The Last Death of Jack Harbin (10 page)

I'm in Waco by ten o'clock and manage to find the Starbucks Taylor suggested we meet at. We don't have anything like it in Jarrett Creek. But I've been to a Starbucks in Houston, and I like it fine, even though I'm the only person in line who orders plain old coffee.

Taylor rushes in a half hour late. “I'm sorry. The woman who usually stays with my girls was late. Do I have time to get a cappuccino?” She's dressed conservatively in a dark skirt that covers her knees, low heels, and a white blouse buttoned all the way up. I took care with my own clothes this morning, copying what I've seen Curtis wear, although I feel like I'm ready for a game of golf rather than a foray into enemy territory.

“Sure, you have time. We need to strategize, so get your coffee.”

When she comes back with her foamy drink and a muffin, I see that her make-up can't hide her swollen eyes or the dark circles under them.

“I still can't wrap my head around Jack being dead,” she says. “I knew him from the time we were babies.” Her eyes well up. “I called Woody after I talked to you. He hadn't heard about it, and he was all torn up.”

“He told you about his plans to have Jack come and live with them?”

“I already knew about it from Laurel. She wanted me to talk to Woody. I told her I was the last person he'd listen to.”

“Turns out it wouldn't have come to anything anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know Lurleen, the waitress down at Town Café?”

She nods. “Couple of years behind me in school.”

“She and Jack were going to get married.”

“Really?” She gives me a rueful smile. “Well, that's good. He had something to look forward to. I'll go by and see Lurleen. This is going to be hard on her.” Then she frowns. “When did they decide to get married?”

“Walter Dunn told me he found out a couple of days before Jack died. Apparently Lurleen had never gotten a divorce from her first husband, and she liked things the way they were, so she and Jack had no plans to marry. But when Jack's dad died, she changed her mind.”

“Oh.” She nods her head slowly. “That makes sense.”

“What does?”

“Mmm, something Jack said.” She gets up abruptly and dumps her muffin and empty coffee cup in the wastebasket. When she sits back down, she says, “We should talk about what we're doing here. Have you found out where this cult is located?”

“No, I thought we'd drop by the police department. They usually keep tabs on cults, and the Waco police aren't strangers to that kind of thing.”

The cop behind the front desk has a long, bony face and steel gray hair. He leans on his forearms and nods when we tell him what we're looking for. “The True Marcus Ministry,” he says with a sigh. “That's what they call it, but it's just an excuse to hide out and collect guns. Ever since that David Koresh firestorm, this town has been a magnet for nutty groups. Gives us a lot of trouble.”

“Can you tell me how to get out to their place?”

He looks us over. “I wouldn't waste my time. They're not going to give you any satisfaction.”

“You don't even know what we're after,” Taylor says.

His smile is patronizing. “I know they're going to take one look at you and think you're not welcome there. Their women wear those long dresses like something out of
Little House on the Prairie
. Hair long, no make-up. Not to be disrespectful of you, ma'am.”

Taylor sighs. “I'm trying to see my sister.”

“Oh, it's like that,” he says sympathetically. He stands up straight. “Let me get somebody to drive you out there. They don't want to get crossways with the law, so they usually cooperate with us to a certain extent.”

Officer Redmond, who is barely dry behind the ears, drives us out in a squad car. “Let me do the talking,” he says. “They probably won't let us go inside, but maybe they'll bring your sister to you.”

We drive northeast for about thirty minutes through increasingly dense woods. Taylor is quiet, but there's no need for either of us to say much because Redmond is a one-man advertisement for the wonders of Waco. He tells us he was born here, went to school at Baylor, and the only time he's spent outside the area was in the Texas Department of Public Safety training. And there is not a better place in the great state of Texas. In other circumstances I might argue the matter with him, but I need him on our side.

Eventually the trees give way to high, dense scrub brush. Everything is hot and dusty and forlorn. We turn onto an unpaved road. Dust rises behind us as we barrel along parallel with a high chain link fence that looks like it means business. At the end of the road, we stop in front of a little shed next to a gate. A large man carrying a rifle in his left hand steps out to greet us. He's dressed in khaki pants and shirt with an emblem of crossed guns with an eye in the middle of it. He introduces himself as Brother Dan. He's wearing sunglasses, so I can't see his eyes.

I wondered if Redmond was old enough and trained enough to deal with the Marcus Ministry folks, but he eases my doubts right away. He gets out of the car to talk to Brother Dan. His voice projects authority, yet he maintains a relaxed stance.

“In the car here I have Samuel Craddock and Taylor Venable. Mrs. Venable says her sister is married to one of your members, and she's having trouble getting in touch with her. She's a little worried. I imagine you can sympathize with that. She'd like a chance to talk to her sister if you can arrange it.”

“What's Craddock's interest in this?”

“He's a lawman from Jarrett Creek. Mrs. Venable asked him to accompany her.”

Brother Dan slaps at a mosquito on his arm. If he's sympathetic to Taylor's situation, he sure doesn't show it. “I'm sorry she's having trouble, but we don't keep people from talking to their families. If they want to, that is. A lot of our members prefer not to be involved with their former family members.”

“Mmm, mmm. That may be, but Mrs. Venable would like to see firsthand if that's the case. It would set her mind at ease, and it would go a long way to keeping your ministry's relationship with our department on friendly terms.”

The man takes off his sunglasses. His blue eyes are hard as ice. “I see no reason for threats. We haven't broken any laws.”

“I'm sorry if you thought that's what I was implying. What I meant to say was, the chief gets nervous if an outsider, somebody who doesn't understand how things work in Waco, gets upset and thinks the police don't run a tight ship.” Redmond has been standing at attention, but now he leans back against his car and folds his arms as if they're discussing the price of land in the area.

