John Saul - The Right Hand of Evil

Ted's gaze never wavered. "You didn't come to find out anything. You think you already know. But you're wrong, Father. You don't know anything." Taking Janet's elbow, he gently steered her back into the house and closed the door.

Father MacNeill stared at the closed door, but instead of seeing the great oaken panel, he saw instead the demon face he'd beheld a moment ago. "Did you see it?" he asked Father Bernard. "Did you feel it?"

Father Bernard looked at him uncertainly. "I'm not sure I-"

"Evil," Father MacNeill breathed. "You can see it. You can feel it." He moved unsteadily off the porch and down the path to the sidewalk. Only when they had crossed the street and walked some distance away, did he finally turn back to look again at the house.

"Evil," he whispered. Then, with Father Bernard beside him, he began the long walk back to the rectory.

Ray Beckwith pulled his squad car up in front of Jake's weather-beaten cabin out by the lake. The rowboat was hauled up onto the narrow strip of muddy beach, and Jake's dog was chained outside. As the hound began baying, Jake opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

"Hey there, Jake," Ray called out as he got out of the car. Jake nodded, but said nothing. "How's it going? Nice afternoon, huh?"

Jake's face was an impassive mask. "Don't think you came out here to talk about the weather. What d'you want?"

"Just got a couple of questions, that's all," Ray replied. He nervously eyed the hound, which was straining at the end of its chain. "Okay if I come up on the porch?"

Jake shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He made no move to quiet the dog, so Ray circled carefully around, staying well out of reach of the animal's snapping jaws. "I just wondered what you were doing last night, Jake," he said as he stepped up onto the porch.

"Figured," Jake replied. "You're wantin' to know if I had anything to do with what happened down at the cemetery last night."

"You heard about it?"

Jake shrugged and countered, "Know anybody who didn't?"

"So where were you last night?" Ray asked.

"I was out tendin' my traps. Me and Lucky took off 'bout ten. Didn't get home till near dawn."

Ray nodded as if he were no longer listening, but when he spoke again, he watched Jake's reaction to his question. "Mind if I show you something?"

"Don't mind at all," Jake replied. If he was worried, it didn't show in his face.

Ray went back to the squad car and returned a moment later, carrying a package wrapped in black plastic. As the dog strained at its chain, Ray glanced at the open front door of the cabin. "Maybe we should go inside?"

Jake shrugged and led Ray into the tiny cabin. The officer laid the package on the table and opened it, exposing the cat's hide that had been found pinned to the tree over Cora Conway's grave. As he pulled away the last piece of plastic, Ray kept his eyes on Jake Cumberland.

The trapper winced as he saw the skin.

"You've seen it before," Ray said.

Jake Cumberland's mind felt numb as he stared at the skin of the cat. He could still remember snatching the cat up the night the Conways moved into the house, skinning it on this very table, then taking the hide back to the Conways. The last time he'd seen the cat skin was when he'd left it nailed to the back of the carriage house as a warning to the Conways to go away.

They hadn't heeded his warning, but they hadn't gone to the police, either. If they had, Ray Beckwith would have been out here long ago. What'll I do, Mama? he silently asked. What should I say? And as clearly as if she'd been standing right there next to him, Jake heard his mama's voice: He don't know nothin', Jake. He don't know nothin' at all.

"Don't reckon I have seen it before," Jake said, his gaze shifting from the cat skin back to Ray Beckwith. "Don't reckon I've ever seen that before in my life."

The two men eyed each other, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

"Then you won't mind if I have a look around, will you?" Ray said softly.

Again Jake shrugged. "Don't make no never mind," he said softly. "Take a look, if you want."

As Jake watched, Ray Beckwith searched the cabin. He checked the garbage first, poking through a bucket of food scraps mixed with the entrails from some animal Jake had caught last night.

Nothing.

He moved on, opening and closing the few drawers and cupboards that hung around Jake's sink. Finally his eyes fell on the trunk.

"That locked?" he asked.

Jake shook his head. "Nothin' much in it 'cept for my mama's stuff."

"Voodoo stuff?" Ray asked.

The muscles in Jake's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, and when Ray knelt down to open the trunk, he made no move to stop him. Lifting the lid, Ray stared down at the collection of oddments that filled the compartments of the tray, then lifted the tray itself out of the trunk. Beneath it he saw a folded tablecloth, and beneath that a jumble of what looked like clothes. He was about to replace the tray when he suddenly changed his mind and plunged his hands into the tangle of material.

His fingers brushed against something.

Something furry.

He closed his fingers on the object and lifted it out of the trunk.

Rising to his feet, Ray turned to face Jake Cumberland. The trapper's eyes were fixed on the cat's head as if he were looking at a ghost.

"I don't know how that got in there," he said, his voice rising. "I swear I don't."

Ray wordlessly laid the cat head on the table next to the hide. The color match was perfect, as was the cut where the head had been separated from the hide. He faced Jake. "You want to tell me about it?" he asked.

But Jake's expression had gone as flat as when he'd first appeared on the porch. "Nothin' to tell," he replied. "I was out tendin' my traps last night. Anybody at all could've snuck in here and put that in Mama's trunk."

Ray pursed his lips, nodding. "I guess that's true," he said. "But I guess you could've put it in there, too, now couldn't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he went on, "I'm gonna have to take you in, Jake. Folks are pretty upset about what happened last night." But it still didn't quite make sense to Beckwith. If Jake had put the cat's hide on the tree, why had he been so surprised to see it? What else could he have expected to be confronted with? "You knew what had to be in that package the minute I got it out of my car, didn't you, Jake? Didn't you think it had to be the skin from the cemetery?"

Jake nodded. "Figured it was."

"Then why did you look surprised when you saw it?" Ray pressed. "I know you weren't faking it-you recognized that skin, but you weren't expecting to see it." Ray took a deep breath. "What's going on, Jake? Isn't there anything else you want to tell me?"

Jake shook his head. "Don't think so," he said softly. "Besides, who knows? If everyone's as upset as you say they are, maybe I'll be better off in jail."

He followed Beckwith out to the squad car. Then, as Ray was about to drive away, Jake Cumberland turned to take one more look at his cabin and his dog.

The dog stared back at him, sitting down and cocking its head, as if puzzled.

"Goodbye," Jake whispered.

As the car headed down the dirt road, he twisted around for one last glimpse of Lucky.

Jake knew he would never see his pet again.

Janet stood back and eyed the mural critically. Maybe she shouldn't have tried to work tonight, but always before-back in the days when Ted was drinking-her painting had provided her with a refuge from the reality of her life. This evening, the magic hadn't worked, and she knew her lack of concentration showed in the results on the dining room wall. It was almost done-indeed, it might have been done tonight if she'd been able to stop thinking about Jared through the long afternoon and evening.