The case against Father Frank Aguilar was strong. Bones from Mootry, Little, Palmer, and the more recently deceased couple in South Dakota were all found in various incinerators around the monastery. One of the hooded four killed alongside Aguilar was a woman, and endless, tireless questioning and probing and threatening began to show that Aguilar and a small contingent of his most trusted followers had acted alone. The Mad Priest of the Church of the Sacred Sepulcher, as the press was now calling Aguilar, had also kept a room filled with ancient weaponry, a collection of weapons with a bloody history, including several crossbows. Of course the five dead, robed bodies in the alley that night had all had crossbows of modem design on them. Further damning information was unearthed on the Mad Priest's computer in the form of a diary detailing his actions and rambling on about a world that resembled and refracted the computer game, Helsinger's Pit. His diary entries named his coconspirators, Brother Lyle, Brother James, Brother Aaron, and Sister Inez. A fifth assassin was also found, a Brother Paul Timmons, who matched the dead man found in South Dakota, stuffed in the trunk of a rental car. All the other brothers were in various stages of indoctrination.
The motives expressed in Aguilar's diary pendulumed between madness and monetary gain. He claimed those selected to die were enemies of his church, vampires who conspired against him. He was obviously a religious fanatic. He described Whitaker, Palmer, Mootry and the others all as various aspects of the anti-Christ, men who worshipped the pleasures of the flesh, wealth, self-aggrandizement, and ultimately Satan. The only way to stop them from reforming and returning to this realm was to behead them, cut off their extremities and genitals and bum the parts, after staking them through the heart by the most modern and efficient method they could find, the crossbow.
Randy Oglesby had been prophetically correct. The cult members had taken as their model of destruction the computer game Helsinger's Pit, and they'd been led to believe, thanks in great part to the FBI Vampire List, that their victims lived lives of extraordinary, supernatural powers from the dark side; by the same token, the vampire stalkers weren't above partaking in a devil's plunder, amassing as much funds as possible from the so-called anti-Christ before dispatching him again and again.
Father Aguilar's diary entries to this end clearly marked him and his followers as religious maniacs. Furthermore, it turned out that there were numerous women among the “brothers” of the Sepulcher, and many of these women were pregnant with Aguilar's offspring.
The good father was simply doing his part to cleanse the earth of the filth and vermin that had proliferated over generations, and he wasn't above taking the ill-gotten demonic wealth in the bargain, to put the ill-gotten money to a pure and holy use. He was also amassing an army of followers who would willingly assassinate the anti-Christ in his name.
From Aguilar's diary came the truth about the assassinations of John Covey behind bars and the Shirleys in South Dakota, who'd been pawns in Aguilar's distorted, aberrant game of who lives and who dies for the greater glory of his fringe religion. He had indeed selected the Shirleys at random, calling them martyrs to his cause.
The Houston Star and Chronicle ate up the sensational story, and every newscast was full of the sordid details. The Order of the Sacred Sepulcher and its cathedral church, monastery, and soup kitchen were closed, the members, some of whom remained behind bars for further questioning and disposition, disbanded, but not without an outcry from civil rights organizations and the NRA, who likened the situation to Waco and Koresh.
Phil Lawrence came to see Lucas in the bowels of the precinct, in the Cold Room, where he'd continued to report since the mass arrests had been made. He had been involved in the interrogation of prisoners; few men in the precinct hadn't interrogated one or more of Father Aguilar's followers. However, the precinct house was slowly coming back around to a semblance of normalcy, and Lucas had been given his orders by Sergeant Kelton that he was to return to the damp little hole where the dead files awaited his attention. Meanwhile, in the newspapers, he and Sanger were being touted as heroes in this hero less story.
He felt like the successful artist whose work was being admired by people walking through the Guggenheim Museum in New York City while the artist stood in the unemployment line, filling out a form that might allow him a subsistence living. He questioned the neat little package, too, of how Father Aguilar masterminded the series of killings, and how the widespread murders, crossing so many boundaries and state lines, could be carried out by Aguilar's monastic brothers alone. What troubled him most was how easily it had all fallen into place after he and Meredyth had stepped into Frank Aguilar's domain-like a house of cards, like someone had pulled out the one card holding everything together, but that card remained elusive, unreturned.
That was the glum mood three days after his release from the hospital, his arm still in a sling, when Captain Phillip Lawrence joined Lucas in the Cold Room. Lucas offered his captain a seat, wary of the other man.
Lawrence began by asking him how he was doing, how he was adjusting after all the excitement, and how his wounded shoulder was healing. Lucas punched himself in the shoulder harness, saying, “It's a piece of cake, compared to what I've grown accustomed to.”
Lawrence laughed lightly. “I'll give you that much, Stonecoat. You're as tough as your name. I'm glad to have you on my team. Wish I had a squad of men as good as you.”
“What's all this leading up to, sir?”
“Well, no easy way to say this, Lucas.”
“Then say it straight out, Captain.”
He gritted his teeth. “They've denied your promotion request to detective status.”
