“Thank you again for meeting with me. Interviews are so much easier in person than by phone,” she said. “Mind if I record this?”
“Hmmm, not sure about that.” Christopher loosened his tie, his pleasant demeanor fading.
“By recording, I capture all the details, for accuracy. I won’t broadcast the interview.”
“Who do you write for?”
“I’m a freelance reporter. I’ve published stories in the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, and Vanity Fair.”
“You’re a media pimp,” he said with a smile.
“Excuse me?”
“You pimp your work to the highest bidder,” he said. “I would too. It’s gotta be hard making money in journalism these days.”
“Tell me about the case you and Quin worked on.”
“I’m not supposed to talk about the case,” Christopher said. “I’m on the witness list. They’ve granted me immunity.”
She left her phone on the table without recording the conversation. “Were you charged with any crime?”
“No, but the feds said they could find something, some way to link me to it if I don’t testify against Ben.”
“Then why did you agree to meet with me here?”
“How do you know Ben?” he asked her.
“I’ve been following his story for a while. I met him a couple of times before he was finally arrested. But he would never sit down for an interview.”
“I bet you found Ben charming, though.”
She remembered her first meeting with Moretti, their late-night drinks at the bar and the trip to the casino with Quin. “Yes, he has a certain magic, but the best con men usually do.”
“The next time you talk to Ben, would you relay a message for me?”
“Sure.”
“Tell that son of a bitch good-bye for me,” he said with a huff.
“Good-bye?”
“He’s going to prison for sure.”
“They have a good case against him?” she asked.
“His days of stealing and killing are over,” Christopher said. “In the company of wolves, Ben was the alpha. But now that he’s gone, another wolf will take his place.”
This much she knew from her background research on Ben and viatical settlement products, or what’s also known as structured settlements. Sometimes death brokers cheat the insurance companies, and other times they cheat their clients. “You mean there are others?”
“Ben won’t reveal his investors.”
“You and Quin know who they are?”
“Some of them, mostly the Washington elite.”
“How big is this crime?”
Christopher sighed and shook his head. “It’s all a Ponzi scheme, like everything else, Candy. The stock market goes up, and then it comes down, and if it comes down too far, people panic and pull their money out. And then congressional leaders start looking to blame corporate America for all the job losses. Hell, everybody knew Bernie Madoff was a thief for years before he was arrested. They finally made him one of the ‘whipping boys of Wall Street,’ forcing banking reform down everyone’s throats. Then gradually the market gained confidence and the money came flooding back in. Looks like it’s Ben’s turn at the whipping post. I’m sure his investors are praying he won’t shout any names while he takes his beating.”
He seemed so cavalier about what amounted to serious accusations against Ben and his investors, Candace thought. It was as if Christopher lived in a different kind of reality from the rest of the world. “Let’s say Ben goes to prison, then what?”
“Life goes on and another greedy death broker will take his place,” he said. “It’s the circle of life. What you’ve got to focus on, Candy, is Quin.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried, and he doesn’t return my calls.”
“He’s not well. Whatever they’re doing to him at the bureau, it’s taking its toll. I saw him recently at a funeral and he looked and acted different. They got him on something.”
“Like what?”
“Prescription medications. He’s kind of crazy, and they got him all juiced up on something to control it. Makes him all glassy eyed and distant.”
“The FBI prescribes medications?” she asked, doubting it.
“If the CIA can bring crack cocaine into this country and torpedo the banking industry, then the FBI can prescribe whatever it wants, but don’t quote me on that,” he said.
She knew the CIA had been linked to a number of conspiracy theories. Some were proven true, like its LSD mind-control experiments in the 1950s. Other claims that the CIA had planted crack on the streets or that it had instigated the savings and loan crisis in the 1980s were never proven.
“Why would the bureau do this?” she asked.
“That’s what I want to know, and that’s what you have to find out.”
“How can I get ahold of Quin?”
Christopher slid back in his chair and reached under the table where he kept a briefcase on his lap. He opened it, removing a large hunting knife with a pearl handle.
She reached for it, feeling the heavy weight in her hand. “What is this?”
“A knife.”
“Of course, but why—”
“It’s Quin’s. He’ll want it back.”
“But why do you have it?”
“When he caught Ben, Quin dropped it,” he explained. “So now you can use it as a peace offering, a reason to meet and talk. The knife is very important to him.”
“What’s its significance?” she asked, still holding it in her hand.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” he said, looking around the coffee shop, “but one night when Quin was young, his parents were murdered and his sister was kidnapped. He’s been kind of a mess ever since. But the bureau likes working with him. Anyway, this knife was left at the scene.”
“God,” she said, setting it on the table quickly. “I don’t want it.”
“You want to meet the Zen Master of Tracking? You gotta bait him,” he said. “Take a picture of it and text him. I’ll give you his new number.”
