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CHAPTER THIRTY

The police artist, a woman with a rainfall of red hair and a tipped-up nose, did come to her. She waited at a trailhead, leaning against her car and sketching the greening trees and the pines.

“Sergeant Cooper? I’m Faith Loggins.”

“Thanks for waiting.”

“It’s really not a problem at all, not on a day like this.”

“Officer Sanchez.” Elana shot out a hand. “I’ll give you some room.”

“Thanks, Elana. Why don’t you see if those hikers just unloading need any help or direction?”

“I’ve got it.”

“There’s a bench over there by the rest station.” Sloan pointed. “Will that work?”

“Sure will. Have you ever worked with a police artist before?”

“Not as a witness.”

“I can promise, it won’t hurt a bit. Why don’t you give me general features as you remember. Say, the shape of the face. Round, oval, square, triangular?”

“More diamond-shaped, but squarer on the chin. Oval eyes, long-bladed nose, full lips—fuller on the bottom. Straight thick eyebrows, barely an arch.”

“You’re going to make this easy.”

“I got a clear look the first time. The second time he wore sunglasses, wraparounds. Not quite that sharp at the cheekbones,” she said as the artist worked. “A little larger eyes.”

“Yours are amazing.”

“Thanks. Or thank my grandmother. He wears his hair in short twists. Very neat and tidy.”

As they worked, Sloan began to see the man on the page. “That’s really close. Ears a little closer to the head. Lips a little… I want to say thicker. Really close.”

“Close your eyes a minute. Just close your eyes, breathe, and take your mind off him. It must be wonderful to spend so much time outdoors on days like this. Spring’s my favorite, when everything’s just coming back to life.”

“Wild dogwoods and redbuds blooming now. They make a picture.”

“Take a look at this one now.”

Sloan opened her eyes, looked at the pad. “That’s him. You’ve got him.”

“And you made it easy. Do you want to try the woman?”

“I just didn’t see enough of her face. White, and the quick glimpse I’d say round face. Short mouse-brown hair, about to here.” Sloan cut her hand a couple inches below her ear. “Looked curled under at the ends a bit. I can give you height, weight, what she wore both times, but not her face. But.”

Sloan tapped the pad. “She was with this man. For all I know they’re a couple from who-knows-where taking a vacation.”

“We’ll see if we can match this guy, and find out.”

Clara checked on Terry Brown. They’d kept him sedated overnight, and now through the morning. Though anxious to hear his story, she thought it best to wait until they had the witch strapped in the bed beside him.

He’d see for himself the difference between good and godly and evil and dark. She considered it a gift to him before they let him go.

Sam came in. “Everything’s ready, babe.”

“All right. It’s a long time to leave him alone, but he’s well under. Even if he comes around before we get back with her, he’s secure.”

She laid a hand on his head. “By tonight, or the morning, he’ll go to glory. I’ve got a strong feeling about this one, doll. He’s going right into the light.”

Gently, Sam rubbed his bruised jaw. “I’ve got a strong feeling about him, too.”

Laughing, Clara went to him, rose up to kiss that jaw. “Let’s give him that as a reflex. The ice packs and the Voltaren’s kept the swelling down. That bruise’ll fade off in no time. You’re still the most handsome man I know.”

He gave her butt an affectionate squeeze, but over her head sent Terry a vicious look. When the time came, he’d love every minute of cutting the bastard up.

“I’m going to go pee and get my sweater. If there’s someone poking around her house today, we’ll keep him quiet till there’s not. But I got a feeling it’s today. Today’s meant for us to expose the witch and send her back to Hell.”

“If you feel it’s today, it’s today.”

“She’ll burn there, Sam. I can see it so clear. She’ll burn for all eternity.”

They took their time with the drive. No point in getting stopped for speeding and have some nosy police asking why they had good strong rope in the back of the van, and a jumbo bag of salt.

They weren’t trusting zip ties to hold her, and the salt poured around her would keep her from striking out. Duct tape to shut her witch’s mouth so she couldn’t say evil words.

They had another bag holding half a dozen bottles of holy water and a crucifix they’d ordered from Amazon.

Clara had packed a Bible in there, too, and had another waiting in the room where they’d hold her, dispatch her.

