“I only assumed the office,” he said. “I didn’t create the nomenclature. Grand Prophet does have a rather overbearing and arrogant ring to it.” He laughed, sipped his scotch, diamond ring sparkling. The scent really was divine and Gerri suddenly wished she’d accepted his offer of a drink. It was likely she’d never taste anything that aged or expensive any time soon. “But please, don’t let such things affect your opinion of the Collective.” His brows came together, concern on his handsome face. He really had the empathetic older gentleman routine down. Even Gerri’s gut hesitated and wanted to believe. “This is an organization with heart, Kinsey. One that cares for its members, does its best to nurture their talents without imposing any unnecessary doctrine.” He took another sip, a puff from his cigar. “We accept all religious faiths into our fold, and take the very best of each for our own.”
Kinsey’s head tilted to one side, lips pursed, ponytail falling over the shoulder of her brown corduroy jacket. “An odd approach to religion.”
“Perhaps if you look at it from a purely historic perspective,” he said, with enthusiasm and a renewed smile. He was actually enjoying this conversation. Gerri sat back, happy to observe. He just might give her something he wasn’t expecting to in this little talk with Kinsey. He may have been the master of charisma, but Kinsey could be charmingly disarming just from her innocence. Gerri knew first hand just how easy it was to tell Kinsey things maybe she should keep to herself.
“What other perspective is there?” Kinsey’s hands folded in her lap, fingers twitching. She was normally a hand talker. Why was she sitting so still? Gerri felt her insides tense. Did the blonde know more than Gerri did?
“Religion has always been based on fear,” Gideon said, sounding like the best college professor ever with his voice as smooth as the scotch he sipped.
“You mean faith, don’t you?” Kinsey’s lip quirked into a smile of her own, hands relaxing. Gerri took her cue, though didn’t unwind completely.
“You and I both know better than that.” Gideon sighed gently, puffing with a reflective look on his face, smoke swirling over his head. “Faith is merely humanity's need to believe something is out there, watching over us. Protecting us from the things we are afraid of.”
Fascinating, really. But hardly to the point. Sudden irritation almost opened Gerri’s mouth, ready to start asking questions of her own, but Kinsey beat her to it.
“And the Collective is different, how?”
He set aside his cigar, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, jacket straining across his wide back. “Our ‘religion’—and I honestly hesitate to use that term—comes from a mutual respect and understanding of what drives humanity.” His blue eyes shifted to Gerri a moment, then back to Kinsey. “Rather than reacting, we act with purpose. We choose to believe, instead of being forced into a belief system that makes no sense to us. Goal driven, not fear based. This is a great organization.” He sat back again, taking up his cigar and glass. “One I’m proud to lead. We not only do good works in the community, we ensure the safety and confidentiality of our membership without requiring praise from the media or the populace at large.”
“How noble,” Kinsey muttered, soft and full of irony.
He laughed, rather than reacting with anger. “I hear your doubt, Kinsey. And feel yours, Geraldine.” He tipped his glass toward me, amber liquid sloshing slightly on the bottom. “And I know your first thought, upon finding the Collective, was that we are some kind of cult, perhaps bent on evil doing and maybe, might I be so arrogant, world domination?” He laughed again, rich and deep and even Kinsey grinned. Gerri smiled, but her stomach flipped over.
Now, what did that mean, exactly?
Time to prod Gideon. “Not at all,” Gerri said with a smile. “But, you might explain Russell Sterling.”
***
INT. – COLLECTIVE OF ALL SOULS OFFICE – EVENING
Right on the money, that question. She could see it in his face. Gerri watched his expression twist into pain-filled humility.
“A massive mistake on the part of the Collective,” Gideon said, staring at the bottom of his glass. “I take full responsibility for the damage Sterling did to the young men entrusted to his care. Had I known, I would have made certain his actions were brought to the attention of law enforcement before the tragedy that occurred could have taken place.”
Her instincts believed him, sighed their agreement. But not for the reasons he said. But, because her gut told her he hated the attention Sterling brought to the church. That, in itself, made Gerri perk.
More prodding ahead, as long as she could push past the muffling feeling this place gave her. Had to be the cool air and scent combo. Or something. She refused to think past logical to weird as she went on, though her gut quivered on the edge of anxiety. “We were under the impression Reverend Sterling was the leader of your particular Collective,” Gerri watched Gideon carefully for his reaction, feeling herself come back to focus. There, see? Just a momentary lapse. Nothing to worry about. So, why was she suddenly nervous? “At least, he gave me that impression when we first met.” Focus wavered again.
Gideon’s frown was clear answer to her question. “Again, as I said, unfortunate. We work very hard to ensure the safety and protection of our members, both from persecution and from exposure. I’m sure you’re well aware there are powers out there that would prefer organizations such as ours didn’t exist, if only because of the challenge our positive outlook creates for their own belief systems.”
“How do you know Simone Paris?” Time to see if she could surprise him with what she knew, to gain an upper hand if there was one to be had.
