As they let themselves out the back door, Katie said, “Whatever I saw in that window, I guess it wasn’t Clancy. I was just hoping for a sign of him, anything.”

“I know. I wonder what you did see.”

Katie shrugged. “Thanks for breaking the law with me, Sherlock.”

“No problem. Let’s just keep it between the two of us.”

They were back in Katie’s truck and in the McCamy driveway a good ten minutes before they saw Sooner and his wife drive up in their white Lincoln Town Car.

Sherlock said, “You’ll note that the car’s white, not black.”

“These people,” Katie said slowly, “aren’t exactly your garden-variety preacher and spouse.”

“You’re right about that. Savich isn’t going to believe this.”

“I hope he doesn’t laugh so hard he bursts his stitches. Okay, you up for a chat with Reverend McCamy and his sex slave?”

S herlock was fully prepared to greet Rasputin. She wasn’t far off, except that Rasputin had been ill-kempt with long black matted hair, and evidently didn’t bathe often. Reverend Sooner McCamy was dark, those eyes of his nearly black, as a matter of fact. He was charming, if on the aloof side, and that was a surprise to Sherlock. He made eye contact, shook her hand firmly. He was courteous, offering coffee and some cheesecake his wife had made that morning, before church. But somehow he just didn’t seem to be quite all there with them. He was away somewhere, in his head. And what was he thinking? He had a smooth deep voice-charismatic, that voice, it compelled you to listen. It was hypnotic, almost, and after hearing him speak for a few minutes, Sherlock understood his power over people.

This man appeared to have boiled himself down to the very essence of what a man of God should be. He frightened her for the simple reason that she could imagine some people hanging on his every word, maybe doing things they wouldn’t normally do. Or maybe he gave them permission to do things they shouldn’t want to do. Did disobedient wives listen to that voice and jump back on the straight and narrow?

Or was she over the top here? Sherlock didn’t know. But he sure didn’t seem like a man who would open any of those vials and apply the contents to either his wife or himself. He didn’t look like a man who would whip his wife with one of those riding crops with their beautifully braided handles. If he was a Rasputin, if he was evil on the inside, he kept it hidden real deep. Sherlock had to remind herself that there were more layers to people than you could ever guess.

As for his looks, she could only say that if one believed in a handsome Satan, then Reverend McCamy would fit the bill. His black hair was a bit on the long side, a bit curly, and he had a heavy growth of beard, noticeable in the early afternoon.

He looked like a monk whose thoughts were so different from hers that they weren’t even in the same world. He was in his fifties, but there was no white in his hair. Did he dye it? She didn’t think so. He was slender, but that was all she could tell about his body. He was wearing a black suit, a very white shirt, and a black tie. He had good teeth, straight and white.

Elsbeth was very pretty, just as Katie had told her, and that hair of hers was glorious. Thick, rich natural blond, in loose waves down her back. She was wearing her Jesus earrings, as Katie called them. When she walked the crosses swung. She was tall and slender, but big-breasted. What made alarm bells go off for Sherlock was that the woman seemed to look at her husband as if he were a god. She looked like she’d jump up onto that marble slab and offer her wrists and ankles for the cuffs, and yell as loud as he wished when he applied a whip. Sherlock couldn’t help wondering how she used that block of wood with one side padded with thick fur.

“I’ve heard that you’ve had some excitement, Sheriff. The little boy who was kidnapped, you rescued him?”

“Yes,” Katie said as she sipped on Elsbeth’s delicious coffee. “He’s just fine now. How were morning services, Reverend McCamy?”

He said nothing, merely nodded, obviously pleased with how the morning services had gone. He took a cup of coffee from his wife, not looking away from Katie. Elsbeth said, barely above a whisper, “Two new parishioners found God this morning. Two.”

Not by so much as a flick of his eyelids did Reverend McCamy acknowledge his wife’s words. He then turned his attention to Sherlock. “I’ve never met an FBI agent before, Agent Sherlock. Why are you here?” He kept his eyes on Sherlock now, all his attention focused on her. When Sherlock purposefully nodded toward Elsbeth, he said, “You asked how services went this morning, Katie. I was pleased and gratified. I’d been counseling this couple for three weeks now. With encouragement and the endless love and understanding of God, they have found their way. By God’s grace, they gave their souls to Him this morning.”

He sipped his coffee. He looked out of place in this lovely living room with its human beings drinking coffee. Rasputin, Sherlock thought, he was a twenty-first-century Rasputin.

“Now, Agent Sherlock, Katie,” Reverend McCamy said, “tell me why you’re here. How may I help you?”

“Actually,” Katie said, smiling toward Elsbeth, who was sitting demurely, her knees pressed together, her face utterly beautiful in the light shining in on her from the tall front windows, her Jesus earrings still and shiny, “we’re here because of Elsbeth.”

Elsbeth McCamy flinched, and the dreamy look fell right off her face. Just an instant, so fast Katie wasn’t certain she’d even seen it. Fear. Her fingers fluttered. “Me? I don’t understand, Katie. What could I possibly know that would help you? Surely, Reverend McCamy-”

Katie pulled out a fax with Clancy’s photo. “Is this your brother, Elsbeth?”

Elsbeth shook her head, back and forth, sending the Jesus earrings dancing.

“Is he, Elsbeth?”

“Yes,” she said, “that’s Clancy. But I don’t understand-”

“We’ve just found out this morning that one of the kidnappers is your brother, Elsbeth-Clancy Bird, now Clancy Edens. We found out he legally changed his name when he was younger. If you have any idea where he is, please tell us.”

Elsbeth didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t betray anything at all. She seemed to be waiting for Reverend McCamy to speak.

And he did. He took the photo from Katie and studied it. He nodded. “No one in Jessborough knows that Elsbeth is cursed with such a worthless brother,” Reverend McCamy said. “Naturally she hasn’t seen him in years now.”

Katie said, “That’s too bad. We hoped you’d heard from him. He’s badly hurt. He could die if we don’t find him quickly.”

“My husband is right, I haven’t seen my brother in a very long time, Katie. I know he turned away from God when he was young, but he was always a support to me when I was a little girl.”

“He protected you from your father?”

Elsbeth only nodded, looking down at her shoes. “He was a very bad man. Clancy protected me as best as he could. It was so many years ago.” She raised pale blue eyes to Sherlock’s face and touched her fingertips to a Jesus earring.

Sherlock said, “When did you last see Clancy?”

“He’d just been released from one of his stays in prison, some six years ago, I think. Naturally he was back in prison for something else after that. When I heard there were two men, one of them named Clancy, I never thought it could be my brother. Are you certain he kidnapped that little boy, Katie?”

Katie nodded. “Yes. We are certain that your brother and a man named Beau Jones kidnapped Sam Kettering and brought him here. They kept him in Bleaker’s cabin until the boy managed to escape.”

Elsbeth’s eyes dropped to her hands, now even more tightly clasped in her lap. “I heard about it, of course. Everyone in the congregation was talking about it. We stopped at the pharmacy this morning and Alice Hewett couldn’t talk of anything else, particularly since she’d sold that other man some bandages.”