“Yeah. Kind of a scandal about her marrying what her friends called a foreigner. But from what I hear about Lou, he's a nice guy.”

  “He is. The flap was about religion. Lou's Catholic, Ginny's Baptist. This is big Baptist country, and never the faiths shall mix, and all that crap.”

  “Anyway, neither of them care for Howard Jordan. Seems that Ginny dated Howard once. Just once.”

  “Yeah. That happened while I was in the army. But I heard about it when I got back. I told you about Howard.”

  “It wasn't rape, but it was awfully close. That cost Howard's father a bundle. Both Lou and Ginny told me quite a bit about Howard and his, ah, extracurricular activities.”

  “That are still going on.”

  “Oh, my, yes. Joe, they told me Howard, they thought, is having incestuous relations with both of his daughters.”

  “He is, and with anyone else's daughter or wife he can get his hands on. Howard is a lowlife bastard but big money has kept him out of the slammer for years.”

  “Anyway, Ginny was invited to join that Club of the Elite back in high school. She went to one meeting, didn't like what she saw, and left. Never attended another.”

  “And… ?” Joe prodded patiently.

  “Ginny says the Evans twins were invited to a meeting of that club. They talked about it at school. The very next weekend, they disappeared.”

  “That was twenty-six years ago this June. The twins were thirteen, according to school records, those that I could find, that is. That would make Paul thirty-nine.”

  “If he's alive.”

  “He's alive,” Joe said, certainty in his voice. “And he's here.”

  “You!” Joy gasped through her pain and tears. “All these years it was you!”

  “Did you enjoy seeing my sister suffer that night, Mrs. Pike?” The man grinned down at her. “Did you enjoy listening to her cries for help?”

  “We were all drunk!” Joy screamed. The floor was cold against her nakedness. Her flesh ached from the beating she had received. “Drunk! What happened was an accident. You've got to believe me. Please! For the love of God.”

  “Liar!” he screamed, swinging the heavy belt, laughing as the studded leather smashed her flesh, again and again.

  Joy Grotin Pike huddled on the dirty floor, crying.

  He left her for a moment, her face pressed against the floor. She was praying.

  She looked up from her bruising beating. She screamed at the sight of him, naked above her.

  “No!” she wailed. “Oh, my God— nooo!”

  “Maybe it's not the same man,” Erica said, nauseated at the sight of Joy Grotin Pike on the table.

  “The MO is the same,” Joe said. “Yeah, it's the same dude.” Just wanted a mother to experience the pain of virgin rape, he thought.

  “This guy is one heavy hung dude,” Charlie Perkins observed.

  “What a marvelous expression,” Erica noted.

  Doc Williams snorted. “We've got a real pervert on our hands, people. There is no evidence of semen, so I can only assume the rapist used a dildo, of mammoth proportions.”

  “Either that, or she was raped by a great ape,” Charlie said.

  “I can do without your feeble attempts at humor, young man,” Doc Williams glared at him.

  Screwed her to death, Joe thought. “Cause of death?”

  “Same as the others,” the ME said. “But she would have bled to death, anyway. The damage was extensive.”

  “But why a dildo on her and not on the others?” Charlie asked.

  Joe and Erica exchanged glances with Doc Williams. The three offered no answer to Charlie's question, but all felt they knew why.

  “How many times was she assaulted?” Erica asked.

  “My dear,” Williams grimaced, “there is no way I can answer that. But taking into consideration the condition of her body, I would have to say many, many times.”

  “Perhaps,” Perkins conjectured, attempting to regain Doc Williams's favor, “the rapist is compensating for his lack of ability and bulk by using a dildo?”

  “Perhaps.” Williams was noncommittal. Again, he exchanged glances with Joe and Erica.

  “How close are we to capture of this nut?” the voice came from behind them. Sheriff Roberts.

  “I think we're getting closer,” Joe said.

  “How close?” the sheriff demanded.

  “Not close enough,” Joe admitted.

  “Three rape murders in less than four days.” Roberts shook his head. “The same MO in all of them. The national press is gonna be crawling all over us in a few days if this keeps up. I'm under pressure, Joe— from the bigwigs in this town—so I'm setting up a task force.”

