What if Bethany wasn’t an I-5 victim? Blackstone had a history of violence and could have killed the girl himself. But with what motive? Five options popped into Rox’s head, with the most prominent that he’d sexually assaulted Bethany and she’d threatened to report him. Rox got up and paced between the living room and kitchen, her thoughts spinning. With the police investigating the cult, her chance of extracting Emma was seriously jeopardized. Could she persuade Kyle, or any member of the task force, to look for Emma while they were out at the compound? Rox really wanted to tag along. Maybe they would even let her. Not likely. This wasn’t TV.
A familiar knock made her turn to the front of the house. “Clear.”
Marty bustled through the door. “Did you see the news? The I-5 Killer got another one.” He’d never worked the homicide beat, but he diligently followed important police investigations.
Rox gestured toward the kitchen, and he followed her. She pulled two dark beers from the fridge and handed him one. “The victim’s name is Bethany. She’s a Sister Love member, and I talked to her yesterday at the soup kitchen.”
Marty’s mouth dropped open. “No kidding? Did you call Kyle and report it?”
“Sort of.” She opened her brew and took a long swallow. “I didn’t mention that I’d talked to Bethany because I was wearing a nun’s habit and calling myself Sister Helen at the time.”
“Oh shit.” Marty sat down. “If anyone reports that conversation, they may look for you.”
“They might even consider me a suspect.”
Marty took a sip of beer, paused for a moment, then shook his head. “No, they’ll focus on her last twenty-four hours, and a nun in a soup kitchen isn’t a red flag.”
“But we don’t know when she was killed. If it happened last night, my chat with Bethany will be in the window of suspects.”
“That depends on how many people they have to question.”
They drank in silence. As ex-cops, they both knew the process and mind-set of those working the case. Rox finally said, “It also depends on how heavily they focus on a link to the I-5 Killer. If the news reported a connection, then the MO has to be similar.”
“The girl fits the type. Young, long hair, not connected to her family.” Marty gave her a look. “What are you thinking? That Blackstone did it? Made it look like the serial killer?”
“It’s possible.”
“Motive?”
“Covering up sexual abuse or something similar. They need to question Blackstone.” A dark thought crossed her mind. “What if the task force doesn’t know where to find him?” Rox couldn’t sit any longer. She wanted to be at the Portland Police Bureau, facilitating the investigation. She loved hunting the bad guys. Why had she ever quit law enforcement? Oh right, because they always stuck her at a desk. She stood and put her beer back in the fridge. “I’m going down to the department. The I-5 team is working out of the central building. Some detectives will be at the crime scene, but others are probably in a meeting right now.”
Marty jumped up. “I’m going with you.”
He wouldn’t like this. “I think I’ll do better on my own. Having both of us try to get involved will seem obnoxious. And I have a natural connection with Kyle.”
Marty’s eyes narrowed. “You’re probably right.” He grabbed his beer. “Promise you’ll keep me updated. And text me if you can’t talk.”
She almost laughed. Six months ago, he wouldn’t have known how to read a text. “I will. And if you don’t hear from me, then I’ve been detained, and you’d better come down and fight to get me out.”
He laughed. “That depends on how high they set your bail.”
A light rain fell as she parked near the PPB headquarters on Second Avenue. She’d worked a data desk out of this building for years, but after her stint in the CIA, it seemed a lifetime ago.
Before getting out of the car, she called Kyle again, mostly as a courtesy. She didn’t want him to feel blindsided by her involvement. She left another message: “I’m at the central building, and I’m going in to tell the task force what I know about Bethany and the Sister Love cult leader.” That made it sound like she had real information. “Which is not much,” she added at the last moment.
Rox pulled her hood over her head and hurried down the block and inside the building. She crossed the lobby, noticing a young woman with two children waiting in the corner. She probably had a husband or boyfriend being questioned in a closet-like interrogation room. As Rox approached the plastic-glass counter, the uniformed officer looked up. Was that a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth? Rox glanced down to see if she’d rushed out of the house in pajamas again. Nope. She looked up and forced herself to smile back. It couldn’t hurt, whatever his reason was.
“I’m Roxanne MacFarlane. I worked for the Portland department for seven years, and now I’m a private investigator. I have information pertaining to the I-5 Killer case, and I’d like to speak with Detective Zahn.” A sergeant was officially in charge of the task force, but Zahn was the senior detective. Kyle had been on the team for six months, and she’d heard plenty about the personalities of its members. Kyle liked and respected Zahn, so he seemed like the person to contact.
For a long moment, the desk clerk processed the information, his dark eyes unsure. Finally he said, “He’s in a meeting, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thank you. This could be important.”
The officer pointed at the lobby. “Have a seat. This could take a moment.”
Rox didn’t move. “I’d rather wait here.”
His jaw tightened, and he walked away.
Six minutes later, the desk officer was back. This time he pointed to a dark door next to the counter. “I’ll buzz you in.” She knew how the security worked but didn’t say anything. The officer led her to a familiar conference room upstairs and opened the door. “Don’t expect a warm welcome.”