The Lord helped those who helped themselves, she thought as they drove. Maybe she’d be called home, but she’d use every weapon she had to stop the witch from being the one to send her.

They drove the van past the driveway of the blue house.

“See that, Clara? Nobody there. Your feelings are like gold. And I swear I’ve got one of my own now.”

“We’ve got plenty of time before she usually comes, but we won’t take chances. I’m going to circle back and drop you off. I’ll drive around the lake while you’re making your way through the woods and into the house.”

“I’ll text you when I’m in, give you the setup.”

“Don’t you forget to set your phone on vibrate. You text me again when she comes home. You give her at least five full minutes, Sam. Then you signal me when she’s had time to put that gun away. And I’ll signal you when I’m ready to pull in. Small house like that, you’ll hear me knock on the door.”

“I know what to do, babe. We’ve got this, just like all the other times.”

“This one’s different. Don’t you forget that.”

He patted the Colt in its holster under his shirt. “I won’t, trust me.”

“Never trusted anyone more.” She pulled over, turned and kissed him like it was the first time. “You be careful now.”

“You do the same.”

He got out, hitched on the backpack like any hiker. But in his, zip ties, syringes, surgical gloves, a small crowbar as well as the trail mix Clara had made for him.

He didn’t much like the woods. Looking at them, all fine, but being in them? Regardless, he’d stay true to the mission, and to Clara.

So he hiked his way back, doing his best to ignore any rustlings, until he circled to the back of the blue house.

He gave it a minute, had just started to step out when damned if a truck didn’t drive up.

He hissed out a breath but hunkered down. He watched a woman haul a chair out of the back of the truck, carry it to the patio.

Damn if it wasn’t the same woman the witch had been with at the flower place.

Sam could hear her humming as she walked back, carried a second chair. Old metal chairs from what he could see.

Next she carried over a table with a hole in the middle and centered in between the chairs.

“Come on, lady, what the fuck.”

Idly, he fingered the gun at his side. Maybe she was another witch, like part of a coven. He could plug her from here, drag her body into the woods. He’d practiced plenty with the Colt.

He wouldn’t mind doing that one bit. He wanted to see how it felt to shoot more than tin cans and bottles.

But Clara wouldn’t like it, especially if the woman turned out to be human instead of a demon witch.

So he left the gun in the holster and watched.

She brought out one of those umbrellas in a kind of pink/orange color, and fit it into the hole. While his patience frayed, and his stress built, she opened it, stepped back to admire, shifted the chairs a half inch.

Then didn’t she go back twice more, hauling back pots of flowers to set on the two back corners of the stone.

Another look, a walk around the patio, a nod.

He heard her say: “She’ll love it. Paint them this weekend, and completely charming.”

She pulled out her phone, checked the time.

“Why does everything take just a little longer than I thought?”

And finally! She walked back to the truck, got in, drove off.

He waited, made himself wait, then eased out of the woods. Nobody home, he knew that for certain or somebody would’ve come out.

He swung off the backpack, got out the surgical gloves, the crowbar. They’d agreed the kitchen window made the best sense. Nobody driving by would see him. He tested it first, but like the time they’d checked out the house, found it locked.

He got to work with the crowbar, and had the window open in minutes.

She’d see the marks if she looked at it from outside, but why would she?

He had to crawl in over the sink, shove the faucet out of his way. Then he eased down on the floor, took a slow look around.

He opened a door, looked down at steps, and smiled. Just like they’d figured. And he’d hole up there on those basement steps when she got home.

He texted Clara.

I’m in, babe.

It took so long! I was worried.

Some woman came by with chairs and stuff for the patio they were making. I had to wait, but she’s long gone. Got the basement right here like we thought.

You stay out of sight, doll. It shouldn’t be more than another hour. Remember, when you hear her come in, send me a heart emoji.

And you send me one back. I got it. Love you, babe.

She acknowledged that with a kiss emoji.

He’d stay out of sight, Sam thought. But damned if he’d stay down in that basement—looked spooky—for an hour or more.

No reason not to see how a demon witch lived.

Turning, he found himself facing her office wall.

“Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!”

Sweat pearled on his forehead, slid down his spine.

She knew! She knew about all the resurrected. He hadn’t remembered all those faces, but he did now as they stared back at him from the wall. And a map with pins in it marking locations, times and dates and all of it on that wall.

