By His Own Hand Page 5

  Tia took a deep breath, ready to respond, when Livy cut in: “It’s not quite that simple.”

  Jimmy was clearly annoyed by the interruption. “Is that right? Tell me something, Amazon. How much time have you spent in a patrol car?”

  “Zero.” Livy closed the distance between them until she was all up in his personal space. “But I’ve been called out on more than four hundred dead bodies. Hangings, shootings, stabbings, bludgeonings, decapitations, drownings, immolations. Hell, I worked a death by stoning. You name it, I’ve worked it. And that includes more than one or two homicides staged to look like suicides. How about you? How many does this make?”

  Jimmy took a step away from his antagonist. He turned to Rich, and Tia could hear the quiver in his voice. Could be anger or maybe fear, but either way, Livy had definitely shut him down.

  “Come on, Puller. We’re going to the station. We’ll write this bullshit up from the patrol squad room.”

  He stomped toward the tape line, Livy’s cold stare on his back. Before following him, Rich walked over and handed Tia the clipboard with the attached crime scene log. Not trying to hide his amusement, he looked at both women and said, “Definitely the most interesting night I’ve had so far.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Livy said. “Sorry if I got you all jammed up with your FTO.”

  “Don’t even worry about it. I learned a ton hanging around watching you work. Thanks.”

  “Hang in there, Rich,” Tia said. “It won’t last forever. You’ll be out on your own soon enough.”

  A minute later the patrol car pulled away, Jimmy’s continuing tirade audible until the vehicle was out of sight. She wondered again how Chief Sawyer had let the biggest asshole in the department become the gatekeeper for new cops. She turned to Livy.

  “See you at ten o’clock?”

  Livy was still looking down the road.

  “Livy? You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just can’t…” She shook her head, turning back to Tia. “Dick Puller? Really? I mean, what were his parents thinking? Can you imagine what he’s had to put up with?”

  Tia smiled at her friend, touched by the sympathetic view coming from a woman six and a half feet tall with flaming neon hair. The animosity and frustration from the past few hours faded away. “Yeah, Livy. You gotta wonder.”

  “Ten o’clock then,” Livy said and Tia heard her tone lighten as well. “You bring the coffee this time, okay?”

  “I’ll be there. And those pictures will be in your e-mail box in an hour.” Tia paused and looked her friend in the eye. “I could have done a better job on this, Liv. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop. We’re moving on.” Livy headed for her truck, still talking. “Bring a cup for Mort, too. Three sugars and extra cream. And oh, yeah, grab a pack of Pall Malls. We’re going to need him in a good mood.”

  FIVE

  Tia watched the white panel van follow Livy’s pickup truck down the tree-lined road, negotiating rain-filled ruts and potholes. The tires lost traction in the mud and the van fishtailed, kicking up slush and dirt, then righted itself and kept moving. Tia couldn’t help but picture the bouncing corpse inside. Six hours ago, the young boy would no doubt have had strong objections to being zipped inside an airtight bag and strapped down to a gurney, but as things stood now, he’d be none the wiser.

  As she often did when a young life came to a sudden and violent end, Tia engaged in a bit of magical thinking. What bloodline had been extinguished? What children wouldn’t be born? What minor twist of fate would have allowed for a different end? She kept at it until the fading sound of the engine was replaced by the faint but steady beat of a bass guitar, accompanied by voices singing. Tia looked up and tried to pinpoint the direction from which it was coming, confused by the intrusion.

  “Copper Lake,” Travis said, rejoining her. The media van was also leaving and Tia saw that she and the sergeant were the only ones left at the scene. At her look of confusion, he continued, “You know, the campground?”

  He pointed away from town. “It’s about a mile or so down that way. The Church of the Rock annual retreat is this week.”

  “It is, huh?” Unimpressed, Tia began to clear away the crime scene tape. Beaded with raindrops, the yellow tape stretched as she pulled on it until it finally snapped, sending up a quick shower of water. She pulled it in like fishing line, wrapping it up in a wet, neon-colored ball. She headed for her squad, Travis beside her.

