Robert Wallace lived near Franklin County, off Naff Road. This was a different world from Hugh’s wealthy neighborhood; this was the country—farms and stately manors with a hundred acres of cattle and horses. The drive lasted twenty-five minutes, during which Hugh tried not to hydroplane and I yelled above the downpour thundering on his canvas top. I told him about the Pink Mafia and George Saunders and the printed emails.
He pulled off Naff onto a paved drive marked by twin brick columns. The columns were topped with electric lanterns, and the drive wound up a steep hill and into the trees.
“Robert’s rich,” I said.
“Rob’s very rich. He owns the logging company.”
Robert’s house was a luxury two-story log home, the kind families rented in Aspen for ten grand a week, sprawled across the crest of a broad hill. Wrap around porch, attached four-car garage, majestic view of lightning in all directions. I saw his blue FJ40 in the garage’s first bay—two of the garage doors were up.
“He’s richer than you.”
He almost smiled. “We haven’t compared. But I work hourly.”
“Not many lights on. Robert’s asleep?”
“If he is, we’ll wake him; this is important. But he’s a night owl.”
Hugh parked at the wide flagstone steps and we ran to the double doors and the shelter of the wide front porch. During the intervening three seconds, I gained two pounds of water weight.
At the top of the steps a German Shepherd waited and nearly ripped out our throats. Or would have if he hadn’t been on the other side of the glass double doors. He deemed us unwelcome. The dog barked and fumed, fogging the glass and spraying spittle. Beyond him, through the dark entrance hall, I could see part of the dimly lit kitchen. Hugh tried to soothe Samson (the dog) but progress was not made.
Hugh rang the bell, further enraging the sentry.
Robert did not appear.
He called Robert with his cellphone and shouted over the rain, “Rob! I’m at your front door and Samson won’t let us in.” A pause, a hand over his other ear. “I have Mackenzie August with me.” Another pause. He stepped back and glanced around the porch. “Okay, I see them. Be there in a sec.” He hung up.
“He’s home,” I said. Intelligently.
“Around back, working on furniture in his shop.” He pulled two umbrellas out of a decorative canister. Gave one to me. “This will ruin my Allen Edmonds.”
“Want a piggyback ride?”
“I’ll let you know.”
We walked under the safety of the porch around the south side of the house. The back yard was wide and deep, the grass cut short. An impressive workshop glowed near the tree line, reached by a stone walkway and gravel service road.
Samson followed our progress on the inside, howling as we passed windows.
We hoisted umbrellas and walked the stone path, often through standing puddles.
“Let me do the talking,” said Hugh over the drumming rain on our umbrellas. “He’s not thrilled with you. Then we’ll show him the video.”
I spotted Robert through the shop door’s viewing window. He set down a big chunk of wood and went out the back again.
The forest lit up with flare and shadow as lightning raced overhead.
Hugh yanked open the door and we stepped into the dry, orderly woodworking shop. Robert had a lathe, miter saw, reciprocating saw, big belt sander, planer, shop vac, and other stuff I couldn’t name. In the corner were newly turned legs for furniture, already stained. He came back in and set down another large chunk of tree, still with the bark attached. His arms were bunched with knotty muscle.
“Rain’s gonna ruin my walnut,” he said. “Making a new table for the church’s prayer chapel. Can’t let it get too wet.”
“Rob, I got some bad news for you,” said Hugh.
“This is about Father Louis, isn’t it.” He indicated me with his chin. “That’s why you’re here.”
I nodded.
“It is.”
“Well. I’ll listen. Tell me while you carry walnut.” He went through the back door again. We followed into a partially covered lumber yard. Chunks of wood stacked above our heads against the shop and more in a raised shelter across the sodden grass. He pointed to the dark shelter and picked up a felling ax with wooden handle. “Those big chunks. Don’t lift more than you can handle. I’ll cut them smaller.”
“It’s bad, Rob. And we’ve Father Louis on video. Confessing it, essentially.”
“You got him on video. How about that,” said Robert.