She understood the attitude toward civilian interference, but it annoyed her anyway. Rox stepped into the room. Five men and one woman sat at a long table, all in casual business jackets. She didn’t know any of them personally. She’d been away from the department for more than a decade and had never worked homicide when she was here. A tall man with close-cropped silver hair sat at one end, with a long whiteboard and a giant monitor behind him. From Kyle’s descriptions, she assumed he was Detective Zahn. Rox walked directly over and offered her hand. “Rox MacFarlane.”
Taken aback, the lead investigator gave her a weak handshake. “Michael Zahn. We’re pretty busy here with a new homicide, so let’s make this quick.”
He hadn’t asked her to sit down, but she felt uncomfortable standing. What was appropriate? She didn’t care. Rox slid into the closest empty chair. “I’m a private investigator working a confidential case. I wanted to inform you that I talked to the newest victim yesterday afternoon. She was working in the Sister Love soup kitchen near Chinatown and told me her name is Bethany. I thought you would want to know.”
“Do you know her last name?” Detective Zahn’s tone softened.
“No, sorry. I really don’t know anything about her. My case involves another young woman.”
“You could have just called us with that information.” An edge was back in his voice.
She had to steer them away from her encounter with Bethany. “I also know the location of the charity’s home base. I thought it might be useful.” She hesitated, not sure she wanted to send them in that direction. But she had to. “I mean, if you plan to question Deacon Blackstone, the leader.”
Everyone at the table leaned forward. The heavyset detective across from her snapped, “Tell us what you know about Blackstone and why we should suspect him.”
“I don’t have any specific reason to think he killed Bethany. But he’s a dirtbag who runs a questionable charity, and I believe the members all live with him.” Rox turned back to Zahn, ignoring the fat jackass. “Does the evidence at the crime scene point to the I-5 Killer?”
“We can’t share that.”
“I worked at this department for seven years and spent a decade with the CIA. I can be trusted with confidential information.” Plus, her stepdad spent thirty years with the department, and her boyfriend was on the task force. She kept that to herself for now.
A long silence.
She added, “The media already reported the link, so it’s not exactly a secret.”
Another moment of quiet. Finally Zahn asked, “What is your interest in Blackstone and his charity?”
“I’m looking for a young woman who might also be living at the compound.”
“Do you suspect she’s dead?”
A flash of dread in her gut. “It’s possible. But I have no concrete reason to think that. I intend to find her one way or another.”
Zahn drummed the table. “Do you have a good reason for not telling us her name?”
Well, yeah. Next week she might kidnap Emma, so it was best they didn’t have proof of her connection to the girl. She hoped they would accept her other response. “Client confidentiality. Their names aren’t relevant to your investigation.”
“How do you know?” Zahn demanded. “What if your missing girl killed Bethany? They were both in the same organization. What if your clients killed her?”
Rox flushed, but held her ground. “The girl isn’t strong enough to strangle anyone, and my clients just want their daughter back from the cult.” They also wanted to know if she was still alive. Rox considered giving them Emma’s name so they could check on her. But if they did, they might spook Emma and/or Blackstone. If the cult leader tucked Emma away deeper in the work camp, that would make an extraction even more difficult.
Before she could speak, the heavyset detective cut in. “If they run a soup kitchen, why do you call it a cult?”
Was he stupid or just looking for information? “Blackstone, the leader, is secretive. He also recruits vulnerable young women and depersonalizes them by confiscating their worldly possessions. All classic signs of a cult.” But none of that by itself made Blackstone a killer. Still, cult leaders often had suicidal tendencies and didn’t hesitate to take everyone with them. They all felt like they owned their followers. “Will you answer my question about the scene of the crime?”
A brief hesitation. Then Zahn said, “It was another strangulation, so it looks like the I-5 Killer’s MO, but we haven’t processed the trace evidence yet, and our people are still investigating.”
Rox decided to get out before they asked her more questions. She could ask Kyle to look for Emma at the work camp on the down-low, without the task force knowing. She would send him Emma’s photo so he had something to go on. Rox stood. “Thanks. If you want to question Blackstone, I’m pretty sure he and his members are living in an abandoned work camp off Barton Road.” She started to leave.
“How do you know that?” Zahn called out.
She shrugged. “I’m an investigator.” Rox stepped toward the door again.
“Wait. We’re not done here.” Zahn used his authoritative voice, a skill that all cops learned in training.
Damn! Rox turned back. “There’s nothing else to tell. I wasn’t even sure this was important enough to bother you with.” She tried to downplay the whole thing.
“You said you saw Bethany at the soup kitchen. What time?” Zahn stood to be at her level.
Double damn. This was turning into an interrogation. But she’d known the risk. “Around three thirty.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Briefly.”
“About what?”
“The charity and why she joined. Social chitchat.”
“What was your objective?”
“Just background information.”
The door opened, and Kyle walked in with his partner behind him. Kyle did a double take when he saw her standing there. Rox nodded, then turned back to Detective Zahn. “I have to go. Best wishes with this case.” She hurried out, catching Kyle’s eye on the way.
