Sins of the Father: Book Three of the West Baden Murders Series

By Patrick J O'Brian

Paul Clouse believes his worries may finally be over. Though the past two years of his life have been horrific, he hopes things are going to change. His first wife was murdered, his son abducted, and his best friend killed by unknown assailants, but each time he has managed to survive.

This Halloween the rules have changed, and the killer seems to stay one step ahead of everyone. Clouse finds himself losing more friends to the killer's grasp, and wonders exactly how he can stop a madman who seems to know more about the West Baden Springs Hotel and his life than anyone else around him.

As the body count grows, the legend of Father Ernest returns to haunt Clouse one last time.

His only hope is to sort through the past of the hotel and the people around him to discover the killer's identity before it's too late.

A mysterious set of diaries left by the hotel's former occupants quickly become his only hope to save himself and everyone left around him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick J O'Brian
• Release date: May 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781604145779

Patrick J O'Brian

Patrick O’Brian lives in northeastern Indiana, working full-time as a firefighter. He enjoys photography, theme parks, and travel. Born in upstate New York, Patrick returns to his home area once a year to visit family and conduct research for his future manuscripts. His other fiction books are: The Fallen Reaper: Book One of the West Baden Murders Trilogy The Brotherhood Retribution: Book Two of the West Baden Murders Trilogy Stolen Time Sins of the Father: Book Three of the West Baden Murders Trilogy Six Days Dysfunction The Sleeping Phoenix Snowbound: Book Four of the West Baden Murders Series Sawmill Road Ghosts of West Baden: Book Five of the West Baden Murders Series Non-fiction: Risen from the Ashes: The History of the West Baden Springs Hotel Pluto in the Valley: The History of the French Lick Springs Hotel

Book preview

Chapter 1

Saturday night.

In the middle of town, kids scurried in costume from door to door with chaperones keeping vigil. A brisk, breezy night, trees rustled in the wind, though not under the threat of rain despite the bleak weather.

Unofficially Halloween, it seemed more practical in the city of Bloomington, Indiana to have trick-or-treat on a weekend evening, rather than Sunday. Both safety and educational concerns told city officials to hold it the day prior to the actual holiday.

Amongst the flowing traffic of elementary school kids, disguised in various wares, Jamie Vosburgh took time to make certain the two children under her care were warm enough, and that their costumes were fully intact.

This is great! Zach Clouse told his babysitter as she examined his costume. I haven’t been out on Halloween in forever.

Actually, Jamie had become much more than a sitter for Zach and his stepsister Katie. When their parents were married around the holidays the year before, the new couple needed someone to take care of the children while they went on their honeymoon, and on the occasional weekend when they went out.

Jamie, a senior in high school, and the daughter of their neighbors down the road, seemed the type of reliable, sweet girl they were looking for to take care of their children. She never let them out of her sight, she put them to bed when they needed to be, and if anything seemed out of the ordinary, she never hesitated to call or page Paul or Jane Clouse.

Are you two ready to get some more candy? she asked, receiving anxious nods from both Zach and Katie.

She watched a moment as they ran up the stairs to the next house, spouting trick-or-treat with rehearsed ease before receiving a handful of candy in their plastic sacks. A grin crossed her face as she saw the smiles on theirs, returning to her from the house. Their faces seemed to glow with anticipation for what the rest of the evening held.

Everywhere people had decorated their yards with cobwebs, skeletons, jack-o-lanterns, and coffins. For several years, it seemed people had strayed from actively celebrating Halloween, but the spirit appeared to be back in her fair city.

As they approached the next yard, she noticed a pair of tennis shoes dangling in front of her as she turned, startling her a bit. Looking up, she noticed they belonged to a dummy stuffed with old rags, swaying in the breeze, his button eyes staring blankly down at her.

Wearing her high school letter jacket, she walked behind the kids, keeping close watch. An honor student at Bloomington North High School, she participated in several sports, keeping active, and enjoying her last year in school to the fullest. She had finished her cross-country season above expectations, now preparing herself for gymnastics.

