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Roscoe, NY
It turned out there was no Black Mountain police department. In fact, the nearest law enforcement agency of any kind was in Wilkes Barre, about twenty miles away, and it was a Pennsylvania State Police Barracks. The desk sergeant on duty was Roger Vogel, and he answered my call on the first ring.
I explained that I was investigating a murder in my jurisdiction and that the cause of death had been determined to be strychnine poisoning.
“No shit!” exclaimed the officer. “That’s a new one on me.”
I explained that I had read an article in the Binghamton Press about a man being bitten by a snake and dying from a heart attack over in Black Mountain, along with the fact that he had been a member of a Pentecostal church that practiced snake handling. The sergeant said he was familiar with the story, but he didn’t know anything about the church itself.
“I’m thinking there might be a connection between that death and our murder over here in Roscoe,” I said.
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, I read in a book recently that some of these churches not only handle poisonous snakes, but drink strychnine as well.”
“And you want to know whether they drink strychnine at that church in Black Mountain, right?”
“Right.”
“What’d you say the name of the church was?”
“I didn’t. But, it’s the Devoted Church of Jesus With Signs Following. Are you familiar with it?”
“Nah,” replied the officer, “but that’s no surprise. This is Bum Fuck, USA. Every two-bit town has at least three churches in it. Some of them have only ten or fifteen members. Anyway, I’m afraid I can’t help you on this one,” replied officer Vogel. “We don’t have much to do with those folks over in Black Mountain. But I’ll tell you what I can do for you. I can check with some of the boys here, see if they know anything, and get back to you. Would that be okay?”
It wasn’t the answer I’d hoped for, but what could I say?
“Sure,” I replied. “That’d be fine. I’d really appreciate it.”
I gave him my phone number and hung up.
I called information and asked for the phone number of the Devoted Church of Jesus With Signs Following in Black Mountain, Pennsylvania. I wasn’t too surprised to find that there was no such listing.
“Well, thanks, anyway,” I said to the operator.
I placed the receiver back into the cradle of the phone.
“Nancy,” I shouted, “I think I’m going to take a ride over to Pennsy. Check out that church in Black Mountain.”
“What time will you be back?” shouted my secretary from her office.
Rather than continue the shouting match, I tiptoed down the hall from my office to hers as quietly as I could. The door was open and Nancy was sitting with her back to me. I crept up behind her and whispered in her right ear, “It’s about two and a half hours each way, so I probably won’t be back until dinnertime.”
She jumped straight up and the top of her head crashed into my chin, causing me to bite my tongue.
“Oh, Matt,” she cried. “I’m so sorry. You startled me. Are you okay?”
Exaggerating my injury and affecting a lisp, I replied in a pained voice, “That’th awright, it therves me right for thneaking up on you. I thould be okay with a couple of thtitches.”
Nancy rolled her eyes.
“Men,” she sighed. “You’re all just little boys at heart.”
As I started for the exit door, I called over my shoulder, “Would you give Val a call and tell her I’ll be late?”
Before she could answer, I quickly dashed outside into the parking lot, and as I did a blast of rainwater hit me in the face.
Jesus, it’s still coming down, I thought. Will it never end?