by Lisa Gardner
“Holy mother of God,” Sheriff Smithers exhaled. “How . . . for how long . . . Holy mother of God.”
“Bonita, could you lead us to where you last saw Stacey’s body?” D.D. was asking.
Another nod.
Kimberly was starting to feel overwhelmed. Harold believed he’d discovered another old grave, plus they now had this new grave. She was going to have to call Atlanta, demand half the office report for duty immediately. Not to mention her supervisor would be in the next vehicle headed up.
“Plan,” Kimberly directed out loud, to herself as much as anyone. “We will find Stacey’s remains. We will process Hélène’s body, we will send the ERT to start exhuming Harold’s possible find. But all of that is reacting. We’re chasing past damage, when what we need to do is get ahead. If we don’t have any ideas for the so-called mastermind, and no leads on our current killer, where to focus next?”
“Marketing,” Keith spoke up immediately. “Group like this has to be operating on the dark web. Meaning they got a computer nerd somewhere.”
Kimberly contemplated it. “Except, of all the business positions, as you call it, that one doesn’t have to be local. Their internet support could live anywhere and still manage shop.”
“True,” Keith acknowledged. “But Bill Benson—who runs the ATV rental—he mentioned a town clerk, Dorothea, who now runs the town’s website and social media platform.”
“That’s right.” The sheriff nodded. “She’s been doing that . . . long time now.”
“Ten years,” Keith volunteered.
The sheriff stared at him. “If you say so.”
“It’s quite possible that whole thing is a front. Remember the ghost tourists the agent was talking about last night? Those may be customers of the cabal, brought here by that website, which has a back door to the dark web, where the real transactions are taking place.”
“I’ll pick up Dorothea,” the sheriff said immediately.
“No!” Keith exploded, then seemed to realize he’d come on too strong when the sheriff puffed up in size. “I’m sorry. But the worst thing you can do is let a site manager know you’re onto them. Plenty of computers have a kill switch—a single code that the administrator enters twice, and everything is automatically erased. We need to find the portal for the dark web, access the business enterprises site, and download all the information we can before alerting anyone to our game.”
Sheriff Smithers still didn’t appear happy. “How do you do that?”
“The mayor and his wife had a couple of computers at their inn, right?”
“Two desktops, a couple of tablets, and a laptop,” Kimberly rattled off.
“Okay. The Counsels are part of this organization. We’re sure of that. Which means they must be accessing the group’s portal from at least one of their computers.”
“I could get Su Chen to come up,” Kimberly began.
“You don’t have time. Let me at them. You know I can do it.”
Keith stared at her, unwavering. He could do it. Kimberly had personally watched him in action last year when he’d worked over the copied hard drive from Jacob Ness’s old laptop. But he was still a civilian.
“I can do this,” Keith repeated. Then, not waiting for her reply, he turned to Sheriff Smithers. “The quickest way to access the group’s dark web site will be with the Counsels’ username and password. I can hack it, but that will take time. Or . . .”
“You want me to go back to Mayor Howard. Get him to cough it up.”
“Tell him if he wants revenge for his wife, this is his way to do it.”
The sheriff nodded slowly.
“While you’re at it, you could just ask him for the name of their leader,” D.D. spoke up dryly.
Sheriff Smithers gave her a look. “Man’s terrified. Asking him to provide a name is a big ask. Provide some computer mumble jumble, maybe not so much.”
Keith was nodding.
So apparently Kimberly’s opinion wasn’t needed after all.
“I want to speak to Walt Davies,” Flora announced.
“Good God, is this a complete mutiny?”
“Think of it. All his trips bringing microgreens to Atlanta. Maybe what he’s bringing back is girls.”
“And you think he’s magically going to confess this?” Kimberly quizzed.
“I think I have the best chance of spotting a lie, and pushing for the truth.”
“Because you knew his son?”
“Something like that. He’s also . . . I don’t think his crazy act is completely an act. I think Walt is paranoid and prone to voices in his head. Too many cops show up, he’ll go to ground, locking himself in his barn and never coming out. But if I go . . . He wants to talk to me. I’m the only connection to his son he has left.”
Kimberly considered the matter. “You can’t go alone. And not just because it’s dangerous, but because if he does confess something useful, you need corroboration. Given that Keith is going to attack the computer and Sheriff Smithers needs to return to county lockup to pressure Howard Counsel . . . I’ll go with you.”
“Do not dress as a fed! Walt will shoot you on sight.”
“Thank you, I’m not a total idiot.” Kimberly turned to D.D. “Maybe you can work with Bonita on more details. The whereabouts of Stacey’s body, other girls. Sheriff Smithers has deputies guarding the Mountain Laurel.”
The sheriff nodded.
“If it’s not too much”—Kimberly gazed at Bonita—“would you be willing to return to the inn? Help Detective Warren understand what you witnessed while you were staying there.”
The girl studied her for a long moment. Then she nodded.
D.D. held up the final drawing, the one she still had in her hand. “Bonita, did you do this today?”
Nod.
“Who is this?”
