by Elle Gray
“Unless there is another wrongfully arrested man in this room I’m not seeing, then, yes, him,” Tinsley says sarcastically. “Now, I’m going to need a little time to confer with my client, so do me a favor and turn off all those pesky recording devices on your way out. I’ll give you a call when we’re ready to talk.”
“You should know,” I start, “that we have your client directly linked to twenty-two missing women. One of whom recently turned up dead after being savagely beaten. We’ve got him dead to rights, counselor.”
Tinsley chuckles. “I seem to recall hearing that somewhere before. Recently, too, if memory serves me correctly.”
Astra grabs hold of my arm and drags me back to the door that leads into the pod before I can do something stupid. The rage burning in me is making my blood boil, though, so it’s probably a good thing that Astra’s got hold of me, all things considered. She shoves me into the pod and shuts the door behind me.
“Let’s take a walk,” she says, then turns to the tech. “Give us a page when the slimebag says he’s ready.”
“You got it.”
Astra escorts me back to the shop, all but pushing me along the entire way. Still agitated, I cross my arms over my chest and start vigorously pacing the room as Astra drops into the chair at her workstation.
“Those don’t look like the faces of conquering heroes,” Rick observes.
“No, those look like the faces of a couple of women who just got their butts handed to them,” Mo offers.
“You would be right about that,” Astra mutters.
“So… I take it the case isn’t being blown open,” Mo says.
I shake my head. “Find out who retained Palmer Tinsley on Dansby’s behalf,” I say. “Rick, can you do that?”
“On it, boss.”
“Not to throw more gasoline onto the fire or anything, but I did what you asked and looked at class schedules for all the missing girls,” Mo says. “Some of them had the same professors, of course. But there’s only one instructor they all shared in common.”
“Silas Crawford,” I say.
“Give that woman a cookie,” Mo says.
“Hey, boss, here’s another coincidence for you to chew on—Silas Crawford is the one who retained Palmer Tinsley,” Rick calls over. “He’s actually had Tinsley on retainer for years. Tinsley is the Crawford family’s personal attorney. And just in case you were wondering, Crawford is loaded to the gills. Richer than God. His father invented some microprocessor and made a killing on it—still makes a killing on it.”
“Sounds as though Crawford doesn’t even need to work,” Mo notes.
“But where would he then have access to emotionally damaged, impressionable young women of legal and consenting age?” I ask.
“You’re saying he only works at the schools to recruit these girls?” Mo asks.
“Give that woman a cookie,” I reply.
“Okay, let me see if I have our working theory straight,” Astra says. “Dansby is out there doing the street-level garbage—ditching evidence, draining accounts, and all—in service to Crawford? And in return, he gets an expensive mouthpiece?”
“Seems that way,” I say.
“But here’s a question—why would Crawford be trafficking these girls?” Mo asks. “Obviously, he doesn’t need the money. And from what you described, he doesn’t have much trouble getting them to his office in the first place.”
“Maybe it’s something darker than we thought,” I offer. “Maybe he’s murdering these girls and Dansby is the one cleaning up after him. The debit cards, cars, and whatever other profit can be derived is his slice of the pie.”
“But it still doesn’t quite add up for me,” Astra says. “Why risk keeping them for more than a year—as he did with Stacy Burkett? If this is all about murder, why not just kill them and be done with it?”
“Because I think it’s about more than just murder,” I say. “As we can see with Burkett, it’s about torture. Trauma. Crawford might be the type who needs to dominate these women. Control them. He seizes on their issues to draw them, in and when they’re good and vulnerable, he strikes.”
“I have a question that nobody’s asking,” Rick calls out. “You said that Stacy Burkett had just given birth, right?”
I nod. “That’s what the ME told us.”
“Then where’s the baby?”
It’s such a simple question, I can’t believe it never occurred to me. And judging by the look on Astra’s face, she’s mortified that it hadn’t crossed her mind, either. It’s then we get a page from the tech in the pod. Tinsley’s ready for us.
