Part 30 (2/2)
”There's got to be a link. It can't be coincidence.”
”Coincidences do happen,” said Baker.
”Yes.”
”One thing bothers me,” I said.
”What's that?”
”Heidi quit going to the clinic here in her sixth month. Her parents said she showed up in Texas in late August. Right?”
”Right.”
”But the phone calls continued to the number here until December.”
”Yes,” said Ryan. ”That's a problem.”
19.
THE MIST CHANGED TO RAIN AS WE DROVE TO THE BEAUFORT-Jasper Comprehensive Health Clinic. It turned the tree trunks dark and s.h.i.+ny and painted a sheen on the blacktop. When I cracked the window I could smell wet gra.s.s and earth.
We located the doctor with whom Ryan had spoken, and he showed her the photo. She thought she recognized Heidi as the patient she'd treated the previous summer, but couldn't be sure. The pregnancy was normal. She'd written the standard prenatal prescriptions. Beyond that, she could tell us nothing. She had no recollection of Brian.
At noon Sheriff Baker left us to handle a domestic situation on Lady's Island. We agreed to meet at his office at six, by which time he hoped to have information on the Adler Lyons property.
Ryan and I stopped for barbecue at Sgt.White's Diner, then spent the afternoon showing Heidi's snapshot around town, and asking about the commune on Adler Lyons Road.
By four o'clock we knew two things: No one had heard of Dom Owens or his followers. No one remembered Heidi Schneider or Brian Gilbert.
We sat in Ryan's rental car and stared up Bay Street. On my right customers entered and left the Palmetto Federal Banking Center. I looked across to the stores we'd just canva.s.sed. The Cat's Meow. Stones and Bones. In High Cotton. Yes. Beaufort had embraced the world of tourism.
The rain had stopped but the sky was still dark and heavy. I felt tired and discouraged, and no longer sure about the Beaufort-St-Jovite connection.
Outside Lipsitz Department Store a man with greased hair and a face like bread dough waved a Bible and screamed about Jesus. March was the off season for sidewalk salvation, so he had the stage to himself.
Sam had told me about his war with the street preachers. For twenty years they'd been coming to Beaufort, descending on the city like pilgrims on hajj. In 1993 His Honor had the Reverend Isaac Abernathy arrested for hara.s.sing women in shorts, calling them wh.o.r.es and bellowing about eternal d.a.m.nation. Suits were filed against the mayor and the city, and the ACLU jumped to the defense of the evangelists, the issue being one of First Amendment rights. The case was pending review by the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals in Richmond, and the preachers still came.
I listened to the man rant about Satan and heathens and Jews, and felt tiny hairs rise on the back of my neck. I resent those who see themselves as G.o.d's spokesmen and next of kin, and am disturbed by people interpreting the Gospel to push a political agenda.
”What do you think of Southern civilization?” I asked Ryan, my eyes never leaving the preacher.
”Sounds like a good idea.”
”Well, well. Stealing material from Gandhi,” I said, turning to him in surprise. It was one of my favorite Gandhi quotes.
”Some homicide detectives can can read.” There was an edge to his voice. read.” There was an edge to his voice.
Guilty, Brennan. Apparently the reverend isn't the only one harboring cultural stereotypes.
I watched an old woman circle wide to avoid the preacher, and wondered what sort of salvation Dom Owens promised his followers. I checked my watch.
”We're moving toward the dinner hour,” I said.
”Could be a good time to catch folks mixing up tofu burgers.”
”We can't meet Baker for another ninety minutes.”
”You up for a surprise visit, skipper?”
”Beats sitting here.”
Ryan was reaching for the ignition when his hand stopped. I followed his gaze and saw Kathryn coming up the sidewalk, Carlie on her back. An older woman with long, dark braids walked beside her. The damp breeze blew their skirts backward, molding fabric to hips and legs. They paused and Kathryn's companion spoke to the preacher, then the pair continued in our direction.
Ryan and I exchanged glances, then got out and crossed to the women. They stopped speaking when we approached, and Kathryn smiled at me.
”How's it going?” she asked, brus.h.i.+ng back a tangle of curls.
”Not so good,” I said.
”No luck finding your missing girl?”
”No one remembers her. I find that odd, since she spent at least three months here.”
I watched for a reaction, but her expression didn't change.
”Where did you ask?” Carlie stirred and Kathryn reached over her shoulder to adjust his carrier.
”Shops, food stores, pharmacies, gas stations, restaurants, the library. We even tried Boombears.”
”Yeah. That's a cool idea. If she was expecting she might have gone to a toy store.”
The baby whimpered, then raised his arms and arched backward, pressing his feet against his mother's back.
”Guess who's up?” said Kathryn, reaching back to calm her son. ”And no one knew her from that picture?”
”No one.”
Carlie's whimpers grew more strident, and the older woman moved behind Kathryn and slid the baby from the carrier.
”Oh, sorry. This is El.” Kathryn indicated her companion.
Ryan and I introduced ourselves. El nodded, but said nothing as she tried to calm Carlie.
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