Ten minutes later, Diane flicked her fingers through her damp hair and dressed in blue jeans and a long-sleeved buttoned shirt. She really looked at the color, a dull, pale blue, nothing that would stand out. No uniform today, but then, she had rarely worn the tan shirt and tie since going back to OPNET. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror and realized she’d been dressing to blend in for so long. It had never occurred to her that she could be pretty. Her short hair was in a simple cut that was almost boyish, and she realized that if she was only keeping it short because she’d had no choice but to keep it long as a child, then she was only going from one extreme to the next. Everything she did was her choice, but for a second she wondered about all the choices she’d made. What would she look like now if she tried to be a woman, dress like a woman?
“Enough, stupid Diane,” she said to herself, annoyed just because Zac was in her kitchen and he had kissed her the night before, stirring feelings in her that she wondered whether she had a right to have. But maybe it meant nothing to him, right?
“Diane, shake a leg,” Zac shouted.
Crap, had he heard her? She yanked open the door and started down the hall before remembering the coffee. She hurried back to her bedroom, grabbed the coffee, and then stopped just inside the kitchen. Zac was scooping eggs onto two plates, and the toast was buttered. He looked up and smiled.
“I can’t believe you made breakfast. What is this, twice?” she said for lack of anything better to say. Why was he doing this for her?
Zac set both plates at her small round kitchen table, but instead of sitting, he pulled out her chair and held it for her.
Diane hesitated and glanced up, but his expression was a mask again. What was he thinking? She sat and mumbled, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He strode around and sat. He was digging into the eggs, shoving a forkful into his mouth, before she could gather her scattered mind together and pick up her own fork.
She tasted the eggs and stopped as a spicy, sweet tang burst into her mouth. “These are the best eggs I’ve ever had. What did you put in here?”
“I ransacked your cupboards, threw in this and that. Now, what are you planning to do with the investigation of that poor girl on the highway?”
She set her fork down on her plate. “I’m going to investigate it.” Wow, the guy was amazing with how he’d blown off her question and taken charge of the conversation.
“But you already know where to start. Do you have a plan, or are you planning on going in and telling all those cops you work with about your familiarity with the girl and the community, about your deep dark past? You can’t hide something like that. You were pretty shaken up last night, and you already know Green and Casey are talking about you.”
“What?” she snapped, setting both hands on the table. “I don’t believe this. What the hell are they saying about me?”
“You know how it works, Diane. You’ve been off. I figured it out, and I had just met you. How long do you think it’s going to take before others start putting two and two together, or are you determined to find a way off this case?” he asked, not taking his gaze off her as he waited for her to respond.
Diane took a bite of toast, tasting the honey. She chewed and took a sip of coffee. “I didn’t sleep well last night because I’m worried. I don’t want anyone to know about me, Zac. I regret telling Sam now, but I can’t take it back. I can’t walk away from her murder, but I also haven’t figured out how to go about solving it yet.”
He nodded. “You know, not everyone talks of their past, but cops have families, and most of the officers know where they come from and their backgrounds. What’s your story, or did you just show up here?”
“Are you asking what I told them or what happened to me?” No one knew what had happened the night she slipped away, walking down a dark country road at the foot of the Skimmerhorn mountains a few miles from the border. “I walked all night after I left, Zac. The sun was just coming up when a truck stopped on the side of the highway just past me. An older man got out and walked around the back. I can remember he had kindly eyes as he took in my dress, my thin coat. I was cold, shivering, but at the time I think it was because I was so afraid of him. It had been hammered into us as children to stay far away from strangers, to never speak to them. I was hungry, as I’d eaten the only sandwich I had a few hours before. I also had no water, and I was terribly thirsty.
