Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (classic literature list .txt) 📗

she had gone out on her own. No cops, no doctors, no priests. She could not afford to let her rules slip if she was going to get out of here and back ahead of the nightmares.

Maureen ran back to her apartment as fast as she could. She dashed up the steps, retrieved her key from its hiding place, and got inside, shutting the world outside with the slam of the door.

She went into the bathroom to wash her face. As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, the dark bags under her eyes reminded her that she had forgotten to buy some concealer. No point in that now, she thought sullenly. Just throw on the push-up bra, and not a single one of those drunk bastards will even bother to look at my face. With that notion in mind, she quickly splashed her face, dried it, and threw the towel on the ground.

There was only one thing she wanted to do now: shut off everything for a while. Maureen stalked across her apartment to her nightstand and ripped open the drawer. She grabbed the pill bottle and tipped one of the pink tablets into her mouth and swallowed, set her alarm to two, and flopped down on her sheetless bed with her knees tucked to her chest. She had her plan decided. She would let the pill help her sleep until the alarm went off, finish tonight’s shift, and disappear.

By this time tomorrow, she’d be on a bus to anywhere else. By this time tomorrow, she wouldn’t be Maureen Allen anymore.

SIX

Manny slouched on his bar stool, staring at his mug of beer and running over the day in his mind. He’d wandered into Anderson’s and ordered his drink nearly an hour ago and had yet to take more than three sips. The honey-blonde bartender looked familiar, but he couldn’t be sure, and he wasn’t in the mood to begin speculation. If he had less on his mind, he might have been able to place her, but he was focused on other things at the moment.

During the interview, Mr. and Mrs. Lowes hadn’t displayed any odd behavior, and both of them had readily agreed to a DNA swab. The samples were at the county crime lab now, and he’d have the comparison results to that vomit sample, along with the rest of the report, in the morning. He wouldn’t have the report long, however, before he’d have to pass it along. This was what was weighing on him.

That afternoon, as he had been poring over the Lowes’ personal information, Captain Wellner called him into his office. He knew the minute he saw Sheriff Taughten in the office that something was going to be shaken up in the investigation. And it was, in the manner that he had feared most.

“Detective Benitez,” Captain Wellner had begun, using the formal tone he always did when he had to deliver some bad news. “Please have a seat.”

Manny had declined to sit, and the sheriff took over the conversation.

“Manny,” he said, “we know that you’ll do your best in the investigation, but we think we’re going to need some help on this one.”

“Okay,” he said, knowing what was coming.

“We’re going to need the FBI’s resources to handle the DNA evidence,” the sheriff went on, “and we just think that due to the sensitivity of the case, and its heinous nature, it’s best to bring in folks with more experience in handling these types of situations.”

“Are you pulling me from the case?” he asked harshly, not wanting to be put on the sidelines.

“You’re the only detective in the department,” Captain Wellner broke in. “We know that you’re going to be an asset on this one. We’ve agreed that the department will offer support to the Feds, and you’ll be our primary representative. Your ongoing investigation will come under their jurisdiction, and you’ll be reporting directly to the agents that they send down. They’ll be here within the next twenty-four hours.”

“So do I have to stand down until my babysitters get here?” It just slipped out. Manny would have given a year’s pay to take it back, but he just couldn’t control his frustration. He knew the involvement of the Feds would relegate him to nothing more than an errand boy.

“Benitez, son,” the sheriff scolded, “I think you’d do well to bite that tongue of yours when the Feds get here. Cooperate. Make sure you look like you know what you’re doing. That way, we’ll all get along a lot better and get those boys out of our hair all the quicker.”

I do know what I’m doing! The bitter thought was still fresh in Manny’s mind as he sat gazing at the three shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar. It was good that he’d decided not to head over to Smokey’s after work. By now, he was sure, the gossip of the Feds becoming involved and his demotion to a supporting role in the investigation would have made its way around the station. He could only imagine the relentless ribbing he’d endure from Wentworth and the other cops if he were to show up at the usual hangout. Anderson’s, on the other hand, was well known as the weekday establishment for the lower rung of drinkers who had nothing to go home to. It was a place where you went to be left alone; it was the perfect spot for him now. Manny lifted his mug and took a large swallow of beer. It had gotten warm during his silent vigil, and he could feel himself make a face as he swallowed.

“Sucks when it gets warm, doesn’t it?” a woman’s voice penetrated the haze that surrounded him. Manny looked up to see the bartender standing in front of him, hands on the bar, leaning over just enough to give him an eyeful of the cleavage poking out of her white tank top.

“Word of advice,” she continued, “when you come in here to