Satan’s Lambs (24 page)

Benita applied a round wooden brush to Lena's hair, and pointed the hand dryer.

“See how much nicer this look with conditioner on it?”

Lena nodded.

“Twice a week,” Benita said. “Come back in five weeks for a trim and we see. Healthy, shiny hair.” Benita untied the plastic cape from behind Lena's neck. “I be right back. Conditioner in the storeroom.”

Lena folded the cape and set it on the counter. She followed Benita into the back room.

It was more a cubbyhole than a room, with black metal shelves, a small refrigerator, a sink, and a microwave oven. Benita glanced over her shoulder.

“You are two weeks early for this cut.”

“I am not. You say to come in every five weeks.”

“Yeah, but you too lazy to get in here.”

Lena grinned and leaned against the wall. “I need a favor. A big favor.”

Benita straightened and groaned. “Got to do something about this back.” She twisted a bottle of conditioner in her hands. “What you need me to do?”

“Someone I know has a little boy named Charlie. He's been kidnapped. He's four years old.”

“Ah, no! Somebody took him?”

“Yes.”

“But what can I do?”

“Do you know anybody who does hair in Nash?”

“Nash, Kentucky? He get kidnapped by a hairdresser?”

“No. But do you know anybody that does hair around there? LaRue County, near Ray Lake.”

“I don't think so.”

“I have a list of names. Of people who live there. Sometime in the next couple of weeks there's going to be a … gathering. I think some of the women on this list, and maybe some of the men, are going to be spiffing up. And that means they're going to get their hair done.” Lena leaned against the wall. “I need to know when it comes up. Say three of them call in and say they have to have an appointment before Friday night. How Saturday, or the next Monday, will be too late. All the appointments will cluster, you know? And then drop off.”

“Ah, like before a home basketball game?”

“Can you do that? Can you find out?”

Benita frowned. “How will this help the little boy?”

“You'll have to trust me on it. Keep it quiet as you can, but find out. It's important, Benita. It could make the difference in whether or not I find him. It could save his life.”

She took a breath. “Do you think you know who has him?”

“I think so.” Lena folded her arms. “Will you do this for me? It's more important than I can say.”

“You know, I am thinking of Georgie when he was so little. How long has the boy been gone?”

“Too long. His mama wants him back.”

Benita nodded. “I need to call Alexander. He will know the right people. He knows everyone.”

“Every minute counts, Benita.”

She nodded, eyes dark and knowing.

38

Nashville was ten degrees warmer than Kentucky, and Lena took her sweater off. Ted Moberly stood beside a navy blue Jeep, Sally leashed and sitting quietly at his side. He leaned against the driver's side of the Jeep and lit a pipe, and made no move to get in on the conversation between Delores Criswold and the sheriff.

Dr. Criswold had her hands in her pockets and her shoulders jutted forward. The sheriff was looking down at her, his face red, his conversation doled out in slow, measured tones. Lena tossed her sweater into the front seat of the Cutlass and headed for Ted Moberly.

She held a hand out for him to shake, but was knocked backward by Sally, who demanded first greeting. Lena scratched Sally's ears and patted the smooth black head.

“Hey, girl. Hey, Sally.”

“Sally, behave.” Ted reached forward and shook Lena's hand. “How you been?”

“Craving your chili every time I get hungry.”

It was the right thing to say. Ted smiled. He took out a lighter and went to work on the pipe again.

“What's up?” Lena inclined her head toward the sheriff.

Ted shrugged. “The usual. They got no faith in Sally here, and they don't understand how she works. They better make up their minds. They've had two days to find this girl, and haven't seen a thing. Time to let Sally have a go.”

Delores Criswold held up a hand to the sheriff, and stepped over to Lena and Ted.

“Hello, Lena. Look, Ted. He wants to keep looking while you do.”

Ted shook his head. “Won't work.”

“He says—”

“Let me talk to him.” Moberly clamped his teeth down on the stem of his pipe. He walked forward and Lena followed. “Sheriff?”

“Butcher.”

