Faithless

  Jeffrey cleared his throat. “Still, we’d like to talk to all of them.”

  Paul offered, “You can take the computer now. I can arrange for the people who’ve been in contact with Abby to be brought to the station first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “The harvest,” Lev reminded him, then explained, “We specialize in edamame, younger soybeans. The peak time for picking is from sunrise to nine A.M., then the beans have to be processed and iced. It’s a very labor-intensive process, and I’m afraid we don’t use much machinery.”

  Jeffrey glanced out the window. “We can’t go over there now?”

  “As much as I want to get to the bottom of this,” Paul began, “we’ve got a business to run.”

  Lev added, “We also have to respect our workers. I’m sure you can imagine that some of them are very nervous around the police. Some have been the victims of police violence, others have been recently incarcerated and are very fearful. We have women and children who have been battered in domestic situations without relief from local law enforcement—”

  “Right,” Jeffrey said, as if he had gotten this speech before.

  “It is private property,” Paul reminded him, looking and sounding every bit the lawyer.

  Lev said, “We can shift people around, get them to cover for the ones who have come into contact with Abby. Would Wednesday morning work?”

  “I guess it’ll have to,” Jeffrey said, his tone indicating his displeasure at the delay.

  Esther had her hands clasped in her lap, and Lena felt something like anger coming off the mother. She obviously disagreed with her brothers, just as she obviously would not contradict them. She offered, “I’ll show you to her room.”

  “Thank you,” Lena said, and they all stood at the same time. Thankfully, only Jeffrey followed them down the hall.

  Esther stopped in front of the last door on the right, pressing her palm into the wood as if she couldn’t trust her legs to hold her up.

  Lena said, “I know this is hard for you. We’ll do everything we can to find out who did this.”

  “She was a very private person.”

  “Do you think she kept secrets from you?”

  “All daughters keep secrets from their mothers.” Esther opened the door and looked into the room, sadness slackening her face as she saw her daughter’s things. Lena had done the same thing with Sibyl’s possessions, every item conjuring some memory from the past, some happier time when Sibyl was alive.

  Jeffrey asked, “Mrs. Bennett?” She was blocking their entrance.

  “Please,” she told him, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. “Find out why this happened. There has to be a reason.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to—”

  “It’s not enough,” she insisted. “Please. I have to know why she’s gone. I need to know that for myself, for my peace of mind.”

  Lena saw Jeffrey’s throat work. “I don’t want to make empty promises, Mrs. Bennett. I can only promise you that I’ll try.” He took out one of his cards, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one saw him. “My home number’s on the back. Call me anytime.”

  Esther hesitated before taking the card, then tucked it into the sleeve of her dress. She gave Jeffrey a single nod, as if they had come to an understanding, then backed away, letting them enter her daughter’s room. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Jeffrey and Lena exchanged another glance as Esther returned to her family. Lena could tell he was feeling just as apprehensive as she was. Esther’s plea was understandable, but it only served to add more pressure to what was going to be an incredibly difficult case.

  Lena had walked into the room to start the search, but Jeffrey stayed outside the doorway, looking toward the kitchen. He looked back to the family room as if to make sure he wasn’t being observed, then walked down the hall. Lena was about to follow him when he appeared in the doorway with Rebecca Bennett.

  Deftly, Jeffrey led the girl into her sister’s bedroom, his hand at her elbow like a concerned uncle. In a low voice, he told her, “It’s very important you talk to us about Abby.”

  Rebecca glanced nervously toward the door.

  “You want me to shut it?” Lena offered, putting her hand on the knob.

  After a moment’s deliberation, Rebecca shook her head. Lena studied her, thinking she was as pretty as her sister was plain. She had taken her dark brown hair out of the braid and there were kinks of waves in the thick strands that cascaded down her shoulders. Esther had said the girl was fourteen, but there was still something womanly about her that probably drew a lot of attention around the farm. Lena found herself wondering how it was Abby instead of Rebecca who had been abducted and buried in the box.

  Jeffrey said, “Was Abby seeing anyone?”

  Rebecca bit her bottom lip. Jeffrey was good at giving people time, but Lena could tell he was getting antsy about the girl’s family coming into the room.

  Lena said, “I have an older sister, too,” leaving out the fact that she was dead. “I know you don’t want to tell on her, but Abby’s gone now. You won’t get her into trouble by telling us the truth.”

  The girl kept chewing her lip. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, tears welling into her eyes. She looked to Jeffrey, and Lena guessed the girl saw him as more of an authority figure than a woman could be.

  Jeffrey picked up on this, urging, “Talk to me, Rebecca.”

  With great effort, she admitted, “She was gone sometimes during the day.”

  “Alone?”

  She nodded. “She’d say she was going into town, but she’d take too long.”

  “Like, how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It takes around fifteen minutes to get downtown from here,” Jeffrey calculated for her. “Say she was going to a store, that’d take another fifteen or twenty minutes, right?” The girl nodded. “So, she should’ve been gone an hour at most, right?”

  Again, the girl nodded. “Only, it was more like two.”

  “Did anyone ask her about this?”