D.D. extended her arm for all of them to see. Red, was Kimberly’s first impression. Followed immediately by a pang of grief so real, so powerful, she nearly lost her breath. A blur of white against a dusty red ground. A halo of black around a fallen form, leading to a pool of darker red.
Another fatality. But not a fellow maid. Someone else. Someone Bonita had clearly loved.
Then, Kimberly had no doubt. She could tell D.D. understood, as well. No mother could look at that picture and not know.
“This is your mom, isn’t it?” Kimberly asked softly.
Single, sorrowful nod.
Flora studied the picture with fresh interest, her features darkening into an expression Kimberly knew well.
“Did the demon do this?” D.D. asked.
Nod. A slight pause, then Bonita lifted her hand, fingered the scar burrowing into her hairline.
“He did that, too?” D.D. was clearly surprised.
Another nod.
“It’s a gunshot wound,” Flora provided. “Look at the path. The bullet missed its mark, grazed her left temple instead.”
Causing lifelong damage.
D.D. squatted down till she was eye level with the girl. “How old were you?”
Shrug.
“Were you a baby?” Kimberly asked. Shake. “What about, were you this tall?” She placed her hand above the floor, around toddler height. Another shake. “This tall?” She moved up a foot.
Bonita contemplated the spacing for a bit. Single nod, as if that seemed about right.
D.D. and Kimberly exchanged a glance. So, older than a toddler, younger than preadolescent. Maybe five? Seven?
“And you’ve been with the Counsels ever since?”
Yes.
“I’m sorry,” Kimberly said. Because someone owed this girl an apology. Life had failed her early, and no one in the system had ever figured it out. First she’d watched her mother die, then she’d been shot, and then she’d gotten to spend the rest of her year
s as a servant.
Kimberly glanced over at Sheriff Smithers, who appeared angry beyond words. She didn’t need him to speak to know how he felt. All of this, in his own backyard.
“Don’t kill Howard before you get the password out of him,” she warned him.
“I’ll work on my restraint,” the sheriff promised roughly.
Kimberly inhaled deeply, took in their assorted group. Flora had her knife back, was tucking it into her boot.
“We all have our tasks.”
Nodding.
“It goes without saying, our missing killer is armed and dangerous, we have no idea who in this town we can trust, and clearly this criminal organization doesn’t plan on going down without a fight.”
More nods.
“Watch your backs. Be on alert. We’ve racked up at least three new bodies in as many days.” Kimberly took another deep breath. “Let’s make sure the next one isn’t one of us.”
CHAPTER 35
D.D.
D.D. DROVE BONITA AND KEITH back to the Mountain Laurel B&B. Kimberly had found an FBI hat in her bag, which they’d squashed as low as possible on Bonita’s head to obscure her face. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it was something.
Of them all, Keith was the most relaxed. But then, from what D.D. could tell, the computer analyst regarded most of this as a grand adventure. Though he was also humming this morning. If she didn’t know any better, she’d suspect . . .
Sitting behind the wheel, D.D.’s eyes widened. She decided it was time for her to stop thinking about other people’s personal lives and focus on work.
Approaching the main road where the beautiful Victorian graced the corner, D.D. slowed. She could see one deputy out front, next to the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off the patio steps leading to the wraparound porch. D.D. pursed her lips, considering. She didn’t like approaching from the front. Too exposed, especially given the local climate.
* * *
—
D.D. SWUNG AROUND THE BLOCK, where she discovered a second county sheriff’s vehicle. Except when they pulled in, no deputy was in sight.
Immediately, she felt a prickle of dread. The back door was partially obscured by a giant mountain laurel, hence the B&B’s name. Meaning that if their UNSUB had chosen to return, this is exactly where he would strike. Sneak up on an overworked, sleep-dulled officer and then . . .
A man in uniform walked into full view. He was stubbing out a cigarette and glanced up self-consciously when he noticed D.D.’s car.
She released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. They were on edge. Too much so. But now, she thought, they were gonna shake off their jitters, and get these assholes.
On that note, she swung open her door. Keith and Bonita followed suit.
D.D. flashed her creds at the deputy, who appeared completely chagrined at being caught taking a smoke break. Given all the thoughts that had been racing through D.D.’s head, she could care less. She let him open the door, escort them inside, then told him to resume guard. Last thing she needed was Bonita’s demon breaking in when D.D. had two civilian charges.
Entering the grand old inn was disorienting. For one thing, the lights were off, casting the rear hall into shadow. For another, the silence. The Victorian sat, as if waiting.
D.D. noticed that Bonita placed her hand on the wall. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve sworn the girl was patting the wainscoting reassuringly.
D.D. couldn’t get her bearings. The place was a labyrinth and she’d never approached from this angle before. She turned to Keith. “You need the computers, correct?”
“Yes. Step one is to figure out which of their computers has the Tor browser. That’s the one they’ll be using for the dark web.”
“Okay. Bonita, can you guide us to the office?”
The girl nodded, limped away. If it felt scary or uncomfortable to return to this place, none of it showed on her face.