We walked across the grass near a descending staircase with metal rails leading to an underground storage bunker, maybe for more lumber.
I was an ass. Looking back on it, that’s the only conclusion—I was an ass. I let my mind wander. I allowed Hugh to lead and I started thinking about Louis. I trusted Robert, like an ass, and got lulled into the trap. Professional mistake. Enormous fallout.
We passed the staircase and Robert put his big left hand on Hugh and shoved. Shoved hard. Hugh weighed eighty pounds less than Robert, shorter and slim. Hugh flew like a rag doll, not touching down until near the bottom of the concrete staircase. He landed awkwardly on his shoulder. His clavicle snapped in half; Robert and I heard it. His body somersaulted once and collapsed in a heap on the lower landing.
I was entirely caught off guard.
Someone inside the underground storage bunker shouted.
Robert was swinging the ax. It moved with sick ease in his powerful right fist. He aimed at my skull with the flat butt, because the blade would carom off. I got my hands up, mitigating the damage. He connected anyway. Dented the parietal bone above my ear.
Maybe fractured it.
I staggered to my left, near the stairs.
Felt like the universe split in half. A burst of stars.
The lights dimmed.
And I…
…I was being dragged down the concrete steps. I couldn’t hear, but I felt the scraping against my back, and my head dropping over and over.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk…
Vision wouldn’t focus.
But my ears switched back on.
Head hurting…I couldn’t remember why. My eyes ached despite the dark.
I was in…I didn’t know where I was.
Two men sat on a dirty floor across from me. One of the guys, I knew his name but… The guy had thrown up on himself. His shoulder hung at a grotesque angle and he tried to hold it in place.
The other man, I knew his name too…his name was…Louis. Louis was shouting.
Louis was here? Did I know that?
Where was I? What happened to Hugh?
Hugh. That was his name. The hell happened to Hugh? His face was white.
Another guy arrived. Filled the entire doorway, holding an ax and a chunk of wood. He set the wood firmly onto the ground vertically and sat on it like a stool.
Robert. I always liked him.
“Robert!” Louis shouted the word and my head rang. “For God’s sake, get ahold of yourself!”
“I told you, Father Louis,” said Robert in a deep and patient voice. He set the head of the ax on the ground and let the handle rest against his thigh. “Some things in this world are important. And no sacrifice is too great.”
I tried to sit up but my head swam and my stomach lurched.
The move caught Louis’s attention.
“August! I swear I didn’t know. I’m as confused as you are. This isn’t—I didn’t do this. He told me to come over, told me it was an emergency.”
“What…” I said.
“He’s got the kid, he’s got Alec Ward. Right there,” said Louis and he pointed into a dark corner. I looked and saw…something. A lugubrious sack of rags. “You have to believe me now.”
This room smelled awful.
Outside, thunder crashed. Water cascaded in from the stairwell and overflowed a drain.
“You can relax, Father. August is no longer a threat to you. Now that we’re all here,” said Robert and he paused to consider his ax. No longer the venerable guardian on vestry, now the madman with a weapon. A creature of action, finished with debate. “We will have a vestry meeting. With the only people who matter. And you will listen.”
I touched my ear. Then my neck. My fingers returned red with blood. My brain was pressing to escape its skull enclosure.
Robert had hit me with the ax. That’s what happened.
“First things first,” said Robert. “Address the elephant. Father Louis, are you gay?”
“Am I—Robert, these men need help.”
“Are you gay?”
“…No, Robert, I’m not,” he said.
“The issue is settled. Clergy don’t lie. Okay, Hugh? Okay, August? Now let’s move on.”
“Robert,” said Hugh feebly. He wiped his mouth with his uninjured hand. “What are you doing? I don’t…I don’t understand. You hurt me.”
“Robert, Mr. Wallace, my friend, I want you to listen to me.” Louis had a wild frantic face, and I didn’t blame him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the ax, and I couldn’t blame him for that either. Terror took the authority out of his voice. “I need an explanation.”
“Father Louis, quiet now. For the moment.”