“There's no need for the lady to be upset. We treat our women just fine.”

“I'm sure you do. But I hope you understand Chief Kolecek's position. He wouldn't like somebody like Mrs. Venable here, a perfectly nice, respectable woman, to complain to state authorities that we're letting a group keep officers from carrying out their duties properly. Our job is to keep citizens safe and sound, and sometimes we need to assure ourselves that we're doing the job right.” If he sounded any friendlier, he'd be wagging his tail.

Brother Dan's expression is patient, but I notice his fist clenching and unclenching. “Just a minute,” he says. He goes inside his hut. I don't see any wires, so he must have a walkie-talkie of some kind. After a few seconds, he comes out. “What's the sister's name?”

“Sarah. Sarah Harbin.” Taylor's voice quivers.

Brother Dan disappears back inside. The temperature inside the car has become unbearable. Taylor unbuttons the top button of her blouse and fans herself with a brochure she dug out of her purse. I feel sweat trickling down my back.

It's a good ten minutes before Brother Dan comes back to the car. He avoids making eye contact with Taylor, but speaks loud enough for us to hear him. “Brother Kittredge will bring Sister Sarah here. He consulted with her and she said she'd be willing to show herself. You should be appreciative. Not everyone wants contact with outsiders.”

At the word “outsider,” Taylor's cheeks flush and she grabs my hand, but she just nods.

“Thank you kindly,” Redmond says. “It really helps when you folks are so forthcoming.” I guess it's partly the heat that makes me want to say a few choice words on the matter. But that would probably mean the end of Taylor's chance to see her sister.

A golf cart with two people in it comes into view, bumping along the rutted road through the brush. Taylor sits forward and says, “Officer Redmond, would it be all right if I got out of the car?”

He sticks his head inside and says quietly. “Wait until your sister gets close, then step out. But keep your distance unless she makes a move.”

“I hate this,” Taylor breathes to me.

I hate it as much as she does. Jarrett Creek has several churches, but they're all some version of regular religious establishments: Baptists and Methodists, Catholics and Lutherans and Church of Christ. I don't know that we even have any Mormons or Christian Scientists. About the most exotic congregation we have around there is a little nest of Seventh Day Adventists out near Bobtail.

Waco is a whole different story. Since the Branch Davidians had their disastrous run-in with the federal government near Waco back in the nineties, the area around Waco has become a magnet for fanatic religious sects. The groups are run by men who thrive on fear and suspicion and who assert their power by treating their wives and children like property. I remember Curtis's coldness when he talked about his wife. How does a man get to where he doesn't feel safe or powerful unless he has a gun and an iron grip on his family's every move?

Brother Kittredge gets out of the cart and says something to Sarah. She nods and he goes around and helps her out. He takes her arm, as if she's unable to trust her own feet, or he wants to make sure she doesn't bolt. Her pale blue dress is a little long, and it's an old style, like something from the fifties, but it's not as old-fashioned as the cop at the station described. Her sleeves come only to her elbows, and the neck of her dress is open at the top button in deference to the heat. Her hair, dark like Taylor's, is long, but worn simply, held back by barrettes. Her face is flushed, and she keeps her eyes on the road in front of her until they get to the gate. Brother Dan fiddles with the elaborate lock and opens the gate enough for them to step through. Only then does Sarah lift her eyes to the police car. Her eyes are as watchful as a dog used to being hit at random.

When she's a few feet away, Taylor gets out of the car. “Sarah!”

Both Brother Dan and Brother Kittredge react as if Taylor has rushed at them. They quickly move in close on either side of Sarah, and Brother Dan puts his arm up as if to ward off a blow. “She doesn't want physical contact,” he says.

“Sarah is that true?” Taylor says defiantly.

Sarah nods. Although her clothes are strange, she looks healthy, and her dress is clean and pressed.

“But . . .” Taylor starts to protest, but stops when Brother Kittredge seizes Sarah's arm.

“If you can't abide by Sister Sarah's wishes, we'll have to ask you to leave,” Brother Dan says.

“I understand. I'll do what you say.” Taylor's voice shakes.

Brother Dan nods, and they lead Sarah a little closer.

Sarah's expression is calm. “It's good to see you, Taylor. Thank you for coming. As you can see, I'm fine. I'm very happy. Tell Mother I'm fine.” Is it my imagination, or does her voice wobble a little at these words? “Are you well?”

“Yes, but I've been worried about you. I thought I'd get to see you at the funeral when your father-in-law died, but Curtis said one of the kids is sick. What's wrong?”

“She's better. It was just a cold. Are your children well? Who did you leave them with today?”

“They're great. I wish you could see them. My middle one reminds me so much of you. I couldn't bring them because they're in school. I have a wonderful woman staying with them.”

“At Marcus Ministry we don't let strangers take care of our children.” Sarah speaks as if she's reading from a script. But then she adds, “Send me a picture.” She shoots a furtive sidelong glance at Brother Kittredge, as if she's said something out of line.

“I wish I could see your children, Sarah. I'm their aunt, and I would like to see them.”

“Maybe sometime that can happen. Marcus Ministry doesn't keep us captive. We just want to do what's best for our families.” She swallows and speaks louder. “I wouldn't lie to you.”

Taylor gasps.

Sarah turns to Brother Kittredge and whispers something to him. He says, “Sister Sarah wants to go now. Thank you for your visit. We always want to assure our members' families that they are happy with their spiritual choice.”

“Sarah!” Taylor calls out. But they keep up a steady pace away from us and Sarah doesn't look back. They climb into the golf cart and scoot away. Taylor stares after them until they disappear into the thicket. Brother Dan locks the gate and goes back inside his little hut without acknowledging us further.