Tess Gerritsen - Ice Cold

“They sound like prisoners.”

“They might as well be. The Prophet controls every aspect of their lives, and they adore him for it. That’s the way cults operate. You start with a man like Jeremiah, someone who attracts the weak-minded and the needy, people who desperately want someone to accept them. To give them love and attention, to fix their pitiful broken lives. That’s what he offers them-at first. That’s how all cults start, from the Moonies to the Manson Family.”

“You’re equating Jeremiah Goode with Charles Manson?”

“Yes.” Cathy’s face tightened. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s the same psychology, the same social dynamics. Once a follower drinks the Kool-Aid, they’re his. They give Jeremiah all their property, all their assets, and move into his compound. There he exerts total control. He uses their free labor to maintain a number of highly profitable businesses, from construction to furniture making to mail-order jams and jellies. To an outsider, it looks like a utopian community where everyone contributes. In return, everyone is taken care of. That’s what Bobby Martineau probably thought he saw when he visited Kingdom Come.”

“What should he have seen instead?”

“A dictatorship. It’s all about Jeremiah and what he wants.”

“And what’s that?”

Cathy’s gaze hardened to steel. “Young flesh. That’s what The Gathering is all about, Detective. Owning, controlling, and fucking young girls.”

A woman in the next booth turned and glared at them, offended by the language.

Cathy took a moment to regain her composure. “That’s why Jeremiah can’t afford to keep too many boys around,” she said. “So he gets rid of them. He orders families to shun their own teenage sons. The boys are driven to the nearest town and abandoned. In Idaho, they were dumped in Idaho Falls. Here, they’re dumped in Jackson or Pinedale.”

“And these families actually cooperate?”

“The women are obedient little robots. The men are rewarded for their loyalty with young brides of their own. Spiritual brides, they’re called, to avoid being prosecuted for polygamy. Men can have as many as they want, and it’s all biblically sanctioned.”

Jane gave an appalled laugh. “Yeah? Which Bible?”

“The Old Testament. Think about Abraham and Jacob, David and Solomon. The old biblical patriarchs who had multiple wives or concubines.”

“And his followers buy in to it?”

“Because it satisfies some burning need inside them. The women, maybe they yearn for security, for a life where they don’t have to make hard choices. The men-well, it’s obvious what the men get out of it. They get to take a fourteen-year-old to bed. And get into heaven.”

“And Julian Perkins was part of all that?”

“He has a mother and a fourteen-year-old sister who still live in Kingdom Come. Julian’s father died when he was only four. The mother, I’m sorry to say, is a total flake. Sharon dropped out of her kids’ lives to go find herself, or whatever bullshit you want to call it, and she dumped them on their grandfather, Absolem.”

“The mountain man.”

“Right. A decent guy who took good care of them. But ten years later, Sharon reappears, and woo-hoo! She’s got a new man, plus she’s discovered religion! The religion of Jeremiah Goode. She takes her kids back, and they move into Kingdom Come, the new settlement that The Gathering is building here in Wyoming. A few months later, Absolem dies, and Sharon ’s the only adult left in Julian’s life.” Cathy’s voice took on a razor-sharp edge. “And she betrays him.”

“She threw him out?”

“Like a piece of trash. Because the Prophet demanded it.”

The two women stared at each other, a gaze of shared rage that was broken only when the waitress returned with the coffeepot. In silence they both sipped, and the hot brew only worsened the angry burn in Jane’s stomach.

“So why isn’t Jeremiah Goode in jail?” Jane asked.

“You think I haven’t tried? You saw how they reacted to me at that meeting. I’m just the town scold, the annoying feminist who won’t stop talking about abused girls. And they don’t want to listen anymore.” She paused. “Or they’re getting paid not to listen.”

“Jeremiah’s bought them off?”

“That’s how it worked in Idaho. Cops, judges. The Gathering has loads of cash to buy them all. His settlements are cut off from outside communication-no phones, no radios. Even if a girl wanted to call for help, she wouldn’t be able to.” Cathy set down her coffee cup. “There’s nothing I want more than to see him, and the men who follow him, in shackles. But I don’t think it’s ever going to happen.”

“Does Julian Perkins feel the same way?”

“He hates them all. He told me so.”

“Enough to kill?”

Cathy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You were at the double homicide at the Circle B lodge. That dead couple belonged to The Gathering.”

“You aren’t thinking Julian did it.”

“Maybe that’s why he went on the run. Why he had to kill the deputy.”

Cathy gave a vehement shake of the head. “I’ve spent time with that boy. He hangs out with this stray dog, and you’ve never seen anyone so gentle with an animal. He doesn’t have violence in him.”

“I think we all have it in us,” said Jane quietly. “If we’re pushed hard enough.”

“Well, if he did do it,” Cathy said, “he had justice on his side.”

THE SNOW CAVE WAS RIPE WITH THE ODOR OF WET DOG AND mildewed clothes and the sweat of two filthy bodies. Maura had not bathed in weeks, and the boy had probably gone far longer. But the shelter was cozy as a wolf den, just large enough for them to stretch out on the pine-branch floor, and the fire that Rat built was now bright and crackling. In the light from the flames, Maura surveyed her down jacket, once white, but now soiled with soot and blood. She imagined the horror that would greet her in a mirror. I’m turning into a wild animal, like these two, she thought. An animal hiding in a cave. She remembered accounts that she’d read of children raised by wolves. Brought back to civilization, they remained feral and impossible to tame. Now she could feel her own transformation beginning. Sleeping and eating on hard ground, living for days in the same clothes, curling up every night beside Bear’s furry warmth. Soon no one would recognize her.

I might not recognize myself.

Rat threw a bundle of twigs into the fire. Smoke swirled in the snow cave, stinging their eyes and throat. Without this boy, I would not survive one night out here, she thought. I would already be dead and frozen, my body vanishing under the blowing snow. But the wilderness was a world Rat seemed to feel comfortable in. Within an hour, he had dug out this cave, choosing a spot on the lee side of a hill and tunneling upward to hollow out the cavity. Together they’d gathered firewood and pine boughs, racing the darkness and the killing chill of night.

Now, huddled in surprising comfort beside the fire, she listened to the wind moan outside their pine-branch door, and watched him root around in his backpack. Out came powdered dairy creamer and a box of dried dog kibble. He shook out a handful of kibble and tossed it to Bear. Then he held out the box to Maura.

“Dog food?” she asked.

“It’s good enough for him.” Rat nodded at the dog, who was happily devouring his meal. “Better than an empty stomach.”

But not by much, she thought as she bit resignedly into a chunk. For a moment, the only sound in the cave was three pairs of jaws crunching away. She stared across the guttering flames at the boy.

“We have to find a way to surrender,” she said.