Katie said, “He hasn’t contacted either of you for help?”

“Oh no,” Elsbeth said. “Why would he do that? Surely he must know that Reverend McCamy wouldn’t help him. Why, he’s a devout man of God. He feels deep pain at the actions of sinners.”

Sherlock said, “All right, Mrs. McCamy. I can certainly understand wanting to help a brother just as I can understand a sister not wanting to help the police find him.”

“Oh no! Lying is a sin. I wouldn’t do that, ever. Just ask Reverend McCamy. I don’t ever lie.”

Reverend Sooner McCamy said, “I assure you, my wife doesn’t lie. Now, Agent Sherlock, Clancy hasn’t called either of us. If he’s guilty of kidnapping that little boy, both Elsbeth and I hope that you catch him and send him back to prison.”

Sherlock said, “If he wouldn’t call you, Mrs. McCamy, then do you have any idea whom he might contact? Does he have any friends close by? Family?”

Elsbeth shook her head. “Clancy doesn’t know anyone in these parts.”

Except you, Sherlock thought. Only you.

“How do you think he knew about Bleaker’s cabin?”

“I don’t know, Katie.”

Katie said, “Thank you for speaking with us. If Clancy does contact you, Elsbeth, if he does ask you to hide him, if he does ask you for money, I hope you will call me immediately. You heard, I know, that his partner, Beau Jones, died last night.”

“We heard that you shot him, Katie,” Reverend McCamy said. “You killed him.”

Sherlock heard the cold disapproval in his voice, no chance of missing it. Why?

“Hurting a man, actually killing a man, it’s very bad,” Elsbeth said, clearly distressed.

Katie said, “There wasn’t a choice, Elsbeth. He would have killed someone else if I hadn’t stopped him. Now it’s Clancy who’s in danger. There’s a huge manhunt going on right now for him, as I’m sure both of you know. I really don’t see this ending well for Clancy if you don’t help us find him.”

Elsbeth said, her voice shaking, nearly on the verge of tears, “I’m sorry, Katie. I don’t have any idea where Clancy could be. I don’t understand why he would kidnap a little boy and bring him here to Jessborough.”

Sherlock said, “Obviously Bleaker’s cabin is a good out-of-the-way place to store a kidnap victim. But it has to be more than that. Most likely someone locally wanted Sam Kettering brought here.”

Katie said, “It’s all quite a mystery. There was no ransom note left, no calls made in the two days he was gone from his home in Virginia.”

Sherlock said, “Do you have any idea at all why your brother would bring Sam here, Mrs. McCamy? Other than to use Bleaker’s cabin?”

Elsbeth looked from Katie to Sherlock. Then she said to her husband, “Reverend McCamy, you know that I know nothing about any of this. Could you make them believe me, please?”

“Well, the thing is, Elsbeth,” Katie said before the reverend could jump in, although, truth be told, he didn’t look like he was even very interested. No, fact was, he looked like he wasn’t really here. “You’re the only one Clancy knows in the area. Someone also reported seeing a man who looked like him near your house. I think that’s enough to have a judge issue a warrant to search your house, unless, of course, you give us permission to look around right now?”

Sherlock saw that Reverend McCamy was back, all of his focus, all of his brain was back in the living room, and he knew he had a problem. He stood, looking like an avenging prophet. “You may not search my house, Agent, Sheriff. Get your godless warrant, but I really doubt you’ll be able to talk a judge into it.” Of course, he realized that any search would turn up his party room, and the good Lord knew that would never do.

Their chances were about nil for getting a warrant and the good reverend knew it.

For just an instant, Katie was reminded of Carlo Silvestri, her ex-husband, standing there all arrogant and righteous, just like Reverend McCamy, looking at her like she wasn’t worthy to polish his shoes.

“You mean,” Katie said, rising as well, “that Benson Carlysle won’t grant a warrant. His brother’s a member of your church, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He’s a good man, a fair man. He and his wife are devout members. His brother won’t allow you to harass my wife and me just because someone thought he saw her brother near here.”

Elsbeth said, every muscle tensed, desperate to convince them, “Even if Clancy was here, hiding, naturally, he’s certainly not here now, and we knew nothing about it in any case. He’s got to know that I can’t have anything to do with him.”

“I see,” Sherlock said, and rose to stand beside Katie.

Reverend McCamy said, “Good day, Agent Sherlock, Sheriff Benedict. You do not believe what I believe. You do not behave as women should behave. I would like you to leave. I don’t want my wife tainted with your presence, your suspicions, your lack of grace. However, if Clancy does contact Elsbeth, rest assured that I will call you.”

Katie dug a card out of her shirt pocket and gave it to Elsbeth. “Good. Understand, Elsbeth, if Clancy does call you, you might be able to save his life. If he doesn’t turn himself in he probably won’t survive. You don’t want him dead.”

Elsbeth’s eyes filled with tears, beautiful sparkling tears. She began to moan and rock back and forth on her chair. “Of course I don’t want him dead. It’s a sin to want somebody dead. And he’s my brother.”

Katie fanned her hands in front of her, so impatient she snapped out, “Elsbeth, I’m not planning on gunning for Clancy at high noon, but I’ll do what I have to do to bring him in. Now, thank you for the coffee. Remember, the chances of Clancy living through this decrease by the minute.”

Sherlock and Katie walked themselves to the door, Elsbeth’s sobs echoing behind them. Sherlock couldn’t help herself. She turned a moment to see Reverend Sooner McCamy standing in the middle of the light-filled living room, a portrait in black and white, his face impassive, his dark eyes burning.

Sherlock said to Katie as she started up her truck, “He never asked who it was claiming to see Clancy near his house.”

“No, he didn’t, did he?”

H e’s Rasputin.”

Savich had popped a pain pill ten minutes before so he was easily able to smile at his wife.

“Yes, but what did you really think?”

“He’s scary.”

“In what way?”

“He’s not quite here. It’s like he’s into an inner self where there’s only his God and what he owes his God and what he can do to get other people to worship his God. The thing is, I’m not sure he includes women or if it’s just men’s souls that interest him.”

Savich said, “An otherworldly sexist. He sounds too preoccupied with himself to be a kidnapper.”

“Yeah, you’re right, he does. But I haven’t heard much condemnation about his ideas out of you yet.”

“Hmm.”

“Why don’t you yell and holler that it isn’t fair, that you denounce it, that you spit upon such notions?”

“It’s not fair,” Savich said. “I can’t spit because it would hurt my back. This guy sounds very strange, sweetheart.”

“Yes, he is. He’s very intense, as I said, like Rasputin or, more to the point, some descendant of Rasputin. Now, since Katie and I didn’t have a warrant, we just sort of wandered around outside their big Victorian house, which is really quite beautiful, and would you just look at what fell out of a window.”

“Fell out of a window? Yes, if I close my eyes I can see it falling right at your feet. Come on, what have you got?”

Sherlock tossed him a vial and told him about the hidden room off the small bedroom closet.

He read the label. Salvation. He blinked, unscrewed the top and sniffed the liquid, which had a faint almond scent. “Sex with a religious theme? Are you planning on drinking this, Sherlock? Have things gotten this bad?”