“Wait,” Rick calls, stopping us in our tracks. “I just got a piece of intel you’ll want. Silas Crawford is Alex Dansby’s brother. Well—half-brother, apparently.”
“That explains why Tinsley’s in there,” Astra says.
“That does,” I nod. “And that’s just one more curveball to this whole heaping pile of garbage. I honestly have no idea what’s happening right now.”
“That makes two of us, babe,” Astra sighs. “But let’s go see if that piece of garbage in the Armani suit can provide us with some clarity.”
“That would be nice,” I say. “It really would.”
Thirty
Interrogation Suite Charlie-3; Seattle Field Office
“So, is Silas Crawford paying you directly, Tinsley?” I ask. “Or are you on a permanent retainer?”
He chuckles softly. “I’m on retainer to the family,” he says. “You certainly put that together very quickly.”
“We’re good at what we do,” Astra says coldly.
“But not good enough to get to the truth of things, I fear,” he says.
Dansby is sitting back in his chair, a smug smirk on his face, content to let his high-priced mouthpiece do the talking for him. I’m dying to come across the table and slap it right off him.
“Then why don’t you lay it out for us?” I ask. “Tell us what your version of the truth is.”
“How cynical, Agent Wilder. There aren’t versions of the truth. There’s only the truth and then what’s left,” Tinsley says.
“Let’s not play games,” Astra says. “I assume you’re paid by the hour, so let’s not pad your billing any more than you already do.”
“Fine,” Tinsley says. “I’ve consulted with my client as well as Dr. Crawford, and I can assure you that no crimes have been committed. Your suspicions and allegations are entirely incorrect.”
“I’m waiting to hear your version of the truth,” I say.
“Dr. Crawford is a man who believes in living simply. He longs for a return to a world where knowledge is valued simply for the sake of itself,” Tinsley intones. “He desires to live in a world where we aren’t glued to our screens twenty-four hours a day—”
“Get to it, Counselor, or I’m apt to arrest you for felony waste of my time,” Astra snaps.
He chuckles. “Fine. To that end, Dr. Crawford has established a compound on a piece of land he owns south of here. Near Mt. St. Helens, to be precise.”
“A compound?”
“A ranch, really. It’s where people of like mind have been living for a little more than five years now,” he explains. “A ranch of people living simply, and without all of the modern flourishes we have all come to take for granted.”
“So, he established a cult,” Astra replies.
“That’s such an ugly and inaccurate word,” Tinsley protests. “It’s merely a haven, a simple world where people can live clean and live free. To live as they want and not as society dictates that they should.”
“So….a cult,” Astra repeats.
“You people wouldn’t understand what my brother has created out there,” Dansby finally says. “Your little minds couldn’t possibly grasp it. You wouldn’t know what it is to live free. To live your truth.”
“Wow. Sounds like somebody drank a second glass of the Kool-Aid,” I mutter.
He smirks. “Your feeble attempts to get under
my skin won’t work, Agent,” he says. “I have transcended and live well above your comprehension.”
“Yeah, this sounds totally normal and not cult-like at all,” Astra comments.
“What it sounds like is a group of consenting adults who have chosen to live a certain way—a way that you might not like, but a way that isn’t in any way illegal,” Tinsley replies. “There is no crime being committed.”
“Except for the case of bank fraud,” I say. “We have your client—”
“Oh, right. That,” Tinsley cuts me off.
He pulls his phone out and scrolls through his files, then turns the screen to me. I give him a wry smile.
“I thought you folks wanted to cut technology out of your lives,” I note. “Seems a little ironic to show me your proof on that snazzy new iPhone.”
“I don’t live there, Agent Wilder,” he says dryly. “I do, however, defend their right to live as they see fit, free of government interference—as is their right. Now, just watch.”
He hits the button, and the video starts to play. I recognize Selene Hedlund instantly and feel my heart drop into my stomach.
