by Blake Pierce
“What’s the Community?” Ellington asked.
“A religious commune about fifteen miles on the other side of Fellsburg—about forty minutes away from here. A lot of people know about it, but no one really talks about it. When they do, it’s either in a joking way or in a spooky campfire sort of way.”
“Any idea why women that join this Community would need to escape it?”
Thompson shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. And that’s the truth. Honestly, I don’t know much more about the place than anyone else you’d pull off the street. I just make and sell those IDs.”
“You know nothing about what they practice?”
“Rumor has it that it’s some sort of polygamist cult. Some of the men are supposed to have like three or four wives. They’re supposed to very religious—very Old Testament wrath-type stuff.”
“And what about this woman that buys the IDs from you? What do you know about her?”
“Not too much. When she came in and asked if I wanted the side gig, one of the things she said was that I couldn’t ask questions. I thought it was bullshit but then she slid me five hundred bucks. And look…I’m damn near sixty and still in debt. I can’t pass up that kind of money.”
“You don’t even know her name?” Ellington asked.
“No. Sorry.”
“Can you describe her?”
“She’s on the younger side. Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty if I had to guess. Attractive. Brown hair, wears reading glasses.”
“Anything else you can think of?” Mackenzie asked. “Anything at all.”
“I caught a glimpse of her car one time. She’d only been in three times. The second time, I hurried out to the front lobby a few seconds behind her. I watched her leave through the front glass. She hurried across the parking lot and got in her car. An old red one, a sedan, I think.”
“Does she schedule her meetings with you?” Ellington asked.
“Nope.”
They continued talking, but Mackenzie only heard parts of it. She was still hung up on something Thompson had said. An old red one, a sedan, I think.
There had been an older-model red car in Amy Campbell’s driveway. A Pontiac. Typically, Mackenzie would call it nothing more than a coincidence. But Amy had been acting strange—scared and suspicious. It was certainly worth paying her another visit.
“Mr. Thompson, thank you very much for your time,” Mackenzie said. “We’ll let the IDs slide, but you have to stop making them.”
“You said a girl is dead, right? And she had one of my IDs?”
“It seems that way.”
“Then I’m done. There’s no amount of money worth getting involved in something like that.”
Mackenzie and Ellington made their way to his door. Ellington gave Thompson one of his business cards with instructions to contact them if he saw that woman again or if she tried to get in touch with him somehow. They left him looking slightly upset, perhaps mulling over the fact that the only item on the dead woman had been one of the fake IDs he’d made.
“So what did you realize?” Ellington said as they hurried back to their car. “You ended the conversation quickly and had that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one you have on your face right now—like a kid that has just spotted one more present hiding away under the Christmas tree.”
“His description of the car. An older red sedan. There was one parked in the driveway of one of the houses I visited. Amy Campbell…and she was nervous. Very suspicious and didn’t even hint at inviting me in.”
“Looks like we might have our first lead.”
“Maybe,” Mackenzie said.
It felt right, but given the nature of the case and the way Amy had been behaving, she thought they might need to take a few extra precautions to make sure it wasn’t just a coincidence. She hated to waste time in such a way, but in the back of her head she also reminded herself that there was a chance the Community could be involved.
Though she had never experienced it herself, she had read case studies and reports of other cases where the introduction of a religious group into the case made the entire thing a ticking time bomb. And if she could avoid that, Mackenzie was more than willing to take some extra time-consuming steps.
CHAPTER NINE
They headed back to the Fellsburg police station, where the small bullpen area was alive with officers swapping shifts. It was nearing eight o’clock on a Saturday night, a busy time for any police department, no matter where they were located. Burke was nowhere to be found, so they headed to their workspace near the back of the building. It was tempting to simply find a motel and call it a night, but they both knew they’d have faster access to records and other information while at the station.
The first thing they did was look on the police database for any information on Amy Campbell. Her record was stellar, with not even a single parking ticket. Seeing that there was clearly not going to be any help there, Ellington placed a call to the resource offices in DC, putting in a request for a background check on Amy Campbell of Fellsburg, Utah.
That done, they turned their attention to the mysterious religious commune known as the Community. It wasn’t hard to find information on it, as a simple Google search turned up plenty of hits. The only problem was that the multiple hits were all redundant. All they could tell for sure was there was a religious community tucked away in the forests between Fellsburg and the smaller town of Hoyt.
It was believed that there were anywhere between 1,200 and 1,500 people living in the community. They occupied a small tract of land in the woods that consisted of small shack-like dwellings and little foot-path avenues that connected all of the homes, the church, and the other buildings.
“Check this out,” Ellington said, tapping at his laptop.
He had gone into the police database and found two photos. One was an aerial view, taken from a low-flying plane. It showed the entire ground of the community. It reminded Mackenzie of what she had seen of Amish or Mennonite communities. There were a few cornfields on the far right side of the grounds, and a pasture of what she thought were goats (it was hard to tell from the distance) on the other side.
