Angela could see that Gabby recognized the names. “They were there,” she said softly.
“Can you tell us anything about them?”
“June…June felt that she had sinned terribly, and hurt everyone around her,” Gabby said. “She came into the church so hopeful. She was really beautiful. She had dark hair and bright, bright green eyes. And we knew that she was destined to be special. But one of the council members came and took her one night, and I never saw her again. And then…”
“Go on, Gabby, please?” Angela prodded. “What about Susanne?”
Gabby nodded. She grew whiter still. “I heard her scream. And he said that Satan came from those who didn’t give themselves totally over to God and the church.”
“He. He who, Gabby?” Jackson asked. Angela saw that Jackson actually looked a little perplexed. “Richard Gull? The bishop of the church?”
She looked at him blankly.
“A friend of ours went into the church the other day. You must remember him. A tall, good-looking young fellow. He told me there was a picture on the wall, a big one, of a man named Richard Gull, who is the bishop.”
Gabby shook her head. “Richard Gull is a saint now. He died years ago. That’s what they told me.”
“Gull is dead? The police don’t know that,” Jackson said. “Legally, he’s still listed as the head of the church.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” she said. “The church has a bishop, and he’s the one who is in control of everything.”
“And is Martin DuPre—the man you were following the other night—the bishop now?” Jackson asked.
“Martin DuPre—he’s Senator Holloway’s aide, isn’t he?” Sam Taylor demanded.
“Yes,” Jackson said grimly. “Gabby, please go on. Is he the bishop now?”
“He—he’s just the bishop,” Gabby said.
“Gabby, is he the man you were following the other night?” Angela asked.
She nodded solemnly. “He’s the one,” she said.
Jackson stood up. “We do need to get your family out of here, Mr. Taylor. And I’d like it to be now—not later. I think we’ve been lucky that no attack has been made on Gabby yet, but I believe that the police have been careful, watching the house. I’m going to call Detective Devereaux now and someone in the federal government. We’re going to get you out in a private plane, so there will be no paper trail.
“You heard a young woman scream, and that young woman disappeared,” Jackson said. “Gabby, for your own life, and for the life of your baby, you have to be strong.”
Gabby buried her head against her mother’s shoulder. Ellie looked helplessly at Angela.
Angela looked at Jackson. “Everything is going to be fine,” she told Ellie.
Whitney stretched and yawned, then blinked furiously. She looked over at Will, who was glued to the screens as if he was in a trance.
“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.”
“Nothing at all when Angela isn’t here,” he agreed. “She seems to tap into something.
“And why do you think that is?” Will continued. “For one thing, why would a ghost only appear at night?”
“Maybe they don’t like a lot of activity. Maybe there’s so much commotion during the day, that they don’t really have enough strength to combat all the data coming in. Maybe they do show up during the day, when they get to be good at being ghosts.”
Will looked at her with a dry expression. “If these ghosts have been around for over a hundred years, they ought to be good at being ghosts.”
Whitney shrugged. “We’re still forgetting the power of the individual. Maybe some are just more powerful, just as they were when they were alive.”
“There’s something that we’re not seeing yet.” He shook his head. “Are they illusions? Maybe even shared illusions at times. Or some form of energy left behind. And they’re individuals. Good people, bad people, all kinds of people. But we don’t believe that a ghost killed Regina Holloway, though we do know that ghosts remain in the house. So, a person killed her, but how? And what do the ghosts have to do with it?”
Whitney stood up. “I’m going to take a nap. I’m going to head up to my room and take a nap. I want to be on these screens tonight. All night.”
“That house next door is very convenient,” Will said.
“Yes, but they are separate houses, separate doors, separate walls.”
“True. Still, a great place to disappear—if you need to get out of this place quickly.”
A young man with crew-cut blond hair manned the desk in the small office of the Aryans headquarters and looked them both over when Jenna and Jake entered. The two held hands, and, Jake hoped, they looked like the pure all-American couple.
“Brad Telfur,” he said, shaking hands with them. “I know you. I saw you at the meeting.”
“Yes, it was our first time, right, honey?” Jenna said to Jake.