He wanted to tear it all down, burn it and the house with it. He promised himself they’d do just that. Get the witch, then burn it down. He wished they could burn her with it.

Maybe, maybe Clara would feel the same after she saw.

He went into the bedroom, rifled through drawers. He found earrings he thought suited Clara, and pocketed them without a thought. In his hunt, he found a hundred and twenty in cash, and pocketed that.

Waste not, want not.

In the bathroom, he found some nice-smelling soap, and took it for Clara.

So he wandered, taking what caught his eye, including a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter.

From the fridge he looked at the beer, but took a Coke instead. Keep sharp for the work to be done. Checking the time, he took the banana, the Coke, sat with them on the basement steps with the flashlight on his phone to ward off the spooky.

In town, Sloan ordered the pizza, started to text Nash she’d be home in about a half hour, but Charlene stopped by.

“Did you hear about Terry Brown?”

“Yes, and they’re doing everything they can to find him.”

“Do you know anything? I stayed with Hallie last night after she called me. She’s worried sick.”

“I wish I did. If you see her, tell her I’m doing all I can, too. She can call me anytime.”

Nothing else to do or say, Sloan thought. They hadn’t contacted her about the sketch. Either they hadn’t found a match, or they had and hadn’t told her.

She could only hope it was the latter.

She took the pizza out to the car, and as she had when she went in, looked up and down for the woman, the man.

Then texted Nash.

Home with pizza in fifteen.

Just finishing up for the day. I won’t be much longer than that. Pour the wine. I can use it.

Right there with you.

And thinking of home, thinking of Terry, thinking of too many things, she drove out of town.

Terry surfaced, groggy, disoriented, more than a little sick to his stomach. For a moment he thought he’d been struck by lightning again and unable to move his arms, his legs.

Then he remembered.

He looked around the room with wide, glazed eyes. Like a hospital room, but bigger. He was propped in a hospital bed, he realized. And strapped down.

Terror had him calling out. Coughing to clear his throat, then shouting. He saw the bed beside his, like his, with straps.

“What is this place!”

He saw a single window covered with a blackout shade. Someone had left the long tubes of florescent lights on overhead.

It might have been worse if he’d woken in the dark, but he didn’t see how.

“What do you want? Who are you?”

He twisted his wrists, strained. He was no weakling. He’d break the straps.

“Somebody! Somebody help me! I’m here!”

He fought the straps while his wrists, his ankles burned and bled.

When Sloan pulled up to her house, she considered contacting O’Hara, then dismissed the idea. She trusted if he had anything, he’d contact her. No point, she told herself, taking up his time when he could use it looking for Terry.

Was he still alive? God, she hoped so.

How long did they keep their victims alive? A day, a week? Longer?

Logic told her a week at most, and probably less. Holding a person by force took time, effort, attention. Food and water, unless denying both was part of it.

But for Terry, less than twenty-four hours had passed. There was room to hope.

And time, she told herself as she reached the mudroom, to put it aside for a few hours. Obsessing about it wouldn’t help Terry, wouldn’t comfort Hallie.

She started to unlock the door, then glanced over, let out a whoop!

She took another step forward to admire the chairs, the sweet umbrella table, the Elsie-can’t-resist pots of pansies.

Different style of chairs than the porch, but the same vintage, the same feel. Maybe paint them navy, and the table coral.

She started forward, just to sit, remembered the pizza.

She’d take it in, get out the wine, spruce herself up just a little. Then she and Nash would sit on the patio, just like she’d imagined.

She unlocked the mudroom, stepped inside.

The minute she stepped into the kitchen, she knew someone had been inside her house.

She always left the faucet on the right side of the double sink. Now it hung over the left. The fruit bowl on the counter wasn’t centered, and the fruit in it jumbled.

Someone had been in her house, and as she drew her weapon thought: And maybe still was.

Taking a step forward, she swung toward her office. Empty, but her laptop sat crooked on the desk.

Leading with her weapon, heart skipping beats, she swung right, then left. Listened, listened, listened, but heard nothing. Her floors creaked here and there, something she found charming. But she heard none of that.