The second picture was black and white, and rather blurry. It had clearly been taken by someone in hiding, having snuck up on the grounds through the forest. The pictures showed two buildings Mackenzie assumed to be homes, and four people: two children and two women. The women were dressed quite plainly in basic dresses, their hair done up in ponytails.
Mackenzie went back to digging up more information on the place, but there wasn’t much more to be found. The Community had existed since the late 1970s and had laid low, never showing up in the news outside of a few local headlines. Aside from some likely overzealous religious beliefs, they seemed to be a standard run-of-the mill isolated religious people. The fact that they practiced polygamy made it a little darker, but Mackenzie knew better than to assume it automatically opened them up to closer scrutiny. Agents far more skilled and experienced than her had fallen into that nasty trap.
As she looked for more information on the Community, her cell phone buzzed on the table beside her. She recognized the DC area code, but not the number. “This is Agent White,” she answered.
“Agent White, this is Assistant Chief Manning at the Marshals office. We had that photo scanned and looked over. There was an angle from her left side that gave us a pretty good shot. We ran it through the WITSEC database but there was nothing. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance your woman wasn’t in witness protection.”
The disappointment was strong but fleeting. She hadn’t been exactly sure it would be a promising search, anyway. But if it had proven true, it would have made the case a lot easier.
“Thanks all the same,” Mackenzie said and ended the call. She turned to Ellington and said: “Our mystery woman wasn’t enrolled in WITSEC.”
“That makes things a bit harder.”
Mackenzie no
dded and closed the lid of her laptop. She’d read about twenty-five articles on the Community and the information was all starting to repeat. She glanced over at Ellington and said, “There hasn’t been a single arrest or public disturbance related to the Community?”
“Not on the police database going back twenty years.”
“I wonder if Burke has any stories or even rumors we could go by.”
Before they could continue this conversation, her phone buzzed again. This time it was a short little burst—a text rather than a call. She picked it back up and instantly fumed when she saw it was from her mother.
Wasn’t sure what was too late for you, the text read. Can you call?
“E…I’m going to kill my mother.”
“If anyone asks, I did try to talk you out of it. But…when?”
She rolled her eyes at him, letting him know now was not the time to joke around about it. She almost decided to ignore the text; she had enough to worry about as it was. But she knew that if she didn’t respond, her mother would keep texting until Mackenzie finally caved. Plus, there was the off chance that she might have a legitimate question about Kevin’s needs.
She called her mother, pushing herself away from the table. Even that little amount of distance between work and home made her feel somewhat like a mother herself.
She was not surprised that Patricia White answered the phone right away. When she did, her voice was hushed. Mackenzie could imagine her holed up in Ellington’s study or the guest bedroom so Frances would not hear her.
“Thanks for calling,” Patricia said.
“Is Kevin okay?”
“Yes.”
“Is the apartment still in one piece?”
“Of…of course. Mackenzie—”
“Then what is it now, Mom?”
There was a quiet moment from the other end that was quickly broken by the sound of her mother’s hurt. “I don’t understand. We had such a great afternoon yesterday. We got along, had a great meal, and I felt like you and I sort of reconnected.”
“I did, too. But this is the second time you’ve called me while I’m trying to work. And I swear, if it’s for no other reason than to bitch about something Frances has done…”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? She’s undermining every single thing I say or do. And it’s bad enough that Kevin prefers her…”
“He prefers her because he’s familiar with her. And Mom, are you sure she’s undermining you or is she just giving you pointers and suggestions on how to please a kid she knows better than you?”
“Maybe this was a mistake.”
“What? Coming to finally meet your grandson?”
“Partly. But not just that. It’s just…”
Mackenzie did not feel bad for her mother…not at all. But she also knew that if her mother fell back into the bad decisions and dark places that had defined the last decade or so of her life, there may be no return. So she found herself at odds: did she tell her mother what she needed to hear, or did she pacify her?
As much as Mackenzie hated it, she figured she had to pacify.
“Mom, I’m going to ask you this as a favor. I need you to suck it up and stay there. Hang in there until we get back. And you know what? Don’t even do it for me. Do it for Kevin. You want to be familiar to him? Then stick around. Give him a reason to remember you.”
There was a nervous chuckle from the other end of the phone. “You’re right,” she said. “It was stupid of me to fly out here just to give up over something like this and go back to the hotel.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Sorry I bothered you.”
“It’s okay…just make sure you try not to call or text unless there’s something wrong.”
“I will. Goodnight, Mackenzie.”
They ended the call and Mackenzie swallowed down several emotions that all seemed to fight for control. There was anger, sadness, and pity. She could not decide on one, so she settled for calm indifference.
