The Devil, the Witch and the Whore (The Deal Book 1) Read online

  “There's more,” he continues, stepping past me and heading back out to the hallway. “You probably don't want to see it, but it might link this case to what happened to the Canes ten years ago.”

  “I'll be there in a moment,” I reply.

  He stops in the doorway. “Are you -”

  “Just go check the other rooms,” I continue, irritated by his refusal to leave me alone. “Go!”

  Clearly a little startled, he nevertheless turns and hurries out, and I take the opportunity to sit on the edge of the bed and rest for a moment. I guess maybe my sickness is starting to bring me down, because suddenly I feel more exhausted than I ever imagined was possible. It's as if all the energy suddenly drained from my body, and I swear my legs are so weak that I think I might collapse if I even try to stand. If this is a sign of things to come, and of how I'm going to start deteriorating, it's going to get harder and harder to hide my condition from everyone else. That's assuming they're not gossiping behind my back already.

  Still, I've got no choice.

  “You said the boy was in the closet, right?” Hinch calls through to me.

  “That's right,” I reply, still not able to summon enough energy to stand. My hands are shaking, too. “Why?”

  “I think you should come see this.”

  “Can't you just describe it to me?” I ask, leaning forward as I feel a fresh wave of pain and nausea in my belly. “I'm kinda busy in here.”

  “I don't know how to describe it,” he replies. “To be honest, I'm not even sure what I'm looking at.”

  Realizing that I can't stay sitting here all day, I somehow manage to haul myself to my feet. Despite feeling a little dizzy and light-headed, I make my way slowly out through the doorway and past the top of the stairs, until I reach the room where we found little Liam all those years ago. Hinch has the closet door open, and I immediately realize it's the exact same closet that was here back in the day. Before I can ask what's wrong, however, I see that there's a pile of sticks and rocks at the bottom of the closet, in the exact same spot where Liam was hiding when I found him. It's almost as if somebody has tried to build a little nest.

  “Is it me,” Hinch says, tilting his head slightly, “or are they supposed to be in the shape of a little boy?”

  I head over to join him, and now I can see what he means. The sticks and rocks aren't random at all. Instead, they've been piled and tied together so that they form a crude life-size model of a child. He's even hunched and leaning to one side, in an approximation of the way Liam was sitting when we found him. There aren't many people who'd know a detail like that, but Liam Cane is one of them.

  “I think maybe,” Hinch says after a moment, “you should double-check that this Liam Cane kid is still locked away at that institution.”

  I stare at the pile of sticks and rocks for a few more seconds, before turning to him. “I think maybe you're right.”

  Thirty-Two

  Deputy James Kopperud

  10 years ago

  “He's not going to have moved very far!” Buddy shouts as we make our way through the dark forest. “I know Mikey Cane, he's never been more than five miles from Deal in his entire life. He'll stick to places he knows, and that means it'll be easy to find him but hard to bring him down. The feral little bastard has home advantage!”

  “Is there any news about Gary?” I ask, even though I know we'd have been told if word had come through.

  “Stay focused, Kopperud,” Buddy says firmly. “Gary Doyle is in the best possible hands. Follow the search pattern I laid out just now, and let's get this son-of-a-bitch Mikey Cane before he can hurt anyone else. He's already put one of my deputies in the hospital and I don't intend to let him do that again. If you see him, don't give him a chance. Shoot first, ask questions later.”

  “But -”

  “And stop asking so many questions. Focus on the task at hand.”

  As we continue to make our way through the forest, keeping our flashlights off so as to not announce our presence too far in advance, we start getting further and further from one another. Buddy's convinced that Mikey Cane is going to be somewhere nearby, and I figure Buddy's best-placed to make that call. Still, once I'm about twenty feet from the others, I can't help feeling as if I'm very much out in the open, and that Mikey could strike at any moment.

  Everyone else seems so calm and professional. It's almost as if I'm the only one who's terrified.

