by Jen Blood
There was a pause before McDonough responded, but I couldn’t tell if that was due to a delayed signal or something else. “What are the coordinates?”
I read them from my GPS, and waited while he plugged them in on his end and then responded.
“I’ll pass it on, but the excavation team’s a little busy right now.”
“Busy with…?”
“Investigating three other alerts on the mountain,” he said. “It seems a few other teams are also convinced they’ve got something. You can’t get a visual or confirm what the dog’s reacting to?”
“Negative,” I said, trying to process what I was hearing. False alerts happen, but they’re typically easily disproved. Something was wrong here, but I couldn’t just ignore what Festus and Phantom were trying so hard to tell us.
“Just send them when you can,” I said. “We’ll do a little more searching around here, then head back to HQ afterward.”
“Affirmative,” McDonough said. “Be careful out there.”
Cheryl looked at me expectantly once I’d signed off, eyebrows raised. “So?”
“Apparently, ours is not the first alert this morning.”
She didn’t look surprised. “It happens around here—I don’t know why, but perfectly reliable dogs go haywire in these woods. Alerting at every clearing or suspicious rock pile.” She paused. We were in woods deep enough that getting any sense of our bearings without GPS would have been practically impossible, and I didn’t care for the feeling. “Ariel’s been gone forty-eight hours now,” she said.
“She has.”
“And her sister’s already been found.”
I nodded, thinking again of the bound, eviscerated girl Bear and I had found the evening before. We knew what happened to Melanie Redfield, but where the hell was Ariel? Had she truly broken free at the site where Melanie died? If so, she would have been running for her life for more than twenty-four hours now. Which led me to the next question:
Who was she running from?
My thoughts returned to Bear—a near-constant over the past twelve hours since Dean had taken him. I wanted, more than anything, to just storm the castle and be done with it. I didn’t give a rat’s ass right now about bloodshed or collateral damage. I just wanted to know my kid was safe.
“Jamie?” Cheryl said. The way she said it, I could tell she’d been saying my name for a while. I looked up.
“Sorry. Yeah?”
“I was asking about Melanie. You still don’t know why they left the house on their own that morning?”
“Not for sure. One of the men there said the girls told him they were going to meet someone. His impression was that it was a man.”
She frowned. “Out here?”
“Or men,” I mused. “If they were both excited about going, had gotten a little dressed up even, it seems unlikely that they’d both be going for just one guy.”
“Unless they were really close.”
“I guess,” I said. “I have four sisters, though, and I can’t imagine ever wanting to go meet a guy with any of them.”
“So… Two guys, then,” Cheryl said. She sat down on a dead log and Festus came over and settled beside her. I sat on a rock opposite her and considered that for a moment.
“They wouldn’t have internet access out there, would they? If it was someone they met online…”
“Not unless they’ve got some pretty fancy satellite equipment, there’s no way they were logging on up there. The only way they could’ve corresponded with a pen pal is good old-fashioned snail mail.”
Which was a possibility I was sure McDonough and the others had already explored, but I made a mental note to check all the same.
“There has to be some way to track them down,” I said, frustration beginning to burn through. Even if we did, though, would it really matter? Whoever the killer was, we were looking for someone who had killed before—but the focus in every instance in the past had been on prostitutes. What did he have against two sisters, one sixteen and one eighteen?
Unless there was something we didn’t know about Melanie and Ariel.
I thought about the men most accessible to the girls, stuck as they were at the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. When I’d first come on the scene, the impression Jack had given me was that it was just Dean Redfield and his family up on the mountain. There had been far more than family in the woods yesterday when Bear was shot, though. The folks Dean had at the top of Glastenbury Mountain were a rough crowd.
Most of them men.
On the other hand, there were the FBI agents who’d been trolling this area ever since they’d learned the Redfields had set up camp here.
“How much do you know about the FBI team that’s here?” I asked. “The ones who headed up the original Redfield murder investigation in 2009?”
She raised her eyebrows at me, surprised, but remained silent for a second or two. I waited. Finally, she scratched the back of her neck and gazed off into the distance as she answered. “Wade told me some stories, but they’re not the kind I’m supposed to be go spouting off to anybody who’ll listen.”
“You really think I fit that bill?”
She smiled faintly. “Nah, I guess I don’t.” She looked around, searching for eavesdroppers, and lowered her voice when she spoke again. “Wade says there was a hell of a sex scandal just a little while before the whole thing in Adams went down. A videotape somehow got into circulation, showing a couple of hookers and a group of Feds doing some very nasty things on the taxpayers’ dime.”
“And Gordon Redfield was one of those Feds,” I said.
She looked surprised for a moment, assessing me. “Son of a bitch—you already know all this, don’t you? Here I am thinking I’ve got some big-time gossip…”
“I’d still like to hear your take on it.”
“Sure… I don’t know that I’ll say anything you don’t already know, but I’m always happy to talk trash about the men in black.” She thought for a second, then continued. “Gordon Redfield was small-time compared to the others who were in there, according to Wade. Couple of high-ranking muckety mucks in the Bureau, couple of politicians, local businessmen… This wasn’t just some Bring-Your-Own-Handcuffs, half-assed orgy.”
