Hollywood Lust

by M. Z. Kelly

  “What about others who might be involved?” I asked. “We know that Taylor bills herself as one of the seven original disciples, with one member of that group already dead. That means there are five others out there somewhere. Could they be part of what’s happening?”

  Meade answered. “We have no way of knowing for certain, but it’s likely. We’re looking at a coordinated attack that probably took months to plan.” The agent’s blue eyes swept over the gathering. “It might sound strange to everyone, but the biggest factor in what’s being threatened isn’t necessarily stopping the individuals who might carry out the explosions. This group is after something far bigger. They want to create a social conflagration that will rip apart society as we know it.”

  A door opened, and a thin man in a dark suit entered. Greer stood up and shook hands with him before he took a seat at the table.

  “This is Dr. Vaughn Wright,” Greer said. “He’s the medical examiner that’s been the head of a team of physicians trying to identify the victims found near the highway outside of Florence.” He nodded at the doctor.

  After taking a moment to introduce himself, Dr. Wright got down to business. “We have a positive identification on five of the seven victims in question. They are all in their late teens to early twenties, students who were taken from colleges in different states throughout the country over the past few days. All of the victims are the children or grandchildren of United States senators.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Dr. Wright’s words only served to heighten the tension in a room that already seemed ready to burst at the seams. We all felt powerless to stop what had been set in place. The medical examiner went on to give us the gruesome details about the Florence victims.

  “The beheadings were probably carried out with a knife, but the cuts were ragged and uneven, suggesting they tortured their victims during the process. There were also abrasions and ligature marks, indicating the victims were restrained during the act. After the torture session, once the carotid artery was severed, each victim would have bled out and died quickly. We still have nothing on where their bodies might have been dumped.”

  I felt a profound sadness for the parents and grandparents of the victims. The students had been slaughtered in the worst way imaginable and the families didn’t even have their bodies to bury. The thought of what they were enduring was horrifying.

  Agent Rooney took over again after the M.E. was finished. “We have to assume the worst, that this group will show absolutely no mercy in carrying out their plans.”

  After another hour discussing the events and answering questions, John Greer addressed the gathering. “We have our media people working with all the outlets. The directors of both our agency and Homeland Security will be holding a news conference later this morning to try and control some of the hysteria. The president is also expected to speak at some point. In the meantime, our Cyber Division will continue trying to take down the website and our tactical teams will be sent to Lawrence.”

  After the meeting adjourned, Dawson and I got Greer’s permission to join one of the teams being sent to Lawrence. We rushed to the airport, where we took a jet and landed in Kansas City. We then rented cars, Dawson and I following the other agents to Lawrence, about forty miles from the airport.

  As Dawson drove, I read the biographical data we had on Nigel York to him. “York grew up in the Lawrence area and attended high school there. He was considered a genius by his teachers and got a full scholarship to MIT. He dropped out after a couple of years and went off the grid.” I glanced at Dawson. “It says here he made tens of millions after hacking into some of the most secure networks in the world, before being caught.”

  “How did they eventually find him?”

  “A girlfriend gave him up to the feds.” I chuckled, after reading the rest of his bio. “He was living in the penthouse suite at the Ritz Carlton in New York under an assumed name.”

  “Sounds like he went from the penthouse to the outhouse.”

  I scanned some additional material and then said, “OMG. One of the agents involved in his arrest was none other than Janice Taylor.”

  Dawson nodded and rubbed his jaw. “So why Kansas? We know his parents are there, but, assuming our boy still has some of that dough stashed away that he raked in for selling corporate and state secrets, it seems unlikely he’d go back home, unless…”

  I picked up on his train of thought. “The girlfriend…do you suppose…”

  “What do we know about her?”

  After thumbing through the stack of paperwork, I found her name and birthdate. “Abigail Stewart, age twenty-seven.”

  “What about her background?”

  I glanced through the paperwork again. “Nothing.” I then pulled out my phone. “Let me make a call.”

  In a moment I had Selfie on the line and gave her the information on Nigel York’s ex-girlfriend. “I need everything you can pull together on her in the next twenty minutes.”

  “You’ve got it,” Selfie said. “I heard about your case…do you really think…”

  “I don’t know, Selfie. All I do know is that I need the information ASAP.”

  “Call you back.”

  As he drove and we waited for Selfie’s call, I checked the time on my phone. “Just under eleven hours before the deadline’s up.”

  Dawson glanced at me. “It could be worse.”

  “You always were an optimist.”

  He smiled and changed the subject. “So how are things on the home front, Buttercup?”

  I again thought about how Dawson and I had bonded after surviving some harrowing situations that nearly ended both of our lives. Because of that, I felt like I could share almost anything with him. What I’d learned from my mother’s letter was still on my mind, so I told him what she’d said.

  After going over the details, I added, “It sounds like Jean Winslow was murdered, it was covered up, and my father paid the ultimate price for what he knew.”

  “Jean Winslow. Really?”

