Part 33 (2/2)
We told him no, and he left the room. Overhead, a fan hummed softly.
Soon I heard voices and laughter, then the creak of the screen door. As Owens' flock filtered in I studied them one by one. I sensed Ryan doing the same.
Within minutes the room was full, and I could conclude only one thing. The a.s.sembly looked totally unremarkable. They might have been a Baptist study group on its annual summer picnic. They joked and laughed and looked anything but oppressed.
There were babies, adults, and at least one septuagenarian, but no adolescents or children. I did a quick count: seven men, thirteen women, three kids. Helen had said there were twenty-six living at the commune.
I recognized Howdy and Helen. Jason leaned against a wall. El stood near the archway, Carlie on her hip. She stared at me intently. I smiled, remembering our meeting in Beaufort the previous afternoon. Her expression didn't change.
I scanned the other faces. Kathryn was not present.
Owens returned and the room fell silent. He made introductions, then explained why we were there. The adults listened attentively, then turned to us. Ryan handed the photo of Brian and Heidi to a middle-aged man on his left, then outlined the case, avoiding unnecessary detail. The man looked at the picture and pa.s.sed it on. As the snapshot circulated I studied each face, watching for subtle changes of expression that might indicate recognition. I saw only puzzlement and empathy.
When Ryan finished, Owens again addressed his followers, soliciting input on the couple or the phone calls. No one spoke.
”Mr. Ryan and Dr. Brennan have requested permission to interview you individually.” Owens looked from face to face. ”Please feel free to talk to them. If there is a thought you harbor, please share it with honesty and compa.s.sion. We did not cause this tragedy, but we are part of the cosmic whole and should do what is in our power to set this dislocation in order. Do it in the name of harmony.”
Every eye was on him, and I felt a strange intensity in the room.
”Those of you who cannot speak should feel no guilt or shame.” He clapped his hands. ”Now. Work and be well! Holistic affirmation through collective responsibility!”
Spare me, I thought.
When they'd gone Ryan thanked him.
”This is not Waco, Mr. Ryan. We have nothing to hide.”
”We were hoping to speak with the young woman we met yesterday,” I said.
He looked at me a moment then said, ”Young woman?”
”Yes. She came in with a child. Carlie, I believe?”
He looked at me so long I thought perhaps he didn't remember. Then the Owens smile.
”That would be Kathryn. She had an appointment today.”
”An appointment?”
”Why are you concerned with Kathryn?”
”She seems close to Heidi's age. I thought they might have known each other.” Something told me not to discuss our juice party in Beaufort.
”Kathryn wasn't here last summer. She'd gone to visit with her parents.”
”I see. When will she be back?”
”I'm not certain.”
The screen door opened and a tall man appeared in the hallway. He was scarecrow thin, and had a white streak across his right eyebrow and lashes, giving him an oddly lopsided look. I remembered him. During the a.s.sembly he'd stood near the hall, playing with one of the toddlers.
Owens held up one finger, and scarecrow nodded and pointed to the back of the house. He wore a bulky ring that looked out of place on his long, bony finger.
”I'm sorry, but there are things I must do,” said Owens. ”Talk with whomever you like, but please, respect our desire for harmony.”
He ushered us to the door and extended a hand. If nothing else, Dom was a great shaker. He said he was glad we had stopped by and wished us luck. Then he was gone.
Ryan and I spent the rest of the morning talking to the faithful. They were pleasant, and cooperative, and totally harmonious. And they knew zilch. Not even the whereabouts of Kathryn's appointment.
By eleven-thirty we knew nothing more than when we'd arrived.
”Let's go thank the reverend,” said Ryan, taking a set of keys from his pocket. They hung from a large plastic disk, and were not the ones for the rental car.
”What the h.e.l.l for?” I asked. I was hungry and hot and ready to move on.
”It's good manners.”
I rolled my eyes, but Ryan was already halfway across the yard. I watched him knock on the screen door, then speak to the man with the pale eyebrow. In a moment Owens appeared. Ryan said something and extended his hand and, like marionettes, the three men squatted then rose quickly. Ryan spoke again, turned, and walked toward the car.
After lunch we tried a few more pharmacies, then drove back to the government center. I showed Ryan the records offices, then we crossed the grounds to the law enforcement building. A black man in a tank top and fedora was crisscrossing the lawn on a small tractor, his bony knees projecting like legs on a gra.s.shopper.
”How y'all doin'? he said, putting one finger to his brim.
”Good.” I breathed in the smell of fresh-cut gra.s.s and wished it were true.
Baker was on the phone when we entered his office. He gestured us to chairs, spoke a few more words, and hung up.
”So, how's it going?” he asked.
”It isn't,” said Ryan. ”n.o.body knows squat.”
”How can we help?”
Ryan lifted his jacket, pulled a Ziploc bag from the pocket, and laid it on Baker's desk. Inside was the red plastic disk.
”You can run this for prints.”
Baker looked at him.
”I accidentally dropped it. Owens was kind enough to pick it up for me.”
Baker hesitated a moment, then smiled and shook his head. ”You know it may not be usable.”
”I know. But it may tell us who this puke is.”
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