  “A couple of hundred kids,” he explained. “It keeps getting bigger every year. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard about it. It’s just…” Tia hesitated. She didn’t really want to get into it with him.

  “What?”

  “Well … when it comes to the Rock, let’s just say I don’t think I’m part of the target audience.”

  “Why’s that?” Travis stood next to Tia. She opened the trunk of the Crown Vic and shoved the ball of yellow tape under the spare tire. An order had come down from city hall that all crime scene tape should be recycled, as in reused. The shotgun, double wrapped in butcher paper and marked “PRESERVE FOR PRINTS/DNA,” was tucked away in the rear.

  “Seriously, TJ?” she said. “Can you see me at the Church of the Rock?”

  Travis shrugged, leaning against the hood of his black SUV. Seven years old, it was the newest vehicle in the PD fleet and was assigned to the detective sergeant, a mild form of RHIP. “Sure. Why not?”

  He’s baiting me, she thought, seeing his familiar, feigned-quizzical expression. Finding hot-button topics to argue about was nothing new for them; usually the banter was spirited but friendly. Tia shook her head and figured, what the hell.

  “Let’s just say, Sarge, I think the Church of the Rock Kool-Aid is meant for folks with a bit lighter complexion than mine.”

  “There it is.” Travis sounded practically victorious. He had been lying in wait and Tia knew it.

  “Don’t even say I’m playing the race card, white boy. I’ll—”

  “You are and you know it.” Travis waved her off. “They get families from all over. Milwaukee, Rockford, Chicago, Minneapolis. All backgrounds and, yeah, all colors, too.”

  “Right. Families. And there’s the other obvious disqualifier.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not like you and Molly. I’m not trying to repopulate the earth with my seed. So—”

  Travis cut her off, laughing. “Four kids is not that unusual, Tia.”

  “I don’t have a flock of little souls—”

  “Flock of souls?” Travis laughed even harder. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  Relaxed and on a roll, Tia kept going, deciding to raise the stakes a bit. “And even if I did, I sure the hell wouldn’t hand them over to that wingnut Ezekiel Mills.”

  His grin faltered, “Well, that wingnut has about five thousand committed followers.”

  “‘Followers’? Is that what you call them?” Tia let her mouth go slack and put on a vacant stare. She topped it off with a little zombie walk and was glad to see Travis roll his eyes, but he allowed himself to smile a bit. Still, she was only half kidding.

  Seven years ago, the Church of the Rock had held its first Sunday morning service in a single classroom at Newberg High School—the church had been allowed to rent the space for one dollar. Soon, Saturday evening services were added and the standing-room-only crowds forced a move to the school gymnasium. Before long, the weekly congregation outgrew the school, and the church moved to rented space in a local strip mall. Three years later, the Rock broke ground on a sleek, mostly glass, modern sanctuary and extended campus that Tia was pretty sure could be seen from space. Each week several thousand worshippers came from throughout Waukesha County and beyond, all drawn to the prosperity message of Reverend Ezekiel Mills.

  “Families sign their kids up for the annual retreat months in advance,” Travis said. “I’ve thought about trying to get on the waiting list.”

  �
��I have to say, Sarge … I mean, I know you’re a bit of a Bible thumper, but…” Tia wanted to choose her words carefully. Not go too far. “Ezekiel Mills? Doesn’t he, like, cast spells?”

  “Ouch.” Travis laughed and Tia was glad he saw the humor. “Nice, Suarez. If you don’t mind, I’ll stand back a bit. That lightning storm isn’t that far away.”

  Looking at the sky, Tia yelled mockingly, “No offense.”

  “You’d better hope none taken,” Travis said. “All I’m saying is, these days? It’s nice for a family to find a place where the message is about doing the right thing. Raising kids to be good people. Successful families. That’s what Mills talks about. What’s so sinister about that?”

  The conversation was taking a personal turn and Tia figured it was time to back off. She tilted her head slightly and nodded, doing her best to give Travis a polite look of understanding. The truth was, Tia knew all she needed to know about the renowned leader of the Church of the Rock.

