Catherine Coulter - Blindside

Or was she over the top here? Sherlock didn’t know. But he sure didn’t seem like a man who would open any of those vials and apply the contents to either his wife or himself. He didn’t look like a man who would whip his wife with one of those riding crops with their beautifully braided handles. If he was a Rasputin, if he was evil on the inside, he kept it hidden real deep. Sherlock had to remind herself that there were more layers to people than you could ever guess.

As for his looks, she could only say that if one believed in a handsome Satan, then Reverend McCamy would fit the bill. His black hair was a bit on the long side, a bit curly, and he had a heavy growth of beard, noticeable in the early afternoon.

He looked like a monk whose thoughts were so different from hers that they weren’t even in the same world. He was in his fifties, but there was no white in his hair. Did he dye it? She didn’t think so. He was slender, but that was all she could tell about his body. He was wearing a black suit, a very white shirt, and a black tie. He had good teeth, straight and white.

Elsbeth was very pretty, just as Katie had told her, and that hair of hers was glorious. Thick, rich natural blond, in loose waves down her back. She was wearing her Jesus earrings, as Katie called them. When she walked the crosses swung. She was tall and slender, but big-breasted. What made alarm bells go off for Sherlock was that the woman seemed to look at her husband as if he were a god. She looked like she’d jump up onto that marble slab and offer her wrists and ankles for the cuffs, and yell as loud as he wished when he applied a whip. Sherlock couldn’t help wondering how she used that block of wood with one side padded with thick fur.

“I’ve heard that you’ve had some excitement, Sheriff. The little boy who was kidnapped, you rescued him?”

“Yes,” Katie said as she sipped on Elsbeth’s delicious coffee. “He’s just fine now. How were morning services, Reverend McCamy?”

He said nothing, merely nodded, obviously pleased with how the morning services had gone. He took a cup of coffee from his wife, not looking away from Katie. Elsbeth said, barely above a whisper, “Two new parishioners found God this morning. Two.”

Not by so much as a flick of his eyelids did Reverend McCamy acknowledge his wife’s words. He then turned his attention to Sherlock. “I’ve never met an FBI agent before, Agent Sherlock. Why are you here?” He kept his eyes on Sherlock now, all his attention focused on her. When Sherlock purposefully nodded toward Elsbeth, he said, “You asked how services went this morning, Katie. I was pleased and gratified. I’d been counseling this couple for three weeks now. With encouragement and the endless love and understanding of God, they have found their way. By God’s grace, they gave their souls to Him this morning.”

He sipped his coffee. He looked out of place in this lovely living room with its human beings drinking coffee. Rasputin, Sherlock thought, he was a twenty-first-century Rasputin.

“Now, Agent Sherlock, Katie,” Reverend McCamy said, “tell me why you’re here. How may I help you?”

“Actually,” Katie said, smiling toward Elsbeth, who was sitting demurely, her knees pressed together, her face utterly beautiful in the light shining in on her from the tall front windows, her Jesus earrings still and shiny, “we’re here because of Elsbeth.”

Elsbeth McCamy flinched, and the dreamy look fell right off her face. Just an instant, so fast Katie wasn’t certain she’d even seen it. Fear. Her fingers fluttered. “Me? I don’t understand, Katie. What could I possibly know that would help you? Surely, Reverend McCamy-”

Katie pulled out a fax with Clancy’s photo. “Is this your brother, Elsbeth?”

Elsbeth shook her head, back and forth, sending the Jesus earrings dancing.

“Is he, Elsbeth?”

“Yes,” she said, “that’s Clancy. But I don’t understand-”

“We’ve just found out this morning that one of the kidnappers is your brother, Elsbeth-Clancy Bird, now Clancy Edens. We found out he legally changed his name when he was younger. If you have any idea where he is, please tell us.”

Elsbeth didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t betray anything at all. She seemed to be waiting for Reverend McCamy to speak.

And he did. He took the photo from Katie and studied it. He nodded. “No one in Jessborough knows that Elsbeth is cursed with such a worthless brother,” Reverend McCamy said. “Naturally she hasn’t seen him in years now.”

Katie said, “That’s too bad. We hoped you’d heard from him. He’s badly hurt. He could die if we don’t find him quickly.”

“My husband is right, I haven’t seen my brother in a very long time, Katie. I know he turned away from God when he was young, but he was always a support to me when I was a little girl.”

“He protected you from your father?”

Elsbeth only nodded, looking down at her shoes. “He was a very bad man. Clancy protected me as best as he could. It was so many years ago.” She raised pale blue eyes to Sherlock’s face and touched her fingertips to a Jesus earring.

Sherlock said, “When did you last see Clancy?”

“He’d just been released from one of his stays in prison, some six years ago, I think. Naturally he was back in prison for something else after that. When I heard there were two men, one of them named Clancy, I never thought it could be my brother. Are you certain he kidnapped that little boy, Katie?”

Katie nodded. “Yes. We are certain that your brother and a man named Beau Jones kidnapped Sam Kettering and brought him here. They kept him in Bleaker’s cabin until the boy managed to escape.”

Elsbeth’s eyes dropped to her hands, now even more tightly clasped in her lap. “I heard about it, of course. Everyone in the congregation was talking about it. We stopped at the pharmacy this morning and Alice Hewett couldn’t talk of anything else, particularly since she’d sold that other man some bandages.”

Katie said, “He hasn’t contacted either of you for help?”

“Oh no,” Elsbeth said. “Why would he do that? Surely he must know that Reverend McCamy wouldn’t help him. Why, he’s a devout man of God. He feels deep pain at the actions of sinners.”

Sherlock said, “All right, Mrs. McCamy. I can certainly understand wanting to help a brother just as I can understand a sister not wanting to help the police find him.”

“Oh no! Lying is a sin. I wouldn’t do that, ever. Just ask Reverend McCamy. I don’t ever lie.”

Reverend Sooner McCamy said, “I assure you, my wife doesn’t lie. Now, Agent Sherlock, Clancy hasn’t called either of us. If he’s guilty of kidnapping that little boy, both Elsbeth and I hope that you catch him and send him back to prison.”

Sherlock said, “If he wouldn’t call you, Mrs. McCamy, then do you have any idea whom he might contact? Does he have any friends close by? Family?”

Elsbeth shook her head. “Clancy doesn’t know anyone in these parts.”

Except you, Sherlock thought. Only you.

“How do you think he knew about Bleaker’s cabin?”

“I don’t know, Katie.”

Katie said, “Thank you for speaking with us. If Clancy does contact you, Elsbeth, if he does ask you to hide him, if he does ask you for money, I hope you will call me immediately. You heard, I know, that his partner, Beau Jones, died last night.”

“We heard that you shot him, Katie,” Reverend McCamy said. “You killed him.”

Sherlock heard the cold disapproval in his voice, no chance of missing it. Why?

“Hurting a man, actually killing a man, it’s very bad,” Elsbeth said, clearly distressed.

Katie said, “There wasn’t a choice, Elsbeth. He would have killed someone else if I hadn’t stopped him. Now it’s Clancy who’s in danger. There’s a huge manhunt going on right now for him, as I’m sure both of you know. I really don’t see this ending well for Clancy if you don’t help us find him.”