“Where—” I said and a wave of nausea washed over me.
“You too, August. Quiet. You talked enough. Father Louis told me you trapped him to get a fake video. He told me you’d come here with the lies.”
“Yes,” said Louis. “I did say that.” He glanced between Robert and me, caught somewhere in the tension of self-preservation and the truth. He still knelt beside Hugh.
“I won’t watch your video, August. I believe you have one. I believe you tricked Father Louis into saying things he wishes he didn’t. What I don’t believe is that those things are the truth.”
“Robert, is Alec Ward alive?” I said.
He flinched. “Yes.”
“Is that—”
Robert made a groaning noise. He closed his eyes and shook his head, like fighting off vertigo. “I didn’t plan…the boy wasn’t— It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I don’t like hurting people.”
“You,” I said. “You took the kid. Not Louis? Why?”
“That’s not,” he said and he opened his eyes. Focused on the dirt. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Is that Alec in the corner? Did you take Jon Young, too? Why’d you kill him?”
Robert gripped the ax handle in both hands. His knuckles turned white. Lifted the head six inches and slammed it on the floor. I felt the impact.
“No more! That doesn’t matter. That wasn’t… We’re here now. You will listen. Listen to how I’m saving the church.”
Louis said, “The church. Yes. You’re right, Mr. Wallace, it is important.”
“Robert, look at Hugh. Look at your friend,” I said. “His shoulder is broken. He needs a physician.”
“I told Hugh not to hire a detective. I told Hugh to leave this alone. Told him a dozen times. He wouldn’t. He deserves a broken shoulder. And more.”
“Why’d you take Alec?” I had a gun. It was pinned beneath my rib cage, inaccessible. I tried sitting up a little more. I had a concussion, I knew. A big one. My fingers were numb. At the moment, if I went for my gun, I’d fumble it. Numb and dizzy. I needed more time, needed to stall and let my faculties return.
He ignored me.
“Father,” said Robert. “I will not allow you to retire. That’s why I called you here. Tonight is perfect. You will find the boy in the river and bring him home, still alive. That way your hands are clean.”
“Find him? In the river?”
“Yes. You’re a shepherd bringing home his sheep. Otherwise I gotta get rid of him soon. Somehow.
“I’m still confused, Mr. Wallace. I’m in shock,” he said. “Why do you have Alec?”
“He did it for you, Louis,” I said. The fog in my head and the unanswered questions aligned for a brief moment like open windows, providing an unobstructed view of the truth. And I understood. “All for you.”
“What do you mean, Inspector, all for me?”
“You’re his hero. You’re worshipped, just like you wanted. You became a god worthy of sacrifice.”
Robert Wallace picked up the ax and placed the head against my chest and pushed.
“You are ignorant of the things that matter, August. I did it for All Saints.”
“For All Saints,” repeated Louis. He licked his lips, sizing up the danger. He recognized the need to kowtow. Play it calm and cool and always agree with the man holding an ax. “That’s worthy and holy work, Mr. Wallace.”
“You clean up a lot of Louis’s messes, don’t you, Robert,” I said. “This is making more sense.”
“My messes?” Louis raised himself up to look down at me. “You’re confused again, Inspector, if you think I arranged any of this.”
“Yes you did. Just didn’t know it.”
“How so?”
“You groom worshippers, sometimes they worship in a way you didn’t expect,” I said.
“The glorified traffic cop fancies himself a pontificating judge,” said Louis. He smiled the mocking smile and moved to physically stand with the man holding the ax.
“Rob.” Hugh spoke again, his voice a croak. His skin was white and sweat poured down his face. “Robbie. I don’t understand what’s going on, but we were wrong about Louis. It’s not too late.”
Robert set the ax on the dirt floor again. He spun it and he nodded at the kid in the corner, who still hadn’t spoken.
“You’re right, Hugh. It’s not too late for the boy. Or for All Saints. Or for Father Louis. This can all go back to the way it was, when everything was good.”
“What about for Jeremy and Nicholas and the others? Too late for them?” I said.
