Revenant in Death

Chapter 20

by Technomad

Eve Dallas

Eve was very interested in some things that Roarke had turned up in his computer searching. "The man in that room...the one who apparently shot at you, or was at least complicit...was named 'Hyrum Smith.' That's not a common spelling of that name, and is almost exclusively found among Latter-Day Saints."

"Mormons?" Eve pricked up her ears. While Mormons were by no means common in New York, they could be found there. She'd had a little to do with them in one of her cases, before she'd met Roarke. Her impression was that while she couldn't believe as they did, they were good citizens, on the whole.

"Yes...and no." Roarke leaned back in his chair to explain. "The Latter-Day Saint movement is bigger than the Utah church that everybody knows. They've had splits since the days of their first prophet, Joseph Smith. Right after his death, there was a big fuss over who should be the next prophet. Smith's widow wanted the job for her oldest son, Joseph Jr., but he was only twelve or so, and the majority of the church went with another man, Brigham Young. Other groups also split off from the main body then, and more have appeared since, particularly with the church's abolition of plural wives."

"Plural wives?" Eve raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like divorcing and remarrying?"

"No. Multiple wives at one time. They didn't do that openly until they were settled in Utah, and the group that followed Smith's son never did. The government of the time put huge pressure on them to give it up, and they did, in 1890. Some groups within the church wouldn't accept that, though. They have settlements to this day, off in lonely parts of the West where the government can't bother them easily. One large group is settled along the Utah-Arizona border, in two twin towns on either side of the border."

"So our mystery sniper is affiliated with the Latter-Day Saint movement?"

"It seems so. Police computers in Utah and neighboring states refer to a 'Hyrum Smith' who is apparently well-known in some of these splinter groups. Some of them are not averse to violence against those with whom they're rivals, or against people who've left those groups behind. 'Hyrum Smith' was a 'person of interest' in many of these murders." Roarke paused for effect. "His weapon of choice is a sniper laser."

"Interesting!" Eve leaned forward, feeling like it was the old days and they were putting together the clues needed to throw yet another sick murderer into an off-planet cage for the rest of his or her life. "Are you contemplating a trip out West to confer with the police there?"

"I am. You're still not cleared for travel, so I'm going with Peabody and McNabb. The Chief has arranged for me to meet the head of the Utah State Police when I get to Salt Lake. He's got people in his department who know a lot about these fringe groups, and can help me track down this 'Hyrum Smith.'" Roarke's blue eyes blazed, and Eve shivered at the thought of what her husband could still do.

"Happy journey, then. Keep an eye out for any likely properties you might want to snap up." Eve knew Roarke, and knew that while she came first with him, he was always thinking about his next few moves in the real estate game.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow, then. Keep an eye on my cop."

Rayleen Straffo

Rayleen pricked up her ears when she heard that Roarke had taken a trip out West. "Is he looking for new properties, ma'am?" she asked.

Mame smiled. "He always is. But this time, he's hot on the trail of a man who may have been the one to try to kill his wife."

"Oh?" Secretly, Rayleen exulted. Roarke had taken her bait! Secretly, she hoped that he and the other pursuers would be tangled up in the canyons and slickrocks of Utah for a long, long time.

While she had been in prison, Rayleen had spoken to others who were familiar with that area. The villages there were often very isolated, and the ones dominated by one or another LDS splinter faction were not welcoming to intrusive strangers. Since many of the local police and authorities were themselves members of the splinter factions, a snoopy outsider could not count on their help if the 'prophets' thought that inquiries might disclose things they felt were better left undisclosed.

She didn't think that Roarke would be killed...he had excellent security service, and was by no means an easy target himself...but he'd have a very hard time getting the locals to go along with his inquiries. They would lie themselves blue in the face, or just clam up, if they thought that a 'Gentile' was threatening one of their own.