Tonight she took the children out while their parents spent the night at a high school basketball game. Jane Clouse wanted her husband to attend the game with her because her nephew was playing. The timing seemed odd, but the couple, as well as the kids, felt perfectly comfortable letting Jamie take them out for the evening. Zach especially dreaded the Halloween season after his mother’s untimely death two years prior, but with help from Jamie and unwavering support from his new family, the boy was adjusting well.

The curls in her lengthy red hair bounced as she strolled with the kids to the next house. Her smile came easily, especially when she spent time with them, and she never grew tired or irritated when they were around. She was more of a nanny than a babysitter sometimes, taking time from her busy schedule to be around the kids. Of course, the money was good too, because Paul Clouse had come across some good fortune the previous year when he received an unexpected inheritance.

He tended to treat Jamie like a niece.

Are you guys having fun? she asked between houses.

Awesome, Katie said, having picked up on the word from television lately.

Good. We’ve got about another half hour before we have to head home, she said as though she lived with them. Sometimes it felt as though she did. With a key to the Clouse household, the code to their home security system, and unlimited use of the facilities, including the pool and spa, she was like an extended part of the family.

Jamie heard stories about Paul and Jane Clouse, and what they had experienced the past few years. She paid little attention to the rumors, figuring no one could really go through what people said they had. They were fantastic people in her view, and she required some concrete proof to sway that opinion.

Her evening plans included earning their trust by getting the kids home early, watching a scary movie, and calling her boyfriend once they were in bed. She expected to enjoy a relatively uneventful Halloween Eve.

***

While most people celebrated the unofficial holiday, Tim Niemeyer drove his four-wheel-drive Chevy work truck down a quiet street in Bedford, a town just south of Bloomington. He spied costumes, light sticks, and jack-o-lanterns at nearly every house. Kids, just like his son and daughter, skipped up and down the street in anticipation of sweet snacks.

His wife agreed to take their children out since this was probably the last year both kids would seek candy. They were rising through the grade school ranks, growing too fast for his taste. Soon they would enter junior high, leaving childhood completely behind.

Niemeyer and his younger brother, Randy, worked at restoring their church inside the city limits every Saturday night. Typically the only night the brothers saw one another, they spent Saturdays working on the church with several other parishioners, often grabbing dinner at one of their favorite restaurants afterwards.

Most times, Niemeyer picked his brother up before or after the church work since Randy lived in town, and he did not. Either way, he had to drive, so he saved his little brother any additional burden.

In business for himself, Niemeyer owned a growing construction company that specialized in building for businesses. His friends and associates all agreed that he knew what he wanted from life, and where he was heading, more than anyone else they knew.

Despite his business savvy and prosperous nature, Niemeyer toted his redneck background with him. A Tennessee accent picked up from his grandfather as a child remained, especially when he was drinking, or angry. He often carried a loaded shotgun in the cab of his truck, much to his wife’s dismay. Equipped with a quick temper and little tolerance for alternative lifestyles, Niemeyer took most people some time to get used to.

A burly man with just enough hair left to make a fringe with strands in between, he worked out with several police buddies. He often found himself teased about losing his hair to steroids. They knew Niemeyer was an all-natural weight lifter, but they had fun with him at his expense. For those who knew him, getting a rise out of Niemeyer was one of the funniest things about him.

By conventional means, Niemeyer was immovable. Furnished with forearms as thick and solid as small trees, and broad shoulders, most people considered him a threat to their well-being just in passing. In reality, he attended church, loved his family, and took care to involve everyone he knew in the good aspects of his life. By no means would Niemeyer hurt anyone unless they threatened him or those he loved.

No time was available to change between work at the church and supper with his brother. Niemeyer wore steel-toe boots, as he typically did in his construction business, and a red flannel shirt beneath a black nylon jacket depicting his construction business logo. Business was good enough that he never minded advertising for himself.