  Hearing a voice in the distance, I turn and see Buddy silhouetted against a patch of moonlight. He's talking to someone on his phone, although he cuts the call pretty quickly. I want to call out, to ask him if there's any news, but I know I should keep quiet. Besides, deep down, I think he blames me for what happened to Gary. He thinks I should have been more aware of Mikey in the room behind us, and I guess he's right.

  I dropped the ball. If Gary dies, it's my fault.

  For the next few minutes, I make my way through the undergrowth. I can still see Buddy in the distance, and I guess that means that he in turn can see the other deputies. The plan is to flush Mikey out and force him to make his move, and then we should be able to get him down pretty fast. I've never shot a man before; in fact, until tonight, I'd never even shot at a man before, and no-one had ever tried to shoot me. We've been told to shoot first and ask questions later, however, and I guess that's our best option. After all, Mikey's armed, and he could fire at us from the darkness at any moment.

  I shouldn't be scared.

  I'm a deputy, I should be brave. But I'm not brave, I'm terrified.

  For a few seconds, I actually consider turning back, or going to join the others, before finally I figure that I have to keep going. With my gun raised, I step through the undergrowth, trying to ignore my own cowardice and focusing instead on the task at hand. I need to put more trust in Buddy. Buddy's my boss, and he knows this area like the back of his hand. If Buddy says this is what we have to do, then -

  Suddenly I hear a brief cracking sound, as if someone moved in the darkness nearby. I freeze, waiting to hear the sound again before I decide whether or not to call for back-up, but now the forest has fallen silent again. If I raise a false alarm, I'll just end up wasting everyone's time, so I stay quiet for a few more seconds before edging forward. I guess there are plenty of things out here that could cause one brief, isolated sound, and it's also possible that I imagined the entire thing.

  I glance over my shoulder, and then I stop again as I realize I can't see Buddy. That shouldn't matter, but -

  “Don't make a sound!” a voice hisses suddenly, as I'm grabbed from behind and a hand clamps tight over my mouth.

  I try to fight back, but he cracks my hand against a tree and I drop my gun, and then he slams me forward, knocking the top of my head against the trunk. Adjusting his grip over my mouth, he pulls me back and a moment later I feel his hot breath against my right ear. I try to wriggle free, but he's holding me way too tight.

  “If you make a noise,” he continues, keeping his voice low, “this knife will go straight into your throat. I'll carve all the way to the bone!”

  To prove his point, he drags the serrated edge of a blade across the side of my neck, pressing just hard enough for the metal to drag a little.

  “This is what happens when you interfere with private family business,” he adds. “You all should've ignored Mom's call. Dodderidge is our farm, so it's private what goes on up there! I thought she had the marker, that's all! I had to be sure, but that's my business, not yours!”

  He pauses, as if he's trying to decide whether or not to cut my throat, and then suddenly he pulls me back and shoves me to the ground.

  I land hard, letting out a gasp of pain, and a moment later he shoves his boot against my throat and presses hard. I try to push him off, but he puts a finger to his lips, reminding me to stay quiet. In the moonlight, I can just about make out his features, and there's a hint of insanity in his eyes.

  A moment later, he crouches down and holds the knife up
, letting me see the large blade.

  “Just think how much damage this'd cause,” he mutters, marveling at the weapon as he holds it toward my face. “Now, you can call out if you really want. I can't stop you, not properly. So you can absolutely call out, you can holler and scream, and those other deputies'd come and catch me. But they wouldn't get here in time. How long'd it take 'em? Thirty seconds, if they really ran? How many times do you think I could drive this into your face in thirty seconds, huh? Thirty? Maybe more.”

  Staring at him, I realize he's serious.

  “Thirty seconds,” he continues with a grin. “I reckon I could stab your face twice a second, so that'd be sixty times. Maybe I could do it three times a second, though, which'd make a whole lot more. Hell, I almost feel like giving it a try anyway, just to test myself.”

