“You made a spectacle of her tonight. I think the Purists are still shaken up by what you said.”
“Good. But I doubt it will bring them to their senses. They love their ideas too much. As for Boerum, if what happened tonight gets into the media, she’ll give a press conference in a day or two, denounce me as mentally ill, deny everything I said, and move on.”
I sighed.
“Except she may get caught this time,” Rosie added. “That reporter I was just talking to on the phone has been following Boerum for two or three years trying to get information on her and her group and their headquarters in Idaho. He was there tonight and he also attended campus riots at other places. He’s done a lot of research and written two big stories about the Purists for his paper. He’s coming to interview me tomorrow morning and he’s going to be on the local news tonight.”
“I’m not sure it’s wise for you to talk to him. It will certainly get the Boerums right back on your case.”
“Stop being such a pessimist, Red. This might be big news. Who knows, maybe I can get a job at the LA Times after graduation.” Rosie was bouncing up and down in her bed.
“Okay, settle down. I’m going to stay with you for a while.”
“Great, we can watch the news together.”
Norm opened the door. “I put myself on duty here tonight, ladies. So if you need me, I’ll be right outside.”
“Any luck finding Big Al?”
“Not yet. He dodged my team at the speech but they’re looking for him.”
The local news began at ten and Rosie had the set tuned in before the credits came on. The anchor announced a special interview with Jake Barlow of the Los Angeles Times on the events of the evening and the story behind Danica’s Boerum’s rise to prominence.
Jake Barlow turned out to be a slender, rather mousy-looking man with thick glasses, not quite the image of the intrepid reporter Rosie had described. But he spoke with a surprisingly strong voice and seemed to know his stuff when it came to Danica and the Purists.
The interviewer, a thin-faced man with cupid bow lips and a sallow complexion began. “Jake Barlow, you have just come from a remarkable speech given by Danica Boerum on the Mountain West Campus. Perhaps what was most remarkable was the student reaction. Tell us, did they really remain silent throughout and then burst into ‘America the Beautiful?’”
“Indeed, they did. Best student protest I’ve ever seen.”
“And this was occasioned by Boerum’s speech. Tell us what you know about her.”
“Until tonight, all I knew was that Danica Boerum joined the Purists in Idaho about eight years ago,” Barlow said. “Apparently she caught the eye of one of the men in the Purist leadership who brought her to Idaho where she became very popular with the rest of the group. My sources tell me she lived with the leader for a few years and then they had some sort of falling out and Danica struck out on her own. She began to speak at Purist events, first extemporaneously and later giving more formal addresses. The Purist faithful were enchanted and after a year or two, she was the primary spokesperson and considered a leader herself.”
“You said ‘until tonight.’ Did the one outspoken student’s accusation lead you to new information? Did Boerum ever mention she was from Los Angeles?”
“It did indeed. None of us have ever been able to persuade Boerum to speak about her past,” said Barlow. “If you read the transcripts of her speeches, she’s never mentioned anything about her childhood or her parents or any family before the Purists. She refused almost any attempt to interview her unless it was about her speeches. And when I tried to get any information about her personal life or her past, I got cut off. The Purists were quite threatening whenever someone from the press approached her on the wrong subject.”
“So how did you get information for the articles you wrote?”
“I interviewed several ex-members of the Idaho Purist group and then followed up with some former disciples in southern Nevada. I learned a great deal about their beliefs in nativism and American exceptionalism.”
“Are they gun owners who practice any kind of guerilla warfare?”
“No, they leave the military stuff to other white separatist groups. But the Purists do admit they are perfectly happy to provoke violence whenever they stage an event like tonight’s. They do believe that the violence is what gets them the media coverage they need to recruit new members.”
“Like the jihadists?”
“They seem more interested in martyrdom than action. They see provocation as a way to draw violence upon themselves. As one guy in Vegas said to me, ‘Purists always want to be seen as the clean, law-abiding white folks who are being attacked by the minorities. That’s what recruits new members to their cause.”
“So tell us what you learned about Danica Boerum’s past tonight and the girl who made that accusation.”
“Until tonight, I had never gotten a specific lead on Danica Boerum’s life before the Purists, where she came from, and certainly no indication she had ever trafficked kids in LA.”
“Are you sure the female student who spoke out at the rally tonight is telling the truth?”
“I talked to her on the phone and I’m seeing the girl tomorrow. But what she said fits.”
“How so?” The interviewer looked perplexed. “It strikes me as odd that a woman who promotes her brand of political discourse and who plays a leadership role in a group who calls themselves pure would have ever come from a background as a prostitute or a pimp.”
Barlow took a sip of water and nodded his head. “Maybe. But it’s not as odd as you think. After about twenty minutes on the phone with the student who said she knew Boerum in Los Angeles, I called my contacts in the Los Angeles Police Department and asked them about a Mama D. I learned that they had quite a file on a female trafficker named Mama D who ran young girls a decade ago and then disappeared. They never knew her real name and were never able to indict her for anything, but she was arrested once and they do have a mug shot of Mama D from eight years ago.”