  “All they'll do is muddy the waters, T. L.,” Joe said. “Give Erica and me a few more days on this.”

  “Hear me out. I was about to say that you and Detective Johansen work separately from the task force. Let them do the leg work You two stay with your snooping. It's this way or nothing. I've got heat on me.”

  He looked worried. Joe nodded. “How's Henry taking this?”

  “Rough. He's outside now, with Reverend Banning. Henry wants to see his wife again.”

  “I would strongly advise against that,” Doc Williams said. “He went to pieces making the ID.”

  “It's his wife, Doc,” Roberts said. Then he plopped his cowboy hat on his head and left.

  “You know,” Perkins said, “this rapist is no dummy. With tourist season just getting under way, this area is full of strangers. You think he planned it that way?”

  I think he's been planning this for years, Joe thought. Waiting for the girls to grow up. “I don't know,” he replied. “Maybe. Who knows the mind of a psycho?”

  Henry Pike walked unsteadily into the room, helped along by his minister, Reverend Phil Banning. A tall, heavily muscled man, Reverend Banning attempted to tend to the needs of his jaded flock, many of whom were from the Hill Section.

  Henry seemed almost unaware of the police and the doctors, his eyes fixed on the now sheet-covered coolness of his wife. “Let me see her,” he whispered.

  “Henry, please,” Reverend Banning said.

  “Wait 'til later, Henry,” Doc Williams urged.

  He was waved away by the grieving husband. “I want to see her, Doc.”

  Williams shrugged, then drew back the sheet, exposing the face of Joy Grotin Pike. Any farther and the husband would have seen the crisscrossings of autopsy.

  Henry looked at her battered face, then fainted, falling almost soundlessly to the tile floor.

  While Henry was being attended to in the emergency room of the hospital, Joe and Erica talked in a reception area with Reverend Banning, Father Cary, the Catholic priest, and a woman Joe detested—Debbie Harkins, a close friend of Joy Pike. She left the group to see to Henry (it was common knowledge she was having an affair with him, as well as with Howard Jordan), and Joe was glad to see her go.

  “I've advised all my people to keep a close watch on their children,” Phil Banning said. “And to please cease all these graduation parties immediately. Father Cary has done the same.”

  “And… ?” Erica asked.

  “I don't believe we succeeded,” Father Cary replied in his soft voice. He glanced at Phil. “We have spoken with Dick Ballard of the Baptist church, and he concurs, of course, as do all the other ministers we've contacted.” He sighed. “But kids being kids, and all that…” He shrugged.

  “So the parties will continue?” Joe questioned bitterly.

  “I believe they shall,” Phil said. “We can only advise, Lieutenant Davis, not command.”

  “Joe.” Erica touched his arm. “I wonder if the city fathers of Denton and Red Bay would consider a curfew?”

  “Excellent suggestion,” Phil said, and the priest nodded his head in agreement.

  “Not unless the situation worsens,” Doc Williams said, walking up to join the group. “I don't have to tell you—any of you—about today's parents or their offspring. Parents today are wishy-washy, and the kids would rebel at a curfew—especially these spoiled brats in this area.”

  “And sneak around and have their parties in secret.” Erica agreed with the ME.

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “I think our best bet— short of any curfew—is to talk with the parents. For whatever good that will do.”

  Doc Williams snorted derisively. “If today's parents had an ounce of gumption in them, we wouldn't have the dope and moral problems we all have to cope with. When I was a boy we could buy all sorts of powerful drugs, some of them right across the counter at any apothecary shop. But we didn't. Wanna know why? Because our fathers would have kicked the shit out of us, that's why! You would all be amazed at what wonders a good smack across the mouth can bring. You people, these communities, have a large problem with this nut running around. But don't expect much help from the parents—they're afraid of their own children. I wish you all a lot of luck.” He stalked down the glaringly lighted corridor.

  “Not a very optimistic man,” Phil opined, his eyes on the doctor's retreating back.

