“Good point. Let’s just find a place nearby where we can do recon and surveillance.”
As they drove slowly forward, Rox scanned the area. Fir and oak trees lined the road, with a few patches of clear-cut that had driveway turnoffs going nowhere. The county had probably planned for housing that never developed. About a hundred yards before the concrete buildings came into full view on the left, they spotted another turnoff. This one led into the forest. “There. Turn down that logging road.”
Marty made a sudden left, and they bounced down the dirt lane. After fifty yards, he turned the big car around and parked next to a wide-based tree. “I think we’re out of sight here.”
“Do you have binoculars?” She was already looking in his glovebox. “Yep.” She held them to her eyes and scanned through the trees. “I have a filtered view of the work camp from here. Three cars today. The Bronco, the minivan, and a smaller car. I don’t recognize the make.”
“Anything going on?”
She shifted her gaze. “That might be Emma in the garden. If so, that’s good. We know she’s not locked up when she’s here.” Rox hadn’t been as worried about that since Emma had met with her mother.
“Should we go?” Marty asked. “You said Loffland could call at a moment’s notice, so let’s find the neighbor boy while we can.”
“Roger that.”
Ten minutes later, they spotted a mobile home, then beyond it down the road, a small dairy. No vehicles were in the yard, so Marty pulled in. The run-down trailer was as different from the fairy-tale cottage as possible. Paint peeling, gutters hanging loose, and junk lying everywhere. The trampoline was in a side yard on a small patch of weeds, surrounded by piles of firewood and rusty vehicles.
“This place gives me a bad vibe,” Rox announced.
“Me too.” Marty shut off the engine, but didn’t reach for the door handle. “They probably have guns and don’t like visitors, especially from the guv’ment.”
Nobody in Oregon pronounced it like that, but he was making a point. Rox tried to make the case for proceeding. “We need to ask the kid if he saw Bethany that night.” She wasn’t yet convinced that Blackstone was innocent of the girl’s murder.
“Yep. And we need to see if he knows about the inner workings of the cult.”
Neither of them moved.
“It doesn’t look like anyone who drives is home,” Rox noted. “They’re no working cars here.”
“Let’s do this.” Marty climbed out, not carrying his clipboard.
She followed him toward the door, her hands free too. “If the census taker idea doesn’t seem workable, we’ll switch it up and say we’re private investigators looking into Bethany’s murder.”
“We’re about to get the door slammed in our face either way.” Marty talked through clenched teeth, and Rox realized he was more nervous than she was. But he’d been a cop a lot longer.
As they neared the small porch, barking started inside the house.
Marty swore under his breath, a rare display of vulgarity. Rox knocked on the door, her gut clenched.
A blond boy, around fourteen, opened the door. “Who are you?” Slender and freckled, he looked quite innocent.
“We’re private investigators,” Rox said. “We’re looking for information about a girl named Bethany. She lived in the concrete work camp not far from here.”
The boy blinked rapidly. “You said lived. Did she move away?”
The dog was still barking but not as loudly, and it hadn’t shown up at the door. Rox felt Marty relax a little. “Not exactly. Did you know her?”
“No, but my brother does.” He turned and yelled, “Noah! Get out here.”
A moment later, another teenager appeared, taller and older, but nearly identical to the first boy. “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry, but Bethany’s dead, and we’re investigating her murder.” Rox softened her voice to almost a plea. “Can we come in?”
The younger boy shook his head. “We’re not allowed.”
Noah swallowed hard, and panic flashed across his face. “Murdered? When?”
Apparently he hadn’t heard or watched the news. “Wednesday night. Did you see her that evening?”
“Why? You think I killed her? That’s fucked up.”
Marty kept quiet, so Rox pressed forward, trying to find the balance between showing empathy and getting results. Not her strong suit. “We know she was your friend and this is hard for you, but we need to find out what happened.”
His eyes went wide, and he blinked rapidly like his brother had done. “Are the police looking for me?”
“Probably. But you’re not a prime suspect. Just tell me if you saw her Wednesday night.”