“If that many people were involved, how did they manage to keep it out of the press?” I asked.
“Who knows,” she said with a shrug. “Money, most likely. You know about the hookers that got murdered around that time?”
“I heard.”
She frowned. “Well, that’s no fun. You know the story.”
“I don’t understand why Gordon Redfield wouldn’t have come forward, though,” I pressed. “He’s in prison for life for murdering his sisters; suspected of killing these prostitutes around the country. He’s said all along that he’s innocent—why wouldn’t he have said something to someone about the men who were part of the whole sex thing with him? Don’t tell me they’re threatening him—he’s already in prison for life.”
“Prison is hardly the worst thing that can happen to a person,” she said, eyeing me thoughtfully. “He’s got a big family—”
“That he’s estranged from,” I interrupted.
“Doesn’t mean he’s not going to do everything he can to protect them, when push comes to shove. Besides which, seems to me if the wrong people wanted to make his life worse in prison, they could definitely make that happen.” She shrugged again. “I’ve never met the man, so hell if I know what’s going on with any of it. But it doesn’t seem like we’ve got the whole story yet, if you ask me. That’s all I’m saying.”
I had to agree with that. “We should get back,” I said abruptly. “I want to ask Agent McDonough some questions.”
We marked the spot where the dogs had alerted so that an excavation team could come back later, then returned to headquarters at ten a.m. The parking lot and the road up were both filled to overflowing, a dozen teams with dogs and handlers of all shape and size headed in at the sam
e time. Overhead, the sky was blue and the leaves were turning, the air warm, all traces of rain forgotten.
#
As soon as we were back, I gave Phantom water and headed straight for McDonough. He was in a meeting with Agent Paulsen and some other cops, but I didn’t wait for him to get out. Instead, I knocked briefly on the door and went in without waiting for a response. The others looked up in surprise when I barged in.
“Have you talked to Barrett Redfield?” I demanded.
“Well, hello to you, too,” a well-coiffed agent whose name I couldn’t remember muttered.
I ignored him. “What about the others living in the houses up there? What do you know about them? Jack asked if you had followed up—have you done that yet?”
“We’ve talked to them,” McDonough said “What exactly are you thinking?”
“This mysterious man Ariel and Melanie were supposedly going to meet—”
“If you believe Claude’s story,” McDonough interrupted. “The guy’s got rocks between his ears. Not the most reliable witness.”
“So you’ve talked to Barrett, then?” I pressed.
“We talked to him,” McDonough said with a placating nod. “And I’ll head up there personally today to talk to the others there. I’m sure they’ll love to see me coming.”
No doubt. I glanced at the others in the room, not pleased that we had to have the next part of this conversation in front of them.
“We’ll finish up in ten,” McDonough said to his team, reading me well.
“I’m sorry to storm in the way I did,” I said when they were gone. “But it doesn’t seem like anything is actually happening here—”
McDonough held up his hand. “I can understand where you’re coming from on this,” he said, in his best politician’s voice. “Trust me—my daughter’s fifteen. If this were her in your son’s place, I don’t know how I’d handle it. But we know what we’re doing. Whatever we have to do, we will get your son and his friend out of there alive.”
I didn’t point out that there was no way he could realistically promise that. Based on the look in his eyes, he already knew.
“What did Barrett say when you talked to him, questioned him about the girls? He has a house alone up there, and we already know that the victims in the previous murders were prostitutes. Do we know what Barrett’s doing up there? Maybe Melanie and Ariel were headed there that morning.”
“We’re looking into it,” McDonough said, his voice starting to tighten. “We have a few different avenues we’re pursuing right now, you just need to let us do that. We know—”
“What about your own men?” I asked, cutting him off once more.
“Excuse me?”
“Are there other agents working this case who were part of the scandal with Gordon Redfield before the murders in 2009? Is there a possibility that one of them might be in on this investigation?” A shadow crossed McDonough’s face, his cheeks flaming red.
“Agent Juarez never should have given you that information. Whatever he told you about that—”
“Spare me,” I said. McDonough was not an unintimidating man, but right now I had no patience for his brand of horseshit. “This place is crawling with FBI and other law enforcement. Have you done background checks to figure out whether any of them was involved with the case in 2009?”
“That’s not your concern—”
“The hell it’s not.”
“Ms. Flint,” McDonough said. His voice was harder now, brooking no argument. “We know what we’re doing. I know what I’m doing. I am pursuing every avenue to find out who is behind Melanie’s murder and Ariel’s disappearance. Failing that, I have a SWAT team on standby. We will get Bear and Ren out of this, alive. But, with all due respect, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You need to back off, get your dogs out there, and keep looking for Ariel. That’s what you can do to help your son.”
“I’m trying,” I said. The fight left my voice, and a wave of exhaustion ran through me. “But all these false alerts, the sheer acreage of this place… If we don’t find out who’s behind this, I honestly don’t know how we’re going to find her.”
