Grounds to Believe Read Free

The door he’d knocked on yesterday stood partly open, swinging on rusty hinges. They ran inside, then searched the other houses and the barn in about twenty minutes, but came up with nothing more incriminating than some broken windows and another cache of bullet casings out by the field of vegetables.
    The Church of the Seventh Seal had pulled up and moved out, and taken his daughter with them.
    Six years later
    Memorandum
    Date: June 3, 2004
    To: Sergeant Bruce Harmon
    Organized Crime Task Force
    From: Lt. Leslie Bellville
    Hamilton Falls P.D.
    Re: Cult
    File Ref: HF04-193
    Per my e-mail yesterday, attached please find Forms 17A and B outlining evidence of what is believed to be a religious cult known as the Elect of God operating in the Hamilton Falls area. We believe there is child abuse among members of this group, but are unable to investigate with uniform members due to its closed social structure.
    We understand Investigator Ross Malcolm specializes in cults as part of his duties in the OCTF. We request his assistance for a period not to exceed threeweeks, overtime and expenses to be charged to the Town of Hamilton Falls.
    Please advise Investigator Malcolm’s availability ASAP.

Chapter One
    Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth.
    — Romans 8:33
    T he pager beeped as Ross pulled off the freeway for gas. He glanced at the number and frowned. What was the matter with those guys? Couldn’t they survive for two days without yanking on his electronic leash for help?
    He tilted the motorcycle onto its side stand at the deserted pump and pulled the pager off his belt. He frowned at the number on the display and stalked over to the pay phone next to the ice machine.
    His partner picked up on the first ring. “Organized Crime Task Force. Harper.”
    “This had better be good, pal.” Ross leaned on the dented metal of the bracket protecting the phone from the weather.
    “Oh, it is. How’s the vacation?”
    “Two days isn’t a vacation. It’s a weekend. I’m scheduled for five days leave, Ray. Five. You page me, you better be telling me my apartment building’s burning down.”
    “Nope. Worse than that. They got a live one.”
    “Who?”
    “Hamilton Falls. We just got a memo asking for your services. The lieutenant out there says their fink just blew the whistle. A near-miss this time—which adds up to two and a half kids total over the last couple of months. That’s ‘reasonable and probable grounds to believe,’ in my book.”
    Ross stood silently, watching a flock of children spill out of the fast-food place next door. Shrieking, their giggles high-pitched, they tumbled into the play area.
    One small town. Two deaths and a near-miss in four months.
    “Ross?”
    “I’m thinking.”
    “Think fast. Harmon knows I’m talking to you.”
    So much for his hard-earned five days. “Tell him I’ll call him from Hamilton Falls.”
    “What about your vacation?”
    “I guess scenic Interstate 90 was it. Look on the bright side. The woman of my dreams could be anywhere, even in Hamilton Falls.”
    Ray Harper snorted. “Just make sure she doesn’t have kids.”
     
    Ross sipped a cup of coffee and considered the manila file folders on the blotter. The lieutenant who usuallyoccupied this office was out at an accident scene. At the front counter, a uniformed patrolman just out of the academy took a complaint, while a telephone rang insistently at an empty desk in the bullpen. Outside the door of his borrowed office, a laser printer began to wheeze.
    He had never been to Hamilton Falls before, but the familiar government-issue furniture, the beige linoleum, the numbering system on the files, and even the bad coffee combined to make him feel at home. He could have been in any law-enforcement office in the state.
    Ross stretched as the caffeine hit his bloodstream. He ran his fingers through his thick brown mane. Hair. One of the perks of working on the Task Force.
    He