  Reverend Ezekiel Mills wasn’t the typical Old Testament fire-and-brimstone preacher most Wisconsin Lutherans grew up listening to, bored as stiff as the wooden pews they dozed on. The man was a nondenominational firebrand and anything but stoic. Pushing sixty, he projected thirty. Tall and trim, he was blessed with a full head of wavy blond hair and skin that remained tan twelve months a year. He preached in blue jeans and white oxford shirts open at the neck, prowling around an elevated stage. Movie screens allowed even the people in the nosebleed seats to get a good look. His appeal was his homespun values, coupled with a larger-than-life personality, all delivered to an ever-growing audience. Young families felt connected to his message of self-fulfillment, achievement, and personal happiness. Older folks appreciated his commitment to fundamental values.

  Tia wasn’t a convert or even a fan. She had come to resent the good reverend’s coded message of exclusivity, which was now broadcast on his own syndicated radio show. Every week it was the same thing: America’s current spiritual course was sending the country down the tubes. America had lost her sense of morality. America needed to find herself again and return to the good old days of yesteryear.

  The problem was, for many people who also laid claim to America, those days hadn’t been so good. That group included Tia, but she didn’t want to have that fight with Travis. He wasn’t the enemy and she knew his heart was in the right place.

  “Fair enough.” Tia changed the subject. “But like you said, the camp is only about a mile down the road. We probably ought to pay a visit. See if maybe anyone heard a shot or saw anything. Could be the kid was part of the retreat, right?”

  Travis looked at his watch.

  “What is this appointment of yours?”

  “Just something I can’t get out of.” He looked back and his tone said he wasn’t going to reveal any more. “It’s personal.”

  “Yeah? All right. I’ll go by the camp, but I’d better get moving,” she said, looking at the time on her cell phone. “I still got those pics to download and Livy wants me at the morgue for the cut. Pretty sure Kowalski is going to want to take some time to chew my ass before he digs in.”

  “Don’t worry about Kowalski. It’ll be fine. Sorry about all that grief with Youngblood. I’ll save his chewing-out for private.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I figure while he’s in Vegas I’ll slip a dead trout under his driver’s seat. Should be nice and ripe by the time he gets back from his little bromance road trip.”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Travis said. “But I want to be there when he opens the car door.”

  “And by the way,” Tia rolled her eyes to give the impression the next words were tough to get out, “thanks for sticking up for me. I appreciate it. But really, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Well, that part, Youngblood got right. I do look out for you, but it’s got nothing to do with the Chief. You know that.”

  Her tone turned serious. “I know we go way back and all, but I put myself in the position to have to take crap off of mopes like Youngblood. I can deal with it.”

  “Is that how you see it? Youngblood has a right to bust on you like that?”

  “That’s how it is.” Tia winked. “My cross to bear, right? Ain’t that what your people say?”

  “And what is it you heathens always say? Guys like Youngblood just need to have a big old cup of shut-the-fuck-up.”

  Tia laughed. “That’s the damn truth.” She looked her boss and friend in the eye. “But seriously. Thanks. Now get out of here. Go to your whatever appointment.”

  Travis opened the door to his SUV.

  “Hey, TJ?” Tia called, closing the trunk of her car. He paused and looked at her. “Everything’s okay, right?” Amusement gone, she added, “I mean you and Molly? The kids?”

  Travis said, getting into his vehicle, “Never better. I’ll tell you more when I can. Sorry you have to go to church camp alone.”

  “It’s fine, but if they start putting their hands on me, I’m calling for cover.”

  “It’s called laying their hands on you and it might do you some good.” From the driver’s seat he said, “But if they start speaking in tongues? Get out of there.”

  “Thanks for the advice.” Tia turned to walk away.

  “And hey, Suarez.” His voice turned practically solemn. “Thanks for calling me out on this—the body, I mean. It’s always good working a scene with you. Like old times, right?”

