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

don’t you ask his daddy what you should do the next time you two play golf.”

That was the sore spot. It was a well-known fact that the captain and Sam’s father were longtime friends.

“Get out,” Wellner hissed, his face turning a bright crimson and his body shaking.

Manny shoved open the captain’s office door with a flourish and headed over to his desk without saying a word to anyone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wentworth, tissue still in his nose, and T.J. heading in the direction of Wellner’s office.

His desk was piled up with papers: notes on the Lowes family and Sandra Locke. A large cardboard box was on his chair. That was new. Manny leafed through the first few pages of its contents and realized it was the financial statements and other background information on both parties that he had requested late on Saturday. It looked as if whoever handled this at county had just printed out everything they could find and threw it all into the box. It was going to take an eternity to get it all in order.

“I hear there was a little excitement,” a voice said over his shoulder. Manny spun around to see the unwelcome sight of Agent Layton. He was dressed in his usual neatly pressed black suit, and he had a dark green file folder in his hand.

“Which part?” Manny retorted, placing his case notes in the box.

“Why don’t you run it all down for me?”

Manny shook his head and turned to face him. Agent Layton stood still, nodding his head, while Manny related the day’s events.

“Well,” Agent Layton puffed once Manny had finished, “it’s a good thing I ran into you before you ran off and did something stupid. Let’s take a walk out to your truck. You don’t want to hang around here anymore.”

Manny nodded slightly and hefted up the box of papers. The two men made their way out of the building to Manny’s truck, and only then, did the agent break the silence.

“I’m going to need that box of material, Detective,” he said formally.

“Can I ask why?” he asked, startled by the agent’s demand.

“If you’re not going to be part of the case, I can’t allow you to drive away with evidence.”

“Fine,” Manny replied curtly, shoving the box into the agent’s chest. “I’ve had enough of this!” He turned to unlock the driver’s side door.

Agent Layton set the box on the ground and placed his palm on the door to stop him. “Hang on, son.”

Manny blinked, unsure of why the agent was stopping him.

“Look,” Agent Layton explained, “I can see you’re invested in this case, but I have to keep up appearances. I’m not going to stop you from continuing to investigate on your own. In fact, I encourage it. So let’s make a deal. You get to do whatever you need to figure out who this child-murdering bastard is—so long as you don’t break any laws yourself—and I get periodic check-ins—no need for full disclosure. If you get any useful information, you tell me immediately. If local authorities harass you, I’ll step in. The FBI’s going to take credit for this case, but I’ll be sure you get the recognition you deserve when it’s all said and done. Sound fair?”

“I’ll need that box of notes,” he said after a moment of thought.

“No,” Agent Layton said firmly.

“But you just said—”

“You didn’t listen. I said I couldn’t let you drive away with this box of evidence. I’m officially taking control of it on behalf of the FBI. I look forward to reading your notes and insights. But keep an eye on your front porch later today,” he lowered his voice and leaned in. “A sealed brown box about the size of this one is scheduled to be delivered. There might even be one or two extra little goodies in there for you.” Agent Layton winked and picked up the box.

“Do you know where I live?” Manny responded, taken slightly aback.

“Of course. I take the time to read up on anyone I’m working a case with. By the way, you were recruited to the FBI directly out of college, weren’t you?”

Manny could tell it wasn’t really a question. He gave the agent a measured nod.

“Why aren’t you my partner on this right now instead of some local, hothead detective?”

“It wasn’t a good fit.” It was a lie, but it was better than the truth.

“Somehow I don’t believe that.” Agent Layton turned and headed back toward the station.

Manny pulled open the truck door and jumped into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, and he headed to the first destination on the new path that his investigation was going to take. The moment Agent Layton had said that he didn’t need to report everything, he knew exactly where he was going to begin.

He pulled onto Main Street, hoping his decision was the right one.

SEVENTEEN

Maureen gazed out of the mask that covered her face. Through the eyes, she could see a book. It was a large, leather-bound tome with yellowing pages. Red ink marked the pages with odd symbols and words in a language she didn’t know. The field of her vision widened, and she could observe that she was seated or standing over an old, wooden desk. The light in the room was dim, with bright spots illuminating small halos about her. The light flickered irregularly. Candles.

The eyes moved to another book on the right. This book was marked with strange lettering. It was also in a language that she did not understand. A hand reached out of her view and returned with a foot-long baton. It was made of wood, and the fingers could feel a variety of bumps and crevasses. Carvings, she decided. The point of the baton was placed upon the book, underneath one of the strange letters. It traced a line across the page, from right to left before continuing on to the line below. A low voice came from