COPIES WERE MADE OF PUCK'S DRAWING AND HANDED OUT. SOON ENOUGH, wherever anyone walked they'd come by a sketch of the dead woman, with the screaming caption DO YOU KNOW ME?
"Think anybody'll come forward?" Puck asked as he and Damien stood in the entrance to Glen's, where three copies of the sketch were posted. Puck didn't seem to care much that his artwork was being given such wide notice. Then again, he didn't seem to care much about anything lately.
"I don't know," Damien replied. "But I think there's a better chance now than there was before. Not everybody reads the Tribune."
"Yeah, but they'd have to find out somehow. I mean, there's TV. And other newspapers. Snowmobile accidents make the evening news. Why not a murder?"
"I wouldn't know that, Puck. Not unless somebody wanted to keep it off the air."
Puck took the hint and shut up. He'd had the chance to read as many private files as he wanted, via his computer, and he'd also read about Damien's sister. How her murder had barely even made it into the newspapers. And now another person was dead.
Though it didn't seem by the same hand... Damien sighed and stared at the picture. Puck turned back towards the doors and held up his arms with a wide grin. Damien likewise turned to see Temple and Dr. Leja entering. In what was obviously a fit of temporary insanity, Leja held up her arms as well. She and Puck looked just about ready to squeeze each other to death if they should get the chance. Before Damien or Temple could do anything, Puck did. He actually lifted her in the air. Damien hid his face.
"Can't--breathe," Leja managed to gasp out, so Puck set her down with a little flourish. Then he had the decency to disappear inside.
"What the bloody hell was all that?" Temple asked.
"I have no idea," Leja replied, straightening out her clothes. "Is this the lady?"
"Yeah," Damien said. "Puck drew it."
"I'd say it looks like her but I haven't seen her yet. It's lifelike, though."
Damien just wished they'd quit using the word "life" in conjunction with a dead woman.
"Has anyone come forward yet?" Temple asked.
"No. But we just put them up. If she's a local, we'll be hearing about her soon."
"Hope so. Then maybe we can start figuring things out." Leja shouldered her purse. "I've got to get going. I'll see you all later."
"The later, the better," Temple said, meaning that any meeting they'd be at would be bad news. She caught the hint, smiled and went inside.
"I should get going along, too," Temple added. "I'll see you later, Damien. Keep out of trouble."
"Sure thing. Not much to get into anyway." He shrugged himself as Temple left. Then he turned back to stare at the picture.
It was ten o'clock at night when the call came. Damien was watching TV to see if anything had made the news; his girlfriend Katrina answered the phone. "Who?" she asked. Then her face screwed up. "Dami, I think it's for you. A 'Trooper Broderick'? What kind of a sick joke is this?" [Note--way to go, Dami, not letting your GIRLFRIEND in on all you've been up to lately!!]
He sighed and stood up. "No joke. What is it?"
She put the phone back to her ear. "Something about a picture someone drew. There's somebody waiting down at the station."
His ears pricked. He actually felt his stomach twist. "Tell him I'll be right there." He picked up his jacket and vanished through the kitchen.
"He'll be right there," Kat said, slightly confused; the phone clicked and buzzed in her ear.
There were several cars already parked outside the station when he and his uncle arrived. Officer Jones was at the door as they came up the steps. As they approached he said something Damien never thought he'd hear.
"Glad you're here," he muttered, opening the door for them. "I think maybe this lady's gonna need some counseling."
The two looked at each other, then entered.
In the back room--the one reserved for interrogations, Damien noted--Mulroy and Trooper Broderick, plus Officer Haley, were already waiting. There was a woman seated at the table, her hands in her lap. She was wringing them. She looked up as the three newcomers entered, and then looked back at Trooper Broderick and Detective Mulroy.
"Please, could you just let me know what's going on?" she begged.
"Ms. Cooper-Waite, this is Officer Jones, and these are Damien and his uncle Father Damien," Broderick introduced, in a soft voice. "This is Francine Cooper-Waite. She's come to ask about her daughter."
Oh, great, Damien thought.
"What exactly is going on?" he said aloud.
In response Ms. Cooper-Waite pulled out a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it to reveal a copy of Puck's drawing, which she had obviously taken from its post. "This is my daughter," she said, straining to keep her voice from cracking. "I want to know what's wrong."
"Are you positive?" Damien asked. He couldn't help it; he didn't like facing a woman and having to tell her "Congratulations, your daughter's dead."
"Yes, I'm positive. I haven't seen her for several weeks; I was downstate. Is she all right?"
"Ma'am, where's her father?" Mulroy asked.
"We're divorced." Both Damien and his uncle--and possibly Mulroy, if Damien was seeing correctly--cast a quick glance at Trooper Broderick. "He's living in California now. Please, just tell me, is Janeane all right?"