  Alarmed, Tia took a step back his way. “All right, Jackson. What is going on with you? You better not have cancer or some shit.”

  Travis laughed and fired up the engine. “You kill me, Suarez. I’m just paying you a damn compliment. Can’t a boss support his troops?”

  “Whatever.” She shook her head. “I’ll see you in Sawyer’s office. One o’clock, right?”

  “Yeah.” He dropped the car into gear. “Assuming the Rapture doesn’t come. Cuz after that, girl, we won’t be seeing much of each other.”

  Travis pulled away and Tia watched until the car was out of sight. Alone and feeling it, Tia pushed back against her never-too-distant self-doubt. For all her bluster, a strong sense of inadequacy lurked within her, never very far beneath the surface. Youngblood’s comments had gotten to her, mostly because she knew he was right. Other cops did question her judgment and they had every right to. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Not in 38 days or even 138 days.

  But for all the tribulations of her life, most of them self-inflicted, she loved her job, and for the most part, she figured she was pretty damn good at it. She thought back to what Livy had said: Listen to your gut. If only Livy knew how risky that could be. And then there was Travis. Great boss. Better friend. If working with people like Livy and Travis meant she had to put up with the Jimmy Youngbloods of the world, so be it.

  The music from the camp grew louder. Tia got into her car; it took several attempts and a good number of curse words to get the engine to turn over. Once it did, she mashed the accelerator and headed toward Copper Lake.

  SIX

  After a two-minute drive that took her deeper into the forest, Tia pulled through the open gate of Copper Lake Campground. She drove along a winding dirt road, made shady by the maples mixed with ash towering on each side. She passed a dozen or so small wood cabins tucked back in the trees and saw the shoreline of Copper Lake. The sun was now well above the horizon and the light reflected off the water in a way that made it clear where the name had come from.

  The music had grown closer and louder and now filled the woods—guitar, piano, and percussion, sounding something like rock but without the edge. The chorus of voices were joyful and the lyrics nothing short of inspirational. Tia found it damn near nauseating.

  Tia drove into a parking lot filled with buses and vans, all marked with names of different churches, mostly from Wisconsin, but she also saw license plates from Michigan, Minnesota, and Illinois. She found a parking spot near the same TV van that had come to the crime scene. No surprise, r
eally. Reporters often had the same sort of instincts as cops. The only problem was they weren’t bound by insignificant details like the truth and the law. Their mission was to do whatever was necessary to spin up a story, any story, that would capture viewers and sell airtime.

  When Tia stepped from her car, the van door swung open. The same perky female reporter who had interviewed Travis at the crime scene hopped out wearing a lace blouse under a dark blazer. Her hair and makeup made her look like she was ready for a night on the town—but only from the waist up. Below, she wore sweatpants and tennis shoes. The reporter smiled and waved hopefully. Tia glared back and shook her head, doing her best to wordlessly convey “not a chance.” The reporter’s shoulders dropped in disappointment and she climbed back into the van.

  Tia headed for a nearby building marked as the camp office, adorned with an American flag flying on one side of the door, and on the other side, a second flag marked with some sort of crest that Tia didn’t recognize. She navigated her way around the puddles and mud until she came in view of a large clearing, finally finding the source of the music. A crowd of young people stood in a circle around a raised stage, their linked hands in the air, bodies swaying in unison. Tia estimated there were at least a hundred fifty, maybe even two hundred kids, all of whom looked to be around high school age. She saw they were divided into groups, wearing brightly colored T-shirts. There was a red group, a blue group, and a few others. When no one so much as glanced her way, it confirmed Tia’s suspicion.

  I knew it. They cast spells at these things.

  The band was actually pretty good and the music had an odd sort of evangelical pull. She made it to the office building just as the song wrapped up and a cheer rose from the crowd. Tia looked back over her shoulder to see a man jockeying his way toward the stage, pumping his fist above his head. The cheers grew louder as he climbed onto the platform. Tia found the frenzy a bit unsettling. She hustled up the office stairs and across the wooden porch.