  I want to reason with him, to explain why he has to put the knife down, but my heart is racing and all I can think about is Emma and Ramsey back at home. Please God, I just -

  Suddenly he smashes the knife's handle against the side of my face, damn near cracking my cheek. I turn away and let out a gasp, and I instinctively raise my arms to cover my head in case he strikes again.

  Instead, he starts laughing under his breath.

  “I thought you deputies were supposed to be brave,” he mutters, sounding amused by my fear. “I saw you back there in the house, my friend, and you were terrified. You froze. You were the one at the top of the stairs. Yeah, I saw you. I got your friend good, but I missed your ugly face and then you missed me in return. I saw the fear in your eyes back in the farmhouse, and I see it now. You might be wearing the uniform, but you don't really look like a deputy, not to me. What's up? New on the job?”

  I stare at him, too scared to say anything in case I accidentally provoke him.

  “What if I cut you?” he continues, suddenly pressing the blade against my belly. “Can you imagine how much it'd hurt if I just sliced straight through here and carved a big smile from kidney to kidney? Can you imagine the agonizing, crippling pain if I dug this blade deep into your belly and let the metal edge rip nick-by-nick into your intestines, unhooking all your guts from each other? You deserve that kinda pain, my friend. What happened back at the house was a private family dispute, and you had no right to interfere. When Mom made that call to your office, you all shoulda just left it well alone instead of coming storming out there.”

  “She -”

  “It was private!” he hisses, pressing the blade harder against my belly, as if he means to slice through at any moment. “Private means private. Sometimes a family just has to sort its business out in private, without other people poking their messy beaks in! It'd all be over by now if you hadn't shown up!”

  “I'm sorry,” I stammer, “you're right. Please, I'm so sorry...”

  “You're sorry?”

  I nod frantically.

  “Huh.” He stares at me for a moment. “You're shaking, too. I've seen you in town. I don't know your name, but I know you've got a pretty wife and a beautiful little kid. Seeing as how you've interfered with my family, maybe it's only right for me to go and interfere with yours.”

  “Leave them alone!” I hiss, suddenly filled with panic. “Please -”

  “Why should I?” he sneers, leaning closer. “I know I'm not gonna get out of this. I'm going to take a bullet sooner or later, but I might as well try to set things right before I do. I'll start by silencing your wife, 'cause she'll be the one who might raise an alarm. Besides, she'll stay warm enough for a while, so I can get back to her. And then I'll go to work on the kid. She's smaller, so she'll lose her body heat faster. I guess I should deal with her while she's still alive, before she goes cold. How old is she, anyway? Six? Seven? Maybe eight? That's old enough for all her -”

  “Stop!” I shout, lunging at him, pushing him against the forest floor and landing on top of him. I reach down, desperately trying to find the knife so I can knock it from his hand, but in a moment of panic I realize it could be anywhere.

  Mikey laughs, clearly seeing the panic in my eyes.

  “Looking for this?” he asks after a moment, somehow slipping the knife right in front of my face. “Good. Keep trying!”

  Before I can react, he slices the blade at me, cutting my cheek. I pull back and he starts getting up, but then I slam my elbow into his face and send him thudding back down against the ground. Reaching for his right hand, I force the knife from his grip and turn it around, holding the blade up so that this time its ragged edge is just millimeters from his face.

  “Do it!” he gasps, suddenly sounding desperate and fearful. “It took you long enough, weakling! For a moment there, I thought there was nothing I could say to make you fight back! I tried doing it myself, I tried cutting my own wrists, but I'm a coward. You're a coward too, I can see it in your eyes, but please... Just kill me! It's all I want! It's the only way to stop the thoughts!”

  “You're under arrest,” I stammer, “for -”

  “Kill me!” he screams, his eyes almost bulging from his skull. “Kill me now! Get it over with!”

  “No, I -”

  Grabbing my wrist, he tries forcing my hand closer, as if he wants me to cut his throat.

  “Mikey Cane,” I continue, trying to remember my training, “you're under arrest for -”

  “Kill me!” he shouts again, twisting my wrist as he starts dragging the knife across his flesh. The pressure isn't quite strong enough to cut him, not yet. “What the hell are you waiting for? I can't get away from the thoughts, so you have to kill me! They'll find me in jail, I know they will!”