Behind her, she heard him say, “Excuse me for a moment.” Kyle followed her into the hall, where she waited.
“What are you doing here?”
She couldn’t read the expression on his face, but her best guess was worry.
“I called you several times and left messages.” Rox took a quick breath. “Short version: the case I’m working involves Sister Love, and the murdered girl is one of the cult’s members. But if this is an I-5 case, none of that might be important.” Rox took out the small photo of Emma and showed it to him. “This is my clients’ daughter. If you get inside Blackstone’s complex, please check on her. The parents need to know she’s alive.”
He hesitated, and his brow furrowed. “If I can.”
“Thanks. Call me after your meeting. Or just come over.”
He shrugged. “If it’s not too late.” Kyle touched her arm, then hurried back into the conference room.
Was he annoyed at the involvement? She would have loved to follow him in, sit in a corner, and listen to them talk about the case and Blackstone in particular. But she would have to settle for whatever crumbs Kyle could share. She thought about the Sister Love girls at the truck stop and wondered if she should have mentioned the scene. If she had, Zahn might send cops out there to shut it down. Which could be a good thing. But right now, she needed more information, and talking to the cult members seemed like the best way to get it. Rox decided she would drive to the truck stop and see if she could find the cult crew. Maybe pull one of the girls aside and question her. It was time to step up the extraction timeline. Emma could be in serious danger.
CHAPTER 11
Friday, April 21, 5:15 a.m.
Emma woke to an odd sound outside and opened her eyes, startled. Then she remembered it was the damn rooster! She’d never heard the sound in real life until she’d moved here. She’d never milked a cow or picked vegetables from a garden either. She’d learned to accept all of it and even liked the gardening stuff, but at the moment, she missed her old bed. It was bigger, softer, and so much prettier. She sat up and reached for her clothes. Her whole life growing up had been softer. No real chores, money to shop and play with, eating in fancy restaurants with her parents. She realized now how privileged she’d been. Not just privileged—spoiled. Nobody needed that many clothes or gadgets or meals that cost thirty dollars for a skinny plate of food. But right now, she wanted a cute T-shirt and a pretty pair of earrings to put on.
Emma yanked on the plain blue scrubs, grateful they were at least comfortable and not a horrible color like yellow. Not that clothes or colors mattered. All she needed was peace of mind and a life of service. Warm tears rolled down her cheeks, and she brushed them aside. She had nothing to cry about. Marlee’s parents had something to cry about. They shed tears every day for the daughter they’d lost. She could still hear Mrs. Kramer screaming, her face distorted by grief and hate and soaked with tears. You ruined my life! And I’ll never forgive you! You don’t deserve to live! Emma had taken that to heart and almost killed herself before finding Sister Love. But now she had let that thought go. Her life could still have purpose, but all she could do was atone.
She looked around her screened-off section of the long doom room. A bed with a plain gray blanket, a small beat-up dresser, and a fresh drawing pad with colored pencils. Deacon had bought them for her last week after kissing her for the first time. She’d been surprised but pleased by his affection. She wasn’t sure she’d earned the privilege of making art, and even if she had, she wasn’t inspired. She was afraid she would end up with a page full of wrecked cars and dead bodies.
Emma pushed back the heavy curtain and stepped out. Jewel had just come out of her space and greeted her with a sad “Good morning.”
Oh right, she had been close to Bethany, who had taken off without saying good-bye. Emma silently hugged her. Fresh tears rolled down Emma’s face as she walked to the public-style bathroom with multiple toilets and sinks. This had been a jail long ago, and it suited th
e girls here. They were all prisoners of their guilt.
After brushing her teeth, she headed to the kitchen to brew coffee and start breakfast. What else would today bring? Another blood donation, she remembered. Emma cringed. Maybe she would get a private moment with Deacon. She didn’t deserve his love, but she wanted it. She wasn’t really ready for sex, but if he thought it was good for her, then she would go along. She needed the attention, the closeness. Something to keep the darkness at bay.
Later, after the kitchen was clean, Emma headed for Margo’s office, her stomach queasy. She knocked, said her name, then entered. Margo was expecting her.
“You had protein for breakfast, right?” Margo pulled on latex gloves as she spoke.
“Yes. I feel a little queasy though.”
“I’m surprised this still makes you nervous.” Margo smiled. “You’ll be fine. Have a seat, please.”
Emma eased into the leather recliner and leaned back. The medical tray with blood-draw equipment was now at eye level, and her stomach tightened. None of the other sisters seemed to mind giving blood, but she hated needles. Get over it, she told herself. This was lifesaving. She owed this to the universe.
Margo started scrubbing the inside crook of Emma’s elbow with yellow iodine. “We might have a new member joining us soon. Her name is Celine, and I’m counting on you to make her feel welcome.”
“Of course I will.” Was Margo singling her out or just chatting to distract her?
Margo wrapped Emma’s upper arm, handed her a spongy ball, and told her to start squeezing. When the needle came toward her, Emma looked away and braced.
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