“What came true? What did he promise you? Was it Hank, or someone else?”
Artie shook his head. He was silent for a long moment. Then he blurted, “I’m not a Hank...an anybody. I never had...girls don’t... And then there was a woman. I... Love is life. Being with someone, that’s part of love. On my own...when I vowed to help Hank... I didn’t know... I mean, I didn’t know that it meant killing. I wasn’t there before... I knew, yeah, Hank was there, that he helped. He said it was beautiful, that the heavens opened to take the girl’s soul...the one they called Lady Liberty.”
“Artie, Lady Liberty...she was the young woman on the cross?”
He started sobbing again. “She...yes. She was...with me. She came to me at night. Then Hank told me she had been chosen. That she was so lucky. She would face the pain and the sacrifice that would allow her to soar up and sit on the highest clouds and know nothing but love and grace and happiness for eternity. And now I...now I will burn!” he whispered.
Amy snapped at him firmly then. “Artie, that is bull—pure, simple bull! That girl died in agony, and it was cruel and brutal and horrible. And she didn’t die for any reason—there is no divine human being, no Divine Leader. Hank fed you a total crock of bull!”
Hunter wondered at her logic—suddenly becoming so fierce and firm when she had been so sweet.
But she might have pulled it off just right.
“Really? Do you think—”
“Artie, you were brainwashed. It might be hard for you to see it, but you were brainwashed! And you’re young. You’re a handsome boy. There will be a girl out there, sometime. You know in your heart that killing is wrong! Think of the Ten Commandments. Thou shall not kill!”
Artie started to sob again.
“You didn’t kill anyone yet, Artie. That’s what you told me. You said Hank was there, though. At least for the young woman on the cross, the woman you called Lady Liberty. Artie, do you know who was there with him? Did this ‘Divine Leader’ take part?”
“He leads us in the way of righteousness. We listen, and we obey, because he is the Divine Leader.”
“Artie, that’s all over. There is no Divine Leader. There is a man out there telling you things, preying on your weaknesses, convincing you that you will have both earthly desires and a cloud in heaven. But, Artie, it’s all lies. So, help us—help us stop the horror of killing. Do you need pictures of Lady Liberty on the autopsy table? I’m sure we can get them to you.”
“No, no, they couldn’t have...they said she would rise, know happiness forever, that she would be loved and live in grace...”
“Artie, no. They murdered her, brutally.”
He began to cry again.
Hunter glanced back; Amy had set an arm around Artie’s shoulders.
“Artie, we need to know—please help us! We need to know who else was there when she was killed. Who killed the woman we found today?”
“Hank and the Brothers from the north.”
“Hank was the only one you know who was involved?”
“I know Hank was there. He told me he saw her soul rise to heaven, that he saw her laughing. The great Brothers, apostles of the Divine Leader, came, and they commanded he needed to witness.”
“Why weren’t you invited?” Amy asked him.
“I am too raw, too new. Only deep believers, accepted believers, those who wear the sign of the Divine Leader, can take part.”
Hunter briefly caught Amy’s gaze through the rearview mirror.
She was going to stop for the moment, he knew. Artie was far too weepy to make any more sense. He’d be held overnight, and then they’d start in the morning.
An agent was waiting for them at the entrance to the facilities in Miami.
The agent took custody of Artie and studied them as he gave Hunter a set of keys. “It’s not far from here, in Coconut Grove. It’s our house for times such as this. Stocked with everything you’ll need. You two sure as hell look like you could use some sleep.” He grimaced. “Sorry. You know what I mean. Get some rest. We’ll see this young man is safe and looked after.”
Amy told him, “Thank you.”
“Thank you. I understand we’re working tightly on this one with FDLE and members of the local forces around the state. Hell of a case, from what I’ve read, from the briefings we’ve been given. And a big state to cover, so it seems.”
They both thanked him and headed back for the car. Hunter knew exactly where the little house was—down the street from a police station.
Hunter unlocked the door and followed the alarm instructions on the key chain. Amy entered and looked around.
It was an old place for the area, a small but charming Mediterranean house with a barrel-tile roof, probably built in the late 1920s or early 1930s. There was a large living room with a handsome mantel carved out of coral rock. A dining room led to a nice-size kitchen, and a hallway led to bedrooms to the left of the entry.
“The bedrooms are down that way,” Hunter advised her.
She smiled at him. “Cool. I’ll take the first room.”
She paused, looking at him.
It was just a moment.
It struck Hunter that it was probably a good thing for them both that they were keeling over with exhaustion. Because he looked back at her. Her eyes appeared almost luminescent in the sparse light falling on them from the hallway.
The way she stood enhanced the sleek length and beautiful grace of her body, and even hinted at the curves that lurked beneath.
He thought of her hands, the length of her fingers.
The way she spoke, the way she moved.
In that minute, he imagined...the two them, simply dropping everything, and him sweeping her off her feet into an embrace...
She gave him a crooked smile. The moment broke. He wasn’t sure if he turned, or if she turned. Or if maybe, just maybe, she had envisioned the same thing, and the fact of who they were and why they were together swept in. Just his imagination, of course. All in his head.
And yet, in that moment, he wondered if they hadn’t shared their thoughts, as they sometimes seemed to do...
She headed down the hall. He heard the bedroom door close.
Despite the fact that the house was an FBI holding and had a top-notch alarm system, Hunter still checked the back door that led out from the kitchen, and then the front door again.
He was beyond exhausted, and he still feared he wouldn’t sleep.
He told himself he’d be thinking over the events of the day, thinking about the brand that had been seared into the flesh of the dead women, thinking about the horror of the half-consumed corpse that had been the center of the day.