  She shook her head. “I just noticed.”

  “I bet you notice a lot of things,” Jeffrey guessed. “You probably pay more attention to what’s going on than the adults do.”

  Rebecca shrugged, but the compliment had worked. “She was just acting funny.”

  “How?”

  “She was sick in the morning, but she told me not to tell Mama.”

  The pregnancy, Lena thought.

  Jeffrey asked, “Did she tell you why she was sick?”

  “She said it was something she ate, but she wasn’t eating much.”

  “Why do you think she didn’t want to tell your mother?”

  “Mama would worry,” Rebecca said. She shrugged. “Abby didn’t like people to worry about her.”

  “Were you worried?”

  Lena saw her swallow. “She cried at night sometimes.” She tilted her head to the side. “My room’s next door. I could hear her.”

  “Was she crying about something specific?” Jeffrey asked, and Lena could hear him straining to be gentle with the girl. “Maybe someone hurt her feelings?”

  “The Bible teaches us to forgive,” the girl answered. From anyone else, Lena might have thought she was being dramatic, but the girl seemed to be relaying what she thought of as wise advice rather than a sermon. “If we cannot forgive others, then the Lord cannot forgive us.”

  “Was there anyone she needed to forgive?”

  “If there was,” Rebecca began, “then she would pray for help.”

  “Why do you think she was crying?”

  Rebecca looked at the room, taking in her sister’s things with a palpable sadness. She was probably thinking about Abby, what the room had felt like when the older girl had been alive. Lena wondered what kind of relationship the sisters had shared. Even though they were twins, Lena and Sibyl had been involved in their share of battles over everything from who got to sit in the front seat of the car to who answered t
he telephone. Somehow, she couldn’t see Abby being that way.

  Rebecca finally answered, “I don’t know why she was sad. She wouldn’t tell me.”

  Jeffrey asked, “Are you sure, Rebecca?” He gave her a supportive smile. “You can tell us. We won’t get mad or judge her. We just want to know the truth so that we can find the person who hurt Abby and punish him.”

  She nodded, her eyes tearing up again. “I know you want to help.”

  “We can’t help Abby unless you help us,” Jeffrey countered. “Anything at all, Rebecca, no matter how silly it seems now. You let us decide whether it’s useful or not.”

  She looked from Lena to Jeffrey, then back again. Lena couldn’t tell if the girl was hiding something or if she was just scared of speaking to strangers without her parents’ permission. Either way, they needed to get her to answer their questions before someone started to wonder where she was.

  Lena tried to keep her voice light. “You want to talk to me alone, honey? We can talk just you and me if you want.”

  Again, Becca seemed to be thinking about it. At least half a minute passed before she said, “I—” just as the back door slammed shut. The girl jumped as if a bullet had been fired.

  From the front room, a man’s voice called, “Becca, is that you?”

  Zeke plodded up the hallway, and when Rebecca saw her cousin she went to him and grabbed his hand, calling, “It’s me, Papa,” as she led the boy toward her family.

  Lena bit back the curse that came to her lips.

  Jeffrey asked, “You think she knows something?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  Jeffrey seemed to agree, and she could feel her frustration echoed in his tone when he told her, “Let’s get this over with.”

  She went to the large chest of drawers by the door. Jeffrey went to the desk opposite. The room was small, probably about ten feet by ten. There was a twin bed pushed up against the windows that faced the barn. There were no posters on the white walls or any signs that this had been a young woman’s room. The bed was neatly made, a multicolored quilt tucked in with sharp precision. A stuffed Snoopy that was probably older than Abby was propped against the pillows, its neck sloped to the side from years of wear.

  Neatly folded socks were in one of the top drawers. Lena opened the other, seeing similarly folded underwear. That the girl had taken the time to fold her underwear was something that stuck with Lena. She’d obviously been meticulous, concerned with keeping things in order. The lower drawers revealed a precision bordering on obsession.

  Everyone had a favorite place to hide things, just like every cop had a favorite place to look. Jeffrey was checking under the bed, between the mattress and box spring. Lena went to the closet, kneeling to check the shoes. There were three pairs, all of them worn but well taken care of. The sneakers had been polished white, the Mary Janes mended at the heel. The third pair was pristine, probably her Sunday shoes.

  Lena rapped her knuckles against the boards of the closet floor, checking for a secret compartment. Nothing sounded suspicious and all the boards were nailed firmly in place. Next, she went through the dresses lined up on the closet rod. Lena didn’t have a ruler, but she would have sworn each dress was equidistant, no one touching the other. There was a long winter jacket, obviously store-bought. The pockets were empty, the hem intact. Nothing was hidden in a torn seam or concealed in a secret pouch.

  Lev was at the door, a laptop computer in his hands. “Anything?” he asked.

  Lena had startled, but she tried not to show it. Jeffrey straightened with his hands in his pockets. “Nothing useful,” he replied.

  Lev handed the computer to Jeffrey, the power cord trailing behind it. She wondered if he had looked at it himself while they were searching the room. She had no doubt Paul would have.

  Lev told him, “You can keep this as long as you like. I’d be surprised if you found anything on it.”