The screen changed to a black and white photo of a fierce-looking woman with long black hair. The face was younger, but definitely Danica Boerum.
“That’s her. That’s when she was in the life,” Rosie pounded her pillow. “I knew it.”
“But I still don’t get the motive for her transition,” said the anchor.
“Years ago, the LAPD was getting evidence on Mama D’s activities and closing in,” said Barlow. “Tonight, one of my police sources told me Mama D left California in a hurry, a few steps ahead of the authorities. Now we know that the guy from Idaho provided her a way out and a new way to make money. So she moved up north, and two years later she had renewed her old driver’s license, resumed her birth name of Danica Boerum and transformed into a radical politician. The Purists raise some hefty sums from their supporters and Boerum lives well on what they pay her for speaking.”
“It’s still hard to believe,” said the anchor. “I mean, the police had her picture and she’s often been photographed in the press.”
“With markedly changed hair,” said Barlow. “Women who sell sex know quite a bit about transformation and pretense. Boerum was smart enough to realize that she didn’t have to undergo plastic surgery to disguise herself. All she needed was a new life and a very different persona to get the police off her trail. And it worked. I can assure you that until I called them tonight with my story, the LAPD never connected the dots on this one.”
“But I did. I did,” said Rosie, bouncing again.
“You’re going to rip out your stitches, young lady.”
“So what happens now?” asked the anchor.
“Well, we’re in legal limbo for a while. Nevada won’t charge her because she’s committed no crime in this state. So California will have to try to extradite her to get her back. The real question will be if the statu
te of limitations will protect her from extradition.”
“I don’t believe this,” said Rosie, sinking back into her pillows.
The anchor leaned forward toward Barlow. “But surely this story and this news about her past will affect her reputation.”
“One would think so. I imagine the Purists are scrambling right now. Probably to find ways to deny the accusation and protect their spokeswoman.”
“But you found the student credible?”
“Yes. Along with the photo of Mama D. But I’ll know much more tomorrow when I interview the student who accused her. And LAPD is sending a detective who knew Mama D up here tomorrow to interview the student as well. Maybe a case can be put together.”
“Fascinating if the student’s story turns out to be true.”
“Dammit. It is true,” moaned Rosie.
“Settle down,” I said as the TV screen faded to black and went into a commercial. “You’ll have your chance tomorrow to give Barlow the full story and to give the LAPD whatever help you can so they can go after Boerum.”
Another moan of protest.
I went to her bed and adjusted her pillows. “Meanwhile, you need to get some sleep. You’re exhausted and your wounds are still healing.”
Chapter 24
It took another hour to persuade Rosie to stop talking and get some sleep. Her excitement was infectious and I was truly proud of her. I decided to stay in her room for at least part of the night and suggested to Norm that he might want to beef up the police presence in the hospital. I was less convinced than Rosie that the Boerums were headed out of town. And since the interview with Barlow, I was sure she’d be seen as a target for renewed effort by her attacker, now likelier than ever to be Big Al.
Norm was way ahead of me and had already posted extra guards at the hospital entrances. He had also alerted the Reno police to Big Al’s whereabouts. Maybe they could catch that son of a bitch before he tried to do more harm.
Knowing that I couldn’t see Joe until the next day, the prospect of another night in my lonely bed did not appeal as much as helping protect Rosie.
I must have dozed off in my chair, because the noise that woke me at two in the morning was so subtle that at first I thought it was part of a dream. But somehow my internal alarm system went off and I decided to check it out. My body was stiff from sleeping in the chair and I was still stretching when I noticed the door handle move. I froze in place and then looked around for something to use as a weapon in case the person opening the door was not police. Rosie’s wheelchair was near the door, but no other hard object was in sight. I stepped over to the chair, grasped the handles and pulled it back toward me.
The door opened slowly, letting in light from the hall. A man taller than Norm or Donovan was silhouetted against the light.
“Who are you?”
The figure continued to move toward me. It was a man. Tall and bulky. “Be very quiet,” came a whispered command.
“Who the hell are you?” I said in a louder voice. But I knew who it was, and my blood ran cold.
The figure stepped closer and I shoved the wheelchair against his legs.
“Shit.”
The light flicked on over Rosie’s bed. She was sitting and staring wide eyed. Big Al leaned over and grabbed the armrests of the wheelchair and pushed with all his might. I dodged most of it but part of the wheel caught my shin as it crashed past me and hit the wall.
“Well, if it isn’t Patty Cake.” The most terrifying smile I’d ever seen spread across his face. He crossed the room in one long step and grabbed both my arms. “What a surprise to see you here.”
Rosie reached for her phone. Al whirled around, and with one swipe, flung the phone across the room. “You take care of the kid,” he said to someone behind him in the hallway. “I’ve got this one.” He dug his fingers into my armpits, grasped my shoulders and dragged me to the door.
I screamed and pummeled him with my fists, but it did no good. I let my legs go limp to try to slow him down, but he shook me and dug his fingernails farther into my arms and pulled again until I was out in the hall.
I could hear Rosie screaming for help behind me.