“He said to me, ‘Are you in trouble?’ and I couldn’t answer. He must have known then, because he said, ‘Do you need help?’ Somehow, I found it in me to nod my head, and that was my saving grace, because Jack Larsen, a widower from Port Townsend, was on his way home after visiting his sister in Creston. I got in his truck, and to this day I don’t know how he got me across the border so easily. He said I was his daughter, and they let us through. He took me home and gave me a room, bought me clothes, enrolled me in school, and I became Diane Larsen. Jack became my dad. He showered me with kindness, respect, and love. He loved me, Zac, and protected me as a father is supposed to protect his child. This may sound really stupid to you, but as a dumb, stupid fourteen-year-old kid, I swore he was an angel.” She couldn’t look at Zac, because her heart still ached for Jack, how he had protected her and known what she’d come from.
“That’s not stupid, Diane. I’ve seen things that nightmares are made of, and from some of that I’ve seen miracles. Your dad sounds amazing.”
When she glanced up at Zac, a tear slipped down her cheek. “He was. He died a few years back. He mixed up his meds. I got the call in the field office and I lost it, fell apart. So all those tough cops know I had a dad, but I took all kinds of grief from some of the cops on the team. They saw me as weak, and some of those pricks have long memories.”
“Good,” Zac said.
Diane couldn’t for one minute understand how her looking weak in the eyes of the cops she worked with was good. “Are you kidding me? Do you know what kinds of grief and crap I’ve taken, especially from the younger arrogant cops? They see me as some chick standing in their way, and they want my job. They’ll use any underhanded shit to make me look like some useless, weak female who falls apart at the drop of a hat. Then no one will want to work with me. What’s worse is wondering whether the other cops have my back.”
“You misunderstand me.” He shoved the last bite of toast in his mouth and brushed his hands together. “They remember your dad and that you grew up in Port Townsend, so no one’s going to connect you to your past. Play it as if you’re bothered by polygs and their customs, by what they did to this girl, if anyone asks.” He shrugged.
“But, Zac, in order to investigate, I’m going to have to visit these communities. There’re three I’m thinking of, but the closest two are…”
“Bonner’s Ferry, and the one across the border into Canada, Bounty, around where you came from,” Zac interrupted. “You’re going to have to go home, Diane.”
“That’s not my home!” she yelled and slammed her fist on the table.
Zac covered her hand with his. “Bad choice of words, sorry.”
Diane’s face paled because she knew what she was going to have to do, and she felt herself again becoming that scared kid who’d fled in the dead of night. “Zac, I don’t think I have the strength to walk into these communities, to go back there. I’m not the same person. I can’t go back there, yet that’s exactly what you’re suggesting.”
“You’re the best person to go in. Think about it. You know these people, how they think,” Zac said.
Diane pushed back her plate. “I do know, Zac. I also know that no one’s going to talk. You saw the note. You know what it means. There’s one thing you’re taught as a small child in those communities: You don’t talk to outsiders, ever. They’re very good at hiding, covering up the truth. If they know that someone in the community is a weak link, that person won’t be around for questioning, because you’re only going to see what they want you to. We won’t even know who’s missing, because
they don’t keep public records of births and deaths. Keep in mind that sometimes the surrounding communities don’t want their dirty laundry aired, either, and they too will protect these people’s secrets. This is going to be damn hard.”
“Sure is. It’s going to be almost impossible for anyone except you.”
Diane had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Zac, I don’t know if I can do this.” She looked up at him, her hands sweating already as she just thought of making that first call, opening up that can of worms. She couldn’t fathom even stepping one foot back in that community, not the one she was from, seeing the people she’d thought were her family. “Look, let’s just start around here. What the hell was the girl doing here? There’re no polygs around here.”
“You sure about that?” Zac said as he slid back his chair. “Time for work. Do you want me to drive you in?”
“No, I need my wheels. Besides, can you imagine the talk if you drove me in?” She felt somewhat better after eating as she scraped back her chair.
“Since I’m pretty sure you’re not dating anyone, they’d probably leap to the conclusion that you were seeking out expertise to help solve this murder.”
Diane frowned as she really looked at him.
“One of my studies in the military was on different cultures,” he began. “Did you know polygamy is far more common than most understand? In modern Islamic areas, it’s very much in operation, like in Afghanistan and Indonesia. Some areas have rules, like in Pakistan, where Muslim men are only allowed four wives. In New Zealand, polygamy is allowed as long as the marriage takes place outside the country. Do you want me to go on?”