“They are liars.”
“Mr. Wallace, about your plan,” said Louis. He spoke like a man venturing onto thin ice. “I already announced my retirement. Perhaps a better idea—”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“He’s done so much for you, Louis. Time to return the favor,” I said.
“Done so much for me? Mr. Wallace, what does he mean?”
A muscle in Robert’s jaw flexed. He cast his gaze at Louis, standing over him, and looked a little wounded.
“I’ll explain,” I said. I was flexing my fingers, making a fist over and over. The tingling in my fingertips lessened but I still didn’t trust my grip. Nor my aim. “Robert has been tending All Saints forever. And you come along and you’re a godsend. Attendance and tithing explodes, and all is well. Except he keeps hearing rumors of your infidelity. And even worse that you’re gay, which doesn’t jive with his worldview or the history of the church. And then, lo and behold, he hears that you’re spending time with Jon Young, who is openly gay. Something has to be done.”
“Inspector August, how dare you insinuate—”
“I insinuate nothing,” I said, ignoring a headache that flashed as a throbbing light in my vision. “I’m explaining the appearance of a thing. And to you and to Robert, appearance is what matters.”
Robert made another grunting noise.
I said, “And so to protect you and the church and the explosive growth, Robert removed Jon Young from your life. I had to guess, I’d say he didn’t intend on killing Jon. But sometimes the evil we do has a way of spiraling out of control. Surely you understand that, Louis.”
“Even if that’s true, Inspector, I had nothing to do with it. I am innocent. I am not a pedophile.”
“Then, a few weeks ago, Jeremy Cameron came forward with allegations. Exactly what Robert had been trying to prevent for years. But the trouble was, Jeremy is clergy and Robert has a deep regard and reverence for clergy. Robert didn’t dare hurt him, but Jeremy Cameron mentioned that there’s someone else. A source he won’t name. Robert went into panic mode, found out you were mentoring another young man, Alec Ward, and so abducted him. Robert’s a logger; he sees a tree in the way, he cuts it down.”
He picked up the ax again and pushed it against me like a spear.
“The boy is still alive,” said Robert.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“He’s medicated. He’s no worse for wear and he’ll go home. Tonight.”
“Jon Young didn’t,” I said.
He thumped my chest with the ax like a little battering ram, bruising my breastbone, beneath which my heart thundered.
“You screwed up, August. This would have gone away if you’d quit. Everything would go back to normal. But now it can’t. This is your fault.”
“Mine? Not the guy sexually harassing his employees?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, like he did a moment ago. Scalded by his own reflection.
“You were supposed to find Father Louis innocent.”
“He’s not,” I said. “At the minimum, he’s broken every workplace law in half. Not to mention criminal charges.”
“I told you Father Louis didn’t take the boy.”
“Yeah but the truth is worse,” I said.
“Jon Young was…an accident. I didn’t mean what happened.”
“Doesn’t make him less dead.”
Robert ground his teeth.
“Stop saying that.”
“Rob,” said Hugh. He raised his uninjured arm. In his fist he held a cell phone. The hairs on my neck raised. “Last chance, Rob. I know you’ll do the right thing. Don’t make me call the police. It’ll break my heart and break the church. Let’s figure out a way—”
“No Hugh. Drop the phone,” I said. “Now.”
Robert swung his ax in a horizontal slash. It caught Hugh at the wrist. The bit entered at the joint, separating Hugh’s hand from the radius and ulna bones in his forearm. The blade dug into the wall and Hugh’s arm was pinned by the heavy ax. Stuck fast. His hand was nearly severed. But not quite.
Hugh screamed and dropped the phone.
He would have bled to death in minutes if the ax hadn’t pinned his wrist, pinching closed veins and arteries. Only a small trickle of blood escaped down the ax’s cheek.
I went for my gun. The concussion made me clumsy. My vision throbbed. My movements were sluggish. The 1911 Kimber felt too big, too heavy, but I got it out.
Hugh’s arm…pinned…God help us.