Lucas dropped his gaze. “No big surprise, sir.”
“It's just a little soon, having just Finished basic. They all know how heroically you performed in the Aguilar affair, but this isn't exactly a business here, you know. We are a paramilitary operation, and that, Lucas, that means-”
“Rank comes only with time; I know. I've heard it before, sir. So what will be my duties, Captain?”
“Well, son, you sorta painted yourself into a… a hole here.” Lawrence looked around the dungeon, self-consciously cleaning his hands on his pants legs.
Lucas stirred the dust on the floor as he shot to his feet, swearing, “Damn, damn it to hell. You mean I'm stuck with the Cold Room duty, don't you?”
“I'm sorry, Lucas. I want you to know I went to bat for you, for all the good it did.”
Lucas thought of saying nothing, unsure of Lawrence's sincerity, but seeing the older man squirm where he sat, he replied, 'Thanks for your support, Captain.”
“Don't give up on us, Stonecoat, and we… we won't give up on you. I promise you that.”
Phil Lawrence stood, extended his hand, taking Lucas's firmly and shaking it for some moments before leaving the room.
The meeting added to the insufferable gloom of the place he found himself in. He hadn't seen or spoken to Meredyth since the early days of the mass arrests, which were now turning into mass releases. It did appear that Father Aguilar's clique was small and insulated from his larger flock of followers, by all accounts.
And yet there continued the nagging feeling that Father Aguilar and the four killed with him and the one who'd died in South Dakota had not acted alone. But now the investigation was effectively dismantled, all questions put aside.
Lucas kicked about the confining room, about to run out screaming when his phone rang. He lifted the receiver to the melodic voice of Meredyth Sanger. “How's my favorite Native American detective?”
“Cop,” he corrected her. “Just another cop, Doctor. There was no promotion in this for me. I'm still Officer Stonecoat, still here in the Cold Room.”
He only heard the mutterings, imagining that she'd cupped her hand over the mouthpiece as she swore. Then she said, “Well, it can only be a matter of time. I gave you an excellent report. Lawrence has to. Your jacket will be stuffed to brimming in no time, and-”
“I think they like me just where I am, Mere, the cold file wrangler. But enough about me. How've you been?” He wanted to say that he'd missed her, but he suppressed the words, instead asking her, “Have you missed me?”
“We made a good team, Lucas, and we'll work together again. I just know it,” she countered, sidestepping the issue. “And how's Conrad?”
“He's gotten a bit more used to things, accepting of them.”
“Yeah, he looked pretty shaken the other night.”
She laughed lightly at this. “I was holding him up.”
“He seems a good man.”
“Yeah… yeah, he is…”
“Meredyth,” he began.
“Yes?”
“Are you satisfied that Aguilar and his little clique acted alone?”
There was a long silence before she said, “No…”
He breathed in deeply, feeling some relief that he was not alone in his belief. “Why?”
“I can't quite say why.”
“Has Randy Oglesby any qualms about how things turned out?”
“Randy's been… well, quiet on the subject.”
“Quiet?”
“If I broach the subject, he turns it away. Makes light of my… doubts.”
Lucas considered this. “It does seem odd that Pardee and Amelford were so closely tailing us. Have you heard anything from Bullock and Price at the FBI?”
“Only a congratulations call. You?”
“I'm sure they likely assumed you'd forward their regards down here to me.”
“How are you getting on with Lawrence?”
“Okay, a bit shaky ground between us, but okay.”
“Do you still harbor suspicions about him?”
He considered this. “I'm unable not to.”
“Me, too.”
“Do you want to get together? Talk about it?”
“Strangely enough, I feel like… well, that I'm being watched lately, she confessed.”
“Join the crowd. Remember me? Mr. Paranoia?”
“And I think someone's got to Randy, someone's frightened him,” she added.
“Threatened his life?”
“I can't be sure, but, yes, I think so.”
“Who do we trust? Who do we take this to?”
“FBI,” she suggested.
“Ring Bullock and Price. See if they'll meet with us. But do it from a secure phone.”
“Will do.”
They set up a time and a place to secretly meet the following day. Lucas, on hanging up, began to feel some of the old creeping fear coming over him. They could easily let it be; the killers-any remaining-must be smart enough to end their kill spree at this juncture. But if Meredyth and he continued investigating, they ran the risk of being eliminated like Father Aguilar and his henchmen.
There was no waiting until tomorrow to make a move. He must do something tonight.
Lucas found Randy Oglesby extremely wary of him. He didn't much relish the idea of allowing Lucas into his apartment, and for good reason. He had a girl with him, Darlene Muentes, who looked up at Lucas from the sofa, smiling, her teeth shiny, her body slim.
“I'm sorry to burst in on you, Randy.”
“Good, then you can go, Detective.”
“Oh, Jim, he is your partner?” asked Darlene.
Lucas only stared at the young woman, while Randy gritted his teeth and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Darlene, I… I can't go on with the… this lie… any longer.”
“Lie?” she asked.
