“Crazy,” John said, the word muffled around his pizza. “Two murders, at least two hundred miles apart. In, what—three days total?”
Hunter nodded grimly. He looked at Amy. “Do you see why we all need to be on this?”
“Yes. He had five children, by five mothers?”
“Three—two of them each had two children.”
“Where are the mothers? Have they been released?” Amy asked.
“No.”
“Then?”
“They drank the juice. Although it wasn’t juice—they had cyanide capsules. And no, I don’t know how they got them.”
“And other members? I mean...men in this group. It was okay with them if their wives were taken away? The men stayed?”
“Four men were arrested and tried. They, too, were doing prison sentences.”
“Were?”
“They took their poison and left notes as to how they’d be with Logan and sit among the angels.”
Amy looked over at John, obviously somewhat incredulous, and then at Hunter.
“How?” she murmured. “How does one person manage to brainwash so many others?”
“I’m sure you know the basics,” Hunter said. “Cult leaders look for the down and out or the disenfranchised, those who are miserable with their lives. Those who have no family. They give them a family, a reason for being and probably, most importantly, faith. I have several books and tapes I can give you. I’m not a psychiatrist, but I have studied cults and I’ve been on any number of cases that revolved around them. I can give you plenty of reading material.”
“That would be good,” Amy agreed.
John stood, rolled up his paper plate and said, “We’ll get on this fresh in the morning. I’m guessing you two haven’t noticed, but it’s getting late and we need to be back down south for autopsy in the morning. We should be on the road by seven. We’ll compare notes and make a plan of action tomorrow—if that’s all right. Do we concentrate in Maclamara, or to the south? Both victims were found in areas not heavily traversed, so God alone knows where the killer—or killers—will strike again.”
“The Everglades stretch miles and miles,” Amy said. “And we have forests and wildlife preserves all around the state—from the Keys to the Georgia line, and out into the panhandle.” She looked at Hunter. “A pale horse.”
“A pale horse,” he repeated.
“I know there are Four Horsemen, but I’m not well versed in the Apocalypse.”
He nodded. “Try Bible verses,” he said. “Revelation 6:1 to 6:8—good place to get a handle on what the prophecy was. But remember, most likely there’s an agenda. Someone with the ability to charm and manipulate others and make them do his bidding—no matter how cruel or irrational—most probably has a very personal agenda for power. Or maybe just murder,” Hunter said.
He stood, as well. John was politely waiting, but he looked worn out.
And Hunter had plenty to go through on his own when he reached a motel room: files, maps, profiles...
“Um, I’m not going to get a lot of sleep,” Amy said.
“You have to sleep,” John told her.
“I know. I’ll try. Who is picking up who, where and when?” she asked.
“I’ll get John at six-thirty. Then we’ll come for you,” Hunter said.
“Good—you do the driving,” John agreed.
They started out; Amy paused, seeing that Hunter was looking at the table.
“I’d like to take your sketchbook,” he told her. “Any objection?”
She shook her head and then turned, following John out.
Hunter looked after the two of them, studied their board one more time and then followed.
They were going to have to move fast. If he was right, the pale horse had been honored, but there were three more to come.
* * *
Amy was ready, outside the small house she rented about a mile and a half east of one of the city’s massive theme parks, when the car pulled up for her.
It was precisely 6:50 a.m.
John was in the passenger’s seat, so she was happy enough to crawl into the back.
“Get any sleep?” John asked her.
“Some,” she said, buckling up, and then quoted from the reading she had done the night before. “‘I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.’”
Hunter glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Good memory. I can only paraphrase.”
“Johnny Cash just gave us a taste of it,” she said. “‘The Man Comes Around.’”
She thought Hunter offered her either a grim smile, or a grimace.
“But she wasn’t killed by famine or plague,” Amy continued.
“She was killed by something like a sword. A spike. Okay, spikes and swords are different, but she was struck through the heart with metal,” Hunter said. “I’m not saying they’re going to follow the Bible exactly, but I do believe they’re planning on something happening.”
She leaned forward.
“Sad and tragic and horrible as these killings are, they haven’t unleashed the plague.”
“No, they haven’t,” Hunter agreed. “You know, there are dozens of interpretations of the book of Revelation,” he said. “Some saw the white horse as Christ, coming to save the souls of the righteous. Some see that white horse as Satan himself.”
Amy watched the landscape roll by out the window.
“How about some music while we’re on the way down?” John asked. “I might be able to get another few winks. And then let’s hope the forensic teams and medical examiners have something useful for us.”
“Identities would help,” Hunter said, but he turned the music on.
They arrived at the morgue by a quarter of nine, and Dr. Carver was in reception speaking to the receptionist about another case.
Carver told them he was ready to get started. The victim had been bathed and prepped.
They suited up, ready to stand for the hours the autopsy would take.
Carver adjusted the microphone that would record his every observation. He began with the obvious—the victim was in her early twenties.