Robert kicked me in the face with a steel-toed boot. Caught me in the nose. My nose had been broken before and I recognized the feeling.
A bunker of nightmares.
I kept my grip on the gun. Given another half second I would have shot him. But he moved quick, jerked the pistol free.
I rolled backward and pressed my hand to my face.
Everything hurt. Couldn’t think. Blood came out of my nose and welled in my cheeks beneath my eyes.
Hugh…
In the corner, Alec was whimpering.
“Brought this on yourself, August,” said Robert in a loud voice. He was breathing heavy, eyes wide like his dog Samson’s were. He snatched Hugh’s phone and slid it into his back pocket.
Louis stood at the door, hand at his throat. Face white as his Sunday clerical robes. He wanted to run but didn’t dare anger the armed zealot. Light from the workshop came down the stairs over his shoulder and made my eyes hurt.
“Watch the video, Robert,” I said. My syllables were thick.
“Already told you no,” he said. “This is a good gun, August. 1911. Father Louis, do you have one?”
“Do I have…no, Mr. Wallace, I don’t own guns.”
Robert held the pistol out to him. “Here.”
“No…no thank you.”
“August has blasphemed. He must die.”
Louis rubbed his hands together, leaning against the door frame because he was unsteady.
“You think it’s necessary?”
“I do. Think of it as a sacrifice. Otherwise he’ll spread his deceit and you’ll be defrocked. The nor’easter is the perfect vessel. Maybe even miraculous. They won’t be found for weeks,”
“They?” said Louis.
They—me and Hugh, borne away by the swollen rivers. Robert would get caught. Too much evidence existed. But by then Hugh and I would be dead for weeks.
Louis and I held eye contact a moment—we were dealing with a man off his hinges. Passion and religious fervor made holes in his sanity and logic. But still it was better for Louis to stay in his favor. Pander to the man with an ax.
Hugh’s head fell forward onto his chest. Each breath was a gasp. He closed his eyes and mumbled, “My fault. This…this is my fault. August was…dear God…” And he started whispering prayers.
“Okay,” said Louis and he swallowed. “Okay, I trust you, Mr. Wallace. To do the Lord’s will. I’ll go. I suppose that’s best. You will…handle things here, I believe.”
“I’ll carry the boy to your car.”
“Alec to my car? Why?”
“It’s better if you find him. Tell his parents you found him by the side of the road, maybe. God sent you to him,” said Robert.
“Maybe, Mr. Wallace, you should do that.”
“Has to be you. You’re the priest. It’s better if people trust you, Father.”
“Yes but there is already suspicion that I took him. If I return to the city with him in my car—”
Hugh made a sharp cry and tugged at his arm. His body wasn’t in shock yet. Blood was turning his shirt cuff dark crimson.
“Why are you refusing to help?” said Robert. A hint of frustration in his voice. “It’s better if we’re in this together. A cord not easily broken.”
“He’s not in this with you, Robert,” I said. “Louis’s never been in this with you.”
“Don’t listen to Inspector August, Mr. Wallace. You and I will work together. But it’d be better if you had the boy.”
“Watch the video,” I said.
Robert had my own pistol pointed at me. His finger wasn’t on the trigger. Yet.
“No,” he said. “Stop saying that.”
“But obduracy is my best trait.”
“If you mean stubborn, it’s got you killed, August.”
“Don’t you want to know what Louis said about you, Robert?”
Both of the men standing above me grew still. Only for a second, but maybe the longest second of Louis’s life.
“Mr. Wallace, your idea is a good one. Carry Alec Ward to my car.” Louis said it in a rush.
“They talk about me?” Robert’s eyebrows bunched together. “In the video? It’s full of lies, so I don’t care.”
“Not in the video. In an email.”
“In an email?” said Louis. “Inspector, this desperate and pathetic attempt at self-preservation is beneath you. I’ve never had anything but exemplary things to say about Robert Wallace, the guardian All Saints deserves.”
“Then shut up and let him read it.”
“You do not have access to my emails,” he said.
