Harris turned and said something, and the woman with the dog headed back toward one of the cars. After she and her dog climbed inside a car and closed the door, he smiled at Rose.
“If you please.”
Rose followed him. His car was running. He opened up the backseat of his car and looked at Dylan.
“Go on, boy,” Rose said. Dylan jumped inside. Then Harris held the passenger door open for her.
Rose folded herself into the seat, suddenly grateful for the warmth coming from the dashboard heaters.
The man settled into the driver’s seat and smiled. “Do you have a name?”
“Rose.”
She never offered her last name. Ever.
“Rose,” he said. “That’s a fine name. I had a great grandmother by that name. She was Irish.”
“Not Australian?” Rose asked.
“The only original Aussies are the Aboriginals. In fact, did you know they might be the oldest population of humans outside of those in Africa?”
“No, that’s cool, though,” Rose said. She already liked this man.
“I’ve a feeling you have a good reason to be in my crime scene.”
“I don’t know if you’ll think it’s a good reason, but I have my reasons.”
He didn’t answer. Rose shrugged and decided the sooner she spoke, the sooner she could leave and find a hotel room. Just thinking this made her yawn, which she quickly stifled.
The man reached for a cup of coffee in a cup holder.
“I haven’t started in on this one yet, would you care for it? It’s from the shop, not the station.”
Rose accepted the cup gratefully and took a sip. It wasn’t bad. And holding the warm cup between her hands felt good. She hadn’t realized she was freezing until she’d gotten into the car. She glanced behind her.
Dylan had laid down in the back seat, his chin on his paws, his eyes trained on her.
“I’m here to see if the murder was done by someone I know.”
The inspector froze, his mouth slightly opening as he stared at her.
“But I think it’s the work of someone else.”
He exhaled loudly. “Someone you know?”
He spoke casually.
“A man—if he could even be considered human—who calls himself the Sultan,” Rose said and took a long sip before continuing. The window in front of her had started to fog up. “He kidnaps and brainwashes girls and then sacrifices them. From what I see here, this is not his style. He also doesn’t use pentagrams. At least I don’t think he does.”
Rose squinted. She tried hard to remember everything she’d seen at the Sultan’s palace.
Since then, Eva had compiled a dossier on the Sultan.
It was only after Timothy was murdered that Rose had found out about dossier.
It had some details Rose knew, such as the fact that the Sultan had deviated from his usual MO of using young girls to do his bidding. In Timothy’s murder, he’d used another woman, Elana, to kill Timothy.
Elana had been one of Eva’s former assassins, which made it even more insidious.
It was only after Rose had killed Elana, that Eva sent her the dossier.
They’d kept it a secret from Gia.
Gia had never wanted Rose to be a killer.
The inspector was rubbing his chin, as if he was thinking.
“And you followed him here?” the inspector asked, his forehead creasing.
“No,” Rose said. “I heard of the murder and that there were other missing girls.”
“And you made the connection between them?”
Rose took another sip of the coffee.
“There are five spread out over the past few years. If you look at them on a map, they form a pentagram.”
“Good God!” the inspector blurted. “What are you, some sort of undercover agent who is actually thirty-five and looks sixteen?”
Rose smirked. “I’m eighteen.”
“Well, kid, you’re making me look bad. I live here and it took me until last night to make that connection.”
Rose shrugged. “Better late than never.”
18
Present Day
Australia
Samuel Dean Smith was in his big bed, a girl snuggled under each arm and another one on top of him, her golden hair spread across his chest.
The knock on the door made her stir, and as she moved, he felt himself grow hard. He could never get enough of the young ones.
He kissed her brow to calm her and then said in a deep voice. “Come in.”
“Papa? We have new information.”
Everyone in the Family called him Papa. It was his family. He was the patriarch. They were his children. Maybe not biologically, but in every other way.
The boy who spoke was a handsome young man. He was smart as a whip too. That’s why he’d been assigned to work in the high-tech security cabin that contained the computer equipment, monitors, security system controls, and a fleet of top-notch drones.
The biggest mistake law enforcement made when it came to profiling the Family was the belief that they were Luddites. In fact, Smith’s background—not that they’d ever discover this—was that of a computer engineer.
Smith had taken great pains to shave off the pads of his fingers and always wear silicon finger prints so if he were unexpectedly taken into custody for anything, they would never find out who he really was. He had been taken in for drunk in public once, even though he didn’t drink. It had been one of the few times he’d gone to town. He’d wanted to take a look at the new inspector, so he’d casually strolled by the local precinct. They’d immediately come out and arrested him on that trumped-up charge of public intoxication.
But it had given him what he wanted—a face to face meeting with the new inspector. He’d sized him up immediately and found him distasteful.