They rounded a corner and the grand entryway appeared straight ahead, with the sweeping stairs to their right and another hallway veering to their left. Down that hall was the room where they’d discovered Martha Counsel’s body. And apparently, the first door on the right was the woman’s office.
D.D. looked around, noting file folders on the floor, an empty safe. The edges of the room and the desk were covered in fingerprint powder. Whatever had been in the safe had been bagged, tagged, carried away.
The room still carried a faint metallic tang of chemical residue. Forensic tests for blood, body fluids, God only knows what. She noticed a section of carpet that had been cut up and removed, as well as a giant piece of fabric from a once gorgeously covered silk-striped wingback. Meaning maybe some of those test results had been positive.
Keith didn’t seem to notice. He went straight to the desk, snapped on the fancy stained-glass work lamp, and contemplated the computer monitor.
“Gloves,” D.D. ordered.
Faint blush. The computer analyst nodded, then pulled out a pair from his pocket. Not cheap latex, but thin black fabric. Exactly like what some wealthy true-crime enthusiast might order from the internet. D.D. resisted the desire to roll her eyes. Keith might have questionable bona fides, but his work spoke for itself. If anyone could trace the activities of their secret criminal operation, it would be him.
He fired up the desktop, already in his geek zone.
“When I hear from Sheriff Smithers with the username and password, I’ll let you know,” D.D. informed him.
Keith nodded absently, gloved fingertips already racing across the keyboard.
That left her and Bonita.
Once in the hallway, D.D. asked, “Do you have a favorite place in this hotel?”
Bonita seemed to consider it. Finally, she pointed to the stairs.
“Show me.”
It took a little bit. Stairs slowed the girl down, and they had to go up two flights. On the top floor, Bonita led D.D. down a wide, crimson-carpeted hallway. She grew more tentative as they progressed. Finally, they reached a door at the end.
Bonita glanced at D.D., then knocked softly. When no sound came from inside . . .
The girl gently opened the door and crept forward.
The room was gorgeous, the top floor of the turret and stunning in its own right with its curved wall of windows and its yawning ceiling. The Counsels had obviously turned it into a honeymoon suite, with a king bed topping a circular rug while beautifully appointed antiques framed the space. Above, the pointed ceiling had been painted dark blue with a burst of stars at night, while the walls around them held the deep blush of sunset.
Bonita slowly shuffled into the space. D.D. thought she would go to the windows or take a seat on the beautiful sofa. Instead, the girl headed to the middle of the carpet, where she awkwardly lowered herself onto the floor. Then, after arranging herself in a straight line, her hands clasped on her stomach, she looked up.
What the hell. D.D. took up a position on the floor beside Bonita, and did the same.
Now, she could see the painted stars weren’t random. With a bit of concentration, D.D. could make out the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, the North Star, some other constellations.
Bonita pointed up. At first this pattern, then another. D.D. angled her head to mirror the girl’s line of sight, but still didn’t get it.
“What do you see?” she asked.
Of course, it was an open-ended question, and Bonita couldn’t answer it. She turned her head till she and D.D. were nearly nose to nose. Her eyes were mournful. The expression of a young girl who’d already lost too much.
D.D. couldn’t help where her thoughts took her. Would Jack like an older sister? It wasn’t her place to ask. It would be grossly overstepping to assume custody of this girl. But when this was done . . . Bonita’s mother was dead. Her life had been one of forced servitude
. Was D.D. really supposed to just hand her over to child services? She already couldn’t bear the thought.
“Are you thinking of your mother?” D.D. asked softly.
A nod. Bonita had painted her mother in a desert. The stars at night were generally very clear in such places. Maybe looking at these stars here made her feel closer to her former home.
“Are you thinking of the other girls?” D.D. asked.
Another nod. Then more pointing. Here, here, and here.
D.D. thought about it. “You’ve named each star after a girl? Someone who was here, then went missing.”
A fresh nod. So the turret ceiling was Bonita’s accounting system. Given how little she had, it made sense.
Bonita reached over. She took D.D.’s hand, squeezed it lightly, and D.D. felt her heart break all over again. She was supposed to be professional. But all she wanted to do was wrap this child in her arms and keep her safe.
“I would like to hear about your mother,” D.D. said softly. “After we’ve figured out a better communication system, maybe you can tell me about her.”
Nod.
D.D. smiled. “Thank you for showing me this room. I can see what it means to you. But for now, honey, I think we have to return to the basement.”
* * *
—
D.D.’S PHONE RANG AS THEY were headed downstairs. She recognized the county sheriff’s number and picked up. Immediately she heard sounds of commotion in the background.
“We got a problem,” Sheriff Smithers announced grimly.
“Howard Counsel?”
“Just found him dead in his cell.”
“I’m so sorry, sir.” D.D. could hear the receptionist, Franny, in the background: “But the gentleman was making such a commotion and he wouldn’t go away. I had no choice but to call for Deputy Chad . . .”
“I understand, Franny,” said the sheriff. “I understand.” But D.D. could hear him sigh heavily.
She figured she knew what had happened: A diversion at the front of the sheriff’s office had lured the on-watch deputy from Howard Counsel’s cell.