"Janeane? Her name's Janeane?" Mulroy asked, taking out a notepad and writing the name down.
"Yes. Janeane Cooper-Waite. Please! Will somebody tell me what's going on?"
"Ms. Cooper-Waite," Trooper Broderick said, his voice still soft in the quiet room. She turned to look at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm afraid your daughter is dead. She was found in the woods a couple of weeks ago."
Before he'd even finished talking she was shaking her head, and the shaking only got more adamant the further he went. "No," she said firmly, "she's not dead. She was fine when I left. She saw me off at the airport."
"We have reason to believe she was murdered."
Ms. Cooper-Waite's hands went to her mouth. She stifled a sob.
"We need you to come over to the County Building," Broderick said. "You have to identify the body."
"Oh, God." Muffled by her hands.
Father Damien touched her shoulder. Trooper Broderick tilted his head forward, trying to regain her attention. "Ms. Cooper-Waite? Ms. Cooper-Waite."
She finally managed to lift her head and look at him, her eyes red.
"Would you please follow us? It's only a short drive."
She stood up shakily, one hand still at her mouth as if she felt she were going to be sick. Which Damien didn't doubt. "Taxi," she managed to get out. "Took--took a taxi here."
"You can ride with me," Damien offered. He felt guilty for some reason.
Trooper Broderick nodded. "This way."
On their way out Ms. Cooper-Waite continued murmuring into her hand. "Just left for a short vacation," she said, her voice still muffled. "Staying here for a few months. Family. Came over from Indiana."
"You're from out of state?" Damien murmured back. He couldn't think of anything to do but make unnecessary conversation, perhaps try to keep her mind occupied until they got there.
She nodded. He picked up on the cue.
"I've lived here all my life. Is Indiana very different?"
She shook her head. "Not--too much. Same weather. More fields. Less trees." [Note--that should be "fewer trees," I know.] She stifled another sob and covered her eyes.
He opened the passenger side door to the Countach while she was still a distance away, not wanting to hit her as it swept up into the air. "Climb right in," he said, gesturing. She did so, and he shut the door behind her, jogging around to the other side and getting in himself. She didn't bother doing up her seatbelt; he didn't bother telling her to do so. She was grieving, for God's sake. Instead he buckled himself in, started the engine, and pulled out. She didn't say anything else on the way there, and he didn't prod.
When he got there Trooper Broderick's Blazer, Officer Jones's squad car, and Mulroy's and Father Damien's cars were already waiting. He helped Ms. Cooper-Waite out and led her inside, down the hall, and, seeing the others, followed them.
They were led to a small room with a large glass window. Damien had seen enough cop shows on TV to know what was coming next. Trooper Broderick glanced up as they entered, his face reflected in the glass. "Over here, please," he said. She obeyed and turned to stare at the glass. Damien held his breath.
A door opened and a sheet-covered gurney was wheeled into the room behind the window. Damien chanced a look at the woman beside him. So far she was holding up pretty well, probably telling herself this was just somebody's body, not her daughter's, not hers. The attendant pulled back the sheet to reveal the young woman's face. Then Ms. Cooper-Waite's hands went back up to her face.
"Ohh, God, that's her," she moaned, and started crying again. Trooper Broderick nodded at the attendant and the body was wheeled back out. Seeing that she was ready to collapse, he pulled a chair out from a nearby table and had her sit down. She sank into the chair and put her head on the table.
"This is the part of my job that I hate," Mulroy whispered.
"Ma'am?" Now Broderick had switched to the more polite term. Damien sighed, rubbing his eyes and leaning against the wall. "Ma'am, if you'll please cooperate with us."
"What is there to say?" she sobbed, lifting her head and looking around at them. "She's dead. Who did this?"
"That's what we're trying to find out. But you have to answer some questions for us."
"All we wanted was a little trip out of state. That's all this was going to be. She was staying at the motel. I just left for a couple days to visit a friend."
"You were staying at a motel."
"Yes, yes. The River Terrace." [Note--a real location. Not sure if it qualifies as a "motel" or not, though.] Mulroy wrote that down. "Just for a while. She said she was going to take a look around while I was gone. That's all."
"Take a look around where?"
"Around town. That was it. There's no danger in looking around town."
Damien cast a look at his uncle. That's what we all used to think, the look said.
"Did she say anywhere in particular?"
"No, just look around. She's an architecture student. She wanted to see the buildings. See if there were any old buildings."
Now Damien leaned forward.
"Buildings outside of town?" he whispered to Mulroy, who looked at him. He leaned back towards Ms. Cooper-Waite.
"Did she want to see any particular buildings outside of the city, Ms. Waite?"
"I don't know! Maybe she did. Probably. Old buildings."
"Warehouses," Damien whispered.
She caught the remark that time. "I don't know," she said, her voice rising. "She may have. All she told me was she wanted to look around."