“Sheriff Butcher. I'm Theodore Moberly.”

Butcher looked at Lena.

“My assistant,” Moberly said.

Butcher nodded. “If that dog can really find a scent”—he shifted his weight from one foot to the other—“what's it matter if we got other people in the woods?”

“She's an air-scent dog,” Moberly said. “She goes after any human scent. So she'll track down your searchers. How many people you got out there?”

“'Bout six.”

Moberly grimaced. “How long you been at it?”

“Roughly twenty-four hours.”

“You called the air force?”

Butcher took a deep breath. “Mr. Moberly, we can't call the air force every time a disturbed person takes it into their head to wander off. This isn't the first time this Hayes woman has done this.”

Moberly smiled pleasantly. “I understand. Why don't you let me and my dog here give it a shot?”

“And then what? We come looking for you when you get lost.”

Moberly stiffened, but he kept on smiling. “I'll be sure and have a radio with me. How's that?”

Butcher smiled. “My people know the area. They'll be back in around supper time. Since they're already several miles out, why don't we let them be for now? You and your dog can start fresh in the morning.” The sheriff gave them a stern smile. “Excuse me just a minute.”

Sally whimpered.

“Stay, girl,” Ted said. “Good girl.”

Delores Criswold watched the sheriff walk away. She folded her arms and shook her head. “Can't get him to come when I need him, and now I can't call him off.”

Ted Moberly took a tobacco pouch out of his jacket pocket, and scooped tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

“They won't find her,” he said absently.

Delores frowned. “Why do you say that?”

Moberly tamped tobacco down in the bowl of the pipe. “I hope they
do
find her. But I think they're too far out. Most people are found a lot closer in.”

“But they've already looked—”

Moberly shook his head. “I've seen grid searches, three or four hundred people trying to cover every inch of ground, go right by people. Mainly the searchers find each other. It's just too easy for people to miss things.”

Delores Criswold wrapped her arms around her chest. “I don't like to think about her being out there at night in the cold. She's so thin.”

“She wearing a sweater or jacket?”

“Blue sweatshirt, I think.”

“Good. Too bad she didn't go in for red or something, like Lena here.” Moberly lit the pipe and looked at Criswold. “This isn't much of a search, you know that.”

Criswold's shoulders sagged. “I know.”

“Supposed to get down below fifty tonight.” Moberly sucked the pipe and blew a cloud of smoke. “Just hold on a little longer. Soon as those searchers come back, me and Sally are going out.”

“At night?”

“Sure. Sally and I do this a lot at night, 'specially in the summer when it's hot. We neither one of us are getting any younger. Dog can smell as well after dark as in the day.” He pointed at Lena. “Found you, didn't we?”

“You had a campsite number.”

“You always picking on me.”

“Do you need me to get something of Melody's?” Delores asked. “So your dog can track her scent?”

Moberly shook his head.

Delores swallowed. “What if she's dead? Will it make a difference?”

“Might in a couple months, but not this early. Scent cone will still be strong.”

“Scent cone?” Lena asked.

Moberly eyed Delores, then looked back at Lena. “The body sheds millions of dead skin cells every minute. That's what gives people their scent. Air currents carry the scent through the air like smoke, and the scent actually forms a cone shape. Strong and narrow near the person, wider and fainter the farther away the wind carries it. Death won't affect the cone, at least not at first. I've known dogs like Sally to find people buried in avalanches under twenty feet of snow.” He scratched the dog's neck under the collar. “Sally's a good working dog. She's tracked plenty of people. She knows what she's doing. Dr. Criswold, if you can get the sheriff to get me a topographical map, I'd like to do some studying before Sally and I go out.”

Butcher's people came in at dusk—dirty, tired, hungry. Ted Moberly waited till they were all checked in. He took Sally off the leash. The searchers, all men, watched the dog in curious, dubious silence. Sally eyed them warily, but did not bark.

Lena stood next to the Cutlass, hands in her pockets. Delores Criswold was deep in conversation with the sheriff. Ted looked over his shoulder at Lena. Sally whimpered.

