Jack wasn’t the only person watching as Broman’s left the school grounds. From across the parking lot another set of eyes watched as Rita loaded Brian and Judy’s work into the back of the car. They watched as her son told her his good news and as she attempted one more time to keep the truth from escaping her lips. They watched as Judy pulled out her cell phone yet again to respond to a text message. Probably from a new boyfriend, they thought. Girls her age were always talking with their new boyfriends. Both of the children were so pure, so innocent. They deserved to be saved. But the older one would be a bit of challenge. The older they got, the harder it was to make them understand why it had to be done. So many years ago they had learned that. Dear old Bobby, so uncooperative, had to be strung up in the fishing line before he learned his lesson: the body must die so that the innocence can be saved. Maybe it would be Brian’s turn this year; his turn to be rescued before he learned the truth about his neglectful father who had been the reason for Rita to return to her roots. This quiet town, this sleepy little town was the perfect place with a constant supply of those waiting to be saved.
They watched until the car was out of site then turned back to their reading. They still had a lot of work to do and the year, for them, was only just beginning.
Chapter 4
“You’re not listening. Look. Please just look at these clippings. Please!” Panic, mixed with desperation, dripped from Kelly’s voice as she thrust the copies of the discovered articles under the stern countenance of Police Chief Merrels. The chief stared back at her from behind his small rectangular reading glasses as though she had just delivered a dead possum found on the road.
“Little lady. You have got to be kidding me with this Nancy Drew bullshit.” He dipped his head down to his chest as he raised one gnarled hand to scratch at his newly acquired bald spot. He had only recently noticed the hair disappearing in a neat patch at the crown of his head and could have sworn, since then, that it had become a target for every insect in the county. Merrels was known to swear, curse, spit and smoke but was one of the best police chiefs that Oyster Ridge had known in its history. That was the reason he had been at his post for the last 20 years.
“Of course I remember the story of Bobby Warren. Hell, I was just figuring out how to be Chief back then but that became quite the sensationalist piece. Sort of a stone in my new career. They had reporters from every county in the state out here taking pictures of our scenery and local townsfolk. Nothin’ ever came of nothin’ though. We figured it wasn’t the dad on account of him being seen drinking till the early morning the night that his son went missin’. Damn shame for those folks. Damn shame.” And with that, the chief settled back into his oversized faux leather chair to once again fix his gaze on the two women disrupting his office.
Kelly let loose a frustrated growl and grabbed her long brown hair in a dramatic display as she paced the small office. Rita could see they were loosing the war but couldn’t ignore the feeling that what Kelly was saying was completely correct. Something about these two instances begged for connection, for attention to be paid. Suddenly it occurred to her.
“Wait a minute.” She whirled her chair around and grabbed her friends shoulder so hard it made Kelly wince.
“Kelly you’re Catholic. What day is November 2 ^ nd?”
“Um, how the heck should I know? I haven’t practiced in years.” She let out a bitter nervous laugh.
“Come on, just think about it?”
“All Saints Day I think.”
“Right and what is the point of All Saints Day? Isn’t that the day that celebrates the faithful?”
Kelly stopped pacing the office and stared at her friend in disbelief. “No, well yes sort of. All Saints Day is when we begin a period of purification and enlightenment. There are three celebrations known as the ‘scrutinies’ when we purge ourselves and open the heart for the purer faith.”
As she finished, she turned to see Chief Merrels staring at her with a look of disdainful interest. “What are you? The church choir?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Kelly blushed, her pale skin turning red to the roots of her hair. “No, I mean, I went to church with Mom before she died but that was it. Don’t you remember how fanatic she was about all the celebrations?”
Indeed, everyone in Oyster Bay remember Margaret Reiss, the overzealous widow who had convinced the entire town to ban the selling of sweets and liquors for the Lent season ten years back. She had died in a car accident involving a seasonal tourist who was inexperienced to the winding roads entering Oyster Ridge. In her will she had stipulated a funeral with the strictest adherence to a traditional catholic mass lasting 4 hours. The townspeople had struggled through it without so much as a whimper, but still made miserly jokes behind Kelly’s back. Shortly after her mother’s death Kelly had moved back, dropping out of university to become the town’s librarian and running joke. Kelly handled it with resigned grace, fully acknowledging to all who cared to make a comment that her mother had gone to truly biblical extents towards the end of her life.
Chief Merrels glanced slowly from Rita to Kelly and back. As he stared his eyebrows seemed to furrow deeper and deeper towards his eyes. He let out a grunt of a resignation and pulled the ancient book towards him. “Alright, tell me what you think is going on.”
Rita took a deep breath. Since the entire idea had been Kelly’s she had taken the back seat. But now, seeing the state of tension her friend was in she decided to take over with the explanation. She quickly but thoroughly summarized what they had found in the press records and tied in the most recent killings to finish with “…and we think they are all connected. The first appeared as accidents but maybe whoever is responsible for this is getting bored with it. Or maybe they are getting bolder. You know they’ve potentially gotten away with it for the last 18 years. Maybe they need something new.”
Chief Merrels had sunk back into the depths of his chair. “Yes, but why now?”
“Why ever?” Kelly countered. “Why start in the first place. That’s more of the question. But maybe now it’s easier. Maybe they have figured out what to do and how to do it. Or maybe they have a new reason. Maybe the first two were just trials.”
Rita looked at her friend with a hint of disbelief. Where had that come from? She was taking the death of her neighbor far too personally. She was getting too involved into this. Rita needed to end this conversation before her friend went too far and ruined the chances of the Police Chief taking them seriously.
“Anyways, here is all the information we found.” Rita interrupted, handing over a pack of copies and texts. “Obviously you know better what to do with all this that’s why we are here.” Turning to her friend she added, “I think it’s time we let the Chief do his job and we go enjoy a distraction.” Her friend turned to her with a look of weary bitterness across her features. “How can we find any enjoyment in any of this?” She looked down at the papers on the chief’s desk but let herself be led away. Chief Merrels watched the girls disappear down the hallway then turned to look at the “evidence”. He had to give them credit. Those two little librarians had come up with some pretty damning suggestions. But was it possible in this little town, for something to go so completely wrong.
He remembered the murder of Bobby Warren. The body had been mutilated as though it had been an act of desperation before it was tied and sent to the bottom of the cove. Skin had been removed from the face, stomach, and legs, as well as two finger bones, the tongue and the eyes. Blood had been found in the woods close by but had been mistaken for a hunter’s kill rather than a child’s murder. The boy had suffered, that much the coroner had been sure of. It was messy, unplanned, but not a shred of evidence was found. He consoled himself on this failure with the fact that in the 80’s the type of analysis that could have solved the case hadn’t been released to the field quite yet. Now with the most recent murders, he couldn’t deny the fact that it had reminded him directly of the Warren case. The three children. Their peaceful faces. Their mutilated bodies. The strange marks on the spines. Coroner Michaels had said they had been drugged before dying. But still it was horrifying to think that someone could have done such a thing. Something about their deaths echoed in his mind and connected with the Warren boy. Ritualistic, one journalist had described it. Merrels would have to agree. Ritualistic is exactly what it was. But in a catholic community that kind of statement was likely to set off a modern day witch hunt. This was exactly the kind of situation he had hoped to avoid by becoming the Chief of a town with a population under 5,000. And now here it was dropped in his lap. It was time to get to work. Merrels pulled a pack of Camel’s from the back of his drawer and struck a match. It was going to be a long night.
Walking out of the police office Rita did her best to muster up her energy and instill her friend with a lighter