  “Who will?” I ask, struggling to keep the knife from digging deeper.

  “I saw the devil,” he continues, his voice reduced to a strangled gurgle now as a thick vein pulses on his forehead. He pulls harder on my wrist, finally managing to dig the knife across his voice-box. A trickle of blood runs from the wound. “I went down there, under the forest, and I saw the devil! I saw the witch, too! The witch is all contained, trapped in wooden poles so she can't do anything! And the devil's there too, and he makes deals! He's scared of the whore! He offered me something, but in return I had to work for him! I thought I could do it!”

  “What are you talking about?” I stammer, before realizing that this is just part of his madness. “Mikey Cane, you're under -”

  “I saw the witch in her prison of wood!” he groans. “I was chased by the devil, but I had protection!”

  I open my mouth to ask what he means, before spotting something on his hand. Looking down, I see that there's some kind of circular symbol cut into his flesh, heavily scarred with a series of lines cutting across the circle's edge.

  “They're down there!” he continues, suddenly jerking the knife deeper and wider across his throat, causing blood to start spraying out against my uniform. “They just need the whore! Don't you get it? They need the whore, so they can -”

  Suddenly a blast rings out, and the left side of Mikey's head explodes in a shower of blood and bone. Letting out a startled cry, I drop the knife and fall back, scampering away from his body until I spot a familiar silhouette stepping closer between two nearby trees.

  “He was overpowering you,” Buddy says, staring at the corpse for a moment longer before holstering his gun. With the tip of his right boot, he turns Mikey's body over, and then he spits on the boy's face. “He was about to kill you, James. He was babbling like a lunatic.”

  “But I -”

  “You heard the man,” he continues, eyeing me with a hint of suspicion. “He wanted to die. And I saved your life, so really, what's there to fuss about? Now if you ask me, you oughta just be thankful and get right up from down there. A deputy shouldn't be cowering like that. Not one of my deputies, anyway.”

  He reaches a hand out to help me, and I slowly get to my feet.

  “What's done is done,” Buddy adds firmly. “Him dying was the right outcome. Doesn't matter one jot how it came about. Justice is justice. Now let's get the hell out
of this forest while we still can.”

  Thirty-Three

  Sheriff James Kopperud

  Today

  “We've got somebody watching Dodderidge Farm,” I explain, as I point at a spot on the map, “just in case the person returns. They might already be aware that we've found their little den, but they might not. If we're lucky, whoever it is will walk straight back through that door and into the hands of two deputies.”

  “What about the cabin?” Lewis asks.

  “We don't have any prints so far,” I reply, “but we're still hoping for some traces once the main report comes in. That'll be this afternoon, but for now we're focusing on the idea that there was some kind of major struggle that resulted in all the damage. Quite how that fits into the rest of the timeline, I'm not sure yet.”

  “What about the dog?”

  I turn to Hinch.

  “Well, how'd the dog end up trapped in there?” he asks.

  “Gust of wind?” Lewis suggests.

  I turn to him.

  “The door was left open,” he continues, “the dog wandered in later, a gust of wind caused it swing shut, and then the dog was stuck.”

  “Not a bad theory,” Hinch suggests.

  “That's not our primary focus right now,” I tell them, figuring that I need to keep their minds on the task at hand. “What I need you to do is -”

  Flinching slightly, I feel a sudden flutter of pain in my gut, but it passes quickly enough. I swear, it's as if something ripped through my flesh and started digging deep into my abdomen.

  “Are you okay?” Hinch whispers, keeping his voice low.

  “I'm fine,” I continue, pointing to another spot on the map. “Our current theory is that whatever happened, it began at the farm and then it moved to the cabin. Why that's the case, I'm not sure, but there are tire marks to support the idea. Which means we're looking for someone who's mobile, someone who's driving some kind of truck. It'd have to be a fairly heavy vehicle, based on the tracks.”