  The movie star’s death, possibly being a homicide, was one of those sensational stories that never seemed to go away. There had even been several documentaries about her life, speculating that her death wasn’t a suicide.

  “Really.” I said, before taking a breath and watching the flat countryside sweep by. I looked back at him. “And if it’s true, I intend to find out who murdered her, because her killer hired Ryan Cooper to murder the man who raised me to cover everything up.” I found Dawson’s pale blue eyes again. “It might sound crazy, but I think it was somehow fated.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Me finding out who ordered my father’s murder. I think I was meant to bring him to justice, and I won’t rest until I find him.”

  He smiled as my phone rang. “That’s my girl.”

  The call was from Selfie. “I have an address for Abigail Stewart. She’s attending the University of Kansas and living in a dorm.” She gave me the details.

  “Anything else?”

  “Molly talked to York’s probation officer. He thinks he has it in for Abigail because she turned him in to the authorities. He also said something about her being York’s high school sweetheart.”

  “Thanks, Selfie.” I started to end the call but then thought about the cases I’d walked away from. “Anything new on Reeder or Hodge?”

  “Alex and Leo are still trying to find Galen Marshall. So far, no luck.”

  I ended the call and filled in Dawson on what I’d learned. “We need to alert the tactical units to find York’s girlfriend.”

  Dawson glanced at me before finding the highway again. “You and I both know a tactical team is good for one thing.” He glanced over at me again. “Taking down a bad guy from a known location.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “We go to the school and find the girl, get her to tell us what she knows about York. And when I find the little bastard, I’m going to use whatever means necessary to break hi
m down.” He glanced at me again. “I can drop you off at the motel staging area if you’re not in.”

  I exhaled and took a moment before responding. I knew that Dawson was right. Even if the tactical teams found York, they would take him into custody and advise him of his rights. By then it would be too late. The cities would be in flames and full of mass casualties.

  I looked back at Dawson. “I’m in, Joe.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Dawson broke all the speed limits getting to the university, blowing through a couple of traffic lights on the way. The University of Kansas was located on a hill, the highest point in an otherwise flat landscape. It was a beautiful campus that I learned from Google had some outstanding academic programs and a pretty good basketball team.

  “The dorms are located at the perimeter of the school,” I said. “According to what I read, there are several.”

  Dawson was passing a building when I saw the name Corbin on the exterior. “That’s one of the dorm buildings.”

  He slammed on the brakes, pulled over, and ran into the building with me following. When we entered the dorm an elderly woman with a name tag that read Daisy greeted us from behind a reception counter.

  Dawson took out his credentials, tried to catch his breath, and said, “We need to talk…to a student—Abigail Stewart.”

  Daisy put on her reading glasses and took her time examining Dawson’s credentials. She then removed the glasses and looked at him. “Very impressive, but I’m sorry. We have strict policies regarding student confidentiality. I can’t help you.”

  Dawson glowered at her. “Listen to me Daisy Duck. I don’t know if you watch TV, but the whole country is about to erupt into violence and we have reason to believe Abigail Stewart knows something about it. You either tell me where she is, or I’m going to march you across the street and put you in the water fountain where you belong, until you tell us.”

  Daisy smiled and cocked her head at Dawson. “Does it make you feel powerful bullying women? Is that why you went into law enforcement?”

  Dawson started around the counter to where she was sitting. “Sorry, Daisy, no time for psychoanalysis, but, just so you know, I’m bipolar and starting to feel a little manic. Let’s go for a swim.”

  He took her by the arm as I went over to them. “Wait.” I turned and called out to the students who had seen what was happening and had gathered around. “Does anyone here know Abigail Stewart?”

  A girl with mousy brown hair stepped forward. “I do.”

  “Silence,” Daisy said to her.

  Dawson put a big paw over her mouth. “Good idea, Daisy.” He turned to the girl. “Where is she?”

  “She’s in one of my classes and was staying at Naismith Hall, but she moved out about two weeks ago. I think she rented an apartment over on Williams Drive.”

  After getting more information about where the girl thought Stewart might be living, Dawson released his elderly hostage.

  Daisy caught a breath and said, “Just so you know, I’m calling the police.”

  As we were leaving, Dawson called back to her, “You do that, Daisy. Tell them you want to be arrested for violating section 213 of the Kansas Penal Code.”

  “What’s that?” I asked Dawson as we went through the door.”

  “Being the biggest pain in the ass in the state of Kansas.”

  ***

  After spending the next hour trying to find Abigail Stewart’s apartment building and getting lost, we finally located it and found an onsite manager.

  “I rented the place to her, but now regret it,” Carlos Renteria told us. “I got a call last night. There was some kind of disturbance here.”

  “You got a key?” Dawson asked him.

  He shook his head. “Not with me. It’s back at my office. I can go…”

  “No time,” Dawson said, raising a big foot and kicking in the door.

  “You just damaged my property,” Renteria said, following us into the apartment. “And you have no right to break in.”

  Dawson swiveled back to the apartment manager. “You ever hear of Tourette’s Syndrome?” A nod. “My foot’s got it. Can’t control the spasms…or my mouth.” He smiled at Renteria. “Sorry, motherfucker.”