“My name is Selene Hedlund and I, being of sound mind and body, have made the conscious decision to uncouple from the modern world. I have made the conscious decision to live clean and live free,” she says. “As I have made this decision, I am relinquishing my worldly possessions. I hereby give permission for those things that tie me to the so-called civilized world to be severed. Car, bank account, everything in my apartment—I am donating everything to Haven, and the proceeds of anything sold on my behalf will go to the same.”
The video ends and I’m left speechless as I stare at the blank screen. I manage to gather myself and glance at Astra, who looks as shaken as I feel right now.
“There are signed and notarized affidavits from all the residents of Haven on file, of course, that state the same thing,” Tinsley says. “So again I repeat, no crimes are being committed here. It’s simply a group of people, all of them of age and consenting, who choose to live in a way that—although you might not agree with it—is not criminal.”
I clear my throat and turn my gaze to Dansby. “And what’s your part in all of this?”
“I deal with logistics. I clean out houses and apartments, sell the belongings of our flock,” he says. “I handle the worldly side of things.”
“And I’m sure you take a healthy cut of the proceeds as well,” Astra says.
“Last I checked, earning a wage for an honest day’s work isn’t a crime, Agent Russo,” Tinsley replies.
“So, you’re intimately familiar with the inner workings of your cult—sorry, I mean your group,” I say. “You’re involved with the decision-making? Have your fingers in all the pies to make sure you’re doing Silas’ bidding correctly?”
“I’m his right-hand man,” Dansby says. “There’s nothin’ that goes on in Haven that I don’t know about. Got to. Got to protect what we built from you people.”
“So why all the subterfuge? Why are you hiring bleeders to drain the accounts?” I press. “Why do everything under the veil of secrecy?”
“Because we know what you people would do if you found us. We’re an exclusive world. Only those truly of like mind are allowed to enter the gates of Haven. The only reason I’m revealing the existence of Haven to you now is that I have no choice. Silas doesn’t want to see me prosecuted for something that’s not a crime,” he says. “He’s good to our people that way. He doesn’t turn on us the way you people turn on each other.”
“Heartwarming. No, really, that’s touching,” I say. “But we still have the death of Stacy Burkett to contend with. She was a resident of Haven, no?”
“She was for a time,” Dansby says.
“Uh-huh,” Astra says. “So, how did she die? She was worked over pretty good. Who tuned her up, Alex?”
He shrugs. “She left Haven. Wanted to live amongst the animals again, I suppose,” he says. “But nobody is forced to remain. And so we let her leave. What happened to her after she left Haven is a mystery to me. One of your people must have killed her. That’s what you do.”
“And what about the baby?” I ask. “We know she gave birth less than a month ago. Where is her child?”
He shrugs again. “I have no idea. She didn’t have a child inside Haven, that much I can tell you. What she did outside our walls ain’t my business.”
Tinsley puts his hand on Dansby’s arm and leans over, whispering to his client. Dansby’s face immediately tightens, and he falls silent. Tinsley’s smart enough to know what I just did, and he’s slightly rattled. I can see it in his eyes—he’s already trying to figure a way out of the can of worms his client just opened up all over himself. We got him on the record. Tinsley knows that if we find evidence of Stacy’s baby, they’re screwed.
“We’re going to need to visit Haven,” I say. “We’re going to need to interview the residents and confirm all of this ourselves.”
“You callin’ me a liar?” Dansby growls.
Tinsley puts his hand on the man’s arm again and shakes his head. Dansby settles back into his seat and glares at me with pure hate in his eyes.
“It’s not that I don’t trust the veracity of your statements, Mr. Dansby, it’s just that—oh, wait, I do doubt your truthfulness,” I say. “I have this funny thing about taking career criminals at face value.”