She walked to the front closet, sucked in a breath and flung the door open. No one, but someone had been in or looked in there. The hangers had been pushed to the side, her winter uniform hat sat sideways instead of straight on, and the scarf she’d made for herself, gone.

No one broke into a house to steal a scarf.

She checked the pocket of her winter parka where she kept a twenty for emergencies.

Gone.

She shut the door, scanned the living room. No cobalt bowl she’d picked up antiquing with Sari years before. No slender green vase Drea had given her.

She’d clear the house, call it in.

She started to step back when she heard someone pull in. She expected Nash, walked to the door.

And through the window saw the dark blue van, and the woman getting out of it.

And the face clicked, a key in a lock.

Clara. The doctor—Marlowe—called her Clara. A nurse manning the ER desk at WVU hospital.

She stepped onto the porch. With the gun held to her side and just behind the door, Sloan opened it.

“Oh, I’m so glad somebody’s home! I’ve gotten so turned around I don’t know where I am.”

“Is that right?”

“My sense of direction doesn’t exist!” As she laughed, Clara’s eyes flicked over Sloan’s shoulder. Even before she heard the soft creak, she spun around.

He rushed toward her, a syringe in one hand, a gun in the other.

It happened fast, but for an instant she stood in the mini-mart, the lights too bright, a gun rising toward her, ready to fire.

This time, she fired first. As she did, the woman leaped onto her back, screaming. The man took a staggering step forward, eyes filled with the pain she knew too well. The gun rising to aim at her chest.

Sloan fired again, then twisted her body to send the woman dropping to the floor.

Screaming still, Clara crawled toward the man lying bloody and still. Sam, she called him in a voice that sounded to Sloan’s ringing ears far, far away.

Training had her stepping on the gun he’d dropped.

Footsteps raced from behind, and she spun again, only to lower her gun with a shaking hand as Nash rushed in, the dog on his heels.

“Sloan! Jesus Christ. Are you hurt? Are you hurt?”

His hands flew over her even as she shook her head.

“I need—I need you to call nine-one-one. Have them contact O’Hara. I need you to…”

“I’ve got it. I’ve got it.”

“A handkerchief, a bandanna.”

Snapping at Tic to sit, Nash yanked one out along with his phone. She took it, wrapped the gun, put it inside the closet, though she wondered if Clara even remembered it.

She still knelt on the floor, still calling for Sam, as she did chest compressions with blood-soaked hands.

“Don’t leave me! Sam, Sam! I thought I would pay the price, not you. Not you. Don’t go!”

But he was gone, Sloan could see it. Pain didn’t live in his eyes now. Nothing did.

When a wave of heat washed over her, she reached down into her gut to steady herself.

Do the job, she ordered herself. Do the next step, then the one after that.

She got her restraints, dragged Clara back far enough to secure her hands behind her back.

Clara’s teeth snapped as she twisted her head, tried to bite. “Keep your hands off me, witch! He needs help.”

“He’s beyond help. You’re a nurse, you can see that. Is Terry alive? Where is Terry Brown?”

“Burn in hell, go back to hell and burn.”

As Tic whined, Nash laid a hand on his head to keep him still.

“They’re coming, Sloan. What can I do?”

“In the van. Find the registration, find an address, call that in. They need to find Terry. Wait. Keep her off me.”

She steeled herself again, and went to the body.

“Don’t you touch him with your evil hands.” As Tic leaped and growled, Clara struggled against Nash, then just sank down. She keened like an animal while Sloan pulled out Sam’s wallet.

“I’ve got it.” She rose, stepped back, and called O’Hara.

“I’m ten minutes out, ambulance is two.”

“I have an address. You need to send the locals for Terry. He could still be alive.” In the distance, she heard sirens. “I—the male suspect, Samuel Dunley, is down. Is dead. I shot him. I shot him. He’s dead.”

“You take it easy. Hold it steady. The female?”

“Secured. She’s Clara—I don’t know the last name. A nurse at WVU, Morgantown. I saw her there. I saw her.”

“You hold on, Sergeant. You hold the scene. Understood?”

“Yes. Hurry, okay?”

“I see what you are.” As tears streamed, Clara hissed out the words. “Devil’s whore. You’ll pay for eternity for what you’ve done.”

