CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Croft led them across the fairgrounds with one hand lightly extended, as if he were guiding guests toward a better seat instead of taking two law enforcement officers to his private quarters.
Selena felt the charisma exuding from him.
She knew how dangerous that could be to those who were lost like Brenda and Lauren.
The music from the tent still rolled behind them.
Voices clapped in time with the band. The crowd had that uplifted sound people got when they were no longer embarrassed to be moved in public.
Past the glow of the tent lights, the parked bus waited in a strip of grass beside a line of generators and stacked folding chairs.
Up close, it looked even more expensive.
Cream paint shone under the floodlights. Gold lettering ran along the side in a flourish that suggested old money whether it existed or not. The windows were darkened. Chrome caught the light at every edge.
Two broad men stood near the folding steps, both in dark jackets despite the mild night. One had a neck like a fence post and a shaved head that reflected the light. The other wore an earpiece and kept his hands clasped in front of him, though the posture looked less respectful than ready.
The shaved one stepped forward when he saw Connor and Selena coming. As she got closer, she noticed an old scar on his neck, which looked like someone had tried to cut his throat in the past.
Croft lifted a hand. “It’s fine, Leon.”
The man stopped at once.
“There’s only one law around here,” Leon said to them.
“There sure is,” Connor said. “And it comes with a badge and a gun.”
Leon stared at them.
“Please, Leon,” Elias said. “They are my guests.”
Leon glared at Connor then bowed his head slightly toward Elias. “Of course, Shepherd.”
Selena took that in and kept walking.
Connor glanced once at the security men, then at the bus. “You don’t do anything halfway, Mr. Croft. This must all cost a pretty penny.”
Croft gave a modest laugh. “When you spend most of your life on the road, comfort becomes practical. I have to be rested to best promote God’s message.”
The smell changed when Selena climbed the steps. Outside there had been damp dirt, diesel, and trampled grass. Inside the bus the air carried leather, polished wood, and some faint incense note meant to suggest reflection rather than money.
A narrow corridor ran down the center. Framed photographs lined one wall.
Croft at pulpits in other states. Croft with elderly women holding Bibles to their chests.
Croft beside men in suits and county officials with practiced smiles.
Lamps set into brass fixtures cast a warm glow over dark paneling. Thick carpet softened every footstep.
Connor let out a low breath. “Impressive.”
Croft turned back with a small smile. “People are generous when they believe in the work.”
He led them past a compact kitchen and a seating nook, then opened a door at the rear.
The room beyond looked more like a study than anything meant for travel.
Bookcases had been built into the walls.
A heavy desk sat beneath a shaded lamp. Two upholstered chairs faced it.
A Bible lay open beside a silver-framed photograph of Croft with a woman Selena assumed had once been his wife.
Another shelf held commentaries, devotional texts, and leather-bound volumes too pristine to have seen much use on the road.
Connor and Selena sat.
Croft remained standing. “Can I get either of you something? Water, coffee, a little food?”
“We’re fine,” Selena said.
Connor shook his head. “Nothing for me.”
Croft took his own seat behind the desk and folded his hands. “Then tell me what this is all about.”
Selena let the quiet sit a second before answering. “Two women are dead in Harlan County.”
The warmth in Croft’s expression thinned.
“Both were found posed on religious grounds,” Connor said. “Both murders were staged. Both women had attended your revival.”
Something shifted across Croft’s face then. Not alarm exactly. A quick fall of the features, sorrow arranged with such ease that Selena could not decide whether it was real or rehearsed.
“Dear heavens,” he said softly. “Who?”
“Brenda Colter,” Selena said. “Lauren Gimble.”
Croft lowered his eyes. One hand moved to the Bible on the desk, fingertips resting there. “I don’t know those names.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t meet them,” Connor said. “We know for a fact that Lauren was here, and that Brenda showed interest so probably attended, too.”
“I suppose,” Croft agreed. “I could have met them, but I meet so many people here, as you saw yourself.”
Silence filled the room. Somewhere farther up the bus a cabinet door clicked shut. Outside, the music from the tent came muffled through the walls.
Croft looked up again. “You’re telling me these women came to one of our services and were later murdered?”
“Yes,” Selena said. “It looks that way.”
A slow breath left him. “That’s a terrible thing.”
