Ties That Bind (5 page)

Sam rose and went to the cupboards, rummaging through them until she found the tea. “Let me do it, Dad. You sit with Mom. Tell me about your day.”

Her father hesitated for a moment, as though to fight against her absconding with his self-appointed role, and then he gave in and sat down. Almost as heavily as Sam had just moments before. Probably with even more weight, despite his thin frame. He’d been carrying the burden of her catatonic mother for twenty years now.

“Well, let’s see. I worked some on my pear trees. And the peaches are getting ready to come on. Those are going to make some mighty tasty pies.”

Or would, if anyone here made pie. Or could even manage to peel a peach. Her father was no cook, so Sam knew the peaches would fall to the ground and rot or Dad would give them away to the neighbors. Same as last year.

Sam put one tea bag in each mug and carried them over to the table to steep. She set them both in front of her father, since her mother would only drink the tea with Sam’s father’s help—and even then most of it would run down Ruthie’s chin and onto her clothing.

“No tea?”

“No thanks,” Sam said.

He leaned over and sniffed the tea, closing his eyes briefly, letting the aroma and steam float up over his face, and then opening them again. “Did you hear about Gladys Knight?” her father asked her, as though sensing that her next words would be filled with ideas and options he did not want to hear. She’d said them before. He never listened.

“Gladys Knight the singer?”
Here we go again.

“Yes, she joined the Church. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I think we’ve talked about that before, Dad.”
Once a week for the past few years
.
Whenever you don’t want to talk about what you know is going to come out of my mouth.

“Oh,” he answered, looking slightly confused. “Well, it’s certainly good news for the Church, isn’t it? Such a testament to the truthfulness of the Gospel.”

Sam clenched her teeth to keep the acerbic reply that sat on the end of her tongue from escaping. The ringing of her cell phone saved her from having to answer.

“I need you at the seminary building at Smithland High School, Montgomery.” The chief’s voice was loud and stress frosted every word. “We’ve found something that ties the Malone kid to the others.”

“It’s not suicide,” Sam said, almost to herself.

“Doesn’t look like it,” the chief answered.

*   *   *

“How did you find it?” Sam asked a nervous patrolman, twenty-one-year-old Eldon Watts, fresh off his church mission and just out of the academy. They both stared at a computer screen, barely able to take their eyes away from the scene in front of them. Watts moved from foot to foot, as though he were twelve years old and being questioned by the seminary principal. Of course, it probably hadn’t been that long since Watts had taken church classes in this very building. Every good Mormon boy and girl took seminary, and Watts came from a family that had arrived in Utah in covered wagons, with Brigham Young as their guide.

Sam had ditched seminary class every day, so she wasn’t all that familiar with what the seminary looked like inside, although she had a vague recollection. From her survey today, it looked like a mini Mormon chapel, both inside and out. Now
those
she was familiar with, since ditching out on church services had never been as easy as skipping seminary, which was held during school hours. It was called released time, in an effort to separate church and state. The attendance of seminary did not affect one’s attendance at school, and thus Sam and her friends considered it their free period. As long as they didn’t get caught.

As far as Sam knew, each public junior-high and high school in Utah had a seminary building in short walking distance from the school. Close enough that it was possible to get from the building to the next class without being tardy. She didn’t know if someone donated the land whenever a school was built or how it was managed, but the buildings were owned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Someone in “released time” had had way too much free time, gauging from the PowerPoint presentation splayed across the computer screen.

“I actually found it,” said a voice from behind them, and a tall man stepped forward from the back of the room, where he had been talking to Chief Roberson and D-Ray. It took Sam a moment to place him, his familiarity so strong to her. But it wasn’t until he looked away, almost shyly, that she knew who it was. Paul Carson. Her high-school sweetheart and a man who—once upon a time—she even thought she might marry. Those days were gone.

“Hello, Sam. Good to see you again. I’m the seminary principal.”

“Paul,” she said with a smile, and she moved forward to hug him. He stepped back just as she did, and there was an awkward moment until finally she stuck out her hand. He accepted the gesture and shook hers, then quickly pulled away, as though her touch was too much to bear.

