SIX
The arriving car had belonged to the CPS agent. Mercy had grilled the pleasant woman before allowing her to take Morrigan. Truman had given props to the agent, who’d smiled all through Mercy’s interrogation. Morrigan liked the woman and was interested in meeting a ten-year-old girl who lived in the home where she’d wait until her mother turned up. After they left, Mercy drove home to shower and nap. Truman went back to work.
“Augustus McGee wants you to meet him at the diner,” Lucas announced as Truman entered the Eagle’s Nest police station.
Truman stopped, his cowboy hat in hand, halfway to its hook. Augustus was a town busybody. “Why doesn’t he come here?”
“You know why.”
“Really? He won’t step foot in the office?”
“It’s a government building. That’s enough reason for the old coot.”
“Sheesh. What’s he want?”
“He was all secretive and wouldn’t say, but he claims it’s related to your case from this morning.”
Olivia Sabin’s death was the only case. It wasn’t his case, but he couldn’t imagine what else Augustus could be referring to.
“I’ll be back in half an hour.” Truman put his hat back on and zipped his coat. He’d planned to research Olivia and Salome Sabin at his desk, but it’d have to wait. At least he could grab a late lunch.
“Half hour. Right. If you’re fortunate.” Lucas’s grin nearly split his face. “Have fun, boss.”
The bright sun in the intense blue sky lied to him about the temperature as Truman strode toward the diner, two blocks down the street. The sun promised eighty degrees, not the actual frigid twenty-one. Summer wouldn’t be here for another five months.
Through the diner’s window he spotted a balding head with crazy gray tufts of hair above its ears. Augustus was waiting. Truman sighed and decided to tell Augustus up front that he had only a half hour for lunch. When Augustus had parked in a fire zone, their conversation had lasted nearly two hours. Augustus claimed he was a freeman. Several times the sovereign citizen had told Truman the police department didn’t have jurisdiction over his person. Truman had an image of Augustus walking around in a huge bubble where no government agency had any authority, but apparently if Augustus had information to share, he’d deign to speak with a cop.
Inside, Truman shook Augustus’s hand and slid into the booth across from him. Augustus McGee looked like a retired clown. All he needed was the red nose and white paint on his round face. He was a big man with pale-green eyes that viewed the world with deep suspicion. He believed in silent black helicopters, mind-reading radar from the cellular towers, and that the government’s primary purpose was population control. Truman’s officers claimed the man got crazier by the year.
“I’ve only got half an hour, Augustus, and I hope you don’t mind if I eat lunch while we talk.”
The waitress appeared. “Coffee, Chief?”
“Just water. And whatever your burger of the day is.”
“It’s Hawaiian. Ham and a ring of pineapple on the burger patty.”
“Perfect for a snowy day,” answered Truman. She poured his water and left. “What can I do for you, Augustus?”
Augustus leaned forward, clenching his coffee cup in both hands, his eyes intense. “Is it true that Olivia Sabin has been murdered?”
The Eagle’s Nest rumor mill was faster than the speed of light.
“You knew her?” Truman asked.
“At one time. Is it true?” he repeated. His bushy eyebrows quivered at each word.
Truman tried not to stare. “Her death is viewed as suspicious,” he said with caution. “We won’t know until the medical examiner has results tomorrow.”
Augustus sat back in the vinyl booth and exhaled, and his shoulders sagged. “We’re all going to die at some point.”
The round face had deflated. Sad clown. “How well did you know her?” A very small sense of pity touched Truman.
The man looked out the window and scratched at one of his gray tufts. “Well, I didn’t know her that well. We haven’t spoken in probably twenty-five years.”
There goes my hope of useful information.
“You seem upset that she died,” Truman prodded. “But you didn’t keep in touch?”
“Well, you know how it goes. You always remember the good ones, you know what I mean?” Augustus made a lewd gesture with his hands, his gaze lecherous.
That was more than I need to know.
“So . . . the two of you were involved at one time?” Truman asked tactfully.
