by Toby Neal
“Ha. This is strictly pro bono volunteer stuff.” His answer unspooled rapidly, appearing in old-school green DOS letters against a black screen.
“I was just going to look into your activities, but you saved me the trouble. Still up to your old tricks? Getting stockbrokers to roll on each other and gangsters to off each other?” Those were only a few of the creative ways the Ghost had used to deal out his brand of “justice.”
“Always looking for new creative challenges. I have to say, I’m relieved to hear you are no longer at the FBI. You might have caught me eventually.”
“I am still planning to.”
“I hope you will. But for a different purpose, entirely. We could be something to each other.”
Sophie sucked at a swelling the bout with Dunn had left on her lip. The tiny pain felt like pleasure. The flirty warmth of her fascinating adversary’s words spread through her, enhancing the sensation. “Dare I ask what you mean?”
“I can’t tip my hand just yet. But let’s just say—I’d like to see a lot more of the view I had in your apartment.”
Sophie gasped. The view he had in her apartment! He’d bugged her, and watched her do yoga—naked. She’d tried to forget that ever happened.
“I told you before and I’ll tell you again—I never meant to see what I did. But some things are not meant to be unseen.”
“That’s creeper talk. And it’s not exactly fair, you know. I never bugged your place and watched you walk around naked.”
“I could fix that situation. Just say the word and I’ll hook something up for you. What’s your pleasure? I’m guessing the gym. I have my own private one. I could do some back extensions for you. Overhead presses? Whatever it would take to impress you. I’m told I’m not unappealing, and I take my fitness as seriously as you do.”
Sophie felt a curling of heat deep in her gut. She really did want to see what Sheldon Hamilton looked like naked and flexing. She sat chewing her bruise, unsure what to say.
He must have thought he overstepped, because after a few minutes he continued. “I’m sorry. You’re not ready for that. I understand. But I might just send you something on email so you know I’m not just a pervy troll with a potbelly who gets his jollies spying on women. I’m serious about knowing you better, meeting IRL someday. Anyway, glad you left the FBI. That box couldn’t handle a woman of your talents.”
“It was a very good box. I miss it. And my friends there.” Staying distracted was the best way to deal with second-guessing her decision to quit the career she’d been sure would be for life. Busyness was the only way to mitigate the ache of loss and grief she still felt—and apprehension about the legal confrontations that lay still ahead.
“You have other friends.”
“Oh, so you’re a friend now? Shouldn’t I be worried about a ‘friend’ who’s seen me naked and routinely uses technology to get people to eliminate each other?”
“You never have to worry about harm from me. Haven’t I proved that to you yet?”
He had. The Ghost had done what no one else could do: helped her abusive ex’s teenaged bride escape a gilded cage that Sophie was all too familiar with. She considered carefully before she replied.
“I will always worry about someone like you being free to decide right from wrong, and having the means to execute those decisions. No one should be both judge and jury.” Sophie typed slowly, almost unwilling to state her truth so baldly—but there it was. She didn’t, couldn’t support his vigilantism, while wishing she could. The ambivalence sawed at her nerves. “But I’m a hypocrite. Because I also appreciate that you do things that could be done no other way. Things that make the world a better place.”
The period at the end of her sentence pulsed at her. Finally, he responded. “Then I will just have to let that be enough.”
And he was gone.
No one in her life made her feel quite like he did. But how could anything ever come of it? And why did he want to show her he wasn’t a “pervy troll with a potbelly?” He must know she was onto the Ghost’s real identity as Sheldon Hamilton. He was always at least two steps ahead of her, damn his cleverness.
They’d reached the door of Corbett’s apartment with no more time for musings. Dunn knocked on the sun-bleached door decorated with a Buddha statue and pot of purple basil.
“Peter Corbett?” They held up ID wallets to the cadaverously thin, tall, bald man who opened the door. Dunn gave his most charming smile. “We’re investigators working for a client who has left the Society of Light. We found your writings on the internet and wondered if you’d have a few minutes to talk with us.”
