Malevolent (6 page)

Oh Lord. What was she getting into here?

“Hmph,” said the old woman. “’Stead of talking, she should be out there finding the ones what did this goddamn thing. You tole her where he works.”

The two discussing her like she wasn’t there. The obese and retarded younger sister interjecting now and then with a hiccup of sound or a sharp, meaningless bark. The fan by the sealed window kicking up more cat fur than breeze, and a
skritching
sound from somewhere that Melinda definitely didn’t wish to dwell on.

Not one of the demons…

She had to get out of there, and as soon as possible. “Miss Marberry, she said, firmer this time, “we
really
must talk. Just the two of us.”

Now they were in a screened-in porch at the front of the house. It obviously had been added sometime after the home was built and didn’t even try to match the bungalow architecture. The two sat stiffly on canvas lawn chairs that groaned under layers of rust when Melinda and Germaine shifted. At least it was cooler out here. Melinda took a deep breath and sneezed up cat hair.

The mystery
skritching
sound she’d heard was louder out here. More insistent. It came, Melinda discovered, from yet another cat, this one working away with tooth and claw at a small rent in the screen mesh. She spotted similar starter holes elsewhere, seriously putting to question the pets’ love of hearth and home.

“Miss Marberry, I know you’ve gone through it with me already, but I’d like you to tell me again your story about last night.”

“It was no story.”

Poor choice of words. Or had she accidentally spoken exactly what she was thinking?

Female detectives had been put into sex crimes units all across America for the sake of tamping down law enforcement impulses of assuming that any woman who invites a man into her apartment late at night knows exactly what’s happening. Or that it’s impossible to agree to making out without intending for the action to go much farther. Or even that it was impossible for a prostitute to be raped.

Melinda had seen male officers belittling some of the victims’ stories they’d heard, and it had infuriated her. Now she wondered if she was doing the same thing.

According to the rape kit put together at Metro Health, there’d been no semen. Of course it was
possible
that the assailant had the foresight to put on a condom. Or, more likely, that he hadn’t ejaculated. But what of the fact that there was no vaginal abrasion, no bruising, no torn panties or outer clothing? Nothing under her nails for DNA matching. And, while no one had seen the actual act, numerous witnesses had heard the initial screams and then had seen the victim on the ground, seemingly seconds later. This assumed that the vic had screamed immediately—and why wouldn’t she?

“I’m not saying I disbelieve anything you’ve told me,” Melinda said carefully. From the open doorway, she watched a crouching cat prepare to pounce at something out of sight in the living room, and heard a strange cooing sound from the obese sister.

“Why wouldn’t you believe?” Germaine asked. “I was attacked and brutally assaulted by the man who owns that godless movie rental place. AfterHours, indeed. You can imagine what goes on all night in there.”

Except for her perpetual glare, she wasn’t an unattractive woman. If you could see past the stern demeanor, you saw a tall, stately woman with perfect skin, high cheekbones and clear eyes. And yet you could also see something of her mother in the hard glare, the flash of the eyes.

Germaine Marberry had been a hysterical wreck at the hospital, alternately weeping and raging. Today she was strong and controlled. The sudden transformation seemed unusual for a violent-rape victim.

Uh oh
. She was doing it again. Coming this close to blaming the victim.

“Miss Marberry,” she continued, “after you left the hospital—”

“Molly!”

The scream jolted Melinda, but not as badly as when the pregnant calico crashed into her lap. Feeling twitching fetal development from the full belly now resting on her thighs, Melinda arched her back to move her face as far as possible from the creature. It glared at her with one good eye, the other partially glazed and pus covered.

Germaine clapped her hands sharply and banged a foot against the floor. “Molly, you get the hell out of here,” she screamed.

From the living room, the old woman mumbled and the sister started up with a keening wail. A kitten somewhere started mewing pitifully.

God, it was a nightmare.

The calico dropped from Melinda’s lap, dragging a full abdomen after it. Once on the floor, it stretched, looked back and winked at Melinda with its one good eye.

Melinda took a deep breath and held it for as long as possible. After all, you couldn’t scream without air.

When she could trust herself to speak again, she said, “Miss Marberry, I’m still confused on a few points. Maybe you could go over it again with me.” The sooner she got answers, the sooner she could leave. “For instance, there were a number of people who witnessed your screams. Many saw you on the ground within a few seconds of your cries, and you told me that you called out as soon as you were attacked. Right?”

Germaine Marberry’s face crimsoned. The grim set of her mouth etched white lines on either side of her pale lips. “Of course.”

Melinda took another breath. She had to proceed very carefully here. “With all you went through, I’m sure it’s difficult remembering ever detail. So I’ll ask that you think very carefully before responding. How much time do you think passed between the time the man grabbed you and you called out?”

“It was immediately, of course,” the woman snapped. “Do you think I waited around to see if I might enjoy it?”

Melinda actually considered the possibility before rejecting it. “Of course not, Miss Marberry. I’m just trying to figure out why no one else caught even a fleeting glimpse of your assailant.”

“His cunning is beyond your imagination.”

Melinda had no idea what she’d do with that statement, so she plowed on. “Have you ever met Griffin Solloway?”

“Who?”

“The video store owner.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh. Him. The man who raped me. Of course I have, I told you that. Anyway, how else would I have known it was him. He was watching me that other day, spying on me from the back of the church. Taunting all true believers with the blasphemy of his presence in a house of worship. Him and his dirty movies. That’s what the devil does, he watches and waits until the time is right, then springs into action. That would explain his quick disappearing act, now wouldn’t it?”

Oh Lordy.

“Miss Marberry, why do you think of Griffin Solloway as a devil? A demon?”

