“You don’t recall seeing her? Speaking with her?” Kane asked.
Moses Wright shook his head.
“Did anything seem to be bothering her lately?” Kane asked.
“As I told you, we weren’t close. And Faith is a very private young woman. If there was something troubling her, she was perfectly capable of keeping it from me.”
“So you have nothing useful to tell me about her disappearance?”
“I’m afraid not. She wouldn’t have come to me, and if she had, I wouldn’t help her leave. I’d counsel her to stay, and open her heart to the Lord. Just as I counsel you to open your heart to the Lord.”
“But not to stay, eh? I thank you for your advice, Elder Moses Wright, but the Lord and I are going to have to work things out on our own.”
He took the pictures out of the manila envelope and laid them in front of the old man.
“Tell me what you know about these people,” he said.
Moses Wright looked at the first photo.
“This man is in league with the devil,” he said with surprising heat. “He has been a plague on this area since he arrived.”
“When was that?” Kane asked.
The old man thought for a moment.
“It was some years after we came here,” he said. “Five or six, I think.”
He was quiet again, then said, “Yes, he arrived within a few years of us, bringing with him all we sought to escape. Only the intervention of the Lord saved us. ‘Though I walk in trouble, thou wilt revive me.’ I believe he has made way for his offspring now. The boy—I suppose he is a man now—would be as evil as his father, but he doesn’t have the character.”
“Character?” Kane said. “That’s an odd word to use in this context.”
The old man looked at him, the ghost of a smile chasing across his lips.
“Real evil, like real goodness, requires real character, Mr. Kane,” he said. “Satan could not be the demon he is without character enough to prevent him from begging God for forgiveness. Pride and stubbornness are as much a part of character as kindness and loyalty. It is all a matter of how God allows them to mix in us.”
He slid the photo across the desk.
“The modern world wants to see character as a pure good,” he said, “but like everything given by God, it is a two-edged sword.”
The old man looked down at the second photograph.
“That’s me,” he said, “taken some time ago. Why would you have this photograph?”
Kane said nothing. The old man looked at him, waiting. When he realized the detective was not going to reply, he gave a little shrug, slid the picture across to Kane, and looked at the third photograph. He gave a start and leaned closer to it. He held that pose for so long Kane thought he might have fallen asleep. Or had a heart attack.
“Elder Wright?” Kane said at last. “Are you all right?”
The old man raised his head and stared at Kane. His face was pale and something not quite sane danced in his eyes.
“How dare you?” he said, his voice low but forceful. “How dare you show me this woman’s picture? Get out.”
Kane reached across the desk and tried to slide the picture over to himself. The old man resisted. Kane pried the picture loose and retrieved it, using plenty of muscle.
“I’m sorry if I’ve made you angry,” he said, “but if I’m to find your granddaughter, I have to follow all leads.”
He smoothed the wrinkles out of the photograph and put it, along with the others, back into the envelope. The Lord might armor his children in righteousness, Kane thought, but the old man’s armor had a hell of a chink in it.
Wright had his hands on the desk, and they were working like he was trying to strangle someone.
“What would you know about righteous anger?” he asked. “What would you know about being made a laughingstock among people who respected you, among your followers?”
His voice was louder now, like he was preaching a sermon, and spittle flew from his lips as he spoke.
“What would you know about the damage she did to the Lord’s work here?” he said, his voice rising and falling in a preacher’s cadence, and at a preacher’s volume. “Let me tell you about this woman. She was Lot’s wife.”
The old man’s eyes were unfocused, staring into a place Kane could not see. Even as he watched the man rant, Kane couldn’t help admiring his performance. With that look and that voice, he could have gone far, the detective thought.
“Jesus said: ‘Remember Lot’s wife.’ Like Lot and his family, we were a small band fleeing the evils of the world. ‘And it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad, that he said, Escape for thy life; look not behind thee. . . . But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.’
“That woman came with us where God directed, but she looked back at the sin and wickedness of the world and fell back into the pit.”