Pulling into his brother’s driveway, he noticed the fallen leaves of various colors on every lawn up the street. Some families had decorative bags in their yards storing the abundant piles, and most houses were decorated for the season. His brother’s house showed no sign of decoration, and very little light from within.

While observing the neighborhood, Niemeyer spied several trick-or-treaters walking behind his truck, as though they considered throwing eggs or some other substance on it. They probably figured him to be the owner of the house who refused to give out candy or welcome them to the door with festive decorations. He growled to himself, not enjoying the idea of his truck getting messy, but the kids moved on without incident. Distracted by their sauntering down the street, Niemeyer was caught off-guard when the passenger side door of his truck flew open.

Damn it, Randy, he said upon seeing his younger brother, his drawl coming out more than usual. You scared the shit out of me.

Sorry, his brother replied.

Strangely, the two were three years apart in age, but looked remarkably similar in the face and their stocky builds. Still, there were differences.

Like his older brother, Randy had two kids, but he was recently divorced, leaving his children in the hands of his ex-wife for the night. He avoided anything to do with Halloween if possible, including handing out candy after a night of working on the church.

I noticed you had your lights out, Tim noted.

You know I hate Halloween, Tim. And if any kids came up, I don’t know what I’d give them. About the only food I have in the house is frozen dinners.

His brother grunted a laugh.

That would go over well.

Randy worked two jobs while attending Indiana University a few nights a week in his pursuit of a criminal justice degree. He planned to enter the private security field or go further into a law degree, possibly even police work, depending on which field he eventually decided was more worth his time. Using his divorce as a source of newfound freedom and inspiration, he followed the path of his dreams rather than detouring toward practicality.

Randy sometimes carried a semiautomatic pistol tucked into his belt, which some people attributed to his country upbringing, just like his brother. Tonight he had left it home, since they were just eating and visiting the church.

How hungry are you? Tim asked as he reversed the truck from the driveway.

Very. I missed lunch because I spent all day at the library doing research before we met at the church.

Good. My treat tonight.

Special occasion?

No, I just figure if the only thing you have to eat is frozen dinners, your wallet must be shrinking.

Randy laughed.

It will be as long as I’m taking classes.

I’ll take care of you, little brother.

Tim pulled into the parking lot of his own bank, as he always did on Saturday night before they ate. The bank sat in the rear of the parking lot beside a vacant store. Lighting was poor, provided only by a nearby streetlight. In the distance behind them, several fast food restaurants were flooded with hungry patrons. A few cars appeared abandoned just behind his truck as he pulled up to the ATM, ready to finance an evening out with his kin.

You really hate carrying cash, don’t you? Randy asked his older brother.

The way things are today, you bet.

To everyone their own.

Tim grinned, opening his truck door.

He whistled to himself as he stepped up to the cash machine, encumbered by darkness aside from the tiny light mounted atop the ATM. As the breeze picked up, brushing past him, he felt a sudden chill. The feeling wasn’t so much related to the weather as it was the impending holiday. While Tim didn’t much mind the fall, he disliked Halloween and the local stigma attached to him and his good friend Paul Clouse from the previous year. The high school friends lost someone very near and dear to them in a brutal homicide.

Nearby bushes rustled in the breeze as shadows seemed to pass the construction owner who was in the middle of his cash transaction. Sensing something different around him, Niemeyer looked up to see someone emerge from around the bush. He quickly turned his head, trying to avoid being rude by staring, to finish the transaction and move along.

To the other side of him he spied another shadow interrupting the dim lighting. He felt his face flush from nervousness as he swallowed hard.

What the hell is going on? he asked himself under his breath.

***

After a full night of receiving candy and more than a few pranks, Jamie and the kids ended up back in the Clouse household. While the kids were upstairs getting ready for bed, she took a moment to call her boyfriend on the phone.