Damien crossed the room and whispered something in Trooper Broderick's ear. The policeman turned away and silently left the room. It was quiet for several minutes.
"How old was your daughter, Ms. Waite?" Mulroy went on.
"Twenty-four. God, her birthday was in two months. She was going to go to Florida then. She was saving up for it."
"Does she have any boyfriends that you know of?"
"No. She broke up over a year ago."
Trooper Broderick re-entered, holding out a folder in Damien's direction. Damien opened it and flipped through it, then pulled out a large glossy photograph. He laid it on the table in front of Ms. Cooper-Waite.
"Have you ever seen this building, Ms. Cooper-Waite?" he asked.
She glanced at it. It showed a large, low-set building surrounded by an old pot-holed parking lot. She shrugged uncertainly, then shook her head. "I don't think so. What is it?"
He looked up at Trooper Broderick and their eyes met. I think this is more your area. Trooper Broderick sat down and took the photograph, pointing at it.
"This is an abandoned warehouse just on the edge of town, not far from the Lincoln Bridge," he explained. "We have reason to believe it's still in use."
She blinked at him. "By whom?"
"We believe possibly by a cult."
Her eyes widened at that. "A cult? What's this got to do with Janeane? You think she was in some kind of cult?" She started shaking her head again. "No, never! I would have known. Janeane was never in any cult. She was a good girl!"
Broderick shook his head as well. "We don't think she was in the cult, Ms. Waite. But we believe she may have been killed by one."
She just stared at him. The minutes ticked by. Then she turned to look at the others.
"By a cult? Why would a cult want anything to do with my Janeane? She was a good girl! She never got involved in any of that. What's this got to do with anything? What's this got to do with any of you?"
Damien finally stepped forward. "Ten years ago my sister was killed by this cult," he said, his voice very quiet. "The leader confessed. He's killed other people."
"But my Janeane--!"
"We don't think it was the same person," Trooper Broderick put in. The other two looked at him. "But it may be related."
"What kind of cult are you talking about?"
"Satanic." For some reason that seemed worse than any wacko New Age or Christian cult, and she buried her face again. "There was a pentagram carved in her chest." Ms. Cooper-Waite's own chest started heaving; Damien felt like reaching out and shutting the trooper up, but there was nothing he could do. "First she was drugged, then she was strangled, then she was cut. Then she was left in the woods until she froze. Ms. Cooper-Waite, you need to cooperate with us, or else we won't be able to find whoever did this and see they get what they deserve."
"She was a good girl!" Ms. Cooper-Waite screamed.
"Bad things happen to good people, Ms. Cooper-Waite!" Trooper Broderick raised his own voice. Mulroy put a hand on his shoulder; he pushed it away and stood up. "Everyone in this room knows that just as much as you. You're not the only one who's had to deal with this. Either you help us out, or whoever did this goes free. Possibly even to do the same thing again."
She was silent for a long time, staring at him. Damien was surprised she could hold his stare for so long; he'd never seen anyone outstare a Broderick. Finally she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What do you want me to do?"
"First I want you to try to get some sleep," he said, his own voice very low. "Then I want you to come to City Hall. I want you to meet someone there. I want you to talk to him. I want you to tell him everything you can about your daughter and what's happened. You won't be alone; there'll be others there with you. Then I want you to ask what's going to be done for your daughter."
Damien was frozen. Trooper Broderick was clearly talking about a meeting with Chief Jones. It sounded like he was going to try to pressure the chief into reopening the Scorpio files. But he'd tried that already. What did he hope to accomplish this time?
Nevertheless, some part far back in his brain felt like saying, "Me too!"
The silence seemed to go on forever. Then Ms. Cooper-Waite nodded her head slowly.
"If it'll catch whoever did this, I'll go," she said. Her own voice was completely level; her eyes, strangely enough, were dry. It was as if Broderick's words had straightened something out in her and strengthened her resolve. Or else just brought it to the surface.
Trooper Broderick nodded back. Then he lifted his head to look at the others.
"I trust you'll back me up on this," he said, and it sounded like his own death sentence.
Damien and Father Damien nodded. So did Mulroy. No one said a word.
The silence returned.
Then Trooper Broderick sighed, rubbed his eyes, turned, and left the room.
In the morning Damien and his uncle--and everyone else they'd involved in the case, except Broderick and Miss Clare and Ms. Cooper-Waite, who hadn't arrived yet--were at the State Police station early in the morning. Mulroy was busy taking and making phone calls. After each one he would write down some notes, then pick up the phone and dial or answer it after a ring. After one such ring he talked for a moment, then hung up with a "Whoo-hoo!" [sic]
"That was Felman," he clarified. The others looked up at him from their various spots around the room. "He couldn't wait for us to pick him up. He's taking a bus and he should be here in about an hour."
"They just let him out to take a bus?" Damien couldn't help it.