“Oh yeah. Involved. The best two weeks of my life.” He leaned forward again, conspiratorially whispering, “You know she was a witch, right?” Truman’s mother would have described Augustus as mad as a hatter.
Truman preferred the term crazy.
“I’ve heard something like that. You believe in that sort of thing?”
Augustus nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. How do you think she pulled me in for two weeks?”
Truman knew better than to ask for details. “Know any reason someone would kill Olivia Sabin?”
“It’s not easy to kill a witch, you know. Takes someone with a lot of power. But I’ll wager she angered somebody with one of her spells. Ruined their finances or gave them cancer.” His eyes narrowed. “Sounds a lot like what the government does. But I don’t think she worked for them, did she?” Conspiracy theories had bubbled to the surface in the man’s brain.
“No, not that I know of.”
“You know the world government is trying to reduce the population down to five hundred million, right? More manageable. It’s easy for them to do. All those vaccinations and bottled water.”
“World government?” The question slipped out. Crap. Now he’ll never shut up.
“That’s right. They’re hiding behind the facade of the United Nations. That’s just a front. The real power is like an octopus, all its arms causing havoc in different countries. They want a world where they rule implicitly. The best way to achieve that is division and unrest in the populations.”
Sounds like Hydra from Captain America. “Seen any movies lately, Augustus?”
The man waved Truman’s question away. “I know you want to hear about Olivia Sabin. She would chew men up and spit them out. You need to look at the daughter, the other witch. Her power is ten times stronger than her mother’s.”
“Salome?”
The old man crossed himself, surprising Truman. “That’s the one. An unholy birth, you know.”
Now I’m totally lost. “What?”
Impatience lowered the man’s brows. “No father. No one fathered that child. Olivia had told me she wanted a child, but no one was good enough to contribute the genes.” He snorted. “Made every man wear protection. Don’t know why. There’s pills for that.”
I’m not giving him a lecture on safe sex.
“Who fathered Salome?”
Augustus glanced around the diner and, deeming no one within hearing distance, he whispered, “A demon.”
Truman was speechless. Thankfully his burger arrived and he took two big bites as he searched for an appropriate reply to shut down Augustus’s crazy tangent. “A demon. Huh.” Brilliant comeback.
“No one knew she was pregnant. One day she just showed up with a baby.” He nodded solemnly.
“Interesting.” Truman took another bite, not knowing what to say.
“That girl was evil. You could see it in her eyes.”
“You met her?”
“Well, no. But I heard about her.”
Truman sighed.
“Everyone said the mother and daughter fought like cats and dogs. Is it true the daughter is missing? That’s your killer.”
“Because they fought doesn’t mean Salome would kill her mother.” The quiet little home in the woods hadn’t appeared to be a place of fighting. It was neat and clean and had a barn full of animals. “And why would she leave her daughter behind?”
Augustus’s bushy brows shot up. “You seen the child?”
“Yes. Pleasant kid.”
“Another unholy birth. They say it was the fae this time, not a demon.”
Truman’s fury boiled over. “You know, Augustus, your information is a bunch of malicious gossip. I’ve met that girl. She’s kind and caring and devastated that her grandmother is gone.” He slid out of the booth and fished a twenty out of his wallet, then tucked it under his water glass. “If I hear that you’re perpetuating this bunch of crap, I’ll haul you in and give you a dozen vaccinations myself. And make you drink some bottled water at the same time.”
Truman nodded at the wide-eyed waitress, grabbed his burger with a napkin, and strode out of the diner. His icy march back to the station did little to cool him down, and he munched as he walked. Damned old gossip. Spreading bullshit about a child. He recalled Morrigan’s face, the elfin features and slight build. Fae?
He put the thought firmly out of his mind. Has that poor family been ostracized due to rumors? Decades of rumors?
And where was Salome Sabin?
Mercy couldn’t sleep.
She’d gone home after the eventful morning and had every intention of napping for the rest of the afternoon, but during her shower her brain had shifted into high gear and wouldn’t turn off. She’d lain in bed for a full hour, trying to get the image of Olivia’s abused body and Morrigan’s teary face out of her mind.