She had dressed down after the festivities, wearing tight jeans that accented her posterior region, despite a school policy in their handbook stating no pants should be worn that revealed the movement or outline of the buttocks. She felt compelled to rebel in small ways, and her athletic form was one of the main attractions to the boys she dated.

Despite rumors spoken of her around school, Jamie liked dating boys of the opposite race. Her best friend was African-American, and she enjoyed how black men treated her, showing her more respect than anyone else in her school. Her one fling with an older white man, just a few years removed from graduation, ended bitterly for her. He constantly thought she looked at other men while she thought he was overbearing, wanting too much out of their relationship.

The past two months she had dated Trent, a high school jock, recruited by several colleges for basketball, and a few more for track and field. Like Jamie, he was studious, and worked a job to pay for his car and save for college. More so than most black teenagers she dated, Trent was a complete package, and ready for the real world. Her previous boyfriends simply fantasized about taking hold of her posterior for the evening until they accomplished their goal.

Her past relationships had been shallow. Boys seemed to want her for her car, for sex, or for cheap advancement in school studies. Trent seemed different, but she would never put herself in a position to be vulnerable, or hurt, if the relationship ended.

For the first time in her life, despite some open criticism from friends and family, Jamie felt truly happy. As she listened to the cordless phone’s receiver after dialing her boyfriend’s number, Jamie walked onto the porch. Cold wood touched her feet, reminding her of how cold the fall evenings grew after dark.

The porch wrapped around the front and one side of the house, but before she strolled too far Jamie took notice of the jack-o-lantern at her feet, a candle flickering within its toothy frame. She pulled the top off, now scorched from the flame, and blew out the candle, letting the wax drip down its side as it cooled. While she knelt, a shadow blocked the light coming from the open door for a second, but when she looked, she saw nothing. Jamie figured the kids were downstairs to beg for a snack.

Hello? a voice finally answered as she stepped inside, closing the door and locking it.

Hey, baby, she replied, turning to make some popcorn. She planned on watching a few horror movies before the Clouse family came home.

What are you doing?

I’m getting ready to put the kids to bed.

Can you put me to bed later?

Jamie’s devotion to keeping her virginity bothered most of her boyfriends, but Trent seemed a bit more understanding.

And patient.

He still kidded her sometimes, but never put pressure on her when it came to sex.

She considered herself worth waiting for, and no one could tell her otherwise. Though it seemed to be the cause of most of her relationship breakdowns, Jamie kept waiting, knowing the right man would someday walk into her life.

I think you’ve had enough fun for the night. How was Renita’s Halloween party? Jamie asked, pulling the sleeves of her sweater up now that she was adapted to the warmth of the house.

Terrible. It was the largest collection of pointless party games I’ve ever seen.

Well, we got candy, and some rotten eggs thrown at us. I can’t believe people our age have no consideration for little kids.

Trent laughed.

I bet you weren’t so defensive before you became that family’s nanny.

"I’m just a babysitter. I do not clean house or do windows."

Sure, Jamie. Whatever you say.

Jamie listened to his tale about the party while she put some popcorn in the microwave. After that, she walked over to the movie selection atop the television, choosing between them.

I know you love scary movies, Trent said, as though reading her mind. What are you watching tonight?

"I’ve got Halloween, or some B-movie I picked out."

Man, you know, black people always die in those movies.

Is it a Hollywood tradition or a stereotype no writer wants to break?

"It could be a subtle form of racism. You ever notice the brothers always get the worst treatment in those films? White people get to run around and check out strange noises while black people are getting hacked up behind their houses. You’d never see a black man follow bloody footprints back into the house."

Jamie giggled, taking the unknown movie from its case. She popped it in the player, noticing the security light outside activate. Extremely sensitive, the light could be triggered by one of the dogs getting loose, or a branch blown by the wind. She walked over to the front door unlocking it as she heard the kids come downstairs.

Jamie, can we watch a movie with you? she heard Katie ask from the bottom step, Zach beside her.

No, she called back, cupping the phone. Go upstairs, guys. I’ll be there in a minute.

