“Sure, let’s hear your theory.”
“Our killer may or may not really believe that he can bring Satan in the flesh to the world. But he’s been working this cult for a long time—authorities didn’t notice at first, because there were day-to-day problems in Massachusetts and, of course, the Undertaker case. Our killer liked it that way. He didn’t want people realizing what was going on out here in the more westerly area of the state—so send people on suicide missions to keep authorities thinking that if something was going on, it was going on in the big city of Boston. But, as you pointed out, he might not have been quite as bright as he thinks. Using the saying from old Ezekiel Martin sent us out here,” Griffin said.
“Okay, why was the blood of Helena Matthews thrown at Vickie?” Rocky asked.
“The killer knows about Vickie. He knows she’s friends with Alex Maple. He has taken Alex because Alex is so very knowledgeable, and if you didn’t have Alex, you might well want to have Vickie.”
“And what about Helena Matthews?” Rocky asked. “And, for that matter, Sheena Petrie.”
“Sheena Petrie is the hardest to connect, I think. But it is possible that she was our killer’s first victim.”
“And Helena Matthews?”
“Well,” Griffin said, “we don’t yet know if we might have just found her or not.”
“And Carly Sanderson,” Rocky said.
“I think that Carly is one of the number of followers,” Griffin said. “Just like Darryl Hillford and Gloria. In fact, I haven’t heard from Barnes in a while. I’ll call in and see if they’ve gotten anything more from Gloria.”
“How would you do that, Griffin?” Rocky asked, shaking his head. “How would you get people so caught up in something so ridiculous that they’d kill themselves? Young people, with everything to live for?”
Griffin was quiet for a minute. “Where do you find terrorists? Among the poor and the disenfranchised—those who have nothing and feel powerless. Our killer staked out his converts—he chose young people who were searching for something to believe in.”
“But Carly Sanderson has a father who loves her,” Rocky pointed out.
“She was socially awkward. She was lured somehow. Then I believe that our killer is working with a number of drugs—drugs known to have an effect on memory, drugs that can cause hallucinations, as well.”
“Where would you get all those drugs?” Rocky mused, and then he looked at Griffin and answered himself. “What’s the matter with me—after all these years, I should know that just about anything is available on the street anywhere.”
“True,” Griffin agreed. “But I think there’s something else we should look into that might help. Okay, so we don’t know this for fact yet, but I do believe that our killer is keeping his little cult under control by ensuring they are obedient and docile. I mean, give someone a hallucinogenic, and you can make them panicked enough to kill themselves. I’m willing to bet that a few pharmacies have been held up—that they’ve been cleaned out so that certain prescription drugs can be mixed with street drugs. You don’t have to be a chemist to discover what properties can destroy memory and stability, or make someone susceptible to suggestion.”
“There are many—and far too available on the street and in a store,” Rocky noted.
Griffin started to put through a call to David Barnes.
His timing was pretty amazing; he never made the call. Barnes was calling him.
“Hey, Barnes,” Griffin said, answering the phone and glancing over at Rocky with a nod. “We were just about to call you.”
“Did you get something out there?” Barnes asked.
“This morning? No. Not yet. We’ve been at the morgue. Our only chance on an ID is going to be DNA, and if we don’t have DNA to compare it to, well...we’ll have a Jane Doe. Anything there?”
“Gloria seems to be doing well. I’ve gone by to see her each afternoon, of course. She hasn’t remembered anything else as yet—not for certain. It might not be a bad idea to drive back in for a morning or an afternoon. The drive, even with traffic, shouldn’t take you more than a few hours. I keep thinking that it doesn’t hurt for Vickie to talk to her. She was supposed to attack Vickie, so that means she had to know something about her. If we could just jar that somewhat, you never know.”
“You’re right. I’ll see about driving back in for a bit and let you know. I’m not with Vickie right now. She and Devin were going to have breakfast with a fellow here—Frank Sanderson. His daughter is missing. I remembered seeing her name in some of the reports I’d pulled.”
“Ah, well! I do have something for you—hot off the press—or email, I should say. I believe it’s coming straight from Officer Tracy.”
“We have a likeness? A sketch?” Griffin asked.
“Yes, Officer Tracy and Vickie’s friend, the artist Roxanne Greeley, just finished with the two characters from the gas station in Fall River. They had something, though how good it is, we don’t know, of course. But better than nothing.”
“Roxanne went with him to Fall River?”
“You asked for him, and he asked for her. She’s apparently a really talented artist—with a nice ability to draw a face from memory or someone’s description. She could have a nice career with the BPD, if she were interested. Anyway, we’ve got the sketch.”
“Great. I’ll find it on my phone,” Griffin said. “Anyone you know?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t someone that one of you might recognize. We can also distribute it widely, which has been not perfect, but helpful for us thus far. Check it out and see what you think. And let me know when you’re coming in. Gloria’s doctor has been slacking off. He doesn’t believe she’s ever going to get back all of her memory, and he isn’t sure how much longer she should be in a hospital.”
“Will do. We might be able to drive in this afternoon. Though...”
Though he felt that they needed to stay out where they were.
Why?
Because Jehovah was out here somewhere.
“Whatever you need done, we’ll be out here,” Rocky told him quietly.
Griffin nodded. “Thanks. I’d like Brenda Noonan disinterred.”
“I’ll get going on the paperwork, and I’ll stay out at the Quabbin waterfront with Wendell and his officers,” Rocky promised him. “We need to move in every direction,” he added.
Yes, they did!
“Okay, Barnes, I’ll let you know about timing this afternoon. Other than that, we’d like you to do what you can to find out if drugstores—pharmacies of any kind—have been robbed in this area. We’re pretty sure this guy has to be dealing with a lot of drugs. Cyanide is one thing—getting people to take it rather than face the law is another.”
“I’ll get on it right away.”
Griffin rang off from Barnes and went to his email, finding the message that had been sent to him from Officer Jim Tracy.
He opened the attachment and stared at the picture.
And he was stunned.
He knew the man.
Yes, it was a good likeness.
An uncanny likeness.
He definitely knew the man.
And so did Vickie.
13
“Lie there. Just lie there. Let it go. Even if you feel that you have strength, that you know what you’re doing, just lie there.”
Alex Maple blinked.
It was the blonde woman. An angel? Was she angel? Or was she a ghost?
Or maybe a real live woman, just trying to help him!
“What did they do to me?” he asked her. “Why do I feel this way?”
“They took your blood.”
“They took my blood? Why?”
“They will use some in the ceremony tonight. They will drink it, to gain your knowledge, to gain your strength. Don’t worry, they don’t expect you at this ceremony. They expect us both to be in and out of consciousness.”