Hallelujah - Amen - and Pass the Bullets

By Thomas Cox

Blackmail and murder lead Nick Cotton and his friend, Roscoe Buckmiller, to investigate a bogus church camp with armed guards. They discover the camp is supported by an East coast crime boss for the purpose of training and selling troubled young girls into prostitution. The test for Nick and Roscoe is finding a way to shut down the camp without harming innocent people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468528794

Thomas Cox

Thomas Cox is an award winning writer of adult crime stories in the mystery/suspense genre. He also writes adventure and fantasy books for your readers. Currently the author lives in Indianapolis, Indiana.

Book preview

1

On a mild spring day three people crowded into Nick Cotton’s oppressive office, formerly a mop closet, in the west wing of Sylvester Overton Barton High School, commonly known as S.O.B. Two of the people, a man and woman, were ushered inside by the third, Dr. Larry Voight, the assistant superintendent of the school district. This did not bode well for Nick because Larry Voight never visited unless he wanted something.

The man and woman visitors both appeared nervous. He wore a lightweight business suit with the pants sharply creased and shiny shoes. The necktie was color coordinated with the suit and sharply contrasted with the white shirt. His brown hair was stylishly cut and combed. The woman, attractive and somewhat thin-faced, wore an expensive matching skirt and jacket with a darker colored blouse. She had on the latest in pointy-toed spiked-heeled shoes.

It was the darting of their eyes, to Nick, and around his little office, that gave away their apprehension.

Dr. Voight made the introductions. This, he said to the couple, is Nick Cotton, the man I told you about, our school Chief of Security. Nick, I’d like you to meet Dr. and Mrs. William Courtney. Dr. Courtney and I were classmates at Ball State when we worked on our doctorates. Dr. Courtney works for the State Department of Education as assistant superintendent.

Nick nodded. The couple didn’t appear to want to shake hands, so he sat and waited.

Finally Nick said by way of greeting, Mr. Courtney?

"Doctor Courtney, the man corrected him emphatically. I hold a doctorate in educational philosophy."

So, one of those. Nick cut off a corner of the mouth quirk. He said, Congratulations.

The message was clear enough. Since Nick did not possess a doctorate, he was somewhat inferior. Nick settled back in his chair and folded his hands on his lap. Okay, by him. Already he didn’t like the couple.

The only other chair in the office was a straight-backed wooden one. Dr. Courtney adjusted it and said to his wife, Charlene?

Charlene Courtney sat. Her husband hovered behind her and Dr. Larry Voight stood to one side.

Mrs. Courtney sniffed. It smells like mop oil in here.

Used to be a janitors’ closet, Nick said. We can’t get rid of the smell. It’s guaranteed to clear the sinuses.

Dr. Courtney said, Larry thinks you might possibly be of assistance. He says you’re discreet. That’s very important.

Nice of him, Nick said. He had met the Courtneys less than a minute ago and already they, the man at least, was grating on his nerves. And what is it you want?

You must understand something, Dr. Courtney said. What I’m going to show you must be kept in the strictest confidence. Do we have your word on it? Do you understand what I’m saying?

Yes, Nick said. Even without a doctorate I can understand. It’s an effort, but I’m lucky that way.

Mrs. Courtney turned her head to look at her husband. This is not a good idea, she said. We don’t know if he can be trusted. She peered hard at Nick. What does a high school security chief do?

Not very much, Nick admitted. Right now they’ve got me teaching remedial math with the mandate that all the losers, especially the ones who don’t want to learn, must pass so our scores look good to the state department. Nobody fails here.

Nick, Dr. Larry Voight cautioned.

Sorry, Nick said. I wasn’t supposed to admit that. He tossed a cool smile at Larry Voight. The school security chief gig usually means I’m having to do him personal favors. He looked at the Courtneys and said to the man, I’m confused as to why someone from the state department of ed wants help from me. Usually you folks are good at mandating things.

Do not criticize the State Department of Education, Mrs. Courtney said. My husband will soon head that agency. She sniffed a breath in through her nose. Dr. Voight said you owe your job to him.

That’s why he recommends your expertise and your discretion, Dr. William Courtney put in. He laid one hand on his wife’s shoulder, and Nick noticed that she shrugged it off.

