Page 19 of Shadow of Death
Hunter took a deep breath, still watching the road as he spoke. “Sins. If this is the work of a cult—and logistics tell us there have to be several people involved with this—then, as we were saying, they might have been brainwashed into believing they were doing a good thing. Like cleansing sinners so they could meet their maker. Maybe dying in the pit was a way for them to reflect on the evils they had done.”
“But taking out chunks of human flesh?” Amy asked softly.
“Okay, say some of this flock is trying to atone themselves. Maybe a bite of the sinner helps the biter expunge some of their own wrongs?”
“Wouldn’t a bite of the pure and innocent be better for that?”
“One would think. But who knows what crazy mantra they might have been taught?”
Amy was silent. Hunter had been assigned to the case in the Everglades where they’d first been teamed together because of his knowledge regarding just what could happen when enough people began to believe in such a mantra.
“Maybe it’s a way of...taking on some of the sin of another?” she suggested at last.
He glanced her way. “Could be. Anyway, here we are. Let’s see if Carey has remembered anything else that might help us. Of course, we’ll assure her several agencies are busy trying to find her friend, Don Blake.”
Amy nodded. But as they stepped out of the car, Hunter paused. She saw he was answering his phone and she waited.
He listened, spoke briefly, and ended the call.
“They found one more body in the caves, deep in one of the pits,” he told her.
“Oh, no. Is it Don Blake?” Amy asked.
He grimaced. “They don’t know yet. So...do we see Carey now, or do we wait?”
4
Hunter had decided to let Amy determine their course of action.
She decided they should head to the advertising firm first. If she saw Carey now, she would feel compelled to tell Carey Allen another body had been found.
But they didn’t know anything yet.
And it didn’t make sense to upset Carey until they did. The woman had been through enough. Instead, Amy called the hospital room and spoke briefly with Carey, telling her they’d be up to see her in the afternoon and would tell her anything they might discover by then.
Barrington Advertising was in an impressive freestanding building just on the outskirts of Denver. The receptionist who greeted them, a perfectly coifed and dressed woman of perhaps forty-five, was icily polite and pleasant, but at first told them there was no possible way of seeing Mr. Barrington without an appointment.
Hunter produced his badge. Her attitude changed.
“Um, just a minute, please,” she murmured, putting through a call. “Mr. Barrington will see you immediately, of course. He’s so concerned! The penthouse elevator, right there, will take you straight to his office.”
They thanked her.
The building was just five stories, but apparently the penthouse office covered the full fifth floor.
The elevator opened into an expansive foyer. Barrington’s desk, a sleek modern piece of furniture with the man’s computer built right into the framework, sat toward the rear of the entry space in front of floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Comfortable chairs sat before the desk while a few more were scattered around the room against the wall. At least ten people could sit in the room if a meeting called for so many.
Doors led to other rooms in both directions, probably to a bedroom or a room with a daybed, at least, for those times when the CEO and owner worked well into the night. According to Carey Allen, Barrington was a decent boss. If so, it was nice to see a decent man could create this kind of an enterprise.
Barrington was behind the desk studying his computer when the elevator pinged to announce its arrival on the floor. He immediately stood.
He appeared to be a man of about sixty, bald—if he did have hair it was cleanly shaven—with dark brown eyes, a solid chin, and cheekbones that helped give him the look of someone with great dignity.
He immediately stepped forward to offer them both a handshake.
“I spoke with Milly, and I understand you’re Agents Forrest and Larson, correct?” he asked. “Malcolm Barrington. And I’m horrified Carey suffered and even more horrified for those who died in that terrible pit. Who would ever imagine? We are known for such natural beauty here, and the falls, rivers, and cliffs are so beautiful. I find it hard to accept the fact anyone would twist our nature into something so evil. I am rambling, sorry. I’m an advertising man, and sometimes the more one talks, the more ideas come out. But on this... I’m sorry. I’m happy to do anything. Anything,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Barrington. You haven’t heard from Don Blake yet, have you?” Hunter asked. “Do you have any way of contacting him or any of his contacts such as other friends, clients, or fellow employees?”