And there was always the delicious possibility that Roarke, in unfamiliar territory and deep in the countryside, might slip up enough that a careful sniper who knew every inch of the ground like his wives' arses might put an end to his career, and him, with one well-aimed shot! Rayleen had to restrain herself from hugging herself at that wonderful thought!

Mame was saying something, and Rayleen recalled herself. She was...she had to be...Jane Mollenbeek, mild-mannered assistant to one of the wealthiest women in New York. "I beg your pardon, Mame? I was woolgathering."

Mame gave her a tolerant look. "Well, keep your mind on business, dear. I was just saying that I'll be out of town myself, starting day after tomorrow. I trust you and Agnes can keep the home fires burning."

"I'll be happy to do that, Mame!" And Rayleen was completely sincere. With Mame out of the way, she knew she could find things to distract Agnes Gooch. Agnes was totally loyal to Mame, but not nearly as bright as Rayleen was, and as far as Rayleen knew, had no reason whatsoever to suspect Rayleen's real identity or her double life.

`A few days later, Rayleen and Agnes were standing side-by-side, watching as Mame's plane took off. She was off to Europe to visit some friends of hers, as well as to see to some investments she had on that side of the sea.

"Well, Jane, we're on our own for the next couple of weeks," Agnes said. She gave Rayleen a very smoky look. "I can think of ways to pass a lot of the time!"

"So can I, Agnes, so can I!" said Rayleen. She meant every word. While she did prefer men, she had nothing against female partners, and she had spotted some furniture in the main parts of Mame's house that looked like very nice places to make love. "I am going to take some time for myself, though. Not that I don't love you, but I find that after my time inside, I really relish getting out and about and with lots of different people."

"Sure, no problem. I understand. I'm going to spend some time with my family, and they wouldn't understand about you." At Rayleen's puzzled expression, Agnes explained: "Not that you're a girl, dear. They've known which way I swing for some time. The fact that you were in prison for a while. They're awfully twitchy about anybody who's been in trouble with the law." Agnes grinned. "Down deep, I think they still see me as the little girl I once was, and they're trying to keep me safe."

"Oh, I understand. I don't mind." Rayleen was, again, perfectly sincere. If she didn't have Agnes Gooch hanging around her all the time, she could get together with Willow and start figuring out their next move. While she was still furious about the failure of what had seemed like a perfect plan, she was by no means ready to give up on her project of removing Eve Dallas from the face of the earth. And her birth family, if she could do it.

Arm in arm, the women left the air terminal, hailing a taxi and heading back to Mame's mansion for some uninterrupted alone time.

Peabody

When Roarke arrived in Salt Lake City, Peabody and McNab by his side, he was met by the Mayor of Salt Lake City and the Chief of Police. "Mr. Roarke! Welcome to Salt Lake City! We have ordered the local police to do all they can to assist you in this!"

"I'll be grateful for your help, Mr. Mayor. May I introduce my companions? Detective Delia Peabody of the NYPSD, and Ian McNabb, who works computers for the same agency. Peabody, McNabb, this is Mayor Greene of Salt Lake City and Chief of Police Young of Salt Lake City."

"Pleased to meet you. The reputation of your department...and your personal achievements, Detective Peabody...has preceded you. State Police Chief Heggen's over at the Capitol. Shall we go there?" The Mayor escorted them out of the air terminal, to a huge, luxurious limousine.

As they rode on into Salt Lake City proper, Peabody was looking around, wide-eyed. Unlike her longtime mentor, she enjoyed times away from New York City, and was always eager to see somewhere new. She noticed something she hadn't expected.

"Ian? Do you notice anything about the people on the sidewalks?"

McNabb looked outside, torn away from the computer journal he had brought along to wile away the time on the flight. "Nothing unusual that I can see, She-Body. There don't seem to be any sidewalk sleepers, but we're outside of the central part of town yet."

"No, that's not what I meant. There look to be all sorts of races here. I'd always thought this part of the world was almost all-white."