I’ve already announced I’m resigning at the end of this semester. In— Nick looked at the calendar on his wall. Four more weeks. So if we don’t hurry this along, it may be too late.

Resigning? said Dr. William Courtney. Dr. Voight didn’t mention that.

Larry Voight cleared his throat. I’ve been asking Nick to reconsider. There is a possibility he may regain his coaching job. The community wants him, and I’m trying to pull some strings with the school board.

When pigs sprout wings, Nick said. Both the superintendent and the school board are ambivalent. They can’t forget what happened. He tilted back in his chair and cocked his head at the Courtneys. But let’s skip this part.

Dr. Courtney is my friend, Nick, Dr. Voight said. Hear them out. I told them that you used to be a cop.

I was an M.P. in the army.

And you used to be the football coach here, Mrs. Courtney said, still looking straight at Nick. Until they fired you. I understand you pushed a board member’s head into a locker room toilet.

But I didn’t flush it, Nick pointed out. He looked over at Dr. Voight. Did Larry also describe my moles and scars?

Larry Voight avoided his eyes and focused on something behind Nick on the blank wall. He said, Dr. and Mrs. Courtney have a problem involving their daughter. She’s my godchild.

Dr. William Courtney drew himself up. The reason, our insistence, for discretion is that I currently hold the very important position as Chief Deputy Superintendent in the State Department of Education. I am directly under the superintendent himself. I’m sure you’ve heard of me, or read of me in the newspaper.

Ah, yes, I remember your name now, Nick said. You’re running for the superintendent’s job at the state level.

And that is only a step for my husband, said Mrs. Courtney. He already has the endorsements of the current superintendent who’s retiring, and of the governor himself. The future beckons.

Beckons? Nick thought. Who the hell talks like that?

Dr. Courtney said, Yes, our superintendent has announced that he will not seek re-election this fall. It’s fair to say that I am in the right position at the right time. With the endorsements and the party’s support, my first foray into politics should be successful.

Foray? Nick thought. Who the hell talks like that?

Amused, he realized the Courtneys do.

Nick said, Sorry, I can’t promise my vote.

We have a problem, Dr. Courtney said.

Nick smiled. Like I said, can’t promise. I’m not interested in politics.

Dr. Voight cleared his throat as he smiled at Dr. and Mrs. Courtney. You might not be able to tell from his bulldog looks, but Nick generally likes people. He sometimes has a weird sense of humor.

Nick narrowed his look at the assistant superintendent. Voight rolled his eyes upward toward the ceiling, then fixated on the blank wall, avoiding Nick’s look.

Humor is not what we need, said Mrs. Courtney, stiffly.

Nick said, I don’t understand, probably due to my lack of a doctorate, why Larry brought you here. Why do you think that is, Mr. and Mrs. Courtney.

"Doctor Courtney," the man corrected him.

Please address my husband by his official title, said Mrs. Courtney, which made Nick wonder if she had to address him that way, too. He had a momentary flash of imagination in which the Courtneys were having sex, and of Mrs. Courtney calling out, "Oh, Dr. Courtney—Dr. Courtney—"

The mental scene made Nick choke off a laugh. I’ll try to remember your official title, he said with mock seriousness.

Again Voight cleared his throat. Nick—please. Listen to what they have to say.

Dr. Courtney said to Nick, When Dr. Voight’s son went missing, you found him. He tried to make a little patting gesture on his wife’s shoulder until she again shrugged his fingers away. Our daughter, Carly, is now nineteen years old, almost twenty. When she turned eighteen, a year ago this past January, she dropped out of Ball State University to join a religious commune. Since that time, she has cut off all communication with us.

Okay, Nick said, blandly. Good for her, he thought. So? At nineteen, going on twenty, she’s old enough to do what she wants.

Dr. Courtney took some items from an inside pocket and placed the first three on the desk. A fourth, in a manila envelope, he held in his hand. Nick looked at the first item. It was a month old newspaper clipping from The Indianapolis Star.

The article was strictly a political report stating Dr. Courtney’s candidacy for state superintendent accompanying a photograph of a smiling, apparently happy, family. On the left in the picture was Charlene Courtney, well dressed and smiling, wearing what looked like a pearl necklace. On the right was Dr. William Courtney, looking pompous and official in suit and tie, with his thin-lipped smile. And in the center was a very attractive teenaged daughter, Carly Courtney, a blond youngster with a wide grin, though eyes that appeared a bit hard even in a newspaper photo. All had been shot from the waist up.