  “Joe, over here,” I said, calling over to him after checking the bedroom. “It looks like there was a disturbance in here. There’s some blood.”

  The bedroom was destroyed, the dresser knocked over, and there was blood on the floor.”

  “What do you think?” I asked, after he’d examined the scene.”

  “I think Nigel York has Abigail Stewart. And, if I were a betting man, I wouldn’t take odds on her still being alive.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Dawson called Drew Barry, the agent in charge of the tactical teams, and told him what we’d found, while I called the local police. Within minutes the apartment complex was full of agents and a handful of Lawrence cops.

  “Why the hell did you go off on your own?” Agent Barry demanded of Dawson. “This isn’t your show.”

  Dawson took a step toward the much smaller agent and pointed a finger at him. “If we hadn’t acted, you’d still be in the motel parking lot, trying to decide which way to go.”

  “You follow my orders or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  Barry lowered his eyes and took a step back. “Or I tell my superiors.”

  “Go head. While you’re at it call Abigail Stewart’s parents. Tell them their daughter’s probably dead because you were busy eating donuts at the Holiday Inn.”

  Barry walked away, mumbling something about the lower portion of Dawson’s anatomy. While the two men had gone at it, I’d called Selfie and gotten an address for Abigail Stewart’s parents.

  “They live in a small town called Hillsdale, just south of here,” I told Dawson. “I’ve got an address.”

  “We need someone who knows the area, faster wheels.” He turned, seeing that another marked police car had arrived at the scene. Dawson hurried over to the officer that got out. I saw that he was a lieutenant.

  After taking a couple of minutes to explain our circumstances, the officer in charge told him, “You can take Hayden and Bean.” He pointed to the two uniforms that were leaning against their cars while the FBI teams continued to go through the apartment. “They were born here and know how to get around.”

  We went over and were briefly introduced to Kirk Hayden and Marvin Bean. Officer Hayden was older and big around the middle, in that way some cops who drink too much get. His partner was at least ten years younger, with an overbite. He seemed nervous and kept looking over his shoulder like someone was coming after him.

  “Let’s go, Barney,” Dawson said to the younger cop after their supervisor had given them orders to drive us. He opened the door to the police unit. “Put this bugger box in gear. We’ve got a hive of angry bees out there and less than four hours to stop it.”

  Dawson rode up front with Officer Bean while Hayden and I piled in the back seat. It took the big cop several tries before he got his seatbelt buckled around his ample girth. Dusk was beginning to settle in as we headed south, and it felt like we were running out of time. I’d overheard one of the FBI agents saying most of the cities had already erupted into violence.

  “Are y’all working on that swarm of killers threatening to set off explosions tonight?” Hayden drawled, after settling in next to me and catching his breath.

  Before I could answer Dawson cocked his head in the big cop’s direction and said, “Listen up, Haystack. If you see them coming, I want you to put that big belly of yours between us and them, use it as a bounce house.”

  The big cop made a face but otherwise didn’t respond. It was a wise decision, considering my FBI partner was also in violation of section 213 of the Kansas Penal Code.

  “Step on it, Fife,” Dawson said to Bean, making another reference to the bumbling TV cop from a sixties sit-com. “This is your lucky day. You get to drive fast and shoot people.” />
  Hillsdale was a little town about an hour south of Florence, with a post office, a tavern, a railway crossing, and not much else. There was a scattering of houses on the outskirts where we found the dilapidated craftsman style home with a broken down car in the driveway owned by Colleen and Bob Stewart.

  Dawson pounded on the front door while we all waited on the porch behind him. There was no answer. It was dark now and there were no lights on inside the house.

  “Maybe they’re somewhere in town,” I suggested.

  “Or maybe they’re just deaf.” The big FBI agent found a rock and threw it through the front window. He was reaching inside to unlock the front door when Officer Hayden said, “You can’t just go ‘round breaking out people’s windows.”

  Dawson pulled his hand back, apparently frustrated over his inability to unlock the door. “You’re right, Haystack.” He used a foot and broke the door in. “Might as well do a complete remodel while we’re at it.”

  We went inside, announcing ourselves but not getting a response. Dawson was checking the master bedroom when he called us over. “Looks like our boy took care of the future in-laws.”

  We all went over to the bedroom and saw that the middle-aged couple had been shot. They were lying in a pool of blood, a few feet apart from one another. I turned in time to see Officer Bean running out the front door, where he vomited. It reminded me of a homicide cop I’d worked with named Harvey Gluck, who was known as Upchuck Gluck.

  I went over to Dawson. “Any ideas?”

  He scowled. “Let’s look through the house, see if there’s anything that might give us an idea where they went, while Barney bounces his cookies.

  We were looking at paperwork in a home office when I happened to glance at my phone. “Oh shit,” I said.

  “No time for a potty break, Buttercup,” Dawson said as he rifled through a mound of papers. “You’re gonna have to keep your cheeks together.”