The Madness of Mercury (31 page)

I decided to be honest—for a change. “I think I might take your advice and drive out to see the Walker family—the family you told me about.”

“Hmm.” Sheriff Leo scratched his chin, as I expected. “Okay. That’s good. I’m sure they’ll talk to you, tell you whatever they know.”

“You really had no luck at all with it?”

“Well, the Walkers couldn’t do much. The woman and her daughter didn’t want any fuss made. They just wanted to call some relatives and get out of town.”

“Do you think they might have told the family more?”

“Maybe. But unless they made a complaint, my hands were tied.” He took a last swig of his coffee cup and rose from the stool. “Check back with me later. Let me know how you made out.”

“I’ll do that.”

Back in the car, I dug the sheriff’s handwritten directions out of my purse. The farm was a few miles north of town, probably a half mile in a straight line due west from the compound. If someone needed to escape, it would be logical they’d end up at the Walker house if they headed in that direction.

I slowed as I neared the area the sheriff had described. I spotted a sprawling ranch style house with yellow clapboard siding. An old well stood in the front yard, a bucket hanging from its tiny roof. I couldn’t tell if it was decorative or once was the real thing. Small bushes outlined the front, covered in nets of tiny multi-colored lights. A Christmas tree filled the large picture window, and a St. Nicholas doll the size of a small child rested in a hobbit-sized chair by the front door. I made a U-turn and pulled up in front of the house, as far off the road as possible. I climbed out of the car and walked to the front door, where an evergreen wreath hung, topped with a large bow. I rang the bell and soon I heard footsteps approaching. A trim woman in her forties opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Walker? I hope I’m not coming at a bad time. Sheriff McEnerny gave me your name.”

“Leo?” She looked puzzled for a moment. “Okay. Why don’t you come on in. We can sit in the kitchen. I just made some fresh coffee.”

I followed her through the front hallway. A teenage girl peeked out from another room, and, realizing it wasn’t someone her own age, disappeared.

“Coffee?”

“Yes. Thanks. Love some.”

“And please call me Janet.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and placed a full mug in front of me, moving the creamer and sugar bowl closer. “What can I do for you?”

I explained the situation and told her the sheriff had told me about the people they had sheltered. She nodded and regarded me carefully, slowly stirring cream into her own cup.

“I don’t know what to think about those people out there. That was about a year or so ago. We called Leo because we really didn’t know what to do with them. The woman claimed she escaped because they’d beaten her daughter.”

“Escaped … not left?”

“That’s the word she used,” she replied drily. “I found them hiding behind our barn. They were so frightened. It was all I could do to get them in the house and get them to eat a little food. The sheriff wanted to talk to them, maybe get them to press charges, but they were having none of that. They were really terrified.”

“What happened to them?”

“We took care of them for almost a week. They wouldn’t leave the house—afraid to be spotted, I guess. They wouldn’t talk much at all. They didn’t have anything but the clothes on their backs. The little girl was only about ten years old. Frankly, I wondered what other kind of abuse might be going on out there, but there wasn’t anything anyone could do.” She took a sip of her coffee. “The day after we took them in, two people, a man and a woman, nicely dressed, perfectly normal looking, showed up. They claimed the woman and the girl had gone for a walk and hadn’t come back. They said they were worried they might have gotten lost.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Not a thing. I didn’t invite them in. After I saw the condition that poor woman and child were in, and the fact that they ate like they hadn’t had a decent meal in a while, I didn’t buy that story for a minute. Just told ’em I hadn’t seen a thing and made sure the door was locked afterwards. I did suggest they talk to the sheriff, though.”

“Did they?”

“They did not. I called the sheriff the next day and asked if anyone had contacted him. And I checked again a week later. He never received any reports of anyone missing.” She paused. “That woman and the girl, they were poor. She was a single mother, and I guess she hooked up with that group because they promised shelter and some sort of religious community. Whatever it is, those people must have a good rap, but the reality seems quite different. Anyway, long story short, the mother finally managed to locate some relatives down in Daly City who offered them a place to stay. My husband drove them down on one of his trips to San Francisco.”