Corbett took both of their wallets, looked at them closely. “Not cops?”
“No. Law enforcement currently has no interest in the Society, as you mentioned on your blog,” Sophie said.
“I need a minute to verify your identities. I hope you don’t mind if I make a few phone calls. Can’t be too careful.” Corbett withdrew inside, shutting the door.
“Huh. Dude is paranoid,” Dunn said.
“I would be too. He’s been vocal about his complaints about the cult. And if we could find him, others can too.” Corbett’s name and address had been masked, but it had been child’s play for Sophie to trace him.
Five minutes went by before Corbett returned to the door. “I called Security Solutions and verified that you are employees. Come in. Have a seat.”
The room smelled faintly of unknown herbs, and was furnished sparely with lauhala matting on the floor, and a daybed in carved wood. Pillows surrounded a low coffee table. A wall hanging in beautiful painted silk covered one wall with a scene of the Na Pali Coast on Kauai.
Sophie and Dunn perched on the daybed. Corbett folded himself up gracefully for one so tall and sat on one of the floor cushions. “How can I help?”
“Why don’t you tell us, off the top of your head, what you are most concerned about regarding the Society of Light. You seem older than the usual people involved with the group,” Dunn said. He took out his phone. “I’d like to record you, if I may.”
“You may not record me,” Corbett said with dignity. “But you can take notes. And I’m older because I was one of Sandoval Jackson’s Elders.”
Dunn replaced his phone. Sophie never carried pen or paper, and wished she did in this instance. Clearly Dunn did too, as he made a writing gesture with his hand, his brows raised.
Corbett shook his head. “Really? You don’t even have a pad of paper?” He gestured to the kitchen. “Left drawer next to the sink.” Dunn rose and retrieved a small tablet of hotel stationery from the drawer. He resumed his seat, withdrawing the steel pen he favored from a pocket.
“An Elder,” Sophie read. “I read that there are five. And they basically run the financial and business end of the Society.”
“We do.” Corbett cleared his throat, a hollow rattling sound. “Or did, I should say.” He took a breath, pinned Sophie with calm blue eyes. “I am ill. Cancer. When I began not feeling well, the doctor that lives at Waipio told Sandoval that she suspected I had cancer. He told me to make my peace, and that I had earned a place returning next time in the body of one of his children.” Corbett looked away, out the sliding glass door to a view of distant high rises and the sea. “Jackson asked me to consider rooska, to accelerate the process of my reincarnation. I had a crisis of faith when I realized I didn’t want to die…and because I knew he just wanted to replace me as an Elder. I had been one of the few who expressed opinions he didn’t like. He said he appreciated my gift for truth, but I knew that the minute he had a chance to replace me, I’d be gone.” Corbett coughed. Sophie got up and filled a water glass for him from the minimally appointed kitchen. The man sipped, nodding in thanks.
“How did you get out?” Dunn asked.
“I had business for the Society in Hilo. I simply didn’t return to the compound when it was completed. As Elders, we had a degree of trust and freedom that others did not.”
“So in yo
ur time there, did you see and experience things that concerned you?” Dunn asked.
Corbett raised tufted blond brows. “Really? You are asking me this. And here I sit, someone who has continued to speak out about the Society. Haven’t you read my blog?”
“We need your direct testimony, if you’re willing,” Sophie said.
Sophie listened while Dunn took notes on the things Corbett had seen and been a part of—activities that, if verified, would put Jackson away for a long time.
“Can I ask you something?” Sophie said. “Do you think the cult might try to silence you?”
“I think they’re waiting for the cancer to do that. They have a PR department that has painted me as a malcontent with a screw loose.” Corbett sipped his water, and his hand trembled.
“Would you consider discontinuing the agitation? The blogging? We’d like to bring this man to justice. If we find hard evidence, we can turn it over to law enforcement, and you’d be a key witness. We want you safe,” Sophie said.