  “I guess he's seen a lot of tragedy in his time,” Erica mused. “A lot of useless deaths.”

  “And he's gonna see a lot more before we catch this screwball that's running around,” Joe said.

  Neither saw the look in Father Cary's eyes.

  PAUL

  I can detect a tremble of fear beginning to race through the community, Judy. But I don't believe those responsible for your death have put it all together yet. I don't believe they realize I've returned.

  Be careful, Paul. Don't get caught before you complete what you returned to do.

  I wont.

  Sunday passed quietly, much to everyone's relief, especially those in the law enforcement field. Doc Williams released the bodies of Ruth Jordan and Barbara Hartman for burial. It was a double funeral. The funeral of Joy Grotin Pike would be held Tuesday.

  Monday afternoon, just after the funerals, a small package arrived at the home of Howard and Sissy Jordan.

  Sissy's screaming brought her husband on the run. He had not yet returned to his office, and their only surviving child was at the home of a friend.

  His wife was alternating between incoherent babbling and wild screaming. She stood pointing at the box.

  Inside was a newspaper picture of Judy Evans.

  Blood Oath

  Three

  Seven o'clock. Monday evening.

  “Joe!” Erica's voice rang in his ear when he stilled the ringing of the phone. “Big doings at the Jordan house. Must be a dozen cars parked there.”

  “Senior party?”

  “No. All the kids are at a heavily guarded dance tonight, at the Stagg home on the lake.”

  “Can you pick me up in ten minutes?”

  “On my way.”

  She picked him up in her Nissan 200SX, equipped with a police band radio and CB. “I was restless after I got off work,” she said, rolling away from the curb, "so I decided to take a drive. I drove east, past the Hill Section, and I noticed all those cars pulling in. I parked down the road, in the parking area of that closed-down little grocery, and started counting cars. They're all there, Joe.

  Every member of the old Club of the Elite. All except Henry Pike."

  “Something's popping.” He stuck a cigarette between his lips and began his searching for a light. “Maybe they've finally made the connection?”

  “Something else, and I don't know if it's connected.”

  He looked at her. The cigarette dangled between his lips; he had left his matches at home, in his other jacket.

  “Father Cary's been driving past, up and down, back and forth. Kind of aimlessly.”

  “That is odd.” Joe was silent for a time, noticing she handled the sports car skillfully, smoothly. “Paul Evans was a small boy,” he said, almost to himself. “Had some sort of ailment as a child. Rheumatic fever, I think it was. May have stunted his growth.”

  “Father Cary is a small man.”

  “I heard that. You got any matches on you?”

  “No. And I jimmied the lighter so it won't work.”

  “Thanks a bunch,” he muttered, sticking the cigarette back in his pocket. “Paul would be about thirty-nine now. We'll run a make on Father Cary after we check out the Jordan house.”

  “I called DMV just before I called you. Father Cary is thirty-nine.”

  “Well, now.” Joe smiled. “I'll make a detective out of you yet.”

  She smiled, thinking: I'd be happy if you just made me. Then she blushed at her erotic thoughts. She said, “Let's run a check on everybody that's moved into this area during the past five years—if we can, that is.”

  He whistled. “Big job. But we can give it a whirl.”

  She was suddenly depressed. “But we don't even know if Paul, or whatever name he's using, even lives around here. Maybe he just blew in.”

  “We have to start somewhere, babe.”

  Babe? Her depression vanished.

  “I can think of a half-dozen suspects right off the bat,” Joe said. “That's what I was doing when you called. Putting some names on paper. David Hicks, the new English teacher at Red Bay. Gene Taylor, the mechanic at the Olds place. He's been in trouble before. James Smith, the insurance agent at Wallace Insurance. Hal Risten over at Neal's Bar. Martin Sterling, the assistant manager at Patton's Department Store. Chris Northcutt, that weird ass artist who lives up in the hills just north of town.” He grimaced. “If what he paints can be called art.”

  She laughed at him. “It's modern art.”

  “It stinks,” was his reply. “I wouldn't hang that crap in an outhouse.”

  She shook her head, grinning. “So we've got a big job ahead of us.”