She stared at this wealth of information standing before her. She didn’t know what she had assumed before being so caught up in her fears, so it took her a moment to realize what he was saying. “So I’m consulting you for your expertise because of your extensive knowledge of the culture, and you’re going to work with me on this case because you’re providing insight into polygamists and their communities?”
“Now you’re getting it.” He matched her smile, flashing a set of white teeth.
“Does this mean that when I have to visit these communities, start knocking on doors, you’re going with me?” She really hoped he wasn’t going to dump her now. It was hard enough looking at any part of this case, but working with a partner who didn’t know her past…well, it would be hell, because they’d start questioning her bizarre behavior and wondering how she knew so much about the community. Diane was enough of a realist to admit that ‘calm’ was not a word that would describe her while she was on this case.
“Exactly,” he said, and for the first time in over twenty-four hours, Diane smiled.
Chapter 11
Diane was behind her desk, searching all the links Zac had sent. She’d circulated the girl’s photo to all neighboring states, the sheriff’s department, Interpol, and the local RCMP across the Canadian border, but no one had emailed or called back yet with reports of a missing girl. Nothing had been filed. No surprise there. All she’d learned so far this morning was that the girl wasn’t from around here and no missing children had been reported. That was it.
“Diane.” Green strutted across the small, cramped office at the back of the Sequim precinct. She still couldn’t believe he’d passed the lieutenants’ exam and then weaseled his way into being her boss, pulling her off OPNET to run this case. She wondered if he was drinking buddies with the chief. Diane ignored him, stifling the urge to give him the finger.
“Heard Sam tagged along with you to the morgue yesterday. Any chance he’s considering coming back?”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Diane started typing on her keyboard, hoping he would get the message and leave.
“Really?” he said before turning to the entrance. “Hey, Sam, good to see you. Was just asking Diane here if she’d managed to get you to come back.”
Diane’s fingers froze over the keys, and she glanced up at Sam, who was dressed in blue jeans and a clean dress shirt. He slid off his shades and popped them in his pocket, shaking hands with Green, the ass-kisser.
“Sam, what are you doing here?” Diane leaned back in her chair. The hinges squeaked.
“Was talking to Green here about coming back and helping you with the case.” Sam smiled in his soft, charming way, something he never did with her.
Diane jutted her jaw out. She had a few choice words for Sam, showing up here like he was, talking to Green first before her—none of that was okay.
“Yeah, it’s quite the case Diane caught. Don’t see much of that stuff around here,” Sam said to Green, talking around her, which wasn’t something she remembered him doing. Maybe she was just being prickly today.
“Looks like she’s got lots of help. Popular girl, Diane is,” Green said.
Diane fired a look at Sam that had his smile disappearing. He raised an eyebrow, annoyed, as he stared back at her.
“Diane, you didn’t tell your old partner here how you got that new coroner helping you? He even drove her in to work,” Green said, standing over Diane.
She pushed back her chair and stood in front of Green, ready to jab him in the chest, because he was doing his damnedest to make her look like a little girl. “You’re such a prick,” she said. “At least I’m not sitting around with my thumb shoved up my ass, yanking officers off the OPNET team because I haven’t got the balls to step in and solve this murder myself. Goes to show how small your brain…”
“Diane,” Zac said in a calm, low voice as he strutted in, hands shoved in his leather jacket pockets. He took in Sam and Green with a casual glance.
She could feel the heat emanating from Sam. With the way he was watching her and taking in Zac, maybe he was annoyed, but it was a look that had her feeling as if she were cheating on him. It was a stupid response, she tried to tell her head, she really did, but that was how he was making her feel. The silence was painful. Three guys, one a prick, and Diane stood staring as if trying to figure out what to say.
Diane didn’t know where to look, so she sat down and ignored them, all of them. “I have work to do, if you’re all done,” she said, tapping her keyboard, checking emails. “I’ve sent the girl’s photo out to every two-bit sheriff in three states, every law enforcement agency, and the national database for missing kids. I’ve heard nothing back. Zac, you ran prints, dental records?”