A shrug. "Deinstitutionalization, what a wonderful thing. In any case he'll be there too. God, if Chief Jones isn't there I swear I'll break down his door and ransack his office."
"I really doubt that'll be necessary," Temple said. "Or prudent."
"I don't give a damn. I'll use Officer D'Amato's head as a battering ram if I have to. Lord knows it couldn't hurt." He picked up the phone and started dialing.
The door opened and Dr. Leja entered, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "I'm missing work because of this," she muttered as the door shut behind her. "Sure hope someone's holding my pay."
"Put it on Mulroy's tab," Puck replied.
"You're a wonderful man, Mr. Benteen," Mulroy called. Puck smiled. "I'll see to it that someone sends you a bomb on your birthday."
"That's January first, Detective. I can hardly wait."
"A New Years [sic] baby," Mulroy said, as if to the phone. "We get all kinds of holiday babies here. Hello? Is this the City Police?"
Damien leaned back against the wall. He hadn't gotten much sleep that night; he felt himself drifting off even as Mulroy asked for an appointment with Chief Jones. Father Damien felt like waking him up but decided he could probably use the rest.
"Thank you," Mulroy said snidely over the phone. He hung up. "Clod."
Damien snapped awake again as soon as the door to the station entered. It was Felman this time; he peered around the door at the people gathered inside.
Dr. Leja stood up and went to shake his hand. "Hi. You must be the Felman I've heard so much about."
"So much?" He looked as if he too hadn't gotten any sleep. "I hope nobody's been spreading stories about me."
"Don't worry about that," Mulroy said, still handling the phone. It rang and he answered it. "Your house's been burglarized? Tell someone who cares." He hung up. "We're too busy doing everything else to talk about you."
"Who was that?" Father Damien demanded, his voice dripping with disbelief.
"Oh, that. That was just D'Amato. The scum. He's at City Hall. He said he's trying to get through to Chief Jones." He snorted. "Though with the term 'get through,' I'm not sure just how."
"Am I early?" Felman asked. He looked at the clock, and tried to synchronize his watch.
"We should get going down there," Leja said, picking up her purse. The others started getting up as well.
"There's B now," Mulroy said, glancing out the door as the Blazer pulled in. "I'll tell him we're going. Ms. Waite should be waiting for us at City Hall. Come on."
"Here goes nothing," Damien murmured to his uncle. They all filed out of the overcrowded building.
They arrived at City Hall and saw one police cruiser pulled up nearer the drive than the others, which were parked by the back. Officer D'Amato waved at them as they approached.
"Follow me," he said. "We're not going to his office. We're going to the conference room."
"Why?" Mulroy asked. Damien wondered if he really distrusted D'Amato that much or if he just liked being irritating.
"I told him how many of you I expected to be coming. His office is too small. You're lucky he's even meeting you at all. Follow me."
Mulroy sighed but they followed him into the building.
Damien knew that not all of them were going to speak to the chief; Puck shrugged when Damien had asked him if he had anything to say, adding, "It's not my cult." D. J. had declined to come. Officers Brown, Haley, Jones, and Slatinsky didn't have much to say anyway; they hadn't been involved with the cult investigation. Nevertheless, Damien felt they might have some influence. Kincaid and Bowen were from out of state, and Temple told Damien truthfully he didn't know what he could do to help the situation.
"I'm just your legal counsel," he said as they walked down the hall. "I can keep you from putting your foot in your mouth, but that's about as far as my expertise goes."
D'Amato reached the door leading to the conference room and ushered them in. His arm reached out and stopped Damien, his uncle, and Temple before they could enter. They turned to look at him.
"You three," he said in a low voice, "come with me. Chief Jones wanted to speak with you personally, and I think it could be good to have a lawyer present."
Great. Damien shrugged at them and they left the conference room behind while the others got situated.
"I hope this doesn't take too long," Damien said to the policeman, who kept up a brisk pace ahead of them. "The others will be waiting."
"I'm sure it won't." He didn't seem to be his usual cheerful self. "But I needed someone to explain this to him, and you're the best choice I've got."
He reached a door marked CHIEF OF POLICE, knocked, and entered. He didn't bother waiting for a reply.
The person in the chair at the desk turned to look at them as they entered. His dark blue, almost black eyes fell on each one in turn, finally coming to rest on Damien. Damien somehow managed to hold his stare and his tongue, though he felt like something was boiling inside. This was the person who had shut down the Scorpio files.
"So," the police chief said, "this is the Damien I've heard so much about."
"Yes, Chief." D'Amato stood before his desk almost like a soldier at attention.