“One of them dead yet?” Ellington asked.
“No, not yet.” She looked to the table—to the laptops and the police reports—and got to her feet. “Want to get out of here?”
“Sure.”
They tidied up the space, bagged up their laptops, and headed for the lobby. On their way out, they were once again interrupted by the buzzing sound of a phone. This time it was Ellington’s. He answered as they passed through the front doors and into the parking lot. Mackenzie listened to his half of the conversation, not quite clear on who it was or what was being talked about.
He did not hang up until they were in the car, Mackenzie slipping behind the wheel since Ellington was occupied. When he ended the call, there was a perplexed look on his face as he pocketed his phone.
“I think I know why there was no record on Amy Campbell,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because according to everything the bureau threw at the background check, she doesn’t seem to exist. There are, of course, numerous Amy Campbells, but none fitting my description. None at all. Just like our mystery lady, Marjorie Hikkum, Amy Campbell doesn’t seem to exist.”
CHAPTER TEN
Bethany was driving exactly the speed limit. She’d been doing it for weeks now, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to herself. The police presence in Fellsburg after midnight was pretty much nil, but she didn’t see the point in taking any chances. Now, of course, there was more than just the police to worry about. After what happened to Marjorie Hikkum, she couldn’t be too careful.
To say she was on high alert was an understatement. She had a little canister of Mace hidden under her driver’s seat. Driving through the night, down the same two-lane stretch of road she was pretty sure Marjorie had gone running down four nights before, was eerie. The overactive part of her mind was fully expecting to see Marjorie’s ghost standing on the side of the road, flagging her down.
She shook that nonsense way. After all, she had other things to worry about. Marjorie had been killed on their street. She had been coming to find her and Amy…she had no doubt about that. What if those who had come after her knew about her and Amy, too?
It was a horrifying speculation, but she could not let it deter her. The work they were doing was far too important. They’d known there would be danger when they decided to go this route. If they buckled under those fears now, Bethany wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to live with herself. She now had the dead body of Marjorie Hikkum as a reminder of what was at stake.
It was 2:15 in the morning, and she was about fifteen miles away from her home in Plainsview. She took a left, coming off of the two-lane and onto another, better-maintained, two-lane. Even before she could really start accelerating, she could see the ghostlike glow of the gas station through the trees. It stirred feelings of excitement and fear in her; her heart started booming in her chest and her grip on the steering wheel grew tighter. As she came to the turn to enter the parking lot, she realized that she was also holding her breath.
The station itself was closed, but the lights over the three gas pumps as well as the blaring BP sign at the corner of the lot provided more than enough to see the majority of the parking lot. She dimmed her lights and pulled in on the far right side, as far away from the green BP sign as she could get. On that end of the lot, the right side of the building could be seen. There were a few old tires piled up, a single junked car, and an old corroded filling tank the size of a small van.
With her heart feeling like it was trying to jump into her throat, Bethany rolled her window down halfway and whistled. It was a quick, soft sound. It was also the first three notes of “It’s a Small World After All.”
After a few seconds, a frail figure emerged from behind the old filling tank. In the dimmed headlights, Bethany could see a tangle of blonde hair and a thin shoulder. As the woman stepped out of the shadows and made her way carefully toward the car, more of her came into view. She was thin almost to the point of being waifish and had a face th
at, though clearly dirty, was the stuff of movies. Even with a look of stark horror on her face, she was pretty.
When the woman saw Bethany through the windshield, she dashed for the car. She started crying instantly, perhaps in happiness. Bethany figured the girl was feeling almost the same as she was—a war between fear and relief waging inside of her.
The girl opened the passenger’s side door and practically fell into the seat. For a moment, it looked like she might reach over to hug Bethany but then thought better of it. “Thank you,” was all she said as she managed to bring her stifled sobs to a stop.
“Of course. I know you’re scared, but you’re okay now. I’m here for you.”
Even before she was done saying this, she was already backing out of the parking lot. Her mind was still on Marjorie Hikkum and how she had likely thought she was free as well. She’d gotten so close, after all. Just several more houses down and she would have made it…
But she had to push that away for now. This thin blonde woman was a new girl, a new chance.
“How long?” the woman asked. Bethany guessed her to be about twenty or so, surely no older than twenty-five, but she looked like a frightened little girl in the darkness of the car. “How far away?”
“About twenty minutes.”
The woman nodded and stared dead ahead, as if she was expecting some gigantic monster to come stomping through the forests.
They were quiet for a moment as Bethany turned onto the road and headed back toward the home she and Amy shared with another roommate. Really, she wasn’t even sure what to say. Yes, there were any number of empty encouraging remarks she could make, but she wouldn’t cheapen this woman’s situation with them.
But she did feel a responsibility to be human for her—to be caring. That was what allowed her to ask the one simple question she could think of.