"Hello, Sheriff." If Alex hadn't seen her lips moving, she
wouldn't have been certain the woman had spoken. She appeared
to be scared out of her wits. Her fingers were knotted
together in her lap. She was squeezing them so tightly, they
had turned bluish-white.
"Are you okay?" Reede asked her in that same kind tone.
She bobbed her head and glanced fearfully toward her husband,
who was still fervently praying. "You're entitled to have a lawyer
present when I and Miss Gaither question you.''
Before Mrs. Plummet could offer a reply, Fergus concluded
his prayer on a resounding, "Ah-men," and raised his head.
He fixed a fanatical stare on Reede. "We've got the best
lawyer on our side. I will get my counsel from the Lord God,
now and through eternity."
"Fine," Reede said drolly, "but I'm putting it on the
record that you waived the right to have an attorney present
during questioning."
Plummet's eyes snapped to Alex.' 'What is the harlot doing
here? I'll not have her in the presence of my sainted wife."
"Neither you nor your sainted wife have anything to say
about it. Sit down, Alex."
At Reede's directive, she lowered herself into the nearest
chair. She was grateful for the chance to sit down. Fergus
Plummet was a prejudicial, ill-informed fanatic. He should
have cut a comic figure, but he gave her the creeps.
Reede straddled a chair backwards and stared at the
preacher across the table. He opened a file one of his deputies
had prepared.
"What were you doing last Wednesday night?"
Plummet closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side,
as though he were listening to a secret voice. "I can answer
that," he told them when he opened his eyes seconds later.
"I was conducting Wednesday-night services at my church.
We prayed for the deliverance of this town, for the souls of
those who would be corrupted, and for those individuals who,
heedless of the Lord's will, would corrupt the innocent."
Reede affected nonchalance. "Please keep your answers
simple. I don't want this to take all afternoon. What time is
prayer meeting?"
Plummet went through the listening act again. "Not relevant."
"Sure it is," Reede drawled. "I might want to attend
sometime."
That elicited a giggle from Mrs. Plummet. None of them was
more surprised than she by her spontaneous outburst. Mortified,
she looked at her husband, who glared at her in reproof.
"What time was prayer meeting over?" Reede repeated in
a voice that said he'd tired of the game and wasn't going to
be a good sport any longer.
Plummet continued to give his wife a condemning stare.
She lowered her head in shame. Reede reached across the
table and yanked Plummet's chin around.
"Stop looking at her like she's a turd floating in a punch
bowl. Answer me. And don't give me any more bullshit,
either."
Plummet closed his eyes, shuddering slightly, greatly put-upon.
"God, close my ears to the foul language of your
adversary, and deliver me from the presence of these wicked
ones."
"He'd better send a whole flock of angels down to save
you fast, brother. Unless you start answering my questions,
I'm gonna slam your ass in jail."
That broke through Plummet's sanctimonious veneer. His
eyes popped open. "On what charge?"
"The feds would like to start with arson."
Alex looked quickly at Reede. He was bluffing. Racehorses
were considered interstate commerce, and therefore, would
come under the Treasury Department's jurisdiction. But government
agents didn't usually get involved in an arson case
unless damage amounted to more than fifty thousand dollars.
Plummet didn't fall for the bluff, either.
"That's ridiculous. Arson? The only fire I've started is in
the hearts of my believers."
"'If that's so, then account for your time from last Wednesday
night until today, when Deputy Cappell spotted you slinking
out the back door of that house. Where'd you go after
prayer meeting let out?"
Plummet laid a finger against his cheek, feigning hard
concentration. "I believe that was the night I visited one of
our sick brothers."
"He can vouch for you?"
"Unfortunately, no."
"Let me guess--he died."
Plummet frowned at the sheriffs sarcasm. "No, but while
I was in attendance, the poor soul was delirious with fever.
He won't remember a thing." He made a tsk-ing sound. "He
was very ill. His family, of course, could attest to my presence
at his bedside. We prayed for him through the night."
Reede's incisive eyes sliced toward Wanda Plummet. She
guiltily averted her head. Reede then swiveled around and
looked at Alex. His expression said that he was getting about
as far as he had expected to. When he turned back around,
he asked abruptly, "Do you know where the Minton ranch
is?"
"Of course."
"Did you go there last Wednesday night?"
"No."
"Did you send someone out there last Wednesday night?"
"No."