He stood up and offered his hand; Damien, taken off guard, accepted it. "Curt Jones. [Note--I opened myself up to a potential lawsuit when I named this character--seeing as this name, only with a slightly different spelling, was/is the name of the REAL chief of police!! I honestly have no clue why I decided to use his name. In my own defense--mild spoiler--my Chief Jones is a GOOD guy! He's also no relation to Officer Jones, BTW. Yes, it's a supposed writers' cardinal sin to name characters so similarly, but have you ever known me to balk from such things? I haven't lost any readers that I know of because of this reason, at least.] I'm assuming this is your uncle."
"Yes. And this--"
"I believe Mr. Temple and I have met before." He didn't elaborate, and Temple didn't respond. "Please be seated."
"We have some people waiting--"
"I know that. This will only take a moment." He waved at the chairs. "Please?"
The three sat; Officer D'Amato went over and stood by Chief Jones's side, hands behind his back.
"I was told you and your friends wished to discuss something with me," he started. "But what that something is I haven't exactly been told."
"Trooper Broderick didn't tell you?"
Chief Jones raised an eyebrow. "Broderick? It was a Detective Mulroy that spoke with me. I didn't know Broderick had anything to do with this."
"With all due respect he has everything to do with this. Have you heard about that woman that was murdered--Janeane Cooper-Waite, her name was?"
"Yes, I've heard her mother came forward yesterday. To the State Police."
He didn't seem too happy they'd gotten first call. Damien swallowed his retort and continued.
"That was merely because the drawing that was put up was addressed to the State Police post. It could have been the City or County Police, if they'd made the drawing first."
"I heard this drawing was made by one of your friends at the County Building, Damien."
For some reason Damien found it incredibly strange that Chief Jones would know to call him simply Damien and not "Mr. Damien," as everyone who didn't know him too well did. He tried not to let his uneasiness show.
"Dr. Elizabeth Ross gave us her permission. Even though we were clearly representing the State Police."
Chief Jones shrugged it off. "What does this have to do with your planned meeting?"
"It has a possible connection with some files you shut down a while back."
Chief Jones's eyes narrowed slightly; he turned to look at D'Amato, who didn't look back. Then he turned back to Damien and the others.
"I'm assuming I know what you mean. I'm not at liberty to discuss any contents of those files. However, if you and your friends wish to ask me some questions about them, I don't see what harm it could do. Just as long as you keep in mind that the contents of the files themselves are off limits."
Damien bit his lip. "I'm hoping we can change your mind about that, Chief, but that wasn't what we were here to talk about now. I just want you to hear us out."
"Very well then." He stood up; D'Amato stepped to the side. "Let's go down there and get this over with. I'll answer what questions I can. But as for me opening those files, don't you expect any miracles."
It was an audience of eighteen that sat down to greet Chief Jones; D'Amato stood against the wall nearby, as if he were some kind of bodyguard for the policeman. Damien thought this strange but said nothing as he took a seat next to Dr. Leja. He didn't realize how anxious he was until she reached out and squeezed his hand. He looked at her, surprised by the gesture.
Damien looked around for Trooper Broderick and couldn't find him; then he realized that he'd been mistaken thinking that D'Amato was the only one besides Chief Jones standing. Broderick was at the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Only the front lights were turned on, so he was partly in shadow. It looked like he was taking part in a criminal line-up.
"I was told some of you have questions concerning some files I ordered closed some years back," Chief Jones said, quietly, though clearly enough to carry across the room.
Thankfully, Detective Mulroy was the first to speak. "Yes, Chief. I believe they're referred to as the 'Scorpio files.'"
Chief Jones bit his lip but nodded. Mulroy went on.
"As you probably know I was in on the original investigation. I, at least, had the feeling we were getting close to an answer. However, for some reason you decided to shut down the investigation. I and my surviving partner--" by which he meant Trooper Broderick, standing in the back "--would like to know why that is."
"I'm not at liberty to discuss why the files were shut down," Chief Jones replied, his voice even. "Nor can I discuss the contents of the files."
Mulroy snorted but didn't reply.
Ms. Cooper-Waite stood up. "Chief Jones, sir," she said, her voice soft. He looked down at her. "I've been told that what happened to--what happened to my daughter may be related to what's in these files. Now I have no idea what they're about; I'm not from here, you see."
"I do. Go on."
"But I want you to know that anything that can help find who did this to my daughter deserves another look at. I don't care what's in those files. I don't care if I ever even find out. Keep it to yourselves if you want to. But at least take another look at it and see if you can catch who did this."
She sat down and Damien stood up. He took a deep breath. "You're a policeman," he said, substituting it for the word "cop," "so you were probably involved in a murder investigation back in 1986. A dead woman found near a bridge."
Chief Jones nodded, his eyes narrowing again.
"As you probably already know that was my sister. Someone cut her heart out. And I know who that someone was because he told me. To my face. And threatened to do the same thing to me. Which he nearly did. And he just happens to be related to what could be in these files of yours--"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss the--"
"I know you aren't, Chief, but I'm stating the obvious. You know very well who I'm talking about, don't you?"