She did as Christopher suggested before setting her phone back in her purse. As strange as this was, she kept peppering him with questions. “How does the bureau work with him?”
“Tracking, hunting humans,” he said, as if she were missing the obvious. “It’s his thing. He’s very good at it.”
“And this FBI work Quin is involved in has to do with that?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. Like I said, Quin wouldn’t talk about it with me. And I won’t do anything to jeopardize my immunity by poking around and asking too many questions. You can do that part.”
Christopher had rekindled and fanned her curiosity. She’d been unsuccessfully tracking this bounty hunter for six months, trying to meet up with him to learn more about the events that led to Ben’s arrest. Who was this bounty hunter now working with the FBI?
“I suppose meeting with Quin might be worth something,” he said.
“I don’t pay for stories,” she said out of principle.
“But you’re not paying for the story,” he said. “You’re buying the knife, the peace offering that secures a meeting that could lead to a story quid pro quo.”
“You’re selling Quin’s property?”
“C’mon, don’t look at me as if I’m Judas.”
“But you’re selling him out and profiting from it.”
“Helloooo? You’re the media pimp selling Quin’s story,” he said, leaning back on his chair.
Her opinion of Christopher had suddenly dropped a couple of notches. He was sleazy, and obviously worked in sales because he knew how to insert himself as a middleman. She swallowed hard and he certainly noticed it; she could see a glint of pleasure in his eyes. The smile he had when they’d first met had faded to a darker stare.
As much as she kept trying to cover this story objectively, she knew she was also slowly becoming part of it. She could’ve easily walked away at that point, out of the cof
fee shop and back to her normal life but she didn’t. She was interested in Quin, and the knife could give her a reason to finally meet with him. She pulled out her checkbook and said, “I’ll pay you for the knife but from now on, my name isn’t Candy, it’s Candace. Got it?”
Dr. Kristen Hayden looked up from her notebook at Agent Kruse sitting with her at a pinewood conference table. He was reviewing her notes on Quin in comparison to the other paranormals in the program. As part of the research study, all paranormal trainees had signed authorization forms allowing Dr. Hayden to share medical information with the research team. She watched how Kruse’s silver eyebrows would rise and fall as he read her notes. Occasionally he smiled, and then his demeanor would become serious again as he scanned further down the page.
“O-D-D?” Kruse asked, pointing.
“He shows signs of Oppositional Defiant Disorder,” she explained. “He’s become more confident lately and defiant towards authority.”
Kruse grimaced. “Well, the training program is stressful. Is he clean?”
“He failed the drug test twice in January,” she said, “but he’s passed all random tests since then. I doubt his behavior change has anything to do with recreational drug use.”
“Maybe it’s the lack of recreational drugs that’s making him so angry,” Kruse said.
“He shouldn’t use while on a prescription medication or his hallucinations will return.”
She waited for him to finish reading. He must be searching for better news on Quin, something positive to hold onto, but in her opinion, Quin wasn’t an ideal candidate for the Paranormal Investigators Division. She had already expressed her concern in several e-mails to Kruse.
“Talk with him for a few minutes, then administer the Rorschach,” Kruse said, paging through the file.
“What good will a Rorschach do?”
“Every RV trainee must take it.”
“It’s an outdated test.”
“I need him added to the database.”
“Forgive me if I’m stepping out of line here,” she said, “but I don’t care what you do with the paranormals in the field. What I care about is what all this RV training is doing to them emotionally.”
“And you’re putting your foot down when it comes to Quin?”
“I’m concerned about all of them.”
“We have records of you e-mailing Quin after hours,” Kruse said, “and divulging to the thieves at Safe Haven that he is your patient.”
“I e-mailed him because you demanded that I maintain contact,” she said, trying to hold back her rage. “I told you those actions violate HIPPA and I could lose my license!”
“We’re on the same team, Dr. Hay—”
“Don’t you dare blackmail me,” she said in an angry whisper so her voice wouldn’t carry beyond the door into her reception area.
“Quin’s in the program and we want to keep him here,” Kruse said. “You have nothing to worry about.”
There was a knock at the door and Agent Kruse stood, adjusting his tie. “We’ll talk later about his medications, adjusting his dosage. You’ll be around?”
She looked up at him towering over her. “Yes, I’ll be here all day.”
He walked to the door and opened it, greeting Quin with a friendly handshake. She watched as they made small talk, Kruse offering him encouragement and Quin nodding before turning to her. “Should I wait outside?”
“No, I’m off to another meeting,” Kruse said. “You’re right on time.”
Quin closed the door. “What’s with Kruse? He seems so upbeat.”
“Oh, he’s just checking in,” Dr. Hayden said. “Have a seat.”
He sat in a brown leather couch and Dr. Hayden stood up from the conference table, pulling up a chair and her notepad.
“How are you today?” she asked, studying Quin’s clothing: boots, blue jeans, and a black t-shirt.