“I don’t know. And I shouldn’t be talking to you.” He started to close the door.
“Wait!” Marty reached to catch it. “If you talk to us and cooperate, the police will go easy on you. Otherwise, they might take you in for questioning. You won’t like that.”
For a long moment, Noah hesitated.
The younger boy elbowed him. “Just tell them the truth.”
Rox waited him out.
Finally Noah said, “I did see Bethany Wednesday night for about an hour. She could never stay long.”
Kyle would definitely want to question this young man. “When did she leave here?”
“I’m not sure. After dark though.”
The sun had set around eight the night before. “Did she talk about her life in the cult?”
“What do you mean? I thought Sister Love was a charity.”
Rox backtracked. “It is a charity, but some of the members’ parents are worried.”
Noah’s face tightened. “Bethany’s parents are dead. Her mom died when she was little, and she killed her father accidentally.”
Poor girl! No wonder she had grief and self-esteem issues. But it was time to get specifics. “Do you know how many girls live there?”
“Twelve or so, I think.”
“Are most of them home during the day?”
He shrugged. “Bethany worked in the soup kitchen, but other girls went into the city to ask for money.”
So only the cult leaders and the truck stop crew were home during the day. Six or seven people. “Did Bethany ever talk about Margo?”
“Not really.”
“Did she ever mention a girl named Emma?”
“Yeah, she liked Emma.” Noah suddenly squinted. “Why?”
Marty chimed in. “We’re trying to establish who had motive to kill her.”
The kid’s lips trembled. “I don’t know why anyone would. Bethany was the nicest girl I’ve ever known, but she thought she needed to be punished.”
A shiver of worry ran through Rox. “What do you mean? Was she mistreated at the work camp?”
“Sometimes, but she thought she’d earned it.”
An old rage simmered. Jolene had been abused too, not just sexually but physically.
An engine rumbled behind them, and Rox glanced over her shoulder. A pickup truck pulled into the driveway. Dad was home. She glanced at Marty. He’d turned to face the newcomer, shoulders stiff, one hand at his waist, ready to reach for his weapon.
“You’d better go.” Noah slammed the door.
The man in the truck grabbed a shotgun from the rack behind him, jumped out, and rushed toward them. “What are you doing here talking to my boys?” He was blond and freckled like his sons, but had lost his innocent look long ago.
Heart rate ticking up, Rox stepped off the small porch and headed for the car. “His girlfriend was murdered, and we had some questions. You can expect a visit from the police too.” She hoped a bigger worry would distract him.
He stopped and stared, showing a brief uncertainty. Then the man raised his shotgun. “Get the hell off my property!”
They complied.
CHAPTER 17
After Marty finally left to play golf that afternoon, Rox picked up her phone. She’d been putting off calling Kyle, but it was time
. The longer she waited, the more upset he would be. Or maybe he wouldn’t mind that much. They’d never had overlapping investigations before, so this was a unique situation. She had every right to pursue her own leads. But still, the neighborhood boyfriend information had come from him. And Kyle had seemed uncomfortable with her the last time they’d met up.
She pressed the icon to his number, sucked in a deep breath, and hoped for his message service. But he answered this time. “Hey, Rox. This has to be brief. I have a team meeting in a few minutes.”
“Got it. I found the neighborhood boy Bethany was seeing. His name is Noah Carpenter.” She’d checked their mailbox on the way out earlier. Marty’s idea. Her impulse had been to get the hell away before the shotgun dude put holes in the back of the car. Or her head.
Kyle was silent, so she added, “The kid saw Bethany Wednesday night sometime between seven and eight thirty.”
“Thanks for the information, but how am I going to explain to the team that you even knew to look for him?”
She’d given the logistics some thought. “Bethany told me she had a neighborhood boyfriend when I talked to her at the soup kitchen. I decided to find him to get information about my case.”
She’d never lied to Kyle before, and it didn’t bother her as much as it should have. But Kyle knew she was fabricating the detail to protect him. He would understand. Wouldn’t he? Were the treatments making her more deceptive?
