A man spoke up from the back. “And what do we do if we see the murderer?”
“You know what he looks like?” shot back another man, sarcasm heavy in his tone.
“Yeah. He’s a skinhead.”
Opinions erupted in reaction to the description, creating a din that echoed through the sanctuary.
Harlan ran a hand over his bald head. “Okay! Everyone settle down!” His voice quivered slightly. “Josh, that kind of comment isn’t helpful. We don’t judge people by their looks around here.”
“Bullshit.” Leann Windfield spoke clearly, still leaning against her wall. “Looks are exactly what got Sean Fitch killed. If you can’t see that, you’re part of the problem.”
Madison’s mouth fell open. His skin color got him killed?
Dozens of voices rose in anger, and Harlan struggled to take control of the room. A woman in the center stood up, and a hush finally came over the crowd. Madison recognized her as a retired schoolteacher. “We don’t have racism in this town,” she announced. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never seen anything that even hints at it.”
Madison wanted to nod in agreement, but something prickled at her subconscious. Leann’s statement was echoing in her brain, stirring up a faint memory of similar statements.
She couldn’t put it together.
“Just because you’ve never experienced it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Leann told her. “Take a look around this room. It’s ninety-nine percent white. No wonder you feel it doesn’t exist.” Leann looked to Harlan. “If Sean’s murder isn’t racially motivated, why is the FBI here and working with the sheriff on this case?”
The room was silent as all eyes turned to Harlan.
“The FBI?” Sweat glistened at Harlan’s temples, his voice high.
A few moans and mutters sounded. Her uncle snorted, and a small laugh erupted from his throat. Madison briefly closed her eyes. Pull it together, Harlan. Watching the mayor flounder was painful.
Harlan glanced about the room. “Anyone else heard the FBI is here?”
Several people nodded.
Madison glanced at Agent McLane. Is she going to speak up? The agent’s lips pressed together as she took stock of the crowd. McLane had asked her if she’d heard of threats directed at Sean or Lindsay. She hadn’t specified that the threats could have been motivated by race.
“You’re trying to make this murder into a social issue, when it’s not,” announced a white-haired man Madison didn’t recognize. “I’ve also never seen any racism in this town. What we’ve got is a psycho killer on the loose, and I’ll be sleeping with Betsy on my nightstand until they catch him. Betsy will put a hole in anyone who tries to break into my house.”
Several heads nodded in agreement.
Harlan grimaced.
“Did you know that Oregon was the only state that began as whites only?” Agent McLane’s voice was low but clear and carried through the room. “The original state constitution excluded all nonwhites from living here.” Heads swiveled in her direction, and questioning looks were exchanged as people tried to place her.
“That was over a hundred and fifty years ago,” someone answered.
“It was,” agreed Ava. “And just a few years ago, recruiting flyers were spread in southern Oregon asking people to join an organization that descended directly from the KKK. Its name is different now; its purpose is not.”
“Flyers are free speech,” argued a man a few feet from Ava. “That’s protected.”
“You’re correct, they are,” agreed Ava. “I’m not challenging the right to hand out flyers. The 1920s were a very active decade for the KKK in Oregon, but most residents would agree that it has fizzled out. No one has seen a white hood around here for decades, right?”
Nods answered her.
“The point I’m making is that hate never dies,” Ava continued. “It can go dormant and seem to disappear when it’s actually hiding and evolving, passed from generation to generation. Did you know the KKK was very active in Portland as recently as the 1980s? Someone even called Portland the skinhead capital of the US back then. We can’t say racism doesn’t exist because it’s never personally touched us. It’s here and it can be deadly.”
The agent clearly knew what she was talking about and had presented it tactfully, but scowls on several faces indicated they didn’t appreciate a lecture from an outsider. Many people in the pews studied the agent in confusion. Curious glances to neighbors were met by shrugs. No one knew who she was.
“Uh, thank you . . . Miss . . . ?” Harlan asked.
“Special Agent McLane,” she said solemnly. “I’m part of the FBI presence looking at whether or not the Fitch murders are a hate crime.”
The room erupted again.
Madison blinked. She’d assumed the FBI was present simply because the sheriff needed help investigating the two deaths. This was the first mention of a hate crime.
Am I dense?
“What the hell?” Her uncle shook his head, scowling.
The realization made her head swim. Sean and Lindsay might have been killed because of the color of Sean’s skin. The FBI’s presence indicated Leann Windfield’s theory could be right.
A long-forgotten memory poked at Madison’s brain again, wanting to come out.
“Is it true Nate Copeland was also murdered this morning?” someone shouted. “Was he murdered because he was the first deputy that saw the Fitch murder scene? He’s not black.”
Shock hit Madison, and she saw Leann straighten, surprise on her face.
Someone else has been killed?
“Holy shit,” her uncle said under his breath. “Another murder?”
All eyes went to Agent McLane. She said nothing but held up a hand until the loud conversations stopped. “I can’t comment on Deputy Copeland’s death, but the Clatsop County sheriff has the full support of the FBI in their investigation.”
In other words, they’re paying attention because it’s related to the Fitch murders.
Agent McLane set a hand on Emily’s shoulder and spoke rapidly to her. Madison’s gaze locked on her sister’s face. Emily was completely pale, her eyes wide, clearly alarmed by the news of Copeland’s death.
The reason for Emily’s fear struck Madison, and her heart skipped a beat.
Emily was there too.
Did Copeland see something at that murder scene that got him killed?
“Who’s the guy with the sheriff?” Rod mumbled beside her.
Sheriff Greer had stepped through the sanctuary door with Agent Zander Wells right behind him. Greer raised a hand in greeting to the townspeople while Wells swiftly took in the crowd, his gaze darting from face to face. He stopped when his eyes landed on Emily, ten feet to his right.
Relief and something else flashed on his face, and a ripple went through Madison’s female instincts.
The agent is attracted to Emily.
She set aside the observation to mull over later.
Emily and Agent McLane hadn’t seen the two men enter. Sheriff Greer worked his way around the pews toward the front of the room, stopping to shake an occasional hand or slap someone on the back. Ava finally noticed him and immediately turned to check the door. Spotting Agent Wells, she gestured for him to join them.
He took a place on Emily’s other side and joined their conversation.