Before Dansby can say anything, Tinsley sits forward. “Silas anticipated this and has welcomed you and your team—and your team only—to tour Haven,” he says. “He invites you to see what they’ve built, to prove that these outrageous allegations you’re making have no merit. He has nothing to hide.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m also going to be bringing along a couple of crime scene techs,” I say, then pin Dansby to his chair with my gaze. “We’re going to be looking for DNA from Stacy Burkett’s child. And believe me when I say that my techs are the best around. And if they so much as find a drop of that child’s blood, I’m going to put the needle in you myself.”
“There’s no need for hyperbolic and ultimately empty threats, Agent Wilder,” Tinsley fires back. “As I said, Silas has nothing to hide and welcomes your visit.”
“That’s good,” I say. “Because we’ll be heading out there. In the meantime, your client’s not going anywhere. Not until we verify everything that’s been said. “
Tinsley inclines his head. “Of course. I expected nothing less from you, Agent Wilder. You have never been anything but thorough.”
I flash him a grin. “That’s good, because I’m about to be more thorough than your proctologist.”
“Charming,” Tinsley says with a grimace. “As always.”
Thirty-One
Haven; Clark County, WA
Just a few dozen miles north of Yacolt, in an unincorporated stretch of land—one hundred acres to be exact—is Haven. I had figured Tinsley’s use of the word “compound” was an exaggeration, but it wasn’t exactly wrong. The premises are surrounded by a ten-foot-high wooden wall that’s been reinforced with steel on the back side. A long catwalk runs all the way around the wall, with ladders stationed every so often to give people access to the top of the wall. It’s empty at the moment, but it’s not hard for me to imagine armed men patrolling the catwalk. It provides a high, very defensible vantage point in the case of a firefight.
The gates themselves are just as tall as the fence and are also reinforced with steel. I can’t tell whether that’s to keep people out—or keep them in. They open as we drive up, and I cast a glance over at Astra.
“I kind of feel as if we’re entering Jurassic Park,” I comment.
“Really? I kind of had the feeling we were entering the Branch Davidian compound,” Astra replies. “Or maybe Jonestown.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Let’s just hope it turns out better for us than it did in any of those places,” she says.
Astra pulls the SUV into a dirt lot that s
its in front of a brick-and-wood structure. The second SUV with our techs pulls in beside us, and we all climb out and huddle up. There’s a certain sense of peace out here, I won’t deny that. To be out of the city, away from the blaring horns and buzz of traffic and people—it’s nice. The quiet out here is so absolute, it almost seems we’ve stepped into a vacuum.
Except, of course, for the massive walls locking us in.
“All right, keep your eyes peeled,” I announce. “We’re looking for evidence of anything illegal. Anything at all. Listen to the people. I mean really listen to them. I want to know if they sound stressed. If they’re being told what to say under duress. And I want DNA swabs—as many as we can get. I want to know if that baby was born out here.”
“Agents Wilder and Russo,” comes a voice.
We turn to see Dr. Crawford walking toward us with a wide, welcoming smile on his face.
“Dr. Crawford,” I say. “This is quite the place.”
“It’s my life’s work,” he says.
“That you forgot to mention the last time we talked.”
He shrugs. “It didn’t come up,” he says. “And I hope you can understand my need to protect my home—and my people. The influence of the outside world is something we have all actively sought to shun. That’s why we’re here—to live in harmony with nature and with each other.”
“That’s beautiful,” Astra says dryly.
Crawford frowns but quickly recovers. “I know our ways seem strange to you. But we are living our own truth out here,” he says. “I admit it’s not for everybody, and that’s all right. You are free to live as you see fit—as are we.”
An awkward, tension-filled silence descends over us for a moment and we all stand there looking at each other. Crawford finally breaks the ice.
“Please, let me show you around. I understand you will want to speak with some of our residents,” he says. “And as I’ve been informed, take DNA samples.”
“That’s correct,” I nod. “Your brother is already on record. He told us Stacy Burkett didn’t have her child in Haven. And that she was killed outside the walls.”