“So, think again. Did you know either of them?” Connor asked, taking out two photos of the victims from social media.
Elias looked at them. “No, sorry, I don’t recall them.”
Selena leaned forward slightly. “Walk me through a typical night. You preach, you greet people, you pray with some of them. Do women talk to you after services?”
“Men, too.”
“You counsel them?” Selena asked.
“When they ask.”
“Do you ever travel with repeat attendees? People who follow the revival from county to county?” Selena pushed.
Croft’s smile returned in diminished form, thoughtful rather than warm. “This is the Midwest, Agent Raven. A lot of lonely people are driving a lot of back roads in search of something. Some show up more than once. We don’t always learn their names.”
“Like who?” Selena said. “Who shows up more than once? What sort of people?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
Connor shifted in his chair. “Anyone stand out as unstable? Aggressive? Too interested in women who come alone in your flock?”
Croft spread a hand. “Sheriff, the kind of people who come to us are often in pain. Pain doesn’t always present prettily, but that doesn’t make you a murderer, just lost.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“But that is my answer, my boy,” Croft said.
For the first time a trace of steel showed through the preacher’s soft cadence.
Selena watched his eyes rather than his mouth. “Is it possible someone in your group spoke with Lauren or Brenda?”
“I don’t know. But I can guarantee you that whoever is responsible, it won’t be someone who works for me.”
“How can, you be sure?” Connor asked.
“Because every employee here has to be a devout follower of Christ. And Christ would never support murder.”
Selena was starting to feel like Elias could run the best of them around a circle without giving them an answer. “Could someone in your group have known them?”
“That’s possible.”
Connor said, “Then give us the names of everyone who works with you. We can do background checks and canvass them to see if they know.”
Croft’s gaze moved to him and did not blink. “I can ask around if you leave the photographs, but I don’t feel a list is pertinent.”
Selena let that line settle between them. “And why is that?”
“I mean I can make inquiries on your behalf. Quietly. What I won’t do is hand over the names of everyone traveling with me because two women who once sat under our roof happened to be murdered.”
Connor’s voice stayed even. “Why not?”
Croft leaned back a little in his chair.
“Because I take in all kinds to my flock. Some come to us in shame. Some come broken. Some come fresh out of places where nobody has spoken kindly to them in years. I’m not going to perturb fragile people by sending authorities through their lives unless I’m convinced there is cause. ”
Connor’s jaw tightened. “So, you mean some of them have a criminal past.”
“I said no such thing.”
“You didn’t need to.” Selena could hear the irritation in Connor’s voice.
Croft gave the slightest shrug. “I said people deserve a second chance, and that is what I give them.”
“Like your security guard out there, Leon?” Selena asked. “I noticed the scar on his neck. It struck me as similar to what we’ve seen on the victims.”
“His name is Leon Matheson,” Elias said. “And he doesn’t have a criminal record. You can check. I have to trust my security with my life. Leon got that scar in an accident. So, shame on you for thinking otherwise.”
“We can get a warrant for that list,” she said.
Croft’s eyes returned to her. “I know, child. Unlike Judas, I still won’t betray my brethren.”
He folded his hands again. “Do what you think is necessary, and I will do what I think is necessary.”
Connor shifted forward. “You said some of these people are fragile. That means you know more about their histories than you’re admitting.”
“I know what they choose to confess. Nothing more.”
“You keep records of those confessions?”
“No. And if I did, I wouldn’t give them to you. We have payroll records, fuel receipts, permits, the usual things required by the world. That’s not the same as me keeping files on wounded souls.”
“Payroll means names at least,” Connor said.
“And you’re not getting those tonight, my son.”
The reply came mild as cream.
Selena took over again and pushed harder, asserting pressure where she felt it was needed. “And what about you. Where were you on the seventh and ninth? The nights Brenda Colter and Lauren Gimble were killed?”
“In this bus.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“No driver? No assistant?”
Croft smiled without showing teeth. “I value solitude more than people imagine.”
“Can anyone confirm you stayed here all night?”
“No one watched me as I slept, but my security team stays outside the bus and would have seen me if I’d gone.”
Connor let out a quiet breath through his nose. “Convenient.”
Croft’s expression did not change. “You asked, Sheriff.”
Selena said, “Did you leave the grounds at any point?”
“No.”
“Did anyone see you here?”