“I'm not really a detective with the police department, and my name is not Pardee. My name is Randy… Randy Oglesby…”
“Oh, shit. Randy, not now!” Lucas fairly groaned his discomfort.
Darlene stared at Randy as if she'd been told the world was square. She was unable to get any words out. He used this to his advantage.
“I was doing a little undercover work for Detective Stonecoat, here.”
“Leave me out of this,” Stonecoat said, going for the kitchenette in search of a drink.
Darlene's eyes grew wider. “Stonecoat? Lucas Stonecoat? I… I can't believe it. I just don't believe it. I've read all the stories in all the papers. You… you were wonderful, how you caught those bizarre killers.”
Lucas thanked her, and knowing a bit about her from Randy, that he'd met her at the lab, he said, “And it all started with those goblets we asked you to work on, dear, so you're a hero, too.”
She beamed. “Oh, Randy,” she tested the new name, “why didn't you tell me the truth?”
Randy's face did a waltz through his conflicting emotions before he selected his words.
“It was all undercover. I'm just sorry you had to learn it this way.”
She waved it off as if it were nothing. “But if you're not a detective?”
“He's our expert computer man,” Lucas quickly filled in. “Without him, we could have gotten nowhere. That's why I'm here tonight, Randy.”
Randy looked at Lucas. “Oh?”
“Some missing parts, and we need your help.”
“Oh, how exciting,” declared Darlene, beaming.
Randy looked from Darlene to Lucas and back to Darlene again.
Lucas asked, “Well?”
Darlene threw her hands up. “Don't let me stand in your way. I'm fascinated.”
“Darlene, all this is like classified stuff,” Randy began. “You… you'll have to go.”
“Damn it, no!” she moaned.
“Oh, let her stay,” complained Lucas. “He's such a stickler for regulations. It gets in the way sometimes.”
Randy glared at Lucas. “I don't want her in harm's way.”
“She won't be, and neither are you.”
Randy rolled his eyes and whispered, “The hell I'm not. I've been threatened twice with no less than my life.”
“I figured as much.”
“You're too clever for your own good. Detective.”
“You needn't call me that.”
“It's for her sake.” He pointed with his upturned head.
“I want you to access Captain Phillip Lawrence's computer files, see if he's clear of this mess or not.”
“Are you crazy? Hack into the captain's files?”
“Just do it.”
“Look, come here…” he replied, going to his computer console and handing Lucas a printout. “Read this.”
Lucas stared down at a list of some three hundred people whose religious preferences were classified along the lines of hard-core spiritualism, witchcraft, demonology and vampirology. There were more than just names there; there were social security numbers, ages, occupations, as well as the whereabouts of each person appearing on the list. “The Vampire List?”
“That's it, and I've had a visit from the FBI.”
“Agents Bullock and Price? They're in the city? When did you have contact with them?”
'They warned me to stay out of it in no uncertain terms.”
“But they didn't confiscate your findings?” He hefted the list again.
“That's a copy. They got the original, and they warned me that if I ever accessed FBI files again, they would prosecute hell out of me.”
“I see.”
Lucas wondered anew about the two agents, pretending friendship and cooperation in South Dakota, now this. Were they to be trusted? Should he call Meredyth, get her over here? Should they brainstorm this thing here and now? 'Take Darlene home. I'm going to contact Meredyth Sanger, get her over here, and we're going to put our heads together.”
“Fine, fine, but I'll be damned if I'm going to do any hacking inside the HPD Net for you two. I've already got the damned FBI upset with me, Lucas.”
Lucas stared at Randy Oglesby's bright blue eyes and boyish features, doubting that Randy could ever or would ever look old or sinister or capable of anything but honesty and forthrightness, yet he daily indulged in an electronic dishonesty in his work, or at least he had since Lucas had known him, since Dr. Sanger had entrusted her secrets about the case to him. Again, Lucas wondered if Randy could be trusted, if he had been gotten to, not only by the FBI, but by forces closer at hand.
“I'll call Dr. Sanger. You come right back. We have more work to do. It's imperative we take these final steps, Randy.
“Randy frowned, nodded and took Darlene by the arm. “I'll be half an hour.
“Lucas immediately telephoned Meredyth, telling her to meet him at Randy's apartment.
“What's up?” she asked.
“Not over the phone. Just get here as quickly as you can.”
“I have an evening planned, Lucas.”
'Tell Conrad it's an emergency, tell him you've got a wigged-out cop on your hands, tell him anything.”
“Damn,” she muttered. 'This better be good, Lucas.”
“I can't promise you anything, but I have a direction.”
“Well, now, that would be novel.” Her sarcasm was more biting than she'd meant it to be. “Sorry, I'm just so frustrated.”
“With the case or with Conrad?” he joked.
She fumed at the other end. He could feel it. “I'll see you there as soon as possible.”
She hung up, and Lucas stared at the phone a moment before returning it to its cradle. He wondered what direction he was talking about and why he felt so strongly that he must see Meredyth tonight.