Raising Cain by Gallatin Warfield Page A

picked up a copy of
Hatewatch
and turned to the index.
Hatewatch
was published by a public interest foundation that tracked cults. They updated the whereabouts and activities of reclusive
     groups on a monthly basis. There was no Church of the Ark, Inc., listed. No CAIN. Brownie checked the date. September, current
     year. He flipped to the index. No luck.
    Brownie put down the publication. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. The wails at the grave site were echoing in his
     mind again. He tried to fight them, but he couldn’t. “
Joseph
!” Mama screamed. “
Joseph
!” The jaws of the grave were gaping.
    “No,” Brownie groaned. “No…” Another deluge was coming.
    “Joseph!”
    Brownie’s body spasmed, and the tears gushed. And there was nothing he could do to stop them.
    Brownie sat up, wiped his eyes, and looked at the clock. It was almost midnight. He stood and shook out his legs. The coffin
     was in the ground, and Daddy was gone, buried, never coming back. He’d have to accept it: Joseph was gone. Davis had tagged
     him a drunk and run-around, but Davis didn’t know shit. The fact remained that Daddy was gone. And
someone
had ended his life.
    Brownie slowly stacked the reports. The evidence wasn’t conclusive, but that didn’t matter. A good detective didn’t need evidence.
     A good detective could get the job done on instinct alone.
    Brownie walked to the door and turned off the light. He had a new lead to check out. And time was short.
    Althea’s house was filled with family and friends. It was well into the night, and the wake was still in progress. Ham, biscuits,
     and fruit were laid out on the table in the dining room. The uncles were in the kitchen smoking and tipping glasses of whiskey.
     The aunts and nieces sat in the flower-papered den. And Althea was upstairs, attended by a nurse. She was sedated in her bed,
     propped with pillows, corpselike, very still. The day had flogged her soul, and she was exhausted.
    On the porch, two men conferred. They spoke in whispers as the sounds of the mourners drifted through the house.
    “Hell of a job you did today,” Brownie’s brother said.
    “Thank you,” Reverend Taylor replied. He’d arrived late and missed consoling the widow. “Your pop was a good man.”
    Paulie Brown leaned his elbows against the wooden rail. “That’s what they say.”
    Taylor sensed anger. “You know about the woman thing?”
    “Doesn’t everybody?”
    Taylor crossed his arms. “Poking some strange stuff every now and then doesn’t make a man bad. We’re
all
human. Don’t blame your dad for what he did wrong. Praise him for what he did right.”
    “We’re not in church.”
    “Didn’t mean to offend, brother,” Taylor replied. “What religion do you practice?”
    “I follow the old ways.”
    Taylor nodded. This Brown was odd, nothing like the policeman.
    “Who killed my daddy, Rev?” Paulie asked suddenly.
    “Who?” Taylor seemed surprised.
    “You were bustin’ a hell of a move up front today. Like you know what happened out on the road.”
    Taylor glanced around nervously. “Your brother has the details,” he said. “Why don’t you ask him?”
    “We don’t exactly talk. I want you to tell me. Who’s behind this?”
    Taylor moved closer. “I don’t know.”
    “Well, who the fuck were you talkin’ about today?”
    “Calm down.”
    “I want to know!”
    “Have you
ever
been to church, brother?”
    “Yeah. Of course I have.”
    “Then you know you can’t place a literal interpretation on what a preacher says. I was being allegorical.”
    “Bullshit!”
    “Take it easy, my man.”
    “You had no right!”
    “Hey! Get it under control. What I said, I
meant
. It was not your daddy’s time.”
    “So who cut it short?”
    “I said I don’t
know
. I got my suspicions… but I don’t
know
.” Paulie adjusted his hat. “Okay,” he said.
    “Let’s keep it together, brother. We’re on the same side.”
    “Yeah.”
    Taylor