder and handed him his shirt. It had a hole where the bullet had torn through, but it was freshly washed. “Zander’s in the state he’s in because of your family.”

“That’s not even worthy of a comment,” Dixon said, refusing to get angry. “I’m the one person who’s trying to help Willard. You know that’s the truth.”

Olena looked down at the floor. “I don’t trust the law.”

“And I don’t blame you, but there’s a woman out there who killed two girls. She could kill again. We need to clear Francisco’s name, and we need to see that Vivian is captured.”

“You trust the sheriff?”

“I do,” she said. “J.D. Horton is a fair man. I trust him.”

“Then use the telephone,” Olena said. “By the sofa.”

Dixon left the kitchen and walked into the darkness of the living room. She found the phone and dialed the sheriff’s office.

Waymon answered. “Boy, the sheriff has been looking for you!

“I need him to come out to Olena Jones’s home.” Dixon gave the address.

“He’s a mite busy.”

Dixon swallowed her exasperation. “This is important, Waymon. Just tell him.”

“He’s out looking for Calvin Holbert and Beatrice Smart. They’ve disappeared without a trace. Oops, could you hold on? I got another call. Man, it’s like Grand Central Station around here tonight.”

He switched lines, and Dixon tapped her fingers on the receiver as she waited. The news about Calvin and Beatrice was unexpected. And disturbing, based on what she now knew about Vivian.

“Miss Sinclair, I got to go. Eustace is holding off a bunch of vigilantes who tried to kill him, and J.D. won’t answer the radio.”

“When did you hear from J.D. last?”

“He’d just headed back to the Holbert home.”

She hung up and went back to the kitchen.

“J.D. is already looking for Vivian. Listen, Olena, I want you both to stay here. If Zander comes back in, all of you come to the sheriff’s department. You’ll be safer there than anywhere else. I have to go.” She wasn’t sure if she should go to Fitler or into town and hunt for J.D.

“What about Zander?” Olena asked. “Will you look for him?”

“Do you think he might ride his bicycle toward town or toward the river?”

“Probably town,” Olena said. “He might have been looking for you.”

“I’ll hunt for him,” Dixon said as she hurried out the door to her truck. She checked her cell phone for messages. There were several from the newspaper, two from J.D., and one from Robert Medino.

She listened to her voice mail as she gunned the truck down the winding dirt drive.

Tucker and J.D. were looking for her.

Robert had news. She could hear the excitement crackling in his voice. “Your father had done a series of stories on the salt domes around Richton. They’d once been used by the federal government to dispose of nuclear waste, but that had been stopped in the seventies. What’s interesting is that your father had linked several state senators with representatives from chemical waste companies. Dixon, I think your father may have stumbled onto a sweetheart deal between some politicians and Chemco. I’m headed home to talk to you about this.”

The voice mail beeped. Robert had run out of time. If he had more to say, she’d have to wait to hear it in person.

J.D. parked three blocks from the Holberts’ house. He glanced at Tucker. There was really no one else he could count on. Waymon was on the radio, working dispatch, and he needed him there.

J.D. answered his cell phone on the first ring. “Horton.”

“Vivian Holbert killed those two girls.”

J.D. was relieved to hear Dixon’s voice. “Where are you?”

“I’m fine,” Dixon said. “Francisco Chavez has been shot. He’s okay. Olena Jones is taking care of him because he won’t go to the hospital. Eustace shot him. Waymon says there are some vigilantes out at Eustace’s.”

J.D. didn’t say anything.

“Where are you?” Dixon asked.

“Vivian’s house. Tucker is with me. Calvin and Beatrice are missing. I’m afraid they may be inside.”

“I’m only about five minutes from town now. You haven’t seen Zander Jones, have you?”

“Not tonight. Dixon, stay away from here. I have no idea what Vivian is capable of doing, and the more people who are around, the more likely it is she’ll do something rash.”

“What’s Tucker doing there?”

“He wants to be in on the action. I gotta go.” J.D. clicked off the phone. Reaching around Tucker he got a nine-millimeter Glock from the glove compartment.

“Do you know how to shoot?” he asked.