“Got it!”
Katie stared at Savich. “Not even fifteen minutes and you’ve got something?”
Savich said, “Sometimes things just pop. Okay, Clancy Edens was in Ossining from 1998 to about eight months ago where he shared a corridor with a Luther Vincent of Kingsport, Tennessee, which is, if I’m not mistaken, only about fifty miles from here, right? To the northeast?”
“Right,” Katie said and tapped her knuckles against her forearm.
“Do you know any Vincents?”
Katie frowned, tapped her foot, and finally, shook her head, sighed. “No.”
Savich said easily, “No big deal. We’ll just make a note of him and I’ll keep checking. I should have another one of Clancy’s files in a minute.”
Savich looked up a few minutes later, grinning like a bandit, and said, “Guess what? Old Clancy Edens changed his name some twenty years ago. Turns out his daddy was a real loser—beat his wife, beat his two kids indiscriminately, from the looks of it. Clancy joined the army when he was eighteen, was dishonorably discharged two years later, changed his name and commenced his life of crime.”
Katie said, “Come on, spill the beans. What name did he change from, Dillon?”
Savich smiled at her. “I sure hope you’ve heard of someone by the name of Bird.”
Katie blinked, looked down at Keely’s perfect small fingers, then said, “Bird. There aren’t any local Birds, at least I don’t think there are. But, Bird sounds familiar.” Katie smacked her thigh. “Yes! I’ve got it! I remember now, her name was Elsbeth Bird.”
“Elsbeth Bird?” Sherlock was standing on her toes, she was so excited. “Talk, Katie.”
“Elsbeth Bird married Sooner McCamy back in the early nineties and moved here. So Clancy Edens is her brother?”
“He’s in his forties, so I’d say yes, brother it is.”
“Thank you, Dillon. Since you’re already taken, maybe I can move in with MAX. Glad to meet you, Sherlock. I’m out of here.”
Sherlock said, “Hey, wait a minute, Katie. You’re not going to see this Elsbeth Bird who married Sooner McCamy alone, are you?”
“It’s Sunday,” Katie said patiently.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Reverend McCamy just happens to be a local preacher. He has a small congregation who worship him and God, probably in that order. The members pretty much keep to themselves around here. I’ve never been to one of their services. I wouldn’t say they’re a cult, but sometimes you wonder. The women are supposed to be subservient and if they’re not subservient enough, rumor is the husbands are encouraged to discipline them. His church is called the Sinful Children of God.”
“What?”
“Yep, that’s what they’re called. I know Reverend McCamy will be preaching all morning—and again this afternoon and evening. Just time off for lunch. The reverend has charisma from what I’ve heard, and can hold an audience in the palm of his hand. I haven’t witnessed the charisma when I’ve seen him around town. He’s quiet, pays his bills on time, hasn’t ever caused any trouble, and is considered quite respectable.
“Reverend McCamy is very intense—you know, he looks all dark and broody, thin, tall, like he spends a lot of time on his knees conversing with God. I’ve never heard of him being involved with any of the women in his congregation. Besides, Elsbeth, his wife, is one of the most beautiful women around here—long blond hair, slender, soft-spoken, does whatever he asks. It’s sure hard to see either of them being involved in this.”
“Hmm,” Glen Hodges said, and Katie waited, just waited, for him to make some sexist remark, but he didn’t. Indeed, he was frowning. “Doesn’t sound true to type,” he said finally.
“You’re right,” Katie said. “He’s always polite, always pleasant, but there’s just something about him, something that makes you want to take a step back, if you know what I mean.”
“How many people in his congregation?” Sherlock asked.
“Maybe fifty, sixty, I’m not really sure. I’m thinking I’ll just swing by their house, you know, check it out a bit, see if just maybe Clancy is hanging around out there. He’s her brother, after all. Where else would he hide?”
“I’m going with you, Katie,” Sherlock said and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “No way are you on this little sightseeing visit by yourself.”