Everything okay? Trent asked across the line.

I think so, she replied, stepping onto the porch, looking around the yard. Nothing seemed out of place.

Occasionally after the kids were in bed she would allow whomever she dated at the time to come over for a minute. It mildly violated her employer’s trust, but she never let anything immoral happen. She just hated being alone for too long.

A flickering light at her feet caught her attention. Jamie knelt beside the jack-o-lantern, noticing the candle inside had been lit a second time. Positive the candle was incapable of reigniting itself, she nervously looked around the yard, seeing no one. All the dogs seemed to be chained up in the backyard, most of them lying beside their protective houses.

What’s up, baby? Trent asked.

I think someone’s trying to-

Jamie never finished her sentence before the line went dead.

Hello? Hello? she asked frantically, trying to get the phone to show signs of life. Oh, God, she said, blowing out the candle again, running inside the house for cover.

Someone had cut the phone line and toyed with the jack-o-lantern. Perhaps this was a huge joke, but in the middle of nowhere, and with two kids to think of, Jamie took no chances as she locked the door, setting the alarm system immediately after. She threw the phone to the empty couch, ready to check on the kids when the video playing in the machine caught her attention.

Instead of some straight-to-video release like she expected, the television showed scenes of her own life, particularly a distanced view of her and the kids out trick-or-treating earlier that night. Horrified, she knew of only one way the tapes might have been switched.

Someone was already inside the house.

Suddenly the rumors she remembered hearing about the Clouse family’s torment, Zach’s mother murdered inside her own house, and the stalker who dressed like the grim reaper in honor of a priest who allegedly burned himself alive all came to her. It wasn’t until a dark figure emerged from the dimmed light of the kitchen, however, that she felt certain her life was in mortal danger.

Letting a shriek emerge from the depths of her throat, Jamie looked for something to protect herself with, or an object to hide behind as the dark figure stepped forward, revealing no face. Instead, a black robe concealed his identity, and a drooping mask covered any facial features.

Indeed, he was the grim reaper, and he held a small, modified version of a scythe across the front of his body.

Oh, God, Jamie gasped, seeing nothing of use to her in the living room. Every piece of furniture hugged a wall, no knives or weapons were around, and the kids were at the bottom of the stairs, blocking her only good escape route. Run! she screamed at them, not wanting to follow them for fear she might put them in danger.

Scared for their lives after seeing the dark figure, they quickly obeyed, dashing up the stairs like squirrels up a tree.

In the meantime, Jamie waited for the stalker to draw closer before dodging her way around him, running for the kitchen. There, she flipped on the light, grabbing a frying pan from the stove, whacking her pursuer upside the head as he entered the room, sending him into a heap atop the floor. Jamie pulled a knife from a nearby drawer, shrinking away from the motionless body atop the linoleum tile.

Breathing heavily, and sobbing to herself, she observed the figure and his black military style boots. Whoever he was, this was no joke, and she had no idea what to do next.

Without warning, the attacker sprang up, ready to chase her around the cooking island centered in the kitchen. She faked one direction, quickly choosing the other, thinking she could make a clean getaway. He dove at her, clasping her ankle in one hand as both fell to the floor.

Tripped up, Jamie quickly swung the knife in his direction, forcing the release of her leg before the knife met her attacker’s flesh. She stood, but accidentally dropped the knife, which he picked up in his pursuit. Seeing the side door through the living room as her only means of escape, Jamie crossed the living room with her athletic speed. Still, the killer caught her as she pulled the door open a crack, ramming the knife through her backside, cutting one lung and tearing through her chest.

She gasped several breaths, looking down at her chest, spying the edge of the blade, stained with dripping crimson from her insides.

Her body landed in a heap along the plush carpet, but he wasn’t done yet. Taking her by the sweater, he picked her body upright, surprised when she turned on him, using her last bit of life to kick him in the groin in an attempt to throw him away from her.