That was taken over a year ago, Dr. Courtney explained. When there was speculation about my candidacy, when the superintendent had not yet formally announced he was retiring. You know how the governor and superintendent stress family values and good Christian living. We must be the living embodiment of those values.

Embodiment? Nick wondered who the hell talks like that.

Two more items on the desk were high school photographs, senior school pictures apparently, of daughter Carly Courtney. She was a confident, smiling, very attractive teenager. Nick wondered how much she could have changed since the Courtneys had told him she was now nearing twenty.

Nick waited for the fourth item: the manila envelope.

Dr. Courtney placed it before him.

Dr. Courtney said, We’d rather Larry not see that.

Dr. Voight nodded and stepped out of the small office.

Nick opened the manila envelope.

There half a dozen glossies he looked at, one at a time.

All were of Carly Courtney, grinning into the camera with a kind of brittle expression, in the nude and in the throes of sexual activity with men. Two showed her getting stuck from behind in doggy fashion, three with her reclining on her back with the men, of various body size, above her, and one of her performing fellatio. None of the men’s faces were displayed, but Carly had made sure the camera had caught hers. She had turned her head to face it in each photo with a big grin.

Nick replaced the photos in the envelope and handed it back to Courtney.

Dr. Courtney went to the door and motioned Larry Voight to rejoin them.

2

Let me get to the point, Mrs. Courtney said coldly, not looking around at her husband. We’re being blackmailed because of our daughter and we can’t afford any adverse publicity.

Nick said, Who’s blackmailing you?

Dr. Courtney shook his head woefully. We don’t know who. The initials on the note that came with the demand are J. M. The address is a P.O. box in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The blackmailer sent those photographs and says copies will be forwarded to our party chairman, the superintendent, the governor’s office, and the media if we don’t pay.

Mrs. Courtney winced and shifted her butt in the chair. Photos can be altered. It’s likely those have been. Carly is the sweetest, prettiest, brightest girl you could ever meet. We spared no expense in getting her anything she wanted as she was growing up. So I don’t believe those pictures.

Nick shrugged. They looked real enough to him. So what’s the problem?

Dr. Courtney said, With the election coming up, you can see my delicate position. We are supposed to pay a monthly ransom until the election. That will be in November.

Following the man’s pause, Nick said, How much?

Mrs. Courtney said, We are not wealthy. Dr. Courtney is a public employee. We sent the first payment, but we’re furious. We want this blackmailer stopped and his stupid claims proven a lie.

Nick looked at Dr. Larry Voight. Larry, I’m not going to Florida again. That’s final.

Mrs. Courtney said, Dr. Voight told us how you found his son for him.

I was lucky, Nick said. He pursed his lips. Folks, you have a police problem. Call the cops in Fort Lauderdale and alert them to what’s happening. Hire an investigator there. There’s nothing I can do. Or will do.

No, we insist on discretion, Mrs. Courtney said.

Nick looked at Larry Voight. I hope you didn’t tell them I’d do this.

No, I said you’d listen. Please do that, Nick.

Nick grunted and asked, How much blackmail are you paying?

Two thousand dollars a month until the election, said Dr. Courtney.

Why did the blackmailer ask for two, and not twenty, or fifty thousand? said Nick. He sounds like an amateur.

We’re not wealthy people, Dr. Courtney replied. It’s still six months until the election. That will be twelve more thousand. Mr. Cotton, do you know what I make in my current position for the state? It’s devastating.

Nick gave him a skeptical look. He knew that a deputy superintend of public instruction would be making in the six figures annually. Of course, anybody could look it up on the state department’s web. He said, Then the blackmailer must know exactly what you can afford, or very close to it. It just strikes me that most extortion demands are much higher. Anyway, whatever is going on with your daughter, she made choices. It shouldn’t reflect on your ambitions since she’s of legal age.

It does, moaned Dr. Courtney. It can ruin our hopes for the future. I have assured my supporters that nothing is tainted in my family. But if this blackmailer’s statement that he will go to the media is serious—I He stopped and didn’t finish.

Even his lies can hurt us, said Mrs. Courtney.

Dr. Courtney vigorously nodded agreement.

