Paradise Crime Series Box Set

by Toby Neal

  Some hours later her phone buzzed again, interrupting the spell of her background building with DAVID. She picked it up and read a text from Dunn. “Sorry I was an ass. I haven’t worked with a partner before, only a unit I commanded. So we’re going to have a few adjustments. Can we confab?”

  Sophie stored her latest input and texted back. “Yes. You can come in now.”

  She hardly had time to take off her headphones when Dunn appeared at the door. “Got some good stuff from the parents. Mind if I hit the light?”

  “I prefer natural light if at all possible.” Sophie swiveled the blinds halfway open.

  “You really are a delicate flower, aren’t you? Brr. It’s cold in here.” Dunn’s buoyancy was back.

  “I’m more like a finely calibrated machine that needs certain conditions for optimal performance,” Sophie said stiffly. His energy might just be a good balance for her, especially when the depression was bad.

  “Whatever.” Dunn flopped in the chair next to the table that he seemed to have chosen. “So. All the parents have concerns about how long their daughters have been missing, and about not being allowed to see their grandchildren. Jennifer Roberts’s parents hadn’t heard from their daughter in ten years and didn’t know where she was at all. The grandchildren and the cult were news to them. We may get more contributions to this op than just Blumfield and her money. The women’s parents who knew about it hated the Society of Light.” Dunn had brought in two water bottles along with his legal pad, and he tossed her one. “You need to hydrate, for that finely tuned brain to be properly calibrated.”

  Sophie took the lid off the bottle and drank deep as he continued. “So Mandy Newburt’s parents, the first woman who disappeared, have been the most active. They filed a missing person report, but they did that in their hometown in California, not with Hilo PD. So it seems that the message never got through to Hilo. Amy Fillmore’s parents are also concerned that they hadn’t heard from their daughter, but chalked it up to her being ‘so involved with that sick guru of hers.’” He air quoted his words. “And as I said, Jennifer’s parents hadn’t heard from her in ten years, but they were estranged from their daughter.”

  “Did anyone suspect foul play?” Sophie got up and came around the desk. “We need to get a murder board going. Okay if we do it in my office? That way if we need something on the computer I can pop over and look it up.”

  “Fine. Use the whiteboard on the wall.”

  Sophie began a timeline at the top of the board with the month and year of each woman’s disappearance, according to Blumfield. She turned to Dunn, frowning. “Is it possible that any of these women might have fled, like Sharon did, and just be hiding?”

  “Blumfield didn’t think so, if you recall. But I suppose that’s a possibility. I bet that’s what Jackson will say if we confront him about these disappearances.”

  “And that brings up an interesting question.” Sophie capped her marker. “Is it murder if the victim voluntarily committed suicide?”

  “How voluntary could it be in a setting like that?” Dunn said. His sleek metal pen had reappeared. He spun it helicopter-style around his fingers. “I’d say it’s inherently coercive, but we don’t have to determine that—we can let the district attorney and Hilo PD figure that out. At the very least they have an illegally buried body under the vegetables, the accountant whose rooska suicide was witnessed by the cult. We find that body, and we can boost it as evidence to Hilo PD. Once they have a search warrant, they could bring in ground-penetrating radar and scent dogs and look for the other bodies.”

  “But how are we going to get back in there and look for the body?”

  “You leave that to me.” Dunn winked. “Now, what did you come up with on Jackson?”

  “Interesting background. He is the son of a pair of medical doctors who spent their lives overseas, working in hot spots doing humanitarian aid. They were killed during a coup in Africa when he was twelve. An impressionable age, it turns out. He was shipped back to the United States to an aunt and uncle, where he had his revelation about accelerated reincarnation and began his spiritual quest.” Sophie went back behind her computer and read off her notes. “Jackson studied in ashrams in India and Nepal. He mastered many forms of yoga and other spiritual practice, and began to gain followers. He has a group of six “elders,” and they seem to do the main running of the Society of Light empire—which is quite lucrative.” She read off some statistics. “Their tax return revenue last year as a nonprofit was ten million.”

  Dunn whistled. “And where does that money come from?”

  “Franchises of his Society of Light yoga studios, curriculum, workshops, swag, and merchandise—and from donations from the Society’s members. All members living in the group settings turn over their income to the cult for the duration.”

  “Any malcontents out there we can talk to? Preferably in Hawaii?”

  “As a matter of fact, there are. Several members who left Waipio have started blogs. There’s one here in Honolulu. Peter Corbett.” Sophie swung her monitor, and Dunn got up to lean in and look. “Seems a bit angry.”

  “I’ll say.” The website featured a pulsing skull and a rambling rant against both the Society of Light and law enforcement, for not taking Corbett’s numerous complaints seriously. “Seems like someone we can talk to in person. Ready for a field trip?”

  Sophie stood. Stretched. Locked eyes with Dunn. “What I really need is an exercise break. Ever done any mixed martial arts?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The gym at Security Solutions was state-of-the-art. Nautilus machines lined the walls along with treadmills, stairclimbers, ellipticals, and bikes. A free weights section filled one corner, and in the middle of the room was a roped-off sparring ring. The space was empty in the late afternoon, sunlight pouring in through the windows.

  Sophie came out of the women’s locker room in her fight gear: tight-fitting shorts, an exercise bra, a padded helmet similar to what bikers wear, and split-fingered, padded gloves.