A long pause. “You should have let the task force handle it. The boy could be spooked now and refuse to talk to us.”
Yeah, but that may have been the case either way. “Sorry. I needed intel about the cult, and the members aren’t exactly available and open.”
Another hesitation. “What else did you learn?”
Now he wanted the scoop, of course. “Blackstone physically abuses the girls.”
“I’m not surprised. But we need one of them to file charges before we can do anything. I have to go. Call you later.” Kyle hung up.
Was he mad? He’d been distant and abrupt with her lately. Rox pushed the thought out of her head, sat down, and relaxed for the first time that day. So much still needed to be done—especially in her quest to shut down Sister Love—but she needed a moment to chill and let the tension out of her body. She leaned back in her recliner and closed her eyes.
She woke to the sound of her burner cell. What time was it? Had she fallen asleep? Rox grabbed her phone and looked at the caller’s ID. No name, just the familiar number. Greg Loffland. Damn! She’d meant to call him earlier and request that he set up the scenario with Blackstone some evening. Too late for that. “Karina Jones.”
“Greg Loffland. I’m meeting Deacon tomorrow at two o’clock. We’re having a beer at the Henry’s on Twelfth Street.”
A centrally located tavern in downtown Portland. Not that it mattered, except for how long Blackstone would be out. “Any chance of pushing that back until tomorrow night, say around eight?” If possible, she wanted Margo to be gone from the complex as well.
“I’ll try. But if you don’t hear from me, you’ll be clear to go at two.”
“Thanks. You’re doing the right thing for a lot of young women and their families.”
“Good luck.” The call clicked off.
Tension tugged at her shoulders again. This could be her most dangerous extraction yet. Her first had required her to grab a ten-year-old boy away from his abusive father. It had been risky because her window of opportunity was brief, but distracting the father had been simple. He wasn’t very bright, just mean and controlling.
Breaching the work camp would be challenging, especially with Blackstone’s girlfriend at home. Could they get Margo out? Pulling off a motorist-in-need ruse would be easier with only the young members at home. Anyone in a cult had to be vulnerable to suggestion and authority, and these girls believed in a life of service, so they would likely help her. But how to get Margo out? A fake call from work to come in early? They didn’t know where she worked yet, and even if they found out, she could say no. A phony call from a family member? Or someone wanting to make a donation? Money was always a good motivator. But they didn’t even have Margo’s phone number. Damn. They weren’t ready yet.
A wild idea played out in her head. She could carry chloroform and incapacitate Margo if she interfered. Hell, she could drug Emma too and just carry her out. Rox shuddered. Only if the girl’s life were in imminent danger. And it didn’t seem to be. Rox needed more information about Margo. She’d already searched online and found nothing except an arrest ten years earlier for a DUI. No social media at all. Blackstone probably didn’t allow it. That left three sources: Margo’s employer, the girls at the truck stop, and the girls at the soup kitchen. The kitchen seemed like the most direct. Should she rent the nun’s habit again or try something new?
Too impatient to drive over to the party shop, she opted for posing as a reporter looking for interesting women to interview. Still wearing the damn skirt from earlier, she already looked the part. Somewhat. Rox pulled on the blonde wig again and scooped it into a bun, then added a conservative pair of reading glasses. Reporters carried digital recorders, and she had one in the second drawer of her desk. She found it right where it was supposed to be. Disguises and pretexts still made her nervous, but she was getting better at it. The bureau had probably been right to keep her out of the field. Direct and compulsive, her natural mode, didn’t go well with spying and subtlety. She resorted to it only to help young people who needed to be rescued from oppressive or abusive situations. She owed it to Jolene.
Rox checked herself in the mirror and frowned. The getup looked more librarian than reporter, but it probably didn’t matter. As long as she could coax one of the Sister Love members to talk—but not be able to identify her if this case ended up in court. Rox hurried out, feeling guilty again for not taking Marty. But she didn’t need him for this, and they already spent way too much time together. Sometimes she worried that it was unhealthy. Thank goodness he was dating someone now. She would have to ask him about the woman after they completed the extraction; Marty was like her and would want to bring up the relationship at his own timing.