The old man smote the desk with his fist. People in the hallway paused to look toward the noise but, with the restraint of people in small communities, passed on without inquiring into its cause.
“You mean she died?” Kane asked.
The old man’s eyes refocused on Kane.
“Died?” he said in a normal tone. “What makes you think she died?”
“Well, being turned into a pillar of salt can’t be good for you. Or falling into a pit.”
“She died to us, as all those who abandon God’s word die, even in life,” the old man said. Then, more softly, “Margaret left here, a long time ago, and no one has heard a word from her since. She left her lawful husband and her small child and returned to the evil, doomed cities of the plains.”
“You have no idea where she went?”
“None. But why are you interested? All this happened long before Faith was born.”
“So it did. What happened after Margaret Anderson left?”
The old man sank back down into his chair.
“Nothing happened,” he said, “nothing but a lot of loose talk. I hear some of it again now, renewed by Faith’s departure. Nasty whispers: ‘Those Wrights can’t seem to hold on to their women. Do you suppose there’s something wrong with them?’ ”
“Is there?” Kane asked.
The old man waved an angry hand at him and picked up his Bible again.
“This interview is finished,” he said.
Kane stood there looking at the old man’s strong, veined hands clutching the book that hid his face.
“We’ll leave this here for now,” Kane said, “but I’d encourage you to reflect on the fact that your granddaughter is missing, and that your obligation is to help find her. Not to protect your pride. You were quoting Isaiah to the elders just the other day. You should think about that yourself.”
“I don’t need the counsel of an unbeliever,” the old man rapped from behind his Bible. “Begone. Speak to me no more.”
Kane left the room. He felt happy.
I wonder what it is about upsetting that old man that makes me happy, he thought. That’s got to be a sin of some sort. But then, is it better to be a happy sinner than an unhappy Angel?
9
Let no man despise thy youth; but be thou an example of the believers,
in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.
1 TIMOTHY 4:12
KANE LOOKED INTO THE CAFETERIA. THE LUNCH CROWD had thinned out, but one table was still lined with teenagers carrying on like teenagers. He walked over to them.
“Do you mind if I sit?” he asked what seemed to be their leader, a strong-jawed, dark-haired youth.
“Please do,” the young man said, getting to his feet. “Make room,” he said, and the other teens shifted down. “I’m Matthew Pinchon. You must be the man who is looking for Faith.” That brought a titter from some of his cohorts.
Kane shook the young man’s hand. They both sat.
“I am looking for Faith Wright,” Kane said. “I suppose you all know her?”
There were nods around the table.
“Do any of you know where she is?” Kane asked.
Head shakes. Silence. Then, “Faith is in the world,” said a thin, dark-haired girl of fifteen or sixteen.
“Pardon?” Kane said.
“Oh, that’s just Rebecca,” the young man said. “She decided about a year ago to become all soulful and mysterious.”
“I did not, Matthew Pinchon,” the girl said. “You know very well that Faith transferred to the regional high school because she was fed up with Rejoice, tired of the same old people and the same old things.”
“Who doesn’t get tired of the same old people and things sometimes?” the young man said. “But none of us runs away. I don’t think Faith did, either.”
“That’s because you’ve always liked her,” the girl said. The statement—it sounded like an accusation to Kane—brought color to the young man’s cheeks.
“This is hardly proper behavior, Rebecca Lewis,” he snapped, “especially in front of an outsider.”
“You’re not an elder yet, Matthew Pinchon,” the girl said, “so you can just stop trying to act like one.”
“She’s right,” said another girl, this one with short, brown hair and about the young man’s age. “And if Faith wasn’t going to go out in the world, why was she hanging around Johnny Starship all the time?”
“She was hanging around with Johnny Starship?” Kane asked.
The sound of his voice reminded the teenagers that there was a stranger present, an adult at that.