“Young lady. I appreciate what you’re saying. But those are a lot of ifs, and the cancer is not an ‘if.’ The cancer is now, and if something I say or do can keep one person from joining the Society now, then it’s worth my last breath to speak.”
Sophie and Dunn were silent on the drive back to the office. “I think it’s time we updated Bix,” Sophie said as Dunn navigated the company SUV into the secure garage.
“I agree. I don’t want another spanking from him, and this thing is snowballing,” Dunn said.
Sophie gave him a little punch to the shoulder. “What? Jake Dunn reporting to a superior?”
“I know when to cover my ass, believe it or not, and I’m getting pretty concerned about what we’re uncovering here.” Dunn’s blue-and-gray eyes were grave as he looked at her. “This cult is bad news.”
“I wish Waxman had let us investigate a little further. If we’d uncovered all of this, talked with Blumfield more…”
“But there’s still no case from a law enforcement perspective. It’s still all hearsay, the reports of disenchanted former cult members.” Dunn put the vehicle in gear and turned it off. “I’ll text you when Bix can fit us in. I have an idea about how to get into the cult.”
Some hours later, Kendall Bix leaned back in the office chair in the conference room. He pushed a hand through hair marked by wings of silver at his temples, brown eyes coolly intent. “So what I hear you asking in all this is for me to authorize you to go back into the cult, poke around, and look for evidence of these alleged bodies.”
“Yes. And I have a plan to get Sophie in,” Dunn said. They’d been back at the office for a few hours, during which time Dunn had closeted himself in his office and Sophie had been working DAVID. They’d just presented the results of their last couple of days of investigations to the VP. “It’s not a full frontal attack. Sophie is going to go in undercover to an upcoming yoga retreat at the Waipio compound, and gather what she can. The retreat begins next Tuesday. I already have a spot reserved for a very dedicated yoga practitioner named Mary Watson.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dunn stuck his head in the door of Sophie’s office. “Seriously. I’m going to request that we get a door put in this wall over here so I can just yell over at you when I need to. Since you don’t want me to move in here.”
Sophie looked up from the glowing screen before her, slightly disoriented from being sunk deep in DAVID’s data stream. “What?”
“Never mind—it’s just that it’s Friday evening, and unlike the FBI, no work until Monday. Don’t stay late. You’ll make me look bad.”
Sophie leaned back and rubbed her eyes. “This is all going to take some getting used to. I slept in the lab sometimes when I was on a case. We all did.”
“It’s comforting to know how seriously you feds take your jobs. This is private sector and there are no current emergencies on this case. Whoever’s dead is already dead. Pack up and go home. Unless you’d like to join me for a ‘pau hana’ drink?” Dunn wiggled his brows.
“No thanks, Dunn. I’ll wrap up when I reach a stopping point.”
“Whatcha working on?” Dunn pushed his big body away from the doorjamb and entered. Being relentlessly curious was a good quality in an investigator, if a little annoying in a person.
“Just tracking the cult’s money stream. You wouldn’t understand it.”
Dunn narrowed his eyes. “Try me.” He came around the desk and leaned on his fists, looking over her shoulder.
She should have known he would take that as a challenge.
“These coded numbers are bank accounts. These are balances. When I get into each account I can see the direct deposits and amounts. Some are passive income that I can track to find what that money was. This one, for instance.” She clicked on one of the numbered deposits. “This goes to a big trust account at a bank in California. The name on the account is one of the missing women. I don’t think these brides were chosen for Jackson based on looks, fertility, and dedication. I think they were chosen for having the right background to feed money into his machine.”
Dunn straightened up. “Sweet. We have motive, times three. I bet these women changed their estates to benefit the Society.”
“Well, the tricky thing is that their estates wouldn’t come to the cult until they are declared legally dead, which takes seven years from time of disappearance. But each of these women was on a trust fund income, which was transferred to feed directly into the cult’s accounts. I was going to tell you all this, to follow up with on Monday morning after a restful weekend doing whatever it is you do.”