On the drive over, she called him, hoping he was still out golfing and wouldn’t answer. She got lucky and left him a message with an update that the extraction was happening tomorrow afternoon.
When she walked into the soup kitchen, a wave of uncertainty hit her. The nun’s habit she’d worn the first time had made her feel obscure and safe, but now she felt exposed. Bethany’s murder might have made the other members wary. This effort could not only be a waste of time, it could backfire and make Blackstone and the girls close ranks. But her body kept moving forward, even though her brain wanted to retreat. Rox passed the tables where only a few homeless men were seated and walked up to the serving counter.
The mid-twenties member who’d interrupted her last time turned to stare at her. “We only serve the indigent.”
What was her name? Bethany had mentioned it briefly. Rox smiled. “I’m Karina Jones, a freelance writer. Have you got a few minutes to talk?”
“About what?” The woman tipped her head, suspicion making her face look even more weathered. This member had either been an addict or homeless or both, and her yellow scrubs didn’t make her look any more trustworthy. Considering a lot of jails made their inmates wear scrubs, the uniform had lost its social value.
“I write about interesting women who are doing good work,” Rox said. “What’s your name?”
“Ronnie. But I’m not going to tell you anything about Sister Love. We don’t take any recognition for the work we do.” She twisted the white towel she was gripping.
“I understand, Ronnie, but I’d like to talk to your founder, Margo Preston. I want to know what motivated her to help create Sister Love.”
Ronnie’s eyes softened. “My mother never gets credit for her part in this charity, but I don’t think she’ll want to be interviewed.”
Her moth
er! That information was gold. Now Rox knew Margo’s weakness, possibly, and might be able to use it to get her out of the complex. “I’d like to ask Ms. Preston anyway. Can you give me her contact information?”
Ronnie shook her head. “I’d better not.”
“What if this is your mom’s only opportunity to tell her story? You don’t want her to miss that.” Rox remembered to smile. “I promise to call her once and throw the number away.” That was sort of true. But once she had a phone number in her head, it belonged to her.
Ronnie worked her mouth around while she thought it over. “I suppose. Ready?”
Oh, she needed to pretend to write it down or put it in her phone—even though the number would stay in her brain without either effort. Rox pulled out her burner cell, even though she didn’t plan to call Margo from it. “Ready. I’ll delete the contact after I’ve talked with your mother.”
Ronnie glanced at the other Sister Love girls, who were busy with chores, then said the number quickly and quietly. Rox keyed it in. Another gold strike! She was tempted to take her intel and leave, but what if she could learn more? She looked up at Ronnie. “What’s your motivation for doing this work? To help your mom, or is it personal?”
The woman shrugged. “It’s better than the life I had before. I’d better get back to work.” She turned away.
“What if sharing your story could help other young girls?” Rox called after her.
The other members in blue scrubs turned at her raised voice. Ronnie gestured for Rox to leave, and she decided not to push her luck. She started to say thanks, then realized it might get Ronnie in trouble with Blackstone if the other girls thought Ronnie had talked to a reporter. As Rox walked out, she marveled at the insight. Making that connection would have never happened before her treatment. She liked her new and improved brain and vowed to not skip any more appointments.
On the drive home, she worked through several scenarios for getting Margo to leave the camp. They all involved an emergency with her daughter. Rox’s favorite was to make a call from a hospital ER, saying Ronnie had been in an accident. Yes, it was mean and would give Margo a few minutes of worry. But what Margo was doing to the Sister Love members—or at least turning a blind eye to—was revolting. Now that Rox suspected the girls were being physically abused, she wanted Blackstone to go to prison. And the abuse probably went deeper. Cult leaders were notorious for sexually exploiting the young women in their following. And if Margo knew about the abuse, maybe she would get convicted too. The whole case could take the police months to investigate. In the meantime, she had to get Emma out and earn her fee.
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