Waking Evil 02 (39 page)

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Authors: Kylie Brant

BOOK: Waking Evil 02
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He grinned into the darkness. “I do. That’s what I’m sayin’. Maybe you should come on over and jog it.”
“As much as I’d enjoy ‘jogging’ you, I’m going to pass. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“That’s a fact. And I’ll let you go back to sleep if you answer one li’l question for me.”
“Which is?”
“What are you wearin’?”
“What makes you think I’m wearing anything?” she countered.
His lips curved. “Now you’re just bein’ mean.”
“I thought you liked that about me.”
“Can’t deny it. I’m gonna let you go back to sleep while I sit here all night contemplatin’ you in that cabin room stark naked. Gonna figure out a way for you to make that up to me, too.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
He started to say good-bye but was interrupted by her next word, uttered in a softer voice.
“Dev?”
“Yeah?”
She paused a long moment. Then in a rush, she said, “It’s good to hear your voice.”
The connection ended, eliminating his chance to respond, even if he’d been able to.
He sat in the darkness long after his beer had been emptied. Watched the moths do their fluttering death dives around the street lamp.
And contemplated why it was that such a difficult woman should hold such a fascination for him.
Chapter 18
He swept the area with the beam of his high-powered flashlight. Found the woman still bound in the corner.
Her head reared up like a frightened animal, her eyes blinking in the illumination. Satisfaction seared through him at the sight. She was waiting for him. Awaiting the tutelage that would be her redemption.
Did she understand that yet? Had he banished the demons that possessed her body, the ones that made her fight and kick and scream against her salvation? Evil could be difficult to expel from a person once it took hold. The enjoyment he took in banishing it owed nothing to the physical. No, that came from knowing he was doing God’s will.
He took another step closer, enjoying the way she strained against her bonds. Acting alone to cast out her demons had proved to be as rewarding as he’d remembered.
The stone floor was cool against his bare feet. He’d shucked his clothes inside the door. In his free hand, he carried the bag of necessary equipment. He still had plans for Kathleen Sebern. So many plans to drive out the devil.
But when he drew closer to her, she just huddled in a ball at his feet, the fight seemingly gone from her. He gave her a light kick and got nothing more than a whimper. Was this another trick? Was she waiting until he got nearer to loosen her bonds before striking at him again, kicking and biting like a wild thing? Anticipation eddied inside him at the thought.
He reached down and grabbed her hair, dragging her upward, bracing for a battle. Eager for it. Her body remained limp. Her eyes closed. He twisted her nipple cruelly and got barely a flinch in response.
Disappointment raged through him. He’d had such plans for her. Plans to pit himself against the evil that possessed her and conquer it. Cast it out with the purity of his intent. He shoved her away forcefully, and she fell to the ground. Lay still.
He drew a deep calming breath. And then another. And when his head cleared, disappointment had been replaced with understanding. His own needs couldn’t supersede God’s will. Goodness had already triumphed. It was time to finish it.
He strode over, hauled her up by the binds on her wrists, and dragged her over to the stone altar in the center of the space. From the basket there, he took out a root and, ripping the tape from her lips, pried open her mouth to shove it inside. He had to manually work her jaws to chew it.
“Swallow,” he commanded. He picked up the water bottle from the basket and squirted water down her throat until she gagged, choked, then swallowed.
“It is by the spirit of God that I cast out demons, Kathleen.” He shoved her back on the altar, climbed on top of her, and spread her legs. Ramming himself inside her, his hands closed around her neck as he began to thrust.
“Surrender to the spirit all the evil in your past,” he panted. His hips pounded against hers, his gaze fixed on her eyes as they began to bulge. Finally she began to struggle a little as the life was slowly squeezed out of her.
And when death took her, he came with a power that could only be described as holy.
When it was over, after he’d dressed, there were the usual preparations to be made. Her body to be washed down. Her nails scrubbed. He worked swiftly in near silence, his only light coming from the flashlight he’d set nearby. The heavy chain he wrapped around her body added thirty pounds to her weight, but it was necessary.
There couldn’t be another mistake.
He’d return later for her clothes and purse. They’d be disposed of far away from here. But first Kathleen would find her final resting place. A fitting burial.
At the bottom of Ashton’s Pond.
Ramsey rolled to a stop before the 1960s ranch-style home and returned the wave of the man riding the lawnmower in diagonal patterns across the yard. Apparently John Kenner, ex-chief of police, was an early riser. It was barely seven-thirty.
She got out of the car, walked up to the gate, and took a good long look at the man who’d signed the police report for Dev’s father’s arrest. Midseventies, she estimated, as he jostled over the velvety grass, with a build more beefy than fat. He rounded a tree, saw her standing there, and cut the power on the machine. Ramsey took that as an invitation.