Mayor Greene had heard what they said. "You should remember, Detective, that the Church..." the emphasis he put on the word made it clear which church he meant... "has always had a strong missionary presence all over the world. Many Saints come here for various reasons, and some of them have settled here. We've got people from everywhere here. This place is at least as cosmopolitan as New York." The rebuke was not overt, but she could hear it in his tone of voice. She knew that many non-New-Yorkers resented New Yorkers' belief that everything outside of New York was the deep backwoods.

"Oh! Beg pardon, I'm sure!" Peabody was mortified. She hadn't thought about hurting the mayor's feelings. "It's just that I've never been here before..."

"You're forgiven. I blame a lot of that sort of nonsense on the entertainment media," Mayor Greene assured her. "They distort nearly everything they portray. But Utah in general is much more cosmopolitan than you might think. We took in immigrants in huge numbers starting in the 19th century."

"Oh." Silently, Peabody promised herself to read up on the next place they went. She did not like looking like an ignorant outsider.

At the State Capitol, the chief of the Utah State Police was waiting. He arose from behind his desk and came around to shake Roarke's hand. "Always a pleasure to assist in an investigation," he said. He gave them all a gleaming smile. "And it's a particular pleasure to meet some of the people who were involved in the Icove take-down. I hope you'll be willing to autograph my copy of the movie."

"I'm sure we'll all be pleased to do so, sir. But to business," Roarke said, taking charge as naturally as though he were still in New York. "We have reasons to believe that the person who tried murdering my wife had ties to extremist LDS offshoots. Can you show me the data you have on them?"

"Oh, can I ever!" Chief Heggen turned and powered up a computer that looked to be nearly as good, if not quite as new, as the ones in Police Central in New York. "We keep a sharp eye on them. Some of them are harmless...basically, they split from the Church on matters of doctrine that I don't think a Gentile could understand..."

"Er, excuse me?" asked McNabb. "A 'Gentile?'"

"Oh! I beg your pardon. That's what we Saints call non-members of the LDS movement. No insult is intended."

"None taken. Can you fill us in on what is going on here?" asked Roarke. McNabb and Peabody leaned forward, eager for information.

"As I said, while some of these groups are harmless, others aren't. They've become very violent against each other over matters of doctrine, or who was the 'rightful Prophet.' They also have murdered 'apostates,' which is what they call anybody who leaves their nasty little groups, and outsiders who got too inquisitive. Investigating these murders is dreadfully difficult."

"Why?" Roarke asked the question, but Peabody also wanted to know. Since Eve's injury, Peabody had operated as the head of a squad in Homicide, and had racked up an impressive record in her own right. She sensed a real professional challenge, and welcomed it.

"Well, in the first place, getting testimony from members of these groups about crimes committed by other members, particularly if they're done at the orders of their 'prophets,' is all but impossible. They'll clam up, or lie. They have a 'code of silence' that organized crime would envy. We've almost never got one of them to crack."

"That does make things harder," McNabb remarked. Roarke nodded. Peabody knew perfectly well that getting people to talk often helped solve a crime.

"Secondly, a lot of the police and government in these remote areas are members of these sects themselves. They will not willingly investigate crimes committed by fellow members. And there are lots of those to investigate!"

"What else do they do?"

"Welfare fraud's a favorite. When one of these cultists takes a new wife, he will 'divorce' the previous wife. That is, if the marriage was ever even recorded. A lot of them aren't because they aren't legal. Either the 'bride' is 'way underage, or she's too closely related to the 'groom.' We've had thirteen-year-olds 'marrying' their uncles."

"WHAT?"

"Oh, yes. But to get back to welfare fraud, the 'divorcee' continues to live with her 'ex-husband,' just as before. And continues to pump out babies. Women in these organizations often have a baby every other year. As 'single mothers,' they go for every bit of welfare aid the state and federal governments offer. While these sects all hate the government for 'persecuting' them, they love collecting government aid. They call it 'bleeding the beast.'"