  “I heard that. Here we are. Damn! Look at the cars. The clan has indeed gathered.”

  “I'd love to go in there.”

  “That's exactly what we're going to do.”

  “You're kidding. We just can't barge in a private home.”

  He smiled. “You just watch and follow my lead.”

  “Evening, Mr. Jordan,” Joe said as the front door was pulled open.

  “Uh, what are you…” He noticed Erica, his eyes traveling up and down her body. She felt as though she were being undressed by his eyes. She was. “… and your friend doing here?”

  “We saw someone run around the cars parked out front. Looked like he was carrying something. Hubcaps, maybe. Thought we'd check it out. That is, if you want us to.”

  “Ah… why certainly, Joe. All sorts of thieves running around these days.”

  “We'll give you a report as soon as we're finished. Shouldn't take long.”

  “Fine.” He shut the door in their faces.

  Walking through the curving drive, among the many parked cars, Erica said, “He looked flustered. Upset.”

  “I noticed. Was it my imagination, or did I hear someone crying in the house?”

  “I heard it. A woman. I don't like that man.”

  His laugh was bitter and short, a human bark in the night. “Join the club. Howard's a prick!”

  “Why do you dislike him so?”

  “He's arrogant, and he didn't work for what he has. That's two of many reasons.”

  “Tell me the rest of the reasons sometime?”

  “Sure.”

  The pair walked the grounds, flashlights in their hands, then once again knocked on the door of the mansion.

  Howard's face was flushed. Whether from anger, excitement, or fear, the cops did not know, but he was upset.

  “It's all clear, Mr. Jordan,” Joe said. “I can't find anything missing from the cars. Sorry to have bothered you tonight.”

  “That's quite all right, I'm just glad our sheriff's department is so observant. Good night.” He shut the door in their faces.

  “Arrogant ass!” Erica said, driving down the long blacktop drive and onto the street.

  “Among other things,” Joe said.

  “Is he on to us?” Debbie Harkins asked. Her husband, Peter, had his head practically stuck in a brandy bottle, well on his way to becoming plastered and eventually passing out, as was his habit every evening.

  “I don't know,” Howard replied. “But I do know he'd just love to hang us with something. Father should have had him run out of town years ago.”

  “Be that as it may,” Vic Woten observed, “we certainly can't go to the police with any of our suspicions. We've got to handle this ourselves, and do it quietly. And quickly. The question is, how?”

  “I just can't believe that Paul is still alive,” Linda Lewis said as she gnawed at her fingernails. She glared at Howard. “You said you killed him that night. We took a blood oath, and you said you killed him!”

  “Goddamn you!” Howard raged at her. “You all saw me hit him with that club. He can't be alive! I bashed his head in and threw him in an empty boxcar. The whole side of his head was caved in. I couldn't find a pulse, a heartbeat, breathing—nothing! He was dead.” He poured a snifter of brandy, drank it, and calmed himself. "No, this isn't Paul. This is someone who merely suspects. A cheap blackmail plan, I'll wager.

  Might even be Joe Davis. It would be like him. He hates us all."

  “What do we do, Howard?” Louise Rick asked.

  “Nothing. Keep calm. Don't get hysterical like my wife did this afternoon.”

  Debbie's eyes were hot on him as she asked, “How is Sissy?”

  “Asleep. I gave her a large sedative. She'll be all right, I assure you.” He glanced at Peter, who was nodding off in an easy chair. For a quick second, Debbie caught Howard's eyes, smiling. He said, “Just stay calm and go about your business. If anything else occurs… well, we'll just have to play it by ear. Right now, let's break up this meeting before that snoopy little janitor's son returns.”

  The remaining sons and daughters and spouses of the Elite Eleven filed out. No one said anything about Peter asleep in the chair, passed out, or that Debbie was staying. Most had their little affairs, and everyone in the group knew who was sleeping with whom.

  Peter snored drunkenly in his chair, a bit of spittle oozing from the corner of his mouth. Debbie rose as the last car pulled away from the mansion. She walked to Howard, slipping her arms around him, pressing against him.