“We shouldn’t be gossiping like this,” the young man said, looking around the table, and they all clammed up. Both girls began spooning up soup, and the young man took a bite of a sandwich. The other teens, most of whom looked to be a little younger, watched the older ones, their gazes sliding every so often over to Kane, then sliding away again. I suppose they don’t have much practice dealing with outsiders, Kane thought, and they’re learning from this.
Silence reigned for a few minutes as the teens finished their lunches. When the young man swallowed the last of his sandwich, Kane asked, “What’s the name of the woman who runs the food service?”
“What?” the young man asked, confused. “The food service? Why do you want to know that?”
“Is everyone in Rejoice this paranoid?” Kane said.
The girl called Rebecca laughed.
“Some here are,” she said, “but Matthew isn’t being paranoid, really. The woman who runs the food service is his mother.”
“Stepmother,” the young man snapped.
Damn, Kane thought. Married.
“Okay,” he said. “I certainly didn’t mean any offense to your stepmother. I talked a little bit with her earlier and just needed her name for my notes.”
“Her name is Ruth Hunt,” the young man said.
“Thanks,” he said. He took his notebook out of his pocket and wrote the name in it.
“Do married women keep their own names here in Rejoice?” he asked.
“Only this one,” the young man said in a tone that made it clear he did not approve.
Kane let the topic die.
“Are you really a detective?” the brown-haired girl asked after a few moments. “Have you really apprehended criminals?”
“Yes, I am, and yes, I have,” Kane said, grinning at the girl, “although I don’t think I ever heard what we did referred to so elegantly inside the police station.”
“The world must truly be an evil place,” the girl said, “to require detectives and prisons and such.”
There was an embarrassed silence, which told Kane that even the children in Rejoice had heard he’d been in prison.
Rebecca broke the silence.
“You’ve been listening to Foaming Moses too much, Judith,” she said.
“Rebecca!” Matthew Pinchon said loudly.
It was Kane’s turn to laugh.
“I take it Foaming Moses is Elder Wright,” he said.
Rebecca blushed.
“I really shouldn’t speak so disrespectfully,” she said, “but all us kids call him that. Some of the adults, too.”
“Then not everyone is religious here?” Kane asked.
“Some of us are more religious than others,” the young man said, shooting a look at Rebecca. “Those of us who have accepted Jesus Christ as our personal savior have no doubts about Elder Wright’s interpretation of God’s will.”
“But others do?” Kane asked. “Did Faith share those doubts?”
Judith opened her mouth, but closed it without saying anything.
“Look,” Kane said, “Faith might not have left of her own free will. She might be in trouble. You aren’t helping her by keeping quiet.”
The teens looked at one another. The looks passed a message among them, but Kane couldn’t tell what it was. If he’d been a teenager from outside Rejoice, dealing with such a tight-knit group would have been a problem. And Kane was long past being a teenager.
“We’ve talked about this quite a bit among ourselves, as you might imagine,” Matthew Pinchon said. “None of us can explain the situation. If Faith was planning to leave on her own, no one knew about it. If she was in some sort of trouble, no one knew about it.”
“People often know more than they know they know,” Kane said with a smile. The teens smiled back. “But I’ve never had much luck finding out what they know by talking to them in groups. Do your schedules allow you to speak with me individually?”
The teens looked at one another again.
“Mine does,” Rebecca said.
“So does mine,” said Judith.
“I guess mine does, too,” Matthew said. “We would have to be fast, though, because our basketball teams are leaving later this afternoon for games in Anchorage, and we’re all on them.”
So Kane commandeered a small room off the community hall and talked to the teens one at a time, beginning with Pinchon.
“There was a time when Faith and I were much closer,” the young man said when he was seated next to Kane on a padded folding chair. He had his legs thrust out in front of him, crossed at the ankles and his hands folded across his belt. “I had hopes that we would be closer still. We were born only ten months apart, and for as long as I can remember everyone, all of the adults, treated us like we were a couple. I guess I started to believe it, too.”