  “Like you said,” Jeffrey responded, wrapping the cord around the computer, “we need to eliminate every possibility.” He nodded to Lena, and she followed him out of the room. Walking down the hallway, she could hear the family talking, but by the time they reached the living room, everyone was silent.

  Jeffrey told Esther, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She looked straight at Jeffrey, her pale green eyes piercing even to Lena. She didn’t say a word, but her plea was evident.

  Lev opened the front door. “Thank you both,” he said. “I’ll be there Wednesday morning at nine.”

  Paul seemed about to say something, but stopped at the last minute. Lena could almost see what was going through his little lawyer brain. It was probably killing him that Lev had volunteered for the polygraph. She imagined Paul would have an earful for his brother when the cops were gone.

  Jeffrey told Lev, “We’ll have to call in someone to perform the test.”

  “Of course,” Lev agreed. “But I feel the need to reiterate that I can volunteer only myself. Likewise, the people you see tomorrow will be there on a voluntary basis. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, Chief Tolliver, but it’s going to be difficult enough getting them there. If you try to force them into taking a lie detector test, they’re likely to leave.”

  “Thank you for the advice,” Jeffrey said, his tone disingenuous. “Would you mind sending your foreman as well?”

  Paul seemed surprised by the request. “Cole?”

  “He’s probably had contact with everyone on the farm,” Lev said. “That’s a good idea.”

  “While we’re on it,” Paul said, glancing Jeffrey’s way, “the farm is private property. We don’t generally have the police there unless it’s official business.”

  “You don’t consider this official business?”

  “Family business,” he said, then held out his hand. “Thank you for all your help.”

  “Could you tell me,” Jeffrey began, “did Abby drive?”

  Paul dropped his hand, “Of course. She was certainly old enough.”

  “Did she have a car?”

  “She borrowed Mary’s,” he answered. “My sister stopped driving some time ago. Abby was using her car to deliver meals, run chores in town.”

  “She did these things alone?”

  “Generally,” Paul allowed, wary the way any lawyer is when he gives out information without getting something in return.

  Lev added, “Abby loved helping people.”

  Paul put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  Lev said, “Thank you both.”

  Lena and Jeffrey stood at the base of the steps, watching Lev walk into the house. He shut the door firmly behind him.

  Lena let out a breath, turning back to the car. Jeffrey followed, keeping his thoughts to himself as they got in.

  He didn’t speak until they were on the main road, passing Holy Grown again. Lena saw the place in a new light, and wondered what they were really up to over there.

  Jeffrey said, “Odd family.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “It won’t do us any good to be blinded by our prejudices,” he said, giving her a sharp look.

  “I think I have a right to my opinion.”

  “You do,” he said, and she could feel his gaze settle onto the scars on the backs of her hands. “But how will you feel in a year’s time if this case isn’t solved because all we could focus on was their religion?”

  “What if the fact that they’re Bible-thumpers is what breaks this open?”

  “People kill for different reasons,” he reminded her. “Money, love, lust, vengeance. That’s what we need to focus on. Who has a motive? Who has the means?”

  He had a point, but Lena knew firsthand that sometimes people did things just because they were fucking nuts. No matter what Jeffrey said, it was too coincidental that this girl had ended up buried in a box out in the middle of the woods and her family was a bunch of backwoods Bible-thumpers.

  She asked, “You don’t think this is ritualistic?”

/>   “I think the mother’s grief was real.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “I got that, too.” She felt the need to point out, “That doesn’t mean the rest of the family isn’t into it. They’re running a fucking cult out here.”

  “All religions are cults,” he said, and though Lena hated religion herself, she had to disagree.

  “I wouldn’t call the Baptist church downtown a cult.”

  “They’re like-minded people sharing the same values and religious beliefs. That’s a cult.”

  “Well,” she said, still not agreeing but not knowing how to challenge him on it. She doubted the Pope in Rome would say he was running a cult. There was mainstream religion and then there were the freaks who handled snakes and thought electricity provided a conduit straight to the Devil.

  “It keeps coming back to the cyanide,” he told her. “Where did it come from?”

  “Esther said they don’t use pesticides.”

  “There’s no way we’ll get a warrant to test that out. Even if Ed Pelham cooperated on the Catoogah side, we don’t have cause.”

  “I wish we’d looked around more when we were over there.”

  “That Cole person needs a harder look.”

  “You think he’ll come Wednesday morning?”

  “No telling,” he said, then asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Why?”

  “Wanna go to the Pink Kitty?”

  “The titty bar on Highway Sixteen?”

  “The strip joint,” he corrected, as if she had offended him. Driving with one hand, he rooted around in his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. He tossed them to her and she recognized the Pink Kitty’s logo on the front. They had a huge neon sign outside the bar that could be seen for miles.

  “Tell me,” he said, turning onto the highway, “why a naïve twenty-one-year-old would take a book of matches from a strip club and shove it up the ass of her favorite stuffed animal.”

  That was why he had been so interested in the stuffed Snoopy on Abby’s bed. She had hidden the matchbook inside. “Good question,” she told him, opening the cover. None of the matches had been used.