“
Come
on.”

Lena bounded after them. “Thanks, Ted.”

“Look funny if I went without my assistant. You going to be warm enough?”

“Yeah. I'm in layers.”

“Good.”

They walked to the edge of the woods. Sally quivered, ready to bound off. She waited while Ted scanned the woods.

“This way.” He turned away from the trees and headed southwest, toward the back of Rolling Ridge Hospital. “Far as I can tell”—Moberly stopped by the dogwood tree where Melody had dug up the seashell—“this is the PLS.”

“Excuse my ignorance. PLS?”

Moberly took a puff of his pipe. “Point last seen.”

“Even search dogs have jargon,” Lena said.

“Lena, this woman. Would you say she was despondent?”

Lena frowned. “Are you thinking suicide?”

“Could be.”

“Does it make a difference where you look?”

“Suicides usually don't go that far, maybe two-tenths of a mile at most. And”—he stared toward a ridge to the east—“they tend to climb.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Statistics.”

“She was upset, Ted. But I don't think she was going to kill herself.”

“What you think happened?”

“She was giving me some information. About this business with Hayes and Charlie. And Hayes was around, he trailed me to the clinic. Then that same night she disappears. Those kind of coincidences I don't believe in.”

“Me neither.” He pulled an altimeter from his jeans pocket and checked it. “We'll drift downhill. Easy enough to do.” He looked at the dog. “
Go find
, Sally.”

The dog hesitated, then bounded off toward the woods.

“You should have worn heavy boots,” Ted said suddenly.

“Why?”

“Snakes.”

“That makes me feel better.”

The last of the sunlight filtered through the trees, making patterns on the forest floor. Lena tried not to think about snakes curling around tree trunks, sliding over fallen leaves, slithering around stones. Sally veered right suddenly, tail wagging vigorously.

Lena looked at Ted. “You think she's found something?”

“A squirrel, maybe. Or a bird.” He smiled at Lena. “When she's got a scent, you'll know it.”

39

As darkness fell it grew colder. Moberly was surefooted, watchful, tirelessly working his way back and forth through the trees. The arc of his flashlight made the woods seem all the blacker. Lena did not like to think of Melody Hayes, alone with the night and her memories.

What kind of memories was Charlie making?

According to Delores Criswold, Melody Hayes had received a phone call before she disappeared. The call was logged in at 5:37
P.M.
—two hours after Lena was well on her way to LaRue Lake. Someone had seen Melody go out right after supper.

Lena pushed her hair out of her eyes. Melody hadn't come in at dusk, and she hadn't come in by dark—unthinkable, this close to Easter. Unthinkable at any time.

Moberly stopped, and Lena scooted sideways into a bush so she wouldn't run into him.

“Look,” he said. He aimed the light at Sally.

Her head was up, her body stiff. She moved forward, her posture businesslike, but avid.

“She's got it,” Moberly said.

The dog picked up speed, a graceful fluidity to her motions. Ted and Lena followed her through the brush, leaves crunching underfoot, thorn bushes catching their clothes. Sally began to zigzag back and forth, moving faster.

“She's hot,” Ted said, picking up the pace. “Getting close.”

A branch caught Lena's hair and she stopped to untangle it. Moberly glanced back at her.

“Go on,” Lena said.

He went.

Lena pulled at the hair caught up in the spiny branch and tangled with a knot of budding leaves. The trees pressed, close and dark. And she knew, with absolute certainty, that Melody Hayes would never have come here alone, at night, by choice.

The light from Moberly's flash was swiftly moving away. Lena tore her hair loose, wincing at the hurt, and at what Benita would say next time she went in for a cut. Her own light was not as powerful as Moberly's, but she went quickly and noisily, trying to catch up.

The ground sloped down and grew mushy underfoot. Lena heard a splash. She ran forward.

The water gleamed black and shiny beneath the trees. Moberly was shining his light and Lena could just make out Sally's head as she swam across the creek.

“Hell,” Lena said. “We going to have to swim across?”