  Dunn was already up in the ring, jumping to loosen his muscles and moving with nervous energy. He was an impressive sight in a tight tank and loose nylon shorts, his chiseled frame moving with the restless grace that was such a part of him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” His gunmetal eyes were worried and sincere as Sophie climbed into the ring.

  Sophie smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that.” If he hadn’t heard about her fighting, she wasn’t about to tell him. She’d have the women’s middleweight MMA title for Oahu right now if the FBI had allowed her to compete, having trounced the champion several times in non-competition bouts.

  “Well, like I said, I haven’t done MMA officially. But I’ve done some jiu-jitsu and boxing. And of course, hand-to-hand.”

  “We’ll use all that. Basically, you want to get me on the mat and hold me there until I thump. And vice versa. Ready?” Sophie bent her knees, smiling, her arms loosely spread.

  “Ready.” And he came at her like a hurricane.

  Sophie dodged, getting a sense of his style, which was much like his personality: a lot of force upfront, easy to see coming. She bobbed and weaved as he continued to swing and try to grab, while she sneaked in body blows that stole his breath and turned him red with unspent frustration.

  Done toying with him, Sophie swept his legs out from under him and straddled him from the side, her powerful thighs twisting back his arm. He writhed and cursed in impotent fury, trying to get loose, but she tightened her grip, going very still.

  She could keep this up all day while he burned energy. He thrashed and struggled, but contorted on the padded mat in a hold he couldn’t break, he eventually thumped.

  Sophie immediately let him up and sprang to her feet, and it was a good thing because he lashed out a kick from the mat right where her head would have been, catching her hard in the side. She flew backward as he shot to his feet and followed up with a series of jabs. She evaded them and sneaked in ano
ther kick to the back of his knee, knocking him to a kneeling position—and then she jumped on his back and slammed him face-first into the mat.

  Dunn filled the room with a rich stream of creative curses, and dug his fingers into her thigh. “Let me up, woman, damn it!”

  “Not until you thump.”

  He punched her thigh, hard. It was going to leave a bruise. “Unacceptable, Dunn.” She wrenched his arms harder, and twisted. He yelled, an inarticulate howl of pain, and she let go and leapt back out of range.

  Dunn didn’t get up this time, though. He just lay there, face down, arms twisted in the position she’d left him in. His muscled back heaved with his hard breathing. Had she hurt him? It should have been painful—that arms-back restraint hold was a bitch—but not injuring. Not tearing anything essential.

  “Jake.” Sophie bent over, touched his shoulder. “You okay?”

  She didn’t even have time to suck a breath before she was slammed onto her back. He jumped up and came down above her, his bent arm at her throat.

  “Do you give?” Dunn rasped, his face red. His gray eyes glowed with fury. Sophie nodded, and touched her throat reflexively as her diaphragm got going.

  Dunn was a dirty fighter, and he didn’t like losing. It was something to keep in mind.

  Pulling up in front of cult malcontent Peter Corbett’s address the next morning in the tan Security Solutions SUV, Dunn slanted Sophie a glance. “You sore today? Cause I sure as hell am.”

  “A little.” Sophie smiled. “Especially where you punched me in the thigh. Not a gentleman move, Dunn.”

  “You could have warned me you were one of the top MMA fighters in the state, which I found out when I searched you and found out you’re the reigning champ at Fight Club. Not a gentlewoman, Ang. I needed every sneaky trick I could come up with just to reclaim my manhood.” Dunn’s dark mood was gone—in fact, it had been gone within minutes of their bout in the ring. He was like weather in Hawaii—blowing in fierce at times, but usually sunny.

  “Like it would have mattered. I’d have beat you the same.”

  “But I wouldn’t have been as surprised at how good you are. Or as pissed off when I lost.” Dunn grinned. “I totally get why Remarkian pounced on you the minute he heard you left the FBI.”

  “Took you long enough to appreciate my skills.”

  “That’s not the only thing I appreciate.” Dunn kept his eyes front as he put the SUV in park in front of a beige apartment building on a seedy street in west Honolulu. Last night’s rainfall had knocked plumerias off the trees at the entrance, and flowers dotted the damp asphalt, browning pinwheels that scented the air. “I’ve never seen you so much as glance at yourself in the mirror, let alone fuss with lipstick like a normal woman—and you always look amazing.”

  “I thought I told you no more of that kind of talk,” Sophie said.

  “What, now I can’t even give my partner an honest compliment?” Dunn threw up his hands. “Fine. I’ll never say another nice thing to you. Wart-ridden hag.”

  Sophie laughed and got out of her side of the vehicle.

  Corbett’s building had a trashed-looking old elevator so they took the stairs. Sophie followed Dunn. She could have reciprocated the compliment he’d given her: Dunn looked incredible too, and while aware of his charm, didn’t seem vain. She certainly didn’t mind the view ahead as she followed him up the stairs.

  She’d slept wonderfully well the night before, the depression beaten further back by an exchange with the Ghost.

  He’d sent an encrypted email. “Hear you’re no longer with the FBI. Dare I hope you join me someday in dealing justice to those who won’t ever be caught by normal means? I’ll be on at the usual place at nine p.m. your time.”

  She’d felt a noticeable mood lift as she logged into the anonymous chat room at nine p.m., relieved to be distracted from how bare and ugly her new apartment was even after her trip to Target. Ginger, curled at her feet, was the best thing about it.

  “You making me a job offer?” Sophie typed, smiling. The sunset was long gone, but ambient light from the city lit the sky with a warm glow, her only illumination besides the glowing screen.

  “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.”
r />   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?”