He evaded her attack easily, despite the feeling a sledgehammer had connected below his waist, punching her across the face before hurling her through the side window of the house. Shards of glass entered her soft insides, coming out the backside covered with blood, allowing streaks of the red substance to flow down the eggshell walls. After admiring his work a moment, the killer took up the scythe, heading in the direction of the stairs when the home security alarm began blaring, catching his attention. He stared at the box, unable to recall the code she typed in, leaving him precious few minutes to escape.

Jamie’s dying act of opening the door broke one of the magnetic seals that set off the alarm within thirty seconds if the code was not entered. The killer failed to hear the beeps indicating the alarm was armed, and now had to choose between pursuing the children or escaping before the police arrived.

Looking at the door, then to the stairs, he made his choice. Scythe in tow, he darted upstairs in hopes of more fun.

Chapter 2

Tim Niemeyer stood at the ATM, waiting patiently for his money to emerge. As usual, the machine ran slow because of the online connection to the bank’s main branch. While he waited, Tim spied a dark figure approaching a few feet behind him. With little light from the machine or the building, he could not make out any features on the person.

I’ll be just a second, he informed the stranger.

While the machine spit out his money, then took its time processing the receipt, another figure emerged to his left, opposite the other. Niemeyer quickly peeked at the other stranger, wondering why the ATM suddenly seemed so popular.

Even the headlights from his truck did not help distinguish who the people were because they stood off to the side, covered in shadows. He grunted to himself, hoping the machine would hurry and let him be on his way.

Takes forever, he commented to no one in particular, glancing to see another figure, then another come up from behind him, away from the light. A breeze blew some leaves past his feet, as it penetrated his jacket between the buttons.

Significantly more nervous, Tim snatched his money from the machine, suspecting he was about to play victim to a mugging, or perhaps some Halloween joke. A gleam of light from his truck headlights illuminated one side, allowing him a decent look at one of the figures.

Dressed completely in black, and with his head partly concealed by a hood left down around the neck area, the man wore some sort of strange cross around his neck, as though part of some bizarre religious cult. A robe draped around his feet, which barely protruded, but appeared to be covered by plain sandals.

Still, he saw the man’s face. If Tim’s hunch played true, the only reason a person might let himself be revealed is, if he didn’t care who saw him, or he planned to kill the observer to destroy any chance of him being revealed. No security camera was visible at the ATM, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Regardless, identifying the man positively wouldn’t help him at that moment. Besides, who would possibly be monitoring, or ever see, a camera at an isolated machine, he pondered. The tape probably rolled over anyhow, never used or recovered unless a crime was reported.

His nervousness intensified as all of the possibilities ran through his head.

When a sixth figure appeared behind him, the group moved forward, much to the shock of Randy, who had watched this odd encounter take place from inside the truck, as though it was a drive-in movie. The momentary thought of his brother playing a Halloween trick on him crossed his mind, but Tim wasn’t much of a prankster and enlisting the assistance of six people seemed farfetched. Randy reached behind the seat for Tim’s shotgun, too late to prevent what his older brother was about to endure.

As Tim took his card and statement from the machine, he felt a sharp pain in his kidney area where a dagger pierced his jacket.

Time seemed to freeze as he realized he was surrounded by six creepy, dark figures. All were standing around him with blades in their hands, too far away for him to take a swing at any of them. Spying blood on the dagger of his attacker, he threw a punch anyway, missing wildly.

He cried in pain as another dagger entered his side, then more blades pierced what little protection his jacket offered. He whirled in agony, feeling blood ooze from each wound as more were inflicted. Whenever he tried to fight off an attacker, he found himself jabbed from a different direction.

All six took turns stabbing him repeatedly.

A jab to the kidneys.

A stab to his side.

A blade rammed into his stomach.

Blood smeared the outside lining of his jacket, refusing to soak in. His skin ripped apart with each blade’s entrance, leaving less and less hope of his survival. His body jolted painfully with each wound as though a surge of electricity shot through it.

While Randy’s fingers found the