“I understand that,” he said coolly, though I thought I saw just a glimmer of humanity in there somewhere. “But you have to leave that to me. If you go off the reservation, it’s not going to do a damn thing for Bear or Ren.”
I nodded. I’d been telling myself the same thing for more than twelve hours now. Despite his words, however, I knew this time I couldn’t simply leave things alone.
#
Once I was done with McDonough, I retrieved Phantom and went back outside. The parking lot was full now, and I noted more news vans parked on the side of the road on the way in. The vultures were circling. Angie Crenshaw spotted me and nodded to her cameraman; I turned and went the other way, hoping she would give up and leave me the hell alone.
I went to a rocky clearing out behind headquarters and knelt on the cool earth beside Phantom. The dog stood patiently, her feet square, as I took her right leg in hand and stretched it carefully behind her. At the point of resistance, I held for a count of fifteen, letting the slow, steady movement calm me as much as her. There was a creak in her left knee when I did the same stretch on the opposite leg, and I made a mental note to make an appointment for her.
“I know, Phan,” I said. “None of us are as young as we used to be.” She tipped her head to look at me, but otherwise didn’t move as I finished the stretch and moved on to her forelegs.
“What are you doing?” a woman’s voice asked from behind me. I tensed.
“Stretches,” I said without turning around. “We do them with all the dogs—helps keep them from getting lame during long searches.”
Angie Crenshaw circled until she was standing in front of me, her focus on Phantom. “She’s a beautiful dog. Full shepherd?”
“Not sure,” I said. “I got her from a shelter in Georgia. If she’s got a pedigree, I forgot to get the papers.”
The reporter had apparently come without her cameraman, since I saw no sign of anyone. She crouched in front of us, still watching Phantom.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me—” she began.
“I can’t talk to you,” I corrected her. “Don’t want to either, really, but technically I can’t. We’re all under strict orders.”
“From the FBI, right?” she asked. I remained silent. “I’m sorry about what’s happening with your son in all this. Do you know what happened with the last case involving the FBI and the Redfields?” she continued. “Considering what went on last time, it seems like they should have had some idea violence like this was a possibility.”
I didn’t say anything, though I could tell she knew I was listening now. Before she could say anything more, Cheryl came over with Festus. She looked at Crenshaw coldly.
“Scram, Corky. We’ve got shit to do—be a good girl and crawl under a rock with the other snakes you run with.”
“We were in the middle of—” Crenshaw began.
“No, actually, we weren’t,” I said. “Go on. She’s right, we’ve got work to do.”
“If you want to talk—”
“She knows where to find you,” Cheryl said. “Now go.” She stood with her hands on her hips, a ferocious scowl on her face. Crenshaw finally gave up. Cheryl and I remained silent until the reporter was out of sight.
“Corky?” I asked.
“Sherwood,” she explained. I shook my head. “Murphy Brown? Sorry. My pop culture references tend to be a little dated.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I wouldn’t have gotten it if it were any more current, trust me.”
She eased herself somewhat painfully to the ground and got Festus to sit, then started running through the same gentle stretches I’d just done with Phantom. She glanced up after she’d done his right hind leg. “I hear there were a lot of false alerts out there,” she said.
“That’s what I hear. Agent McDonough s
aid there were half a dozen all told that couldn’t be confirmed one way or the other.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Cheryl said. I finished up with the foreleg stretches and gave Phantom the ‘down’ command, then twirled my finger so that she rolled onto her back. We’d been through the routine so many times the command was purely for my benefit; Phantom knew the drill. As I stretched the dog’s shoulders, Cheryl glanced at me again.
“What’s on your mind?” I prompted when she didn’t say anything.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Except that I know there are some…things you and your boy see, deal with, that maybe the rest of us don’t have a lot of experience with.”
I tensed. I don’t make a point of shouting my ‘gifts’ from the rooftops, and Bear is even more sensitive about it. Word about this kind of thing does tend to get around, though. “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything,” I said.
“No,” she agreed. “Me neither. But Wade and I were talking last night, and even he thinks there’s something going on out here. And you know how sensitive dogs can be. I’m just wondering…”
Her pussyfooting around the subject was getting old. “What, Cheryl? That the dogs are alerting to ghosts? Evil spirits?”
There was a split second where the question hung in the air before she laughed aloud, shaking her head. “Shit. I think I’m going round the bend myself around here,” she said. “This place gets to you after a while, but you’re right. Whoever killed Melanie Redfield was human through and through. And wherever Ariel is, my guess is she’s not running from ghosts.”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
Cheryl looked embarrassed that she’d brought it up. “Right,” she said, recovering. “Doesn’t change the fact that this place is a damn sight creepier than most searches we do.”
“I expect that has more to do with a forest filled with law enforcement, a murderer on the loose, and an asshole who’s taken Bear and Ren hostage,” I returned.
“True,” she agreed. “That’s probably it.” Even she didn’t look completely convinced, though.
* * *