“Wow, seminary principal. That’s quite a … an interesting job,” she said, trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation.

The man had changed a lot, very different from the teenage boy who used to feel her up in the backseat of his father’s car, parked down a lonely road on a weekend night. Paul certainly didn’t look like any seminary principal Sam had ever seen. He still had thick, wavy dark hair, a little too long for Mormon decorum. He had dark green eyes and a straight, square jaw. He was well built and muscled and wore running pants, sneakers, and a white T-shirt with “Nike” emblazoned across the front of it. He looked like an adult, but she could still see the vestiges of the boy he used to be: the boy who had teased her and made her stomach flutter whenever he smiled or trailed his fingers across her bare stomach. There was no flutter, now. Too much time and water under the bridge, so to speak.

“I haven’t seen you since, oh, what was it, high-school graduation?”

“No, I think it was later that summer, at our Pineview Reservoir party,” he answered, meeting her eyes again, for a moment, then looking away. “You know, when everyone got together for a last farewell before college, and missions, and…”

“Life.”

“Yes, life. You look good, Sam. I heard you were back.”

“Yes, I’m working on the local force now. I’m a detective.”

“I know,” Paul said, his voice soft and melodic, his half smile showing the dimple in his left cheek. “First woman detective in the history of the Kanesville PD.”

“First woman cop, period.”

D-Ray walked over and stood next to her. “Yo, Paul,” he said, reaching out his right hand. “Good to see you again.”

The three childhood friends stood in a semi-circle, no one sure what to say next. Finally, D-Ray cleared his throat, gave her a questioning look, and then spoke. “So, Principal, er, Brother Carson here is the one who found it,” D-Ray said.

“Call me Paul, please. We’ve known each other too long for formalities. I apologize for my casual dress, but I was getting ready to go for a night run when I remembered that I’d left my notes here for a talk I have to give in sacrament meeting tomorrow. So I drove back over, and when I got to the front door, I noticed it was unlocked. I knew something was wrong, because I locked up myself on Friday. No one comes in on Saturday.”

“Is there an alarm?” Sam asked.

“Yes, of course. But it had been disarmed. I figured it must be one of my teachers, so I went ahead inside. And when I got into my office, I found this.” He pointed to the computer screen. Sam winced again as she viewed the macabre scene.

Over and over again, the pictures of the dead bodies of three teenagers played in a deathly slide show.

After each picture, in a font that was chilling and bloodred, scrolled the word
VENGEANCE.

SEVEN

The Mormon seminary building hosted at least fifteen hundred kids every day, Monday through Friday. Enough fingerprints to send any computer system into a tailspin.

Sam watched as the CSI techs from Smithland County dusted the seminary building for prints. They would probably only find a few thousand and there would be few matches on those prints. If any did come up, they’d most likely be sealed juvenile records.

She’d already walked the grid with D-Ray, taking notes. There was a frustrating—unnerving—dearth of evidence. The place was spotless. And considering that it was generally filled with immature humans who stuck gum on the bottom of desks and didn’t seem to know what a trash can was for …

“We have people come in and clean nightly,” Paul Carson said.

“A paid service?”

“No, we have families who take turns. Mormon families.”

Sam stopped writing and lowered her notebook, looking Paul in the eye and matching his gaze for the first time. “Mormon families who clean? For no money?”

“Yes,” he said. He didn’t squirm, just stared back into her eyes.

“And they do this
why
?”

“It’s part of being a good Mormon. They clean the churches, too.”

“I don’t remember this,” Sam said.

“Guess you haven’t been active for a while,” Paul said with a quick grin. “It’s a cost-saving method used by the Church. They started it up a few years back. And it gives everyone a chance to give service.”

“And saves them a whole hell of a lot of money,” Sam said.

“Well, yes, but the money is better used in other places.”

Sam wanted to spout out something rude and derisive but chose to contain herself. She was a professional, this was a crime scene, and it didn’t matter who this man standing before her used to be. Right now, he was a source.