“Nothing. She doesn’t exist anywhere. By the look of her teeth, she’s probably never been to a dentist. No fillings, no dental work,” replied Zac rather calmly.
Diane glanced up and noticed Sam giving him an odd look. Okay, so he didn’t like Zac; she had picked up on that yesterday. “Zac, apparently Sam here has decided to join us, according to Green, in solving this murder,” she said.
Sam was frowning at her with narrowed eyes when she glanced up. His cheek was twitching, too. Great, she’d hit a nerve. But what the hell was up with him? She thought he was her friend, after all, but speaking to Green instead of her about coming back was such a backstabbing betrayal. She couldn’t look at him, and she slid out of her chair, crossed her arms, and gestured to Zac.
“The Fundamentalist Church of Latter Day Saints, the FLDS, is where we should start,” he began. “The groups are in Utah, Arizona, Colorado, and just across the Idaho border in Canada. These are the hardcore ones. There are other spinoff groups in other states, but they’re not FLDS. The original Latter Day Saints under Joseph Smith split off, and many different sects, or churches, shall we say, were formed, some teaching that Joseph Smith was not a prophet and the book of Mormon was not scripture. These included a sect opposing plural marriage, but some of these sects are now defunct. Then there are the Latter Day Saints, the largest group in Salt Lake being organized under Brigham Young. For those of you not up on the different sects of every religion, these are referred to as Mormons. Each of these sects, like most religions out there, claims to be the true successor.” Zac had everyone’s attention
, and Diane couldn’t grasp the wealth of knowledge he had.
“Geez, well, aren’t you a wealth of information on these nutcases,” Green said, and Diane grabbed her top drawer and yanked it open, knocking Green in the thigh. “Hey, what the hell, Diane?” Green snapped as he jumped back, rubbing where the sharp corner had poked him.
“Sorry.” She reached in the drawer and lifted out a pencil. “Needed this.” She slammed the drawer shut and grabbed a pad of paper. Normally she’d have felt bad, but Green was such an asshole, and he didn’t get these people. She was furious at him for judging them. Even though, in her own mind, she had serious issues, she didn’t feel he had the right to have an opinion.
“Basically, different sects broke off, following different leaders and teachings. There’s also the Reorganized Church, headquartered in Missouri, and the Bickertonite Church, based in Pennsylvania. Do you want me to go into the different teachings?” Zac asked.
Diane was thankful he hadn’t looked at her. He was taking all the heat from her, and even Sam was frowning, considering, wondering. Diane’s throat was scratchy and dry, and she had to force herself to swallow, as her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she could feel the blood pulsing through her arms and chest. To make it worse, her underarms were dripping. Zac had come in prepared, but did he know what was taught, how each sect interpreted those teachings, how they were led and controlled?
She knew the teachings of her community well because they were still branded in her brain from nightly prayers, the entire family on their knees. Her father, who had led the prayers, was the only one to talk to God. Women were only allowed a spiritual connection through their fathers or husbands, but it was the prophet who controlled the community, deciding who married whom and when a wife was to be given away. Men requested marriages through the prophet and awaited his approval, so staying in the prophet’s good graces was the men’s top priority.
Later, a different teaching was passed on to her by her true father, Jack Larsen, over and over: No one can talk to God for you. Only you can interpret the message you receive, and no one can ever tell you what to believe. One night, she’d asked Jack how she would ever get to heaven now, asking which heaven it would be. He’d stared at her with such confusion and asked her to explain her question, so she told him about the three levels of heaven: the celestial, the natural, and the spiritual, the top being the state where man becomes God and goes with his wives to create their own world. She explained that if a man ever doubted the prophet and his visions, he would lose everything, his house, his family, his membership in the community. Having been away from under it now, she could see the brilliance of the prophet, how everything was about power and control. Jack had said to her that if she truly believed any of those teachings, she wouldn’t have been there with him.
Bounty (Walk the Right Road) Page 6
