The Defilers. Deborah Gyapong

and sexual assault victims. Not me. Socially my looks weren’t such a great advantage either. I became the object of gossip and sexual innuendos. I didn’t want the problems I’d had in British Columbia to start all over again. My mind drifted back to the satanic ritual abuse case and our upcoming interview with David Jordan. Will’s voice jarred me back to the present.

      “I hear you bought the Harrison place in Cornwallis Cove.” His deep blue eyes crinkled around the edges.

      “That’s right.” I glanced at my watch.

      “Beautiful spot.” His voice had a Nova Scotian twang. “That house must be 150 years old. Have you done a lot of work?”

      “Some.” My shoulders stiffened.

      “Now that the leaves are gone I bet you can see the water from some of your windows.” He sipped his coffee. “I’ve got a place out in Cornwallis Cove too, but on the other side of the village. Sterling County’s God’s country, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, it is beautiful.” I still avoided looking at him.

      He studied my face, which made me self-conscious. “You were out in Surrey, right?”

      My heart sank. Had he already been checking up on me with members in British Columbia?

      “I hear the cost of living out on the West Coast is something terrible,” he continued. “How did you ever save up enough money for a down payment with the rent they charge out there?”

      “I won the lottery,” I quipped, then plunked my notebook on the table. “I have some questions.”

      “Shoot.” A tiny piece of Kleenex clung to a little dot of blood on his neck. He must have cut himself shaving.

      “Why would a firebomber fill a cocktail with kerosene?”

      “To keep from getting injured. Gasoline fumes can explode prematurely.” He wiped some egg yolk off his chin with the back of his hand.

      “Exactly. You know Jordan was charged with firebombing an abortion clinic?”

      “So?”

      “Maybe he did his own place too.” Could Will see how my temples throbbed?

      “That case in Halifax was a joke! Everyone in the pro-life movement was a suspect. Little old ladies with blue hair were suspects. The media propelled that bandwagon.” He gulped his coffee, then took another bite of his sandwich. “David didn’t firebomb the clinic. Or his house, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

      “We shouldn’t rule him out.”

      Will stifled a burp. “I wouldn’t put too much weight on anything the people from South Dare told you yesterday.” He stood. “One of them did it.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re not raising the abortion clinic angle.”

      He crumpled the trash from his breakfast and tossed it at the wastebasket. He missed, but had already swaggered out the door. Mimicking his last words I scooped up his trash and hurled it into the wastebasket.

      David Jordan arrived at 9:06 a.m., a little later than expected. A smarmy air of serenity and charm replaced the sad, stunned manner he’d shown at the fire. He was too calm, too cheerful. His emotional state under the circumstances seemed weird to me, like a sociopath’s. David’s heavy-lidded eyes moved from Will’s face to mine, then rested there.

      “Why didn’t you notify us when you moved to South Dare?” Will asked.

      “Notify you?” David grinned. “Why would I do that?”

      “Didn’t it occur to you that Rex would be out to get you?”

      David shrugged, his attention still focused on me. “I wasn’t worried about Rex.”

      Will shook his head.

      David’s stare made me self-conscious. “Why did you move out there?” I asked.

      “We wanted to develop trust because we saw the need for a church there.”

      Need for you to rip them off? I felt my face grow hot. “Your wife said your place got vandalized?” I tried to keep anger from leaking into my voice.

      “Someone broke the windows in our woodshed. We had our tires slashed. Sometimes people threw rocks at our car. I think someone poisoned our dog.”

      Will leaned on his elbows. “You should have reported this.”

      “What for? I expected resistance. We decided to trust God for protection.”

      I snorted. “Obviously God wasn’t protecting you when your house burned down.”

      An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. David looked down at his long narrow hands and made a steeple with his tapered fingers.

      “You seem awfully calm for someone whose wife and kids nearly died in a fire.” We locked eyes.

      “I thank God for getting us out of there safely.” David emphasized every word like a hypnotist.

      “You put your family at risk by living out there.” My voice rose. “Your house burns down and you barely get out with your lives and you’re…”

      David’s eyes bored into me.

      I steeled myself and stared back until he looked down.

      “God led us to South Dare. Placed a burden on our hearts. I thought we’d be safe.” He spoke softly, gazing again at his steepled hands. He was good! He had the hypnotic showman shtick down pat.

      A derisive smile crept across my face. “God told you to go?”

      “I’m happy to answer your questions. But I didn’t come here to have my beliefs ridiculed or things I say twisted.”

      Will shook his head. He slouched in his seat as much as his muscular body would permit. “No one’s trying to ridicule your religious beliefs.” He shot me a warning glance.

      I concentrated on my pen scratching words on the page, feeling oddly anxious and disoriented. Ron flashed through my mind again. I saw him take off his black clerical shirt and hang it on the doorknob. Goosebumps covered my knees. I hugged them to my chin, feeling the tightness of my bra and white cotton panties.

      I remembered the rumble of his voice. “You are so beautiful. Remember, you are the Bride of Christ. And I am the Bridegroom. There is nothing wrong with what we are doing, but we have to keep it a secret because this is like the confessional, right sweetheart?” I remembered being spellbound, knowing something was terribly wrong, but worshipping him and assuming if he thought it was okay, it must be. He unbuttoned the fly of his faded Levis, stripped to his jockey shorts. The bed springs jangled. The vividness of the memory nauseated me. I shook it off. I glanced at David, terrified he’d been reading my mind. But he and Will were deep in conversation. How long had I zoned out? I glanced at my notebook and saw I’d been recording their conversation, even while lost in the awful flashback.

      “The satanic ritual abuse is still going on,” David said. His eyes kept coming back to me, like searchlights.

      “You know we’ve investigated the rumours,” Will said. “We’ve never been able to find any proof of a cult. Sexual abuse, yes. But no cult.”

      “Most cases of SRA have been proven to be bunk,” I said.

      David leaned toward Will. “Look, I share your reservations. I know these things can be blown way out of proportion. But something unspeakably evil is still going on out there.” David’s eyes were on me again.

      The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. You! You’re the evil.

      The room seemed to lose oxygen. The green walls started closing in. I felt an almost overwhelming urge to run out of the room. My heart was firing like a machine gun. This is crazy. Get a hold of yourself. I looked down at my ballpoint pen and noticed the ink was almost gone. To drive off my panic I concentrated on it. Told myself