Nick said, And you’re not in contact with your daughter?

No, not since she left the White Christian Supremacy, Mrs. Courtney said. A year ago this past February. Before she went to Florida.

The what?

The religious commune in southern Indiana.

She left right after that other girl was murdered, Dr. Courtney said.

Nick’s eyebrows lifted.

It seemed like the four people in the small room all took a collective breath.

Finally, Nick nodded. I believe I remember reading something about that. I wasn’t doing very well at the time. Actually he had been in the depths of self-pity after losing his coaching job.

This church camp, Mrs. Courtney said, they call it a seminary. It’s located in Osanamon County in southern Indiana, just outside the county seat, a town named Vinton. It’s advertised as a special school for young girls.

Dr. Courtney said, We had to pay a fee when she joined. It’s less than her college tuition, but— He didn’t finish. He had a habit of not finishing his statements.

Mrs. Courtney said, Our first contact was a phone call from Carly saying she had made up her mind what she wanted. We had no objection. In fact, a religious school might be what she needed. She was there only a couple of months.

Actually less than that, said Dr. Courtney. About a month, I think. Right about the time that other girl got killed.

A friend of your daughter’s?

Dr. Courtney shook his head. No, I wouldn’t say that. Oh, they knew each other. Both went to Central Tech High School. They were into sports. The dead girl was a swimmer. Carly is a tennis player. They occasionally competed in tennis.

His wife shot him an icy, tight-lipped look.

He won’t be getting any tonight, Nick thought. He said, You think the death of this other girl is what influenced Carly to leave the religious group?

That had nothing to do with it, said Mrs. Courtney. "We don’t talk with our daughter. It’s Carly’s choice, not ours. God knows we’ve done everything we could for her. She’s probably going through one of those stages of rebellion. We don’t have an address or a phone number for her. All we know is she’s in the Fort Lauderdale area of Florida. But that’s not the main issue here, Mr. Cotton. Our concern is the blackmailer.

Dr. Courtney said, That seminary might have an address for her. That’s what we’re hoping. We received a note, actually a form letter, from the camp over Carly’s signature saying that she was leaving for personal growth and opportunities. That was March first of last year, fourteen months ago. We got on the camp’s website and tried e-mailing and calling. No luck at all. Finally, when we did speak to a live person, we were told exactly what we told you, that Carly departed without a future address.

Mrs. Courtney was shaking her head. We don’t believe them. They must have some kind of record they’re not sharing. The name of this religious group is White Christian Supremacy. They have affiliated churches in different places. The churches are called the Church of Abundant Abundance. There’s one here in Indianapolis, on the south side. It’s a small church. We talked to the minister there, and he said the church has no knowledge of where the girls go when they’ve completed their fundamental studies.

While she drew a breath, Dr. Courtney started. This religious group at the camp accepts girls who are eighteen to twenty only. Their website, which is skimpy, suggests that young women seeking an understanding of life and God’s will, girls who have had personal difficulties in the past, can apply. Then the applicants are screened before invitations are issued. Once invited to the camp, those few are again screened and tested. It says there are generally six to twelve girls in residence. They’re in residence at least two months, depending on their advancement. Whatever that means.

Nick shrugged again. Why not phone them and ask what it means?

They don’t respond to the phone calls. We get a message referring us back to the website.

And what do you want done? Nick asked.

Larry says you can intimidate people. Get Carly’s address and go after that blackmailer.

Larry’s full of shit, Nick said. The answer’s no.

Dr. Courtney’s head drooped.

Mrs. Courtney looked over her shoulder at her husband. Mr. Cotton is not going to help us.

Dr. Larry Voight once more cleared his throat and said, I told them extortion is illegal, and Bill and Charlene should contact their lawyer.

Dr. Courtney shrugged. Discretion is what we need.

Hire a discreet private detective, Nick suggested. Contact the attorney general and the state police. They have resources. I can’t make this religious group give me anything they won’t give you.

God, I hate divulging family secrets, Mrs. Courtney said.

Nick nodded. And I don’t need to hear them. I’m neither a counselor nor a detective, nor a lawyer. You need one of those.

Dr. Courtney patted his wife’s shoulder until she once again brushed his hand off without looking at him. He said to Nick, "I realize what we’re asking can be thought of as an