“Was that the last you heard of them?”

“Yes, it was. Except about a week later, the same two people came around again. Tell you the truth, they gave me the creeps. Real friendly and laid back, just to tell me not to worry, their visitors were fine. I said, ‘That’s good, because I was worried and I let the sheriff know some people might be missing.’” She chuckled. “You should have seen the look on their faces. Not so friendly then, and they took off in a hurry.” Janet brushed a crumb off the tabletop. “I wish you luck finding your friend’s aunt. I know there’s a lot of elderly out there too. I can’t imagine putting old people in those drafty old cabins. It was a kind of campground years ago, but after the owner died, the buildings were never fixed up. They might have running water and maybe electricity, but it’s not a good place for old people. Not a good place for anybody, if you ask me.”

“You talking about that compound?” A tall, lean man in overalls entered the kitchen and, taking a mug from the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Jim, this is Julia. The sheriff sent her out. She’s looking for her friend’s aunt.”

He leaned over to shake my hand, then took a seat at the end of the wooden table and looked at me seriously. “You think she’s there?”

“We’re pretty sure. She left a note.”

“Damn. Good luck with that.” He shook his head.

“Your wife just filled me in about the woman and her daughter you took in.”

“We tried to find out as much as we could. Maybe get ’em to press charges if there was anything strange goin’ on.”

“Did you believe them?”

“I sure did. That little girl never spoke one word the whole time she was here. The mother … well, she explained enough. I could tell she was real scared they might find her and grab her back. She didn’t want to talk to the sheriff at all.” He stared into his coffee cup and looked up. “She did tell me some strange stuff though.”

“Like what?”

“Guess you’d call it brainwashing. This preacher … he had ’em all convinced they owed their lives to him. That he could do anything he wanted to them and he had complete control over everything. If they ever tried to leave or talk to any outsiders, they’d be betraying him and the Lord would strike them dead. He did a real job on those people.”

“It’s so sad,” Mrs. Walker added. “They were simple people, religious—that’s how they were able to hook them. It is brainwashing. I hate to think what else is going on. I just don’t understand why people put their trust in any stranger who talks about God and give up control over their own lives. I just don’t understand it.”

“Maybe ’cause they have nothing else.” Her husband replied, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

I said goodbye to the Walkers and headed back to town the way I’d come. These country roads wound around so much I was afraid I’d lose my sense of direction if I didn’t retrace my steps, like Hansel and Gretel dropping bread crumbs. Because the road curved in a semi-circle, the Walker ranch was at least two miles from the compound by the road, even though closer in a straight line than any other inhabited property.

Instead of turning toward town, I stayed on the road, following it as it circled around. I passed the entrance to Prophet’s Paradise and continued on. I took the first right turn I could find. This road again followed the property line. Between breaks in the trees, I spotted more chain-link fencing. The entire compound was fenced off from anyone who might accidentally wander in—or deliberately attempt to get out.

After completing the circuit, I headed back to town. I pulled up at the one hardware store the town boasted and wandered up and down the aisles looking for wire cutters. I wasn’t sure what size I needed for the job I had in mind and was finally forced to approach the counter. A rotund man of about fifty, wearing an extra-large T-shirt that hung over his belly and a baseball cap, spoke up. “Whatcha’ lookin’ for, lady?”

“I need a wire cutter that’ll work on a chain-link fence.”

“Hmmm … that’d be about a number nine wire, I guess. What do you need that for?”

“We’re taking down a section of fence to put in a gate.” I’m so honest. I hoped I looked like a do-it-yourselfer.

“You doing that by yourself?”

“Mostly.”

