by Vivian Barz
“How’s all that business with the doters coming along?” Jake asked Susan and then under his breath added, “Bunch of freakin’ lunatics.”
“You know that saying about ignorance being bliss?” Susan said. “I’m starting to think there might be some truth to that, after some of the things I’ve learned about DOTE.”
During the compound raid, the FBI had uncovered plans for a mass drugging that was to take place in Sacramento the following month. Throughout the course of a single day, a group of doters was planning to visit fifteen different cafés that serviced workers at the state capital building and spike communal creamers with liquid opium. A few of the doters who’d cracked under interrogation revealed that there had been additional talk of swapping the opium for arsenic. It sickened Susan whenever she thought of how many unsuspecting individuals might have lost their lives while simply going about their normal routines. It was knowledge of evil deeds such as these that she kept to herself, and not only because her job required her to. She didn’t want to disillusion anyone she loved with the truth of how the world really operated. Though, she knew, Eric and Jake were already plenty aware.
Jake put up his hands. “Don’t tell me anything that’ll keep me up at night! I’ve got enough to worry about with my classes coming.”
“Tell him about Zelman,” Eric suggested.
Susan dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I can honestly say, Jake, that few instances on the job have given me more pleasure than informing Marcus Zelman that he’d be facing federal charges for acts of terrorism. Whenever I’m feeling down, I like to imagine him getting by a single day in prison without having ‘one of his girls’ do everything for him. Well, that, and the way he sobbed like a toddler when we took him into custody.”
Jake laughed. “What was the deal with him and the Nevilles? Didn’t you say you thought something was hinky there?”
“Hinky,” Eric said with a snort. “More like hanky, as in hanky-panky.”
Susan nodded. “He and Lucy Neville—Samantha’s mother—were having an affair. I found that little tidbit out from Samantha’s father, Don. Funny thing was that he didn’t seem too bothered about it, probably because he’s having affairs of his own. That I found out from Lucy. Seems he and a few of the female residents at the mobile home parks the Nevilles own have been getting friendly.”
“The felons?” Jake asked, incredulous.
“Guess he likes bad girls,” Susan said with a chuckle.
Jake laughed too. “I guess so. And what about our bad boy Rodent?”
Susan puffed her cheeks and then blew the air out. “Where do I even begin? If convicted of even a quarter of the charges brought against him, Rodent—a.k.a. Edward Terrance Mowse—will be spending the next three hundred years locked up.”
“What’s he being charged with?” Eric asked.
“Tax evasion, terrorism, kidnapping, sex with a minor, conspiracy to murder, drug trafficking . . . you name it. I’m guessing he’ll try to plead not guilty by reason of insanity. He might end up at Broanville State Hospital for the Criminally Insane instead of Millstone Penitentiary, where I’m sure he’ll try to garner new disciples.”
Eric said, “Honestly, I don’t care where he’s locked away, as long as he is.”
“Oh, and you were right about Brett Warwick, Jake,” Susan said.
Jake frowned. “Who?”
“Oh, right—I guess you know him only as Wicky.”
“The chocolate-baby eater,” Jake said. “That guy was such a prize.”
Susan said, “We found his fingerprints all over Samantha Neville’s fridge—and on the food packages inside. Guess he’d gotten hungry after he killed her. The forensics team hadn’t bothered to check for prints inside the refrigerator.”
“So, he did it, then? He killed her?” Jake asked.
Susan nodded. “He confessed everything because he just felt so guilty.”
“Really?” Eric asked.
“No, not really,” Susan said with a wry smile. “He traded information for a plea deal, of course. He claims that Rodent solicited him to execute a hit on Samantha after he suspected her plans of leaving the group. She’d been a regular presence at the compound and had assisted with the harvesting of poppies and the sorting of weapons and supplies. She’d also served as a notetaker at their meetings—Rodent’s plan was to compile the notes into a single crazy manifesto that he intended to self-publish, if you can believe it.”
“Oh, I can believe it,” Jake commented.
“Basically, Samantha knew too much and had to be ‘put down,’ as Warwick said it,” Susan added. “Rodent had specified that the murder should not in any way be connected to the group—that it should look like an entirely unrelated crime gone wrong. Hence the staged attempted sexual assault. He also copped to killing Tori, though he claims he didn’t act alone on that one.”
“I’m glad she’ll be finally put to rest,” Eric said.
“How did Bryan fit into all this, then?” Jake asked.
“He didn’t,” Susan said. “He was nothing more than a convenient fall guy. We got a young doter willing to offer testimony about the murder on the parking garage roof. Seems she’d been duped into participating in the attack by other doters who’d told her that they were only playing a prank on the bartender. It wasn’t until Marty Dennis gave the order to throw Bryan over the ledge that she understood that they planned on killing him.”
“Why didn’t she come forward sooner?” Eric asked.
“She said she feared for her own life. I have to believe her on that one, given the lengths they’ve gone to, to keep their secrets from getting out.”
“Well, if anything, at least all this will give you something to put in your book,” Jake told Eric.
“Nah, I think I’m going to put the book writing on hold for now. I guess I’ve lost steam on the whole thing. Turns out I’m pretty terrible at typing.” Eric laughed softly. “Besides, I’d rather focus my energy on happier things.”
“And there’s a lot to be happy about,” Susan commented.
“Like this clam chowder,” Eric said.
Susan gave her fiancé an easy smile. “Sure, but the number one thing is that we’re all still alive.”
“Okay, let’s think about being here in this moment, then. Enjoying this beautiful clam chowder on this beautiful day with beautiful friends,” Jake said, the trio clinking their spoons together in celebration.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Vivian Barz grew up in a small town with a population of less than three thousand, and with plenty of fresh air and space to let her imagination run wild, she began penning mysteries at a young age. She kept writing, later studying English and film at UC Irvine. She resides in California, where she’s always working on her next screenplay and novel.