“So, was this building cleaned this evening?”

“Oh no. It was cleaned Friday after school. No one’s been in here since … Well, at least as far as I know, no one has come in. Until … this.” He waved his arm at the computer that was currently being dismantled by the techs. Paul had willingly agreed to allow it to be taken to the crime lab for extensive testing.

“Did you leave before the cleaning staff … uh, cleaners did?”

“No, I always stay while they clean. Sometimes I help. A lot of hands make it go quicker.”

“So you locked up?”

“Yes.”

“Do the people who clean have keys?”

“No. It’s another reason I stay.”

“Who does?”

“Me, my staff, and CES headquarters, of course.”

“CES headquarters?”

“Church Educational System. HQ is in Salt Lake.”

“How many staff members do you have? I’ll need their names and contact information as well.”

For the first time, Paul’s face darkened. “Nobody on my staff did this, Sam.”

“You don’t know that, Paul,” Sam said, trying to keep her voice gentle.

“I know my people. And I know—”

“Look, Paul, I’m just doing my job. I need to talk to these people, even if just to rule them out.”

“So my word wouldn’t be enough?”

“What kind of cop would I be if I took everyone’s word?” Sam asked, fighting back frustration at his attempt to re-create a trust between them that hadn’t existed for years.

“The kind who believed me.”

Sam felt a presence and turned to see D-Ray watching the exchange with interest. She tightened her lips. “Names and contact information please,” she told Paul tersely.

He moved his eyes to D-Ray, then back to her. After a moment, he sighed and walked over to his desk, where he picked up a Rolodex.

Sam turned to D-Ray, who was still watching her closely.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nuthin’” he said, rolling his eyes, and then walked over to Paul. “So, Paul, watcha been up to besides teaching kids the words of wisdom?”

Sam just shook her head as she waited for the names of the seminary teachers. She hated the push and pull of small-town crime scenes, and this one was hitting way too close to home.

The three dead teenagers might as well be sitting in her childhood living room.

Suddenly needing to move, she turned impatiently to look at a bulletin board. And found herself staring into the cold, blue eyes of Gage Flint.

For a moment, Sam was completely speechless—even thoughtless. First Paul, now this—it was too much for one day. Every sentence that came to her lips seemed stupid or inappropriate. She felt the silence run on too long but couldn’t seem to make herself behave normally.

Finally, the chief seemed to sense that the situation needed rescuing. He stepped forward and put his hand on Gage’s shoulder.

“Sam, as you may know, this is Detective Gage Flint, Salt Lake City PD. He handled a case a while back involving some college kids and a suicide pact, and managed to put it to rest pretty quickly. I figure we can use his experience.”

“But—”

“No buts. We’re short staffed and he’s between cases. Consider him on-loan and at your service.”

At her service. The man who—just six short months ago—had destroyed her first shot at a big-city career.

“Something wrong, Montgomery?” Chief Roberson pursed his lips tightly after each sentence, as though worried the wrong words would come out of his mouth. Casually dressed in a too-tight polo shirt, faded Levi Dockers, and brown shoes that had seen better days, he didn’t look commanding. In fact, he looked a little dumpy. There was a stain on the shirt where his belly protruded, and his usually chaotic hair was more haywire than normal. Sam imagined he’d been comfortable in his worn-out recliner when this call came in, watching reruns of
Little House on the Prairie, Matlock,
or something equally hypnotic and mundane.

The chief was rarely immaculate in the office, so his attire here was no surprise. His broad, ruddy face showed the wear and tear of years of police work, even though he had spent his entire career in a small town. In the thirty-five years Roberson had served on the force, Kanesville had seen kidnappings, murders, drug deals, sexual crimes.

And suicides.

When things were slow at the office, he liked to regale them with tales of Kanesville in the days of only one stoplight, but he rarely spoke of the serious crimes he had solved. Sam usually tried to keep busy to avoid his memory lane strolls. Sometimes, she wondered if he did it on purpose, just to keep everyone working.