A pause. Then Chief Jones nodded.
"Good. Then you don't need to deny any cult charges related to him because it's obvious they're there. Maybe Ms. Cooper-Waite's right; maybe I don't need to see what's in those files. But these cops do, because they're the ones supposed to be investigating this murder. And look what they're doing now! Running in circles!"
"A circle which could be broken with a new look at those files," Mulroy added.
"I can't say that what's in the files is necessarily related to what you're talking about," Chief Jones replied, "but I won't say it isn't, either."
Dr. Leja stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. Damien sat down.
"Chief Jones, I'm Dr. Lynn Leja. I'm not sure if you know me. I'm an exit-counselor."
"A what?"
"A cult exit-counselor. What you might call a deprogrammer." Chief Jones frowned but said nothing. "I got into therapy after running away from a different cult. A 'sunshine cult,' they sometimes call them. Nothing like this. But a cult is a cult no matter what side of the line it's on. They take perfectly normal people and brainwash them so that they become automatons, working only for the good of the group. I know because I've dealt with these people personally."
Chief Jones gave her a condescending smile. "Then you know, Doctor, what it's like to be unable to discuss private matters."
"Yes I do, Chief. However, these 'files' you claim to have shut down don't deal with the personal lives of certain people. If they do, it's personal matters that need to be revealed to the public to insure [sic] their safety. If one of my younger patients threatens suicide I'm sure as hell going to tell someone. I don't care if I could lose my license or not. There's something more at stake here than somebody's job. It could be somebody's life. Even yours."
She sat down before he could reply. Felman stood up, holding up one hand timidly.
Chief Jones stared at Dr. Leja for a moment, then noticed Felman. "Yes? Who're you?"
"Chris Felman, Chief Jones; I used to be an officer with the State Police."
"Yes?"
Felman put down his hand and instead starting fiddling his fingers. "I--uh--" He closed his eyes and appeared to count silently. Then he opened them again, and his voice returned.
"I know personally what Dr. Leja is talking about, sir. I nearly lost my life in the line of duty. They nearly killed me."
"'They'?" Chief Jones inquired.
"Yes. The--" He cut himself off, closed his eyes again; Damien was sure he was going to lose it. Maybe bringing him along hadn't been such a good idea after all. But he opened his eyes again, took a deep breath, and spoke.
"Yes, sir. The ones you call Scorpio."
Damien and his uncle let out their own breath. It was the first time the cult had been referred to by name rather than as an adjective. And it was Felman who had said it.
Chief Jones frowned again. "How and when was this, Mr. Felman?"
"1989, sir. When my partner Sergeant Danser and I were attempting to help Damien. Sergeant Danser was shot and killed. I was shot at. I wasn't hit but I--well...seeing your partner die right in front of you can do things to your head, sir. I've been--staying at Northampton since it happened. Over seven years. And I can still see Danser dying in my head."
Chief Jones didn't say anything.
"We were investigating the same case you shut down, sir. You know I don't know most of what's in those files. I was just a kind of secretary. I'm supposing I'm not a police officer anymore, but even if I did have something important to contribute I don't think I'd be able to tell it without feeling I'm breaking some kind of oath. Detective Mulroy and Trooper Broderick are bound by the same rules, and they know more than I do." He took another breath. "Sir, my partner was killed by that cult. Both Mulroy and Broderick have been touched by it. We all lost another partner to it in another way--I believe you remember Lieutenant Mabarak. If something can turn a man against his partner, and then end up killing him, I believe it has to be stopped. Even if you have to break some of your rules."
He bobbed his head, as if to applause; then he sat down, darting anxious glances around him, looking for any signs of disapproval. He received none.
Damien glanced at Miss Clare. She looked back, then sighed inwardly and stood up. A blank, slightly panicked look came onto her face. A moment later Derrick stood up as well; she cast a glance at him, drew on something in his stance, and spoke.
"I don't believe you know me, Chief Jones. I'm Anna Clare." She indicated Derrick, not knowing if he wished to be introduced or not; yet he was standing, so she did. "This is Derrick Grant. We know each other. Not personally though. We were both in Scorpio."
Chief Jones looked surprised. Neither of them looked like cultists. Then again, neither did Dr. Leja, or Lieutenant Mabarak, when he'd been around.
"I believe we could both contribute to your investigation," Miss Clare went on, "if you were to open it again. However, if you didn't, all of us will be silent. No one will ever find out what goes on in those groups. I don't think that's what you want."
"Remember Bodine," Derrick blurted out. They all looked at him; he kept his stare on Chief Jones, and said nothing else. Miss Clare, evidently unwilling to say anything else, wrung her hands and sat down.
No one else spoke. Chief Jones glanced around, as if looking for any further comments; his gaze fell on Officer Jones and lingered there for a moment. Officer Jones squirmed uncomfortably.