Sloan crouched down. Her heart beat too fast, her ears rang, but she looked Clara in the eye. “Is Terry Brown alive?”

“This life is false. They dragged him back into it. He was called home by lightning. Man is not allowed to bring the dead to life. We send them home. Our mission is holy and blessed.”

“Have you sent him home?”

“Because of you he’ll be trapped in this false life, an abomination, a lie. Sam’s gone to glory now, but not in his time. You had no right to decide to end his life.”

“But you and Sam had a right to take mine?”

Clara bared her teeth in a snarl. “An obligation.”

Sloan straightened as the ambulance pulled in. She teetered a little, but Nash held back the urge to steady her.

“I have to…”

“Go ahead.” He put a hand on Tic’s head again as the dog stood beside him. “We’ll watch her.”

“She’ll take you to Hell with her,” Clara warned as Sloan stepped onto the porch.

“I doubt that, but if she does, you can save us a couple seats.”

He stood back when O’Hara and others arrived. Then stepped outside to give them room as they put up police tape.

A man in an NRP truck pulled in, leaped out. “Sloan Cooper,” he snapped.

“She’s fine. She’s not hurt. She’s inside.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Littlefield, Nash Littlefield.”

“Got it. Travis Hamm. I’m Sloan’s captain, and I’m family. I’m going in.”

“Does the rest of her family know she’s okay?”

“They wouldn’t know any of this yet.” Travis hesitated. “Let them know, but lead with that. She’s okay, she’s not hurt.”

In the end, he waited outside with her family, with his brother. A unit, he’d think later, bound by sick worry and terrible relief.

When she came out, he let her parents, her sister hold her first.

“I’m fine. And Terry’s going to be. They found him, and he’s already at the hospital. Abrasions, lacerations from restraints, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Thank God for that.” Elsie hugged her in again. “Are you sure they didn’t hurt you?”

“Absolutely sure. And now they won’t hurt anyone else.”

When they brought a body bag out, Nash watched Sloan’s eyes cloud, before she closed them and held her mother harder.

O’Hara brought Clara out. “Sergeant Cooper, you have the suspect’s full name now. Make the arrest.”

“I—”

“Charges and rights. You know the drill.”

“Clara Burch.”

Clara cast her eyes up, raised her voice. “I call on the Almighty to strike you down.”

“I don’t think he’s listening. Clara Burch, you’re under arrest for the assault, abductions, forced imprisonments, and murders of Alyce Otterman, Wayne Carson, Celia Russell, Janet Anderson, Arthur Rigsby, Zach Tarrington, and Lori Preston.”

“We let them go. We sent them home, and all of them glory in their homecoming.”

“The assault, abduction, and false imprisonment of Terrance Brown. You have the right to remain silent,” she continued, and read Clara her rights.

“Your time will come, and there will be no mercy.”

“Loonies,” O’Hara said with a hard smile. “Did I call it? Do you want to sit in on the interview, Sergeant?”

“No. No, thanks. I’ve had enough.”

“You change your mind, you know how to reach me. Family?”

“Yes, my family.”

“You got one tough woman here, one solid cop. She saved lives today. Come on, Clara, time to go.”

“In His time,” Clara shouted as O’Hara marched her away. “In His time the Almighty will strike you down. He does not suffer a witch to live!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” O’Hara muttered, and loaded her in the back of a car.

Sloan stopped herself from rubbing a hand over the scar on her chest.

“I need to go back in for now. It’s going to take a while. I’ll have the next few days off. I’ll come over, Mom, Dad, I’ll come over tomorrow, tell you everything. Cap’s here, so please don’t worry.”

“Why should we?” Dean countered. “You’re one tough woman, one solid cop. And you’re still my little girl.”

He grabbed her, held her, then let her go.

“Day off all around tomorrow. I’m making pancakes. Ten o’clock.”

“I’m going to take Tic.” Theo glanced at his brother, sent a message without words. “We’re staying at Drea’s tonight. Closer to pancakes.”

Drea leaned in, whispered in Sloan’s ear, “Call if you need me.”

As they left, Sloan turned to Nash. “It’ll take a little while yet.”

“I’ll wait.”

She shut her eyes, then held up a hand when she opened them. “I can’t… Not yet. Just thanks.”

She went back in, and he settled in to wait.