Someone dressed in white moved past us and into the room. “Shut up,” I heard her say, and she slammed the door shut.
Big Al dragged me farther out into the hall, past the body of Norm O’Hare lying on the floor next to the chair. A knife protruded from Norm’s neck and his eyes were open and dead. It was clear the knife had severed the carotid artery. Blood pooled around Norm’s head and shoulders and made the hallway slippery. I straightened out my leg and tried to gain some stance against Al, but my foot slipped in the blood and I half fell to the floor.
Al pulled me up again and pushed me down the hall away from Rosie’s room. I shouted for help to the empty hallway. Al held me with one hand tight around my arm and slapped me hard across the face with the other.
“Shut up, bitch.” He opened another door to the cleaning closet I had searched before and pushed me inside. I staggered and fell to my knees. His hand came across my face in another slap so hard I almost lost consciousness. “You owe me, Patty Cake, and I’m gonna collect right now.”
He took off his jacket and unbuckled his belt.
My head cleared enough to see brooms and mops stacked against the back of the closet and shelves with bottles and rags. A single bulb burned in the ceiling. A bottle of cleaning fluid was on the shelf closest to me. I grabbed at the bottle and swung for his face. But he was too fast and his hand shot up, smashing the bottle to the floor.
Before I could look for another weapon his arms were around me and he forced me down on the floor.
I knew I should fight back. Al was sure to kill me after he’d gotten what he wanted. My mind struggled to remember what I had learned from my self-defense lessons. One thing I knew was I should have started fighting back when we were still in Rosie’s room. I had waited too long and now I was on the floor with a monster intent on rape and murder.
The closet smelled of dust and disinfectant and the linoleum was slippery. It was hard to get any purchase with my leather shoes against the floor. I lifted one knee and Al’s fist came back and pounded it down. His weight was full on me and I tried to twist away, but couldn’t. Then he lifted up and took one hand off my left shoulder to unzip his pants. I twisted again, freeing up one of my arms.
The elbow is stronger than you realize, my instructor had said. I aimed my elbow and struck his nose as hard as I could.
He roared and used his hand to cup his bleeding nose. I twisted farther and thrust my hip to throw him off balance. He fell to the side, used his other hand to balance against the floor and in the process freed my right shoulder. I pulled my legs out from under him and aimed a hard kick at his knee. He roared again and bent backward, transferring his hand from his bleeding nose to his leg. I kicked again, this time aiming for just under the ribcage and hoping to strike at his solar plexus. I missed and he stood up, preparing to attack again. But his loosened pants fell to his knees and caused him to stagger. That gave me time to get to my feet and aim my kick again, this time for his unprotected groin. He collapsed on the floor.
Grabbing an upper shelf, I steadied myself in a standing position, shook my head to clear the pain and delivered two more kicks. One to the head and another to the solar plexus. He moaned but lay still on the floor.
I lifted my foot and brought the heel of my shoe down hard above his ear directly on the temple of his forehead. That silenced him. He was unconscious. If I had been accurate, maybe he was out forever.
I grabbed a broom handle, pushed Al’s legs aside and opened the door into the hallway. Norm’s body was still there and the door to Rosie’s room was closed but I could hear a voice behind it. “You retract every fucking word you said tonight or the next bullet I fire at you is going into your miniscule brain.”
“You’re finished, Mama D. And you know it.”
I flung open the door and saw Rosie on her knees in the center of her bed, her fists clenched, a harsh fluorescent light from the overhead fixture spilling over her pale face.
Danica Boerum leaned against the wall. She was still wearing the long white dress she had appeared in at her speech. A black revolver was in her right hand, aimed at Rosie.
I was still breathing hard as she turned toward me and turned the gun, aiming at my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rosie jump from the bed and leap toward Danica. One pale thin arm came up under Danica’s hand. The gun roared and I felt a sharp stabbing in my right arm. I staggered back against the wall, holding my upper arm as blood ran through my fingers.
Danica wheeled toward Rosie and raised her arm to bring the barrel of the gun down. She struck Rosie full on the face. Rosie sank back onto the bed, her cheek a mass of blood.
Danica stood upright and spoke in her calm professional voice. “Listen carefully. You’re going to retract everything you said tonight. When that reporter shows up tomorrow you’re going to tell him that you were mistaken. Seriously mistaken. And then you’re going to offer a public apology.”
Rosie moaned and spit out some blood, but her eyes remained defiant. “Or what, Mama D?”
Danica looked over at me. I was now hunched against the wall, holding my right arm and trying to put pressure on the gunshot wound.
“Or I’m going kill your friend here.”
Rosie was back up on her knees. “Oh yeah. And when they find the Dean of Journalism lying dead in my room, you don’t suppose there will be any questions asked?”
Danica stared at me. She recognized me, and it was clear she was measuring alternatives. Then she turned back to Rosie. Her voice rose. “Okay, bitch. Here’s how it will play out. Al and I will take this lady with us and keep her in a safe place while you retract your statement to that reporter. Same for whatever you say to the LAPD. If you want your dean to come back alive, you’ll tell everyone you made a serious mistake.”
Red Solaris Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 64