Dunn leaned a hip on her desk. “Want to find out what I do on the weekend?”
“No. Thank you. I’ve had quite enough togetherness with my partner for the moment. No offense.”
Dunn was opening his mouth for a rejoinder when a knock came from the doorway. “Sophie Ang?”
They both looked up. A pimply-faced young man stood in the doorway holding an envelope.
“Yes?”
“Delivery for you.”
Dunn pushed off of the desk as the young man approached and handed her an envelope. “You have been served.”
Sophie’s mouth, opened to thank the kid, stayed that way as the young man turned and strode out.
“Hey!” Dunn roared out from behind her desk and took off after the kid. She heard the rumbling interrogation in the hallway as he captured his prey.
Questioning the messenger wasn’t going to change whatever was in her hand.
She looked down at it. An FBI logo and Quantico address decorated one corner, with LEGAL DEPARTMENT underneath. Her name, c/o Security Solutions, and the business address of this building marked the front of the envelope.
At least they didn’t currently know where she lived. That was something she’d taken a lot of time, effort, and cash to ensure. But it was too much to hope that the FBI wouldn’t find her here, of course.
Sophie slid a finger under the flap of the envelope and loosened it.
Dunn reappeared, shaking his head. “Messenger service. Kid doesn’t know anything.”
“I know what this is.” Sophie removed the folded paper and opened it.
SUMMONS TO APPEAR IN FEDERAL COURT blared at her from the top line.
Sophie skimmed, feeling the heat of Dunn’s presence as he came around to read over her shoulder.
A court date one month from today had been set “in the matter of the legal ownership of the program known as Data Assessment Victim Information Database.” The Honorable Judge Reimbold would be presiding. Sophie’s patent was still under review, and until it was awarded, she was vulnerable.
“Those fuckers.” Dunn’s big hand squeezed her shoulder. “They’ve been taking more than they’re entitled to since J. Edgar Hoover.”
Sophie blinked. The letters on the paper had just disintegrated into meaningless gibberish. “Why don’t you take off, Dunn. I have some phone calls I have to make.”
“N
o. Let me help. I can…”
“No, Jake!” Sophie snarled. “This is my private business, started before I came to work here. I’m handling it. Now get out of my office and give me some space!”
Dunn drew himself upright, gray eyes hurt. “If that’s how you want it.” He strode out, shutting the door hard.
Sophie looked back down at the letter again and swore long and fluently in Thai, then folded it neatly and replaced it in the envelope. She picked up the handset of the office phone and called her lawyer, Bettina Smithers, and apprised her of the court date and the situation.
“I knew this was coming, but it’s still a shock to see it in black and white. They really think they can steal my work from me.”
“Well, you have work logs on the hard drive of the computer you used while you were creating DAVID, right? And it wasn’t an FBI computer?” Bettina Smithers was a stylish forty-something black woman based out of Los Angeles. Smithers loved patents and inventions and the hapless people who always seemed to fall prey to those trying to steal them. The Smithers contact had come from her father, whose diplomatic job helped him cross paths with professionals in many different positions. “Let’s have a Skype meeting tomorrow and revisit our strategy and I’ll see what I can come up with. For now, I’ll file a stay-put motion so you can keep using DAVID legally up until the court decision.”
They set up a time for their conference the next day.
Sophie sagged in her chair as she hung up. She had to call her father and tell him all that had gone on, including her departure from his apartment, but she didn’t feel strong enough for that conversation just yet. He was going to be worried and upset that she’d left.
Right now, she needed to pick Ginger up from doggie daycare.
Sophie shut down DAVID, saving all the data she’d collected on the case to the cloud, and unplugged the laptop.
The heaviness of depression sucked at Sophie, deadening her energy as she stood, flicked off the lights, walked out of the office and took the stairs down to the secure garage.