“Well … show you what I have. Lotta ranchers use these, works on barbed wire too.” He disappeared through a door behind the counter and returned with a two-foot-long, double-handled implement. “This might be kinda heavy for you. Give it a try.”

I picked it up. It weighed about twelve pounds. “Not bad, but do you have anything lighter or smaller maybe?”

“Not here, miss. You’d probably like a Felco, maybe a twelve or sixteen inch. They only weigh a couple of pounds, but they have carbide blades that can cut through links pretty easy.”

I sighed. “Do you happen to know where I could get one of those?”

“Well … ” He rubbed the back of his neck while he thought. “There’s a place over in Cloverville that sells sporting and climbing gear. Those guys use ’em. Not cheap though. Other than that, maybe you’d have to drive down to Santa Rosa.”

“Oh.” My disappointment must have shown.

“Tell you what. I’ll give ’em a call. I know the guys over there. If they have ’em in stock, you want them to hold one for you?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Wait here.” He disappeared again through the rear door.

If I had to, I’d buy the twelve pound wire cutters, but the lighter tool could make any task easier. I might be jumping the gun and the tool might not be necessary at all. At least I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but if I had one shot to get into the compound, I wanted to be prepared for the worst.

The clerk returned a moment later. “They’ll hold one for you. Ask for Al when you get there. I forgot to ask the price, but it’ll probably run about sixty bucks or so.”

“Thanks!”

“Just head back to the freeway, go under the overpass, and it’s about ten miles to Cloverville. Can’t miss the place. Big yellow sign two blocks down.”

I waved and ran back to the car. I followed the clerk’s directions and in thirty minutes I was driving down Sebastopol Street. I spotted the yellow sign two blocks in and parked in front. Only one man was at the counter.

“You must be Al.”

“Sure am.” He smiled. He reached under the counter and pulled out a shiny, twelve-inch-long tool. “You won’t have any trouble with this. Great tool. These carbide blades will cut through anything pretty quick.” I pulled out a credit card, waited for Al to run it, and then signed.

“No need to wrap it up. I’ll just carry it. Thanks.” I jammed it into my purse and jogged back to my car. Forty minutes later, I pulled into the courtyard of the Bide-A-Wee. I’d have just enough time. I parked in one of the many empty slots and loped up the stairs to my room. I had nothing to pack, and if I stuffed everything I didn’t need into my overnight bag, I could check out of the Bide-a-Wee before going out to the compound.

Once inside my room, I dialed Dorothy’s number on my cell. It rang several times until the answering machine picked up. I left a message that I’d have more news for her later in the day. She might be busy with Evandra or maybe out doing errands. I didn’t want to tell her what I planned. I didn’t want her worrying about me as well as Eunice.

I shed my clothes, pulled the white uniform over my head, pinned my hair in a bun, and pulled on the rubber-soled orthopedic shoes. I tied the laces and winced. They were half a size too small and started to pinch after a couple of steps. I was wishing I’d brought some tights or pantyhose to keep my legs warm, but I didn’t want to take the time to try to locate a store. If Edie arrived at four o’clock on the nose, I would too. I used two more pins to secure the little white hat. I checked myself in the mirror. I thought I looked quite professional—Julia Bonatti, R.N.—nurse without a license. Hopefully no one would ask me to do anything more complicated than check a pulse.

I emptied the contents of my purse into the overnight bag. Then I grabbed my sneakers, a pair of socks, jeans, a knitted cap, a T-shirt, and a thick sweater and stuffed them in my large purse, along with the wire cutters and the scarf I’d discovered in the pocket of my down jacket. Thank heavens for big purses. I stuck my cell phone into a side pocket. All the rest I stuffed in the overnight bag. I walked quietly down the stairs to my car, hoping Gladys wouldn’t spot me in my get-up and ask any questions. I threw the overnight bag in the trunk and dropped the key to my room in the night box. The office was vacant, but the noise level through the glass told me Gladys was pinned to her television. Prime time for soaps.