The man was too city slicker for these parts. That meant he was probably smarter than the old inspector who had often looked the other way.
The old inspector had taken a hefty payoff to keep his mouth shut when Smith and his followers moved to the area. Any time he grumbled about something, Smith reminded the inspector of the recording he’d made of the payoff. Dumb nut. Didn’t even know his corrupt behavior was being filmed. It was certainly why the inspector had retired early and moved away.
Smith had no intention of ever leaving this spot. It was the perfect location for his Family to set down generations of roots. Now it was time to spawn some of those young ones himself.
He had spent his fortune buying the compound the Family lived in with its twenty small cabins and high-tech surveillance equipment. The last thing that would ever happen was for Smith to be taken off guard.
The perimeter of the property had an alarm system and cameras that would alert his staff to any intruders. The security cabin was manned twenty-four hours a day. The boys took it in shifts.
The drone monitoring the quarry was running out of gas, the boy said. What should they do now? The drone had done one of its routine surveillances last night when they spotted a girl and her dog sneaking around the quarry.
Smith had ordered the drone stick around until she left so they could figure out who she was and what she was doing.
His last report, that she had been walking around with a flashlight, had come right before he’d fallen asleep a few hours ago after a few rounds with his girls. One of the benefits of living outside society was that he was not required to keep regular hours. He liked to stay up most of the night and sleep until noon.
Right now, he should still be asleep. He scowled. But he’d given orders that any threats to security were worth waking him up for. In fact, the on-duty workers at the security cabin were the only ones who had clearance to wake him. Ever.
When he heard the drone was running out of gas, he wished he could delegate more so he could’ve spared being woken up to give an obvious order.
“Send out the second fleet,” Smith said. “I want a drone tracking her tw
enty-four, seven. And when I wake at noon, I want a full detailed report.”
“Yes, Papa.”
He smiled and watched the boy leave. Every time someone called him Papa, he swelled with pride. Even though none of the children were his own. Not yet. But soon. He hoped to impregnate one of the young women who shared his bed, but it hadn’t happened yet. It was starting to concern him. But he didn’t have time to think about that. He needed to get rid of this damn hard-on and then he’d fall back asleep until noon.
Taking the girl by the shoulders, he pulled her further upon him so her sweet body was positioned the way he needed. He woke her with a well-aimed thrust and then laughed when her eyes flew open in surprise.
19
Present Day
Australia
After the inspector finished questioning her and gave her his card, asking her to keep in touch, Rose figured she better go see where the arm was found.
It was on a beach not far from there.
She couldn’t help but wonder if the beach was easily accessible by boat.
If, perhaps, a small boat that was on board a big black ship could make it to the shore.
Even though she’d ruled out the idea of the Sultan having killed Maggie May, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection.
After grabbing take-out at the nearby café for her and Dylan, Rose set out to drive to the beach. She packed her duffle bag just in case. Even though she had an open-ended stay at the motel, she sometimes had to be ready to move fast.
For instance, what if she caught sight of the Sultan’s boat out in the harbor? She’d do anything to get aboard, and that might mean leaving Australia for good.
During the drive, Dylan sat in the front seat with her. She had an open bag with breakfast in it on the seats between them. Every once in a while, she’d pull a sausage out and feed it to him. Rose was more interested in the piece of buttered toast and hard-boiled egg.
The open road soon became smaller and lined with trees. Not long after, she took the turn off for the beach. The inspector had said to take the first small road that was actually a private drive. She had just turned onto the private road when she hit a huge pothole. She heard a terrible sound. Jesus. She knew how to change a tire but that didn’t mean she wanted to. She pulled over to the side of the road and got out to walk around the car. The tires looked fine. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Then she took another look at the “pothole.”
Motherfucker.
It was manmade.
Probably to stop lookie-loos. Rose guessed she couldn’t blame the homeowners for wanting to protect their privacy.
She was about to get back in the car when she heard it.
A distant buzzing.
She’d heard it the night she was at the quarry but hadn’t been able to see anything in the dark.
She’d dismissed it then, but now, hearing it a second time…
A fucking drone.
It was probably following her. She pulled over near a small grove of trees.
She would be tough to see from the sky. Good.
Climbing back in the car she consulted a map.
She could leave the car here and go the rest of the way on foot.
If she kept to the tree-lined road she’d be difficult to spot. If she kept driving, the drone could spot her car on the road easily. It was only when she kept under the trees that she was concealed.
Of course, once she made it to the stairs leading down to the beach and was on the sand, she’d be spotted, but at least she’d have a head start. And if she was lucky, the drone would remain overhead here waiting for her to emerge from the trees in her vehicle.
She would count on the element of surprise, of doing the unexpected.
20
Present Day
Australia
Noah Harris had been a teenager obsessed with true crime books when he first heard the story behind crime writer Anne Perry.