The wide expanse of grass was still damp with dew. But Kenner had considerately caught the grass clippings in a bag attached to the mower, so she didn’t have to worry about leaving here smelling like a haymow.
“Mornin’ to you.”
“Mr. Kenner.” Having left her sunglasses in the SUV, Ramsey shielded her eyes from the early morning glare. “I’m Ramsey Clark, special consultant working with the TBI.”
“Figured who you were.” Kenner made no move to dismount, but his expression was friendly enough. His skin was ruddy, the color of a naturally light-complected man who’d spent too much time in the sun. “I know most folks in this town. And of course I’d heard ’bout you joinin’ the team investigatin’ the murder.”
“I didn’t really come to see you in an official capacity,” she admitted. And now that she had, she was feeling a small modicum of embarrassment. But this was important to Dev, and if she was truthful, a few questions kept nagging her about that report all those years ago. “Actually I came to talk to you about the last arrest you made for a murder here. The last time the red mist was sighted, nearly thirty years ago.”
The smile had vanished from his lips. And she recognized the flash of pure cop in his eyes. “You mean Lucas Rollins.”
“I do.”
He scratched his jaw, not bothering to hide the speculation in his gaze. “Can’t see what that has to do with the poor girl they found in the pond.”
Ramsey shifted so the sun was at her back so she wouldn’t have to squint at the man. “Probably nothing. But it’s my job to make sure we aren’t overlooking a pattern of some type.”
He snorted. “You mean the legend? Shoot, that’s all a bunch of bunk. Never has served more than to rile people up and set tongues to waggin’. Lucas Rollins wasn’t in his right mind to do what he did. Doesn’t make him part of the local superstition, just makes the whole sorry mess sadder.”
“He wasn’t in his right mind. Because of the alcohol he’d had to drink that night.” Ramsey slipped her hands in the pocket of her suit jacket. It was the last fresh set of clothes she had with her, she recalled with a mental sigh. When she left here, she needed to hunt down the nearest Laundromat and make note of its hours.
“That’s right.”
“Were you used to seeing him that way? Was he a big drinker?”
“Can’t say that he was.” The ex-chief’s manner was still polite, if not especially forthcoming.
“That’s what I’ve heard, too. So that’s what keeps me wondering. A guy with no reputation for getting shit-faced goes off and drinks so much he commits murder and doesn’t recall it the next day.” She paused, but the man said nothing. “There wasn’t anything in the police report about where Lucas had been during the intervening time. Whom he might have been with.”
Kenner’s mouth twisted. “So seein’ that you figured maybe we’re that slow down here, just yokels who don’t know how to do real police work.”
Her gaze never left his. “Or that you had a reason for not including your findings in the police report. Now that I’ve met you, I’m betting on the latter.”
There was a flicker in his eyes, but his expression remained impassive. It was enough to solidify her opinion. This man had known how to do his job.
Which meant he’d been keeping a secret for over thirty years.
When he spoke again, his voice was pitched low enough to be barely audible over the sound of the idling mower. “I done a bit of research on you. ’Nough to know you started out with TBI. Probably used to big-city crime and a big-city pace. Not sayin’ one type of experience is better than t’other, but they’re different, know what I’m sayin’?”
Ramsey nodded. Found herself leaning forward a little so as not to miss a word.
“Another difference ’tween your sorta work and bein’ a local law enforcement officer is the local part. Whatever happens, wherever my investigations took me, at the end of the day, I still lived here. Still ran into the same people day after day. Still lived by the same neighbors. Still churched with the same congregation. Not sayin’ that changes the job, but it changes the way we
do
our job. That means not embarrassin’ people unnecessarily. Not makin’ public things that don’t change the outcome of a case. Not feedin’ the local grapevine with details that are no one’s business. That’s part of bein’ a small-town cop.”
“So you’re saying the missing information—where Lucas was drinking and with whom—you covered that in your investigation but didn’t include it in the police report for fear of embarrassing him?” It was hard to imagine what could have seemed more embarrassing at the time than being charged with murder. Unless . . .
Even as comprehension hit her, Kenner was leaning forward to rev up the mower’s engine, preparing to resume his task. “The missin’ details have nothin’ to do with this recent murder case, I can tell you that. Other than that, they aren’t your affair, so as far as I’m concerned, this conversation is over.”
He turned the mower and effortlessly got back on track to begin again those regimented diagonals in the lawn. But Ramsey wasn’t satisfied yet. She trotted beside the machine, uncaring for the moment that the wet grass was dampening her shoes.
She raised her voice to be heard over the motor. “And if I’m not asking for myself, Chief Kenner? If I’m not asking for this case, just whose business would those details be?”
She knew her question had struck home by the quick sideways glance he threw her. Knew he’d probably heard she and Stryker had been seen together around town.
His answer could barely be heard above the revving of the motor. “If Dev Stryker takes a notion to follow up on that line of questionin’, he’d be the one to take up those answers with his mama. No one else’s business. Not then. Not now.”

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