“Yeah. I do.”
Robert held his hand up for silence. “Where are they? The emails?”
“Mr. Wallace, please. This is the devil’s lie.”
“I want to see them.”
I said, “In my back pocket. Three of them, printed out.”
Louis’s shoulders kinda sagged and his mouth opened, but he couldn’t speak.
“Roll over,” said Robert. “You move funny and I’ll shoot you in the spine.”
I twisted onto my stomach. Blood dripped from my nose into a pool on hard ground. He dug under my rain jacket and came up with the papers, folded in half and creased.
“Mr. Wallace— Robert, listen a moment.” Louis’s words came out weak and landed softly at his feet.
“You have nothing to hide, Father,” said Robert. “Right? So hold your peace a moment.” He moved closer to the door so light fell onto the first page. His eyes scanned and he said, “This is disgusting, August. And there are no names.”
Louis reached for the papers. “Allow me to read the lies first and I will—”
Robert brushed the grasping hand aside. “No.”
“Second page,” I said, still on my stomach.
Hugh whimpered. “My fault. I deserve…my fault.”
Robert shuffled papers. Took a moment to read. Said, “This is an email written to Father Louis, I think. Not from him. And there’s nothing about me.”
“It’s from Nicholas. the clergyman at your church. He’s replying. Read the bottom of that page. It contains Louis’s original email.”
“Why the hell do you have this, Inspector?” said Louis, a man considering stomping me to death.
“The truth matters, Louis. And so does Nicholas.”
Robert read silently—
My dearest Nicholas,
I have to postpone our meeting this morning. Robert Wallace (the obnoxious homophobe on vestry) has requested prayer for his nephew, an asshat addicted to painkillers. I’m afraid I must, because that wrinkled old fool holds surprising sway over the church. He thinks All Saints is special because of him, and sometimes these petty fantasies must be coddled.
But afterwards, my young friend, I will call…
Robert flipped the paper over but Louis hadn’t printed anymore of that particular email. His flat gaze shifted to Louis, who backed against the doorframe again.
“Petty fantasy?” His voice rumbled like the thunder outside.
“Lies. August typed it.”
“This is dated three years ago,” said Robert. He tapped the timestamp with a thick finger. “We prayed for my nephew Darrell. I don’t remember the exact date…but this is close. How would August know that?”
“Mr. Wallace, he has clouded your mind. You must trust me.”
Robert flipped to the third and final page. I thought I heard teeth grinding. He read only a little and said, “You write like this to other men?”
“Of course not.”
“But you’re married. So is Nicholas. And you said… You said…” Robert lowered his arms. The papers fell into the mud at his feet. “I don’t understand, Father.”
“No. You don’t. But I will explain.”
Poor Hugh, pinned against the wall, made a whimpering sound. He whispered, “He’s lying to you, Robbie. I see it now.”
“Give me the video, August.”
“No!” said Louis. “It’s lies!”
Robert grabbed a fistful of Louis’s shirt and hauled him deeper into the dungeon.
“Stay here, Father. Stay here…Louis. This wrinkled old homophobe wants to see the video.”
From my place prone on the floor, I held up my iPhone. The video was cued.
Robert snatched it. Returned to his wooden stool, sat, and pressed play.
“Mr. Wallace, please—”
“Quiet!” His shout sounded like a gunshot.
The video played. Four and a half minutes of it, while Louis fidgeted. Robert sat still during and after. Dangerously still, and he gripped my pistol on top of his thigh. He opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, and played the video again; he held the screen close, like looking for tampering evidence, but not too close or he couldn’t make out details. The video ended. Using the hand holding my pistol he scratched at the stubble on his jaw and chin for a while. For a long while. Five minutes maybe. For Hugh and Louis, I bet it felt like a lifetime.
Finally he said, “I can’t tell.”
Louis cleared his throat. “Mr. Wallace, listen to your clergy. Listen to—”
“I can’t see anything. Need my glasses.”
He stood and limped out, stiff from sitting.
Slammed the door behind him, leaving us in darkness.