"The more I hear about these people, the less I like them," Roarke snarled. "Even if we can't hunt this 'Hyrum Smith' down, maybe we can put spokes in their wheels!"

"Good luck," Chief Heggen sighed, with a resigned look on his face. "A lot of local law enforcement out in the areas where these cults operate are members themselves. They'll do all they can to impede our efforts. Also, the wilderness where they tend to set up shop is very easy to hide in for someone who knows how. We've had people on the run up there for decades that we haven't been able to find. The locals hide them and they know every inch of those canyons and mesas."

Peabody noticed that Roarke was looking very grim. This was a situation where his immense wealth, his real-estate and business empire, and his criminal skills were not going to be much help. Roarke was a city boy. And so was McNabb.

Peabody, on the other hand, had been raised as a Free-Ager. While the mountain West was not where she had been raised, she was more at home in rural and wilderness areas than either of the men were. She smiled to herself, thinking about having to take charge and lead the search. And what Eve Dallas would have to say about that!

Rayleen Straffo

When Mame was not at home, her house went into a state similar to hibernation. Most of the servants took time off to go do things on their own, and Rayleen counted on that to keep Agnes Gooch from getting suspicious when she wanted to take time off.

"Agnes, darling," Rayleen purred, one morning after a long, sweaty night's lovemaking, "I want to be gone for the next couple of days. Would that be a problem?"

"Not at all, Jane," Agnes whispered, doing some very nice things with her fingers. "I'll miss you, but I do understand that you do have a life of your own."

With Agnes squared away, Rayleen bounded down the front stairs of Mame's mansion with a song in her heart. She had notified Willow that she would be coming by and they could have a couple of days together. Willow had let her know that she was waiting "with baited breath, like the cheese-eating cat at the mousehole!" Rayleen had smiled to see that. It had been a favorite phrase of Renee Obermann, and Renee's protegees had picked it up and used it themselves.

At her former home, Willow was awaiting her, and once she had given the coded knock and been let in, showed her to the living room, where a big spread of cold cuts, cheeses, spreads and breads awaited them. Both women constructed sandwiches, and soon they were tucking in. A big pot of real coffee burbled in one corner, and not far away, a pitcher of lemonade sat beside two glasses. Rayleen approved completely.

Although she knew that Willow, when left to her own devices, preferred mixed martial arts competitions or shooting contests on the vid, the video was tuned to a live show of an orchestral concert in Richmond, Virginia. Rayleen smiled. Willow knew her tastes, and for all her other faults, such as her obsession with shooting and killing, was a gracious hostess.

For a while, not much was said, as the two longtime friends satisfied their appetites. Rayleen really enjoyed the music, and wondered what Willow thought of it. During their time in confinement, she had tried to get Willow interested in the arts, with little success. She would patiently listen or watch things that Rayleen recommended, but her heart was clearly never in it.

When they had done eating, the concert was over. As they cleared up the mess, a habit they had picked up in prison that Rayleen found served her well on the outside, they discussed what to do next.

"Roarke's out of town. He's off to Utah, chasing our phantom shooter," Rayleen gloated. "He'll have an interesting time of it out there!"

"While he's gone, we can sit and scheme up another way to get a good shot at that pestilence, Eve Dallas," Willow said, smiling. "You've got a couple of days free, thanks to that employer of yours being out of town, so we can take our time and plan up something good!" She gestured toward the bedroom. "There's room enough for us both!"

(Author's note: Bet you thought I forgot this, didn't you? Splinter sects of the sort described can be found in the mountain West, mostly in Utah and areas near it, today. The most well-known of them is the Fundamentalist Latter-Day Saints, in the twin towns of Hildale and Colorado City. Some of them, like Ervil Lebaron's Lambs of God sect, have resorted to violence against people of whom they disapprove. They also have been implicated in systematic child abuse, such as marriage of underaged girls, and abandonment of "surplus" boys to keep the supply of young women abundant for the old men who dominate these communities.)