“Good. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s busy, that’s all.” She regained her composure. “How was your week? How’s Quin doing?”
“Feeling great.”
“What’s with the bandage on your wrist?”
“Got in a fight with a skip over the weekend.”
“Would you remove the bandage for me?”
“I didn’t cut myself, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, removing it. “And you know I’m not a junkie.”
He let her inspect the wound until she was satisfied that it was only an abrasion.
“How come you’re working bounty?”
“That’s what Kruse wants to know. I like the challenge.”
“Weren’t you instructed to stop bounty hunting while you work for Agent Kruse?”
“Yeah, well, you can take a kid out of the woods but you can’t take the woods out of the kid.”
“It makes you feel empowered?”
“I suppose so…”
“Looking back on the past week, did you ever feel panicked or fearful?”
“When I saw Gino’s gun, I panicked.”
“I imagine so!” she replied. “Any hallucinations or voices?”
“No.”
“Any symptoms?”
“Symptoms of schizophrenia? No panic attacks, no voices, but I did see a raven when I was at Rebecca’s funeral. It was right before I took my pill. Then it was gone.”
“Great! You were able to manage the hallucination.” She wrote in her notepad. “Any low points you want to discuss?”
“At Rebecca’s burial I saw Christopher Stray Dog, the guy I worked with on the Safe Haven assignment.”
“You mean Christopher Gartner?” she corrected him. “We’re working on seeing people as people…”
“…and not as prey,” he said, finishing a mantra she had asked him to memorize. “Anyway, I met with Christopher Gartner and he seemed happy to see me.”
“Did the funeral bring closure for you?”
“Sort of, but it set in motion a promise I had made to her.”
“Really?”
“She wanted me to return to Arizona,” he said, rubbing his palms on his jeans.
“You told Rebecca about your past?”
“Most of it. She encouraged me to go back and find out what happened to my sister.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“A promise is a promise.”
“But how does it feel to have made such a promise?”
“Gino’s mom, the skip I caught this weekend, she was shouting into the phone, ‘Why can’t you do the right thing, Gino?’ It made me think, I should do the right thing, too. And Hawk agreed I should look for my sister.”
“You’re ready to go back there, to return to your childhood home?”
“Agent Kruse gave me the files on the case months ago. I’ve reviewed the notes and photos hundreds of times,” he said. “I might as well go there.”
“When?”
“Soon. This remote viewing isn’t exactly working out for me,” he said. “I can’t give Kruse what he wants.”
Dr. Hayden turned a page in her notebook. She knew Kruse would want details. “By that you mean…”
“How much of what I say here do you share with Kruse?”
“You’re part of his research study. He has access to your medical records, how you perform on tests, and I’m required to give him my professional opinion of your state of mind.”
“So pretty much everything.”
“If it pertains to the research and training, yes,” she said. “But your thoughts and feelings about your family aren’t necessarily related.”
“Agent Kruse chose me because he thought I could see future events, but ever since I enrolled in the training, I’ve felt dead inside.”
“Depressed?” She wrote the word in her notebook.
“Whatever psychic powers Kruse thought I had, they’re gone,” Quin said. “Poof! Vanished. Or maybe I…”
“Maybe what, Quin?”
“What if I wasn’t psychic in the first
place?”
“Most recruits have self-doubt.”
“You’ve never believed in my psychic ability. You had some psychobabble theory about why I see the ravens.”
“It’s not my theory but psychiatrist Carl Jung’s. He said that we all have a shadow self, a dark side, and I’m suggesting that’s what the ravens are, a manifestation of your own fears.”
“Not a form of RV.”
“Agent Kruse has worked in this field for more than twenty years. He’s more of an expert in RV than I am.”
“What if the ravens are spirits?” he asked. “Guiding and protecting me?”
She was careful not to insult him. “I respect your beliefs but as a scientist, I can’t document or prove spirits.”
“Well, what if I don’t believe in RV and all this therapy? Then it all seems like a waste of time,” Quin said.
“Would you rather exit the program?” she asked, careful not to sway his decision. Even though she didn’t think he was right for the program, the decision was his alone.
“I can walk away?”
“You sign forms, of course.”
“Just like that, I’m done?”
“Yes. You’d be resigning from the study and your paid position with the bureau.” She stood and stepped to the credenza behind her desk where she kept her files. “You can sign it right now if you want. But there’s also a chance you’ll be reassigned to a new doctor. I’m not sure how important that is to you.” She handed him a form before she sat back down in her chair.
Quin held the paper as if he were weighing his options. She knew that sometimes he was angry at her for making him relive his past, and for prescribing drugs that he had to take on a strict schedule. But she knew that sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don’t, and that’s why most patients are reluctant to switch doctors.
“Thanks, I’ll hold onto it for now,” he said, folding the paper and sliding it into his back pocket.
In The Company of Wolves_Follow The Raven Page 3