The woman’s lightweight lawn chair scattered as Germaine Marberry bolted out of it, her eyes glittery with genuine interest in the topic for the first time. “Because Vincent told us, of course. The Reverend Applegate, he recognized the demon immediately and told my ma and me about how the devil and his naked-women sex movies were sent here to corrupt the morals of good churchgoers.”

It was becoming all too clear—the spinster and her wild-eyed minister. Inwardly, Melinda groaned at all of the valuable time she’d already wasted on the case.

“Thank you, Miss Marberry,” she said, rising quickly. She told the easy lie that the police would stay in touch and apprise her of further developments. Like there’d be any.

To her surprise, the woman shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Vincent is helping us deal with the situation. Justice will be served.”

Melinda made a mental note to drop in on the Reverend Applegate, see about his concept of justice.

But she couldn’t stay in the stifling house a minute longer. Call her a coward, if anyone wanted, but she had to escape. The challenge would be to write it up in a way that would keep Germaine Marberry out of trouble for filing a false police report. Or get her hauled in for a psych eval.

Back in the living room, the old lady had drifted off to sleep in her easy chair. The disabled sister was nowhere in sight, but Melinda could hear her rattling around in a room beyond a dining alcove—most likely the kitchen. The retarded woman was singsonging a single word, over and over. It sounded like
hungry
, stretched out eerily to several syllables—
Hunnnngarrryy.

The front doorknob felt cool as heaven on Melinda’s palm. Her gateway to the soul-cleansing great outdoors. She sneezed one final time, a hard retching sound that seemed to tear the lining of her stomach.

Chapter Nine

“Hunnnngarrryyy,”
Dolly sang softly from the kitchen.

“See here,” Vincent cried out cheerfully.

Germaine jumped, caught off-guard at the sound of a man’s voice. She shouldn’t have been. Vincent’s surprise visits had grown commonplace over the last several days. He hadn’t come in the front door, though, or she would have seen him. Must have entered the back way while she was tied up with that ineffective policewoman. She could have sworn they’d kept that door locked, like Vincent had advised, but here he was.

The tall minister strode through the dining alcove and into the living room. He held upright an open can of peaches, held it high like Liberty’s torch. Dolly followed, arms outstretched and hopping like a poodle through a hoop, but her reach kept falling woefully short. She was sobbing now, a wet sound overflowing with anguish and volume.

Vincent grinned warmly as he teased. “See what I found in the kitchen, Germaine? Naughty, naughty.”

He suddenly gained a following of wailing cats rubbing against his ankles, some swatting a khaki pant leg. Molly, the pregnant calico, briefly skirmished with Bandit for position, while Battle snarled for attention. Vincent let out a short laugh as he gently parted the cats with his foot, kicking up another round of caterwauling.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Germaine asked, hesitantly. The mere idea of angering a man as upright and spiritual as her minister repelled her.

“Mad? Of course not, my dear.” His eyes seemed to register shock that the question was even raised. “Not about the food
or
the policewoman. You couldn’t have very well refused to see her, could you?”

Vincent turned and glanced down at Dolly. She was curled up into a tight, fleshy ball in a corner of the dining room. Her loud sobs competed for attention with the wailing cats. “I couldn’t ever be angry at Dolly for stashing this can of peaches. She’s just a packratting chipmunk, she is.” He chuckled. “Now I see who I’ll have to keep my eyes on.” He turned once again to Germaine and gave her his easiest smile. “I’ll make it the responsibility of both of us to keep Dolly on the straight and narrow.”

“Tampa Jack, you leaver her alone,” Mama cried. She feebly tossed a crocheted pillow at the tall yellow cat that had climbed up her slumped-over daughter to lick the last traces of Dolly’s contraband peaches from her sticky lips.

Tampa Jack spit and Dolly screamed, pulling into an even tighter ball.

“Those darn cats,” Vincent said with a merry shake of his head.

“They’re hungry,” Germaine replied as she watched her mother nod off again.

“Of course, my dear.” Vincent’s voice was a soothing bass, the comforting stir of deep water. He stood so close to where Germaine sat in her incliner that she was nearly overpowered by the heavenly scent of thick and obscenely sweet syrup. It came from the open can of peaches he still held high. Her stomach growled.

The cats could smell it too. Bandit let out a guttural rumble near the foot of Germaine’s incliner.

Vincent drew back his foot and kicked two of the animals without even shifting the focus of his benevolent gaze from Germaine.

“They’re just hungry,” she repeated, weakly.

Dolly’s sobs had dissolved to occasional whimpers.

Vincent crouched before Germaine’s
 
recliner so he had to look up, into her face. He braced himself with one smooth palm on her bony knee. His aftershave filled the still air, a scent that bespoke his masculinity like the cool pressure of his large hand.

“Remember, Germaine,” he told her, “they must do penance too. Bandit and Battle and Molly and all the rest.
Every
member of this household must work together to help reverse what’s happening in the world today—the illicit sex, the godless Muslims, the random violence that you know so well. We are all part of the problem, Germaine, so we must become the cure. If not us, then who?”

Germaine knew she should be concentrating harder. She knew Vincent had asked a question that must be answered. But those peaches…she’d never smelled anything so sweet in her life. She wondered where Dolly had found them.

“Germaine, my dear…are you listening?”

She snapped back to Vincent’s warm, brown eyes. She felt her face flush with shame, with guilt and with shy, coy feelings that didn’t easily fall into any category of emotion.

The man was married, for Pete’s sake! To say nothing of being the most holy man she’d ever met. Anyway, her mama had told her where
those
kinds of feelings could lead. She had only to look at her own babbling half-sister to tamp down the fire.

Reminded of Dolly, she turned her attention to the muffled cries from the dining alcove.