He’d been reading one of her books at the kitchen table when his father staggered and nearly fell down, reaching for the counter behind him.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” his father said.
“What?”
“Let me see that book son.”
He’d handed his father the book, and the man disappeared into the office, locking the door behind him, leaving Noah baffled.
An hour later, after the sound of mumbled conversations from the office could be heard, the door flung open.
“What is it?”
His father shook his head.
“Let’s have a drink, son,” he said, reaching for a bottle of whiskey and plunking it on the table. “Do I ever have a story to tell you.”
It turned out that the picture on the back of the book had triggered it all.
His father had recognized the face but didn’t want to believe it.
The woman had aged. But then again, it had been thirty years.
“It’s her, all right,” he said now. “I called my sources in the department to verify.”
“Who?” Noah asked, smiling. He assumed that the author, who was from their town, Christchurch, was an old flame of his fathers.
The truth was something entirely.
“First off, her name isn’t Anne. It’s Juliet.”
Then his father went on to tell him that the famous crime writer Anne Perry had actually been a girl named Juliet Marion Hulme who had been convicted of murdering her friend’s mother when she was only fifteen. After being convicted and serving five years, Hulme had been released and changed her name. And somewhere along the line, she began writing detective novels.
It was astounding.
And ultimately, that had been what pushed Noah to become a detective.
He was thinking about Perry/Hulme as he drove to the station. He yawned. Sleep was a distant memory. There were more important things to do than sleep right now. Just like the saying he had taped to his mirror at home said: “Our day begins when yours ends.”
As soon as he got to the station, he would meet with the homicide team and discuss the logistics of getting divers into the quarry.
A thorough search hadn’t yielded any more bodies or bones or evidence.
The fact that they’d found the leather purse had been dumb luck. The searcher said they’d found it in an area under a thick tree cover.
But nothing else had been found.
It was frustrating.
Again, Harris was baffled about this one.
If the Family had been kidnapping and sacrificing girls, why had they been so sloppy in disposing of this one? Why had she been discovered? It seemed that they had been extremely careful about getting rid of the other girls, if they had indeed taken them.
* * *
There had to be a reason.
It had been interesting to talk to the American girl. Her poise and confidence had reminded him of Kylie, which stung a little. He mulled over what she had said about another possible suspect—this Sultan character.
Honestly, if anybody else had come to him and told him about the guy, he would have thought they were off their rocker, but this young woman was so articulate and earnest about it, Harris couldn’t help but believe her.
He sighed.
Another angle to investigate. What if? What if there was a connection between Samuel Dean Smith and this Sultan character….
21
Present Day
Australia
Smith woke to three wriggling nubile young bodies pressed up against his flesh. The girls were giggling and starting a pillow fight.
He smiled.
He had created heaven on earth.
Not only was he the luckiest, happiest man on earth, but he had created an environment in which the rest of his family was happy, as well.
“Papa!” It was Claire, his favorite, the little angelic blonde who loved to sleep with her head on his chest.
“Yes darling?”
“Can we have pancakes for lunch?”<
br />
“I don’t see why not,” he said. He reached over and flicked on the intercom that connected him to the older women in the kitchen.
“Jane? We are having pancakes in bed today.”
“Yes, Papa,” the older woman said.
Then he reached past the girls for his cell phone, and they tumbled to the other side of the big bed. They were wrestling now. Normally that would make him hard, but he had other things on his mind.
“Where did the girl go?” he said into the phone.
“The inspector took her to her car and then she drove to a motel in town.”
“Who is she?” Smith asked.
“We’re still finding that out. Joseph talked to the car rental agent at the airport, but they said she paid cash.”
“Her name?”
The boy cleared his throat nervously before he spoke. “Jacqueline Kennedy.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No, Papa. She apparently had a passport saying so.”
He exhaled loudly. “Keep a drone on her at all times. As soon as she leaves that motel and is somewhere, let’s say…away from others…let me know.”
“Yes, Papa.”
He hung up and called another cabin. Bryce and Scotty were seventeen and nineteen, respectively. The brothers had been with him since they were eight and ten. They’d been runaways escaping a violent father. The night their father beat their mother to death, the boys had viciously killed him and ran away.
Smith found them at a homeless camp up the coast and taken them in.
He’d given them everything they could ask for. They were so grateful that, when they became old enough, they willingly did his bidding.
“Get ready. The girl has long dark hair and a dog. I want them both alive.”
“We will be waiting for the word,” the voice on the other end of the line said.
It wasn’t long before they reported back.
“The drone is above her car. She pulled over. We can’t see her.”
Smith hung up without answering and dialed another number for Bryce and Scotty.
Blood & Fire (Vigilante Crime Series Book 2) Page 8