"Officer?" Chief Jones murmured. "Do you or your fellows have anything to say about this?"
Officer Jones barely managed a bit of a shrug. "Only as far as a reopening of the investigation goes, Chief," he admitted.
"So you and Officers Slatinsky and Brown would be cooperating on the case."
"I believe that's so, Chief."
Chief Jones continued staring at him for several more moments, then turned to look at Trooper Broderick, standing at the back of the room. So far the main character in the play hadn't spoken yet.
"I'm assuming most of this meeting was arranged by you," he said, his mouth twisting slightly. "After all, you're the one who has the most to gain from the exposure of these files."
Everyone turned back to look at him. For what was obviously a very low stab, Trooper Broderick was taking it very well. His face betrayed nothing.
"I thought it in our best interests to reopen them," he said simply.
"And why is that?"
"I know what's in those files already. I believe it could help the current investigation."
Chief Jones wasn't buying it. "How, Trooper Broderick?"
In response he merely tilted his head. "I'm afraid I can't answer that, Chief. I'm not at liberty to discuss the contents of those files."
Damien tried to hide his smile. Broderick had thrown Chief Jones's main defense right back at him. Chief Jones, for his part, was trying not to look disgusted.
"If that's all you have to say," he said, addressing the whole group, "then I'm afraid this meeting is closed."
Dr. Leja shot Damien a glance. He stood up.
"You still haven't answered any of our questions."
"That's because I'm not able to. And while you've all raised a pretty good argument I don't see how it can convince me to reopen those files."
Damien felt his fists clench. Dr. Leja's hand touched his arm and he looked down at her. Let's just see what else we can do, the look said. Suppressing a sigh, he sat back down.
"I'll certainly take your comments into consideration," Chief Jones continued, retrieving his coat and putting it on, "and next time the subject comes up for review I'll mention them. However, until then, you're simply going to have to continue this investigation without them. I'm sorry I couldn't have done more." He turned to the door to leave. Officer D'Amato followed him out.
"Sure, he's sorry," Mulroy's voice came from behind Damien. "I can see the crocodile tears from here."
"We'll think of something else," Dr. Leja sighed, standing up and picking up her coat from the chair back.
"Sure we will," Mulroy snorted, also standing. "Just as sure as he feels sorry."
Damien didn't feel like listening to them argue. Rubbing his eyes, he headed for the door as well.
Puck jumped over a seat and jogged up behind him. "Any ideas for Plan B?" he inquired, matching Damien's pace as they pushed open the door and headed out into the hallway.
"Maybe you should ask Trooper Broderick. He's the only one who doesn't look ready to scream."
"He's also probably got some more ideas of his own. Listen, Dami, there're more ways to get at those files than anything on the 'up-and-up.' If you would just let me--"
"I doubt they stored them on computer, Puck," Damien said, turning to face him. "Else I would've sent you to do that already."
Puck offered him a crooked smile. "Nice to know I'm not the only dirty-minded one around here, Dami." He looked up slightly, down the hallway. "Look at this. Seems maybe D'Amato isn't the toady we thought he was."
Damien turned in the direction he was indicating. At the end of the hall, outside the door to Chief Jones's office, the two policemen seemed to be in the middle of a heated debate. Their voices they kept low; yet from the way they looked at each other Damien could tell it wasn't a friendly chat.
"I wonder what's going on," he murmured.
"I don't know. But it certainly isn't like anything we saw in his office earlier." Puck started forward, and Damien grabbed his arm to draw him back. When Puck gave him a questioning look he shook his head.
"Let's just see where this goes."
Chief Jones grabbed the handle of his door but made no other move to enter his office. D'Amato was standing less than a foot away; they saw him raise his hand to point at Chief Jones, raising the other one to sweep down the hall. Chief Jones shook his head back; the look on his face was deadly. They were surprised he could keep his voice lowered with such a look. D'Amato simply frowned; when he spoke his voice was slightly raised, and Damien could make out what he said:
"Don't make me ask for any favors, Jones."
That seemed to halt Chief Jones in his tracks. He stared at D'Amato for a few seconds as if he were nuts; then he turned to his door, flung it open, stepped inside, and let it slam behind him. The glass in the window rattled. D'Amato was left standing in the hallway, staring at the nameplate facing him.
"Time to make our exit," Puck whispered, taking Damien's arm and dragging him down the hallway and outside. Neither he nor Damien liked the thought of getting caught eavesdropping on that conversation.
As the others exited the building Puck and Damien stood outside in the parking lot, Puck rubbing his hands together and occasionally looking upwards. Ms. Cooper-Waite was crying again; Dr. Leja was doing her best to soothe her. Temple was saying something in a low voice to Felman, who just shrugged back, his own hands in his pockets; he looked dejected. Trooper Broderick came out last, shutting the door behind him and jogging down the steps.
"So much for that," Puck said aloud.