She couldn’t do it. Instead she drove to work, planning to find information about Olivia Sabin.
Even if it wasn’t her case.
As she walked through her office’s parking lot, a tall man slid out of a black Range Rover. “Agent Kilpatrick?”
Mercy stopped and wrapped her fingers around the pepper spray in the pocket of her coat. Every coat had one. The stranger had dirty-blond hair that needed a cut and sported a healthy tan even though it was January. His coat looked fresh from an expensive sporting goods store, but his heavy boots were beat up. He held up his hands in a calming gesture and flashed a charming smile. “My name’s Michael Brody. I’m an investigative reporter for The Oregonian.”
Mercy relaxed a fraction. “What can I do for you?” She kept the pepper spray in her hand.
“We have a mutual friend. Ava McLane.”
She’d worked with Ava at the Portland FBI office. “So?” Reporters had never approached Mercy before, but she knew some agents had worked on high-profile cases and complained of their pestering.
“I’d like to talk to you about the murder of Malcolm Lake.” Brody’s intense green stare reminded her of a hawk’s.
“Who?”
Brody frowned. “He’s a judge for the United States District Court of Oregon.”
She was clueless. “I don’t know anything about it. He was murdered?”
“The night before last.”
She’d been out of the office the day before, working from home with the TV and Internet off. “What does this have to do with me?”
Brody glanced at his watch. “Really? No one’s contacted your office yet? I can’t be the first.”
“I wasn’t in the office yesterday and haven’t gone in yet today.” She gestured at the door. “You’re keeping me from doing so.”
“You were at the murder scene of Olivia Sabin this morning, correct?”
Mercy said nothing.
He nodded as if that were confirmation. “Her body was deeply slashed several times?”
She kept her face blank, but alarm started to churn in her stomach. How did the press find out I was there? Who leaked that detail?
“Judge Lake was found in the same condition in his home. The extent of his injuries haven’t been released to the public.”
Stunned, she blurted, “Then how did you find out?”
He smiled. “I have my sources.”
Asshole. There’s no way Ava is his friend.
“What I’m trying to figure out is why an important judge like Lake was murdered in the same manner as an old woman living in the woods. The only connection I can see is that the judge lived in this area at one time.”
“I can’t help you. Contact Deschutes County. It’s their case.”
“Ah. Not any longer. With its similarity to the murder of a judge, which of course is being investigated by the FBI—our mutual friend, Ava, has the judge’s case—the murder of Olivia Sabin now will be included in the FBI’s investigation.”
Mercy was speechless. The FBI now has Olivia’s case?
“I had assumed the local case was given to you since you were present at the scene this morning. I guess I’m wrong about that.”
“How the fuck did you know I was there?” Anger had replaced her shock.
“It doesn’t matter. People talk; I listen.”
“Well, your source left out some important details.” She clamped her mouth shut, nearly having spilled that she’d found the dying woman. She wasn’t going to be Michael Brody’s next “source.”
“Like what?”
“Why don’t you go talk to Ava? And there’s no way you’re a friend of hers.”
He gave a lazy grin. “I am. To both her and her fiancé, Mason Callahan. Very good friends. Their dog Bingo adores me, I’ve drunk wine in their newly remodeled kitchen, and I’m on the guest list for their wedding this summer.”
So was Mercy.
“You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“It’s one of my best qualities.” Another guileless smile.
A small part of her softened. A very small part. The man was charming, but not in a smarmy way. He had an honest air about him. “I don’t have any information for you.”
He glanced at the building. “Maybe you should go see if Ava has arrived yet.”
“She’s coming? Here?” Despite the horrible circumstances, the thought of seeing her friend cheered her immensely.
“I might have beat her to town. Once I heard the investigation was shifting to Bend, I left.”
“Are we done, then?” Mercy asked.
“You didn’t say why you were at the scene this morning. If you weren’t there as investigator, then why were you there?”
She gave her own lazy grin.
“Hmph,” said Brody with a twist of his lips. “I’m not scared of a challenge.”
Neither was Mercy.