“Our first time!” Jake agreed eagerly. “We were fascinated. I’m from here, you know. And I want to stay here. Love the city, but…”
“Well, I’m not from here, and I’m thinking there are a few other places we could live,” Jenna said, rolling her eyes. “But…well, when we heard about the meeting, we thought there might be hope. You know, a strength for—for our kind.”
“You have an accent,” Brad said suspiciously to Jenna. “You’re Irish?”
“I have dual citizenship,” Jenna said. “British and American. I’m from Northern Ireland,” she lied.
“You’re not Catholic?” he asked her.
“No, no, white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant,” she assured him.
“Well, good, sit down, please. Are you interested in joining us then? Can you fill out some information for our roster?” he asked them.
“Frankly, first, we’d like to find out a little more about your organization,” Jake told him earnestly.
Telfur indicated seats in front of the desk.
“We don’t do anything unlawful. We support the candidates who can keep control on the various situations in our city. We exercise free speech, and we support the NRA. We’re backed by a huge system throughout the country, really. We hold meetings, and we give speeches, and we try to educate people about the problems caused when we step outside our racial lines. We’re social—look on the walls. Bowling. And over there, a picnic at the park. We have dances, of course, try to get all the young folks meeting all the right kind of other young folks!”
“May I?”
Jenna stood, anxious to look at the photos on the wall.
“Certainly!”
They pretended to enjoy the photos; Jake was stunned that many contained swastikas and other neo-Nazi paraphernalia. But one particular photo of a group at a picnic perplexed him.
He turned to look at Jenna, indicating that she should seize the young man’s attention.
“Um, Mr. Telfur, could you tell me where this is?” Jenna asked, pointing at a shot near a waterfall.
“Well, of course,” he said, striding over to Jenna.
Jake slid his phone from his pocket and quickly took a picture of the picture as they talked.
He turned back, hoping he’d been swift and subtle. Apparently, he had been. Jenna was gushing away about something in the photo she and Telfur were looking at.
“Mr. Telfur, I’m curious. I saw a friend at the meeting. A Mr. Conroy. Has he been with the group long?”
“Conroy?” Telfur looked puzzled. “I don’t know that name. Perhaps he’s a prospective member, too.”
“Well, thanks,” Jake told him. “Honey, we should get going.”
“But aren’t you going to fill out some of the papers?” Telfur asked.
“We need to discuss this between ourselves, but I’m sure we’ll be back. Right, honey?” he asked Jenna, smiling broadly.
“Oh, absolutely,” Jenna said.
He caught her hand, and they left together.
“That was fast!” Jenna said.
“You were enjoying yourself? You wanted to stay longer?” he teased.
She shot him a look that could have killed.
“No, but it was business. Though, I don’t think that the kid working the desk—good old Brad—did know Blake Conroy.”
“No, I don’t think that he did,” Jake agreed.
“So Blake Conroy was telling the truth?” she asked.
“I think.”
“Then?” Jenna asked.
“Blake Conroy was telling the truth. But, I think we do have what we need,” Jake told her. “I think that Gabby gave Angela the information we need to force the truth out into the open.”
Jackson was deeply gratified that the federal and local authorities had managed to coordinate and get Gabby Taylor and her family out of the city.
But after Gabby had sat in the station for an hour, relaying every bit of information she could about the Church of Christ Arisen, Andy Devereaux sat in conference with Jackson and Angela for another hour, debating the course of action that needed to be taken.
“You can get a search warrant, at least. Try to find out what happened to those other girls,” Jackson said.
“And we search the place—and find nothing. Where do we go from there?” Andy asked him wearily.
“I think we have to rattle the cage,” Jackson said.
“Maybe it would be better to rattle it through Senator Holloway,” Andy said.
“What if the senator is involved in some way as well?” Jackson asked.
“Why would the senator be involved with a church that hates him?” Andy said. “Hell, no. He’ll fire DuPre’s ass! Then, maybe, DuPre will get careless.”
Jackson was quiet for a moment. “Remember, the Feds are officially leading this investigation,” he said.