"I told you I would batter down his door with D'Amato's head," Mulroy said, "and I'm going to do it."
"You're not going to do anything," Trooper Broderick replied on his way to the Blazer. The others stopped and stared after him. Mulroy caught up with him just as he was opening the door to get in; his hand shot out and slammed the door shut. Broderick turned to face him, and the look he had was not pretty.
"Let go of the door."
"What do you mean, we're not going to do anything?" Mulroy snapped.
"Just what I said. If Chief Jones doesn't want the files opened there's nothing we can do about it. So back off."
This last statement was addressed both towards the whole group concerning the files, and at Mulroy holding the door shut. Everyone was perfectly silent now. They knew a challenge when they saw one.
"This isn't like you, B. You were never one to give up. You never gave up before. I don't see why you are now."
"That's right that I never gave up before. And do you see what it got me? My partner is dead because of that investigation." He didn't mention his family. "We never ended up with more than a shred of evidence even when the files were wide open. The best thing we can do now is just start over."
"From scratch? What the hell do we have to go on? Aren't I your partner too? And Felman? And wasn't Danser? What about them? You're just going to sweep all that under the carpet and pretend it doesn't exist, just like what they did to your family?"
Everyone jumped back when Trooper Broderick's hand shot out and grabbed Mulroy by the collar. Even Mulroy looked surprised. Trooper Broderick leaned forward so that their faces were only inches from each other, and when he spoke his voice was deadly.
"You don't mention that. You never mention that, and you will not mention that. Do you understand?"
Mulroy stared at him as if he were crazy. Finally he nodded and managed to stammer, "Y-yeah, B. Whatever you want."
Broderick's hand let go of his collar; Mulroy fell back, rubbing his neck and staring back at him. Trooper Broderick opened his door, got in, and slammed it. The Blazer roared to life; with a squeal of the tires it pulled out into the road and sped off.
Dead silence. Then Puck leaned over to whisper in Damien's ear.
"Looks like someone's working off a pretty short leash."
Damien didn't bother replying. Trying to keep his face blank, he headed back for his own car.
He didn't seem to feel well for the rest of the day. It was only reluctantly that he drove with Father Damien to Wal-Mart the next day to pick up a few things needed around the house. Though Father Damien talked he didn't contribute much to the conversation, just keeping his eyes on the road and trying to keep his mind off everything else but the feel of the tires against the pavement. Father Damien, sensing he wasn't in a good mood, fell silent and watched the scenery go by.
When they reached the store and pulled in to park Damien finally spoke. "I thought the Brodericks had more to them," he said, unbuckling the seatbelt. Father Damien turned to look at him, uncomprehending. He got out and slammed the door, headed towards the store, his uncle following. When he spoke his breath was visible against the cold air. "I thought when he said we needed to get those files opened again he was a man of his word. Looks like maybe I was wrong."
"You can't blame him for that, Damien. He tried what he could."
"You call that trying? He barely did anything! He's just letting Chief Jones take all the control! And what happens when you leave weak men in control?"
Father Damien opened his mouth to reply when a voice from behind them called, "Mr. Damien?"
They stopped, turning. Two men were headed towards them, dressed in long black coats. One of them, the one in front, held out his hand as he came forward. "Are you Mr. Damien?"
"Yeah," Damien answered, hesitantly. Father Damien took a step back to be at his side. He didn't like the look of this.
The first man smiled and continued holding out his hand. It was gloved. "Good, we've been trying to get in touch with you. Don't get out much, do you?"
"Who are you?" Father Damien was glad to hear the tone of Damien's voice; his nephew wasn't going to be as easily swayed as he had been in the past. There was a note of suspicion in his voice.
The man only smiled apologetically. "Just think of us as friends of Officer D'Amato, and leave it at that." Damien started. "But I was asked to give something to you. Perhaps you'll find it of use?" He turned to the second man, who handed him a large mailing envelope. Taking it, he handed it across to Damien, who warily received it.
"What is it?"
Another smile, and a shrug. "I'm just here to make sure it gets delivered into the right hands. Hope it can help you out. Have a nice day, Mr. Damien, Father." He touched his fingers to his brow, turned, and they walked away.
Damien and his uncle stared after them until they'd vanished from sight. Then he looked down at the package. His name was written on it, along with DO NOT OPEN.
"What the heck was that all about?" he murmured.
Father Damien touched his arm. "I don't like this, Damien. They had guns."
His nephew looked up at him. "Guns? You saw them?"
A nod. "They had holsters. I really don't like the look of this."
"Still, they said they knew Officer D'Amato."
"That doesn't mean anything. They could have picked up his name anywhere."
"Or maybe they owed him a favor." He didn't explain. "Come on. I want to see what this is."
"What about the groceries?"
"We can get them later. Call up Mulroy and Broderick. They might want to see this, too--whatever it is."
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