"Members of your congregation? The believers whose
hearts you had stoked a fire in during prayer meeting?"
"Certainly not."
"Didn't you go out there and vandalize the place, paint
on the walls, shovel shit into the drinking troughs, break
windows?"
"My counselor says I don't have to answer any more
questions." He folded his arms across his chest.
"Because you might incriminate yourself?"
"No!"
"You're lying, Plummet."
' 'God is on my side.'' He worked his eyes like the focusing
lens of a camera, making them wide, pulling them narrow.
" 'If God is on our side,' " he quoted theatrically, " 'then
who can be against us?' "
"He won't be on your side for long," Reede whispered
threateningly. Leaving his chair, he circled the table and bent
over Plummet. "God doesn't favor liars."
"Our Father, who art in heaven--"
"Come clean, Plummet."
"--hallowed be thy name. Thy--"
"Who'd you send out there to trash the Minton ranch?"
"--kingdom come, thy--"
"You did send members of your congregation, though,
didn't you? You're too much of a gutless coward to go yourself."
The praying ceased abruptly. The preacher's breathing became
choppy and light. Reede had struck a chord. Knowing
that, he pressed on. "Did you lead your ratty little army out
there, or did you just furnish the spray paint?"
Reede had told Alex earlier that he'd made the rounds of
variety and hardware stores, checking out places where spray
paint was sold. So far, none of the merchants recalled a
significant demand for it on a single day.
Plummet was probably too clever to have bought it all in
one store; perhaps he'd gone out of town. Reede couldn't
hold him indefinitely because he had no evidence, but Plummet
might be fooled into thinking he'd left behind an incriminating
clue.
For the second time, however, he called Reede's bluff.
Having composed himself, he stared straight ahead and said,
"I can't imagine what you're talking about, Sheriff Lambert."
"Let's try this again," Reede said with a heavy sigh.
"Look, Plummet, we--Miss Gaither and I--know you're
guilty as hell. You all but told her to get tough with the
sinners, or else. Wasn't the vandalism out at the Minton ranch the or else!"
Plummet said nothing.
Reede took another tack. "Isn't confession supposed to be
good for the soul? Give your soul a break, Plummet. Confess.
Your wife can go home to your kids, and I'll be able to take
off early today."
The preacher remained silent.
Reede began at the top and methodically worked down his
list of questions again, hoping to trap Plummet in a lie.
Several times, Reede asked Alex if she wanted to question
him, but she declined. She had no more to link him to the
crime than Reede had.
He got nowhere. The preacher's story never changed.
Reede didn't even trip him up. At the conclusion of another
exhaustive round of questions, Plummet grinned up at him
guilelessly and said, "It's getting close to supper time. May
we be excused now?"
Reede, frustrated, ran his hand through his hair. "I know
you did it, you pious son of a bitch. Even if you weren't
actually there, you planned it. You killed my horse."
Plummet reacted visibly. "Killed your horse? That's untrue.
You killed it yourself. I read about it in the newspaper.''
Reede made a snarling sound and lunged across the room
at him. "You're responsible." He leaned down close to
Plummet again, forcing him backward in his chair. "Reading
about that probably gave you a real thrill, didn't it, you little
prick? You're gonna pay for that animal, if I have to wring
a confession from your scrawny neck."
So it went for at least another hour.
Alex's bottom grew tired and sore from sitting in the uncomfortable
chair. Once, she stood up and paced the length
of the room, just to restore circulation. Plummet's fanatical
eyes tracked her, making her feel so ill at ease that she
returned to her seat.
"Mrs. Plummet?"
The preacher's wife flinched when the sheriff suddenly
spoke her name. Her shoulders had been sagging forward
with fatigue; her head had been kept slightly bowed. Both
came erect and she looked up at Reede with awe and respect.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you go along with everything he's told me?"
She shot Plummet a quick, sidelong glance, swallowed
hard, and wet her lips nervously. Then, she lowered her eyes
and bobbed her head up and down. "Yes."
Plummet's face remained impassive, though his lips were
twitching with a smug smile longing to be full-blown. Next,
Reede looked down at Alex. She gave him an almost imperceptible
shrug.
He stared at the floor for ponderous seconds before barking
out a deputy's name. The officer materialized in the doorway
as though he'd been expecting his chiefs restrained but furious
summons.
"Let him go."
Plummet closed his Bible with a resounding clap and stood
up. He marched toward the door like a crusader dressed in