It was Kinsey she surprised. Her friend’s head whipped around, blue eyes staring from behind her glasses, but Gideon merely shrugged. Damn, she should have found a moment somehow to whisper her encounter to the blonde before blurting it this way.
“Ms. Paris is having some artifacts translated for us,” he said, nodding to Kinsey. “I believe you are handling the preliminary examination.”
She nodded, looking stunned. “That’s the connection.”
Gerri’s turn to be surprised. Before she could act, stop her, even figure out what Kinsey was about to do, her blonde friend whipped out her smartphone and clicked it on, handing it over to Gideon. Gerri caught the image on the screen and groaned softly to herself, swearing out loud in her head.
She was going to kill Kinsey when they left the office. The image on the screen was the necklace from the crime scene.
“Remarkable,” Gideon said, setting his glass aside, and the cigar, leaning forward again to examine the image. “The same markings. And, I believe I’ve seen this necklace before.” He looked up, met Gerri’s eyes. “Part of one of the cases you were talking about?”
She had no choice but to nod, God damn it.
“The artifacts Simone is having you translate have been the property of the Collective for centuries, but were out of our hands for almost that long.” He handed Kinsey back her phone, eyebrows pulling together as he sat back once more, steepling his fingers in front of him, elbows on the padded arm rests. “It took us a long time to recover them from the thieves who stole them from our founders. You can imagine our excitement when they were finally recovered. And our care and caution with the translations, due to the recent return.” He flashed Kinsey a smile that would have made other women’s panties drop, Gerri was sure. “Forgive our paranoia, making you work alone and in private.”
Kinsey shrugged off his words and his attitude. For once, Gerri was grateful her friend was more interested in her job than attention. But, it was time for Gerri to take over.
“Do you know Monique Entremande?” She reached into her jacket, pulled out her notepad, her shiny silver pen. Gideon nodded, still frowning.
“I do,” he said. “She is one of our elders, out of New York City.”
“The Collective exists outside of Silver City?” Kinsey didn’t sound surprised, though, for a moment, G
erri was. And kicked herself. Some of the members were out of state, according to the website. Kinsey knew that. Why was she playing dumb?
“Of course.” Gideon nodded to Kinsey. “We are worldwide.”
“Amazing you’ve been able to keep yourselves so hidden,” she said, though less out of surprise and more a musing moment.
“A testament to the dedication of our members,” he said. “I fear the days of our anonymity may be coming to an end, thanks to the happenings of the last few weeks.” His frustration showed clearly on his face. Either he was a heart on his sleeve kind of guy, or a fabulous actor. Gerri nominated him for a Liar’s Oscar and knew he’d win. “Our membership will be most distressed to discover after decades of privacy their connection to the Collective will be exposed if word gets out.”
A clear request to keep her mouth shut. Gerri almost grinned, still feeling out of sorts, but her gut wide awake and listening.
Sure it was. And smacked of hiding something big to Gerri.
“Then, you’re aware Mrs. Entremande’s son, Denis, was kidnapped twenty years ago.” Gideon nodded again as Kinsey spoke. “And how about John and Emma Sonnicker?” Gerri had a good idea what he was about to say.
“Indeed,” he said. “They are—were—active members in the community here.”
“Then,” Gerri said, “you’ll be broken hearted to know two of your respected members kidnapped Denis and have been raising him as their own son?” There were times Gerri took interrogations softly, kindly. But she was done with soft and kind from this man. He had far too much of that in his mask persona. Time to push him and see if anything surfaced.
But, to her disappointment, he just looked shocked. Genuinely, broken and hurt, shocked. “They did what?” Gideon surged to his feet, pacing outside the circle of chairs, one big hand running through his hair. “That’s impossible.”
“I’m afraid not.” Okay, so she didn’t have solid proof yet, not DNA based. But Gerri was confident enough she’d reunited a son and mother after two decades apart. Enough to push this cult leader into telling her what she wanted to know. Especially at a time when her instincts seemed to be failing her. Though she hated the thought her gut led her investigations, Gerri felt lost without the familiar guidance, couldn’t bring herself to believe for a second the ambivalent feeling she had was the truth. He had to be hiding something from her. But her faithful instincts simply sighed and quivered. Gerri pushed on anyway, faint desperation feeding her growing frustration. “The necklace Kinsey showed you,” Gerri glared at her friend a moment, so she’d know, with no uncertainty, they were going to have a long and angry conversation about that, “was around the neck of Emma Sonnicker when she was found dead.”
Gideon stopped his pacing, shaking his head. He returned to his chair, sinking into his seat, looking pale and a little sick. “I’ve known them for years,” he said. “And their son, Patrick.” His eyes met hers, his full of grief, disbelief. “They were elders, as well. Trusted members of the church.” Gideon sank back into his chair. “I can’t believe they’d do something so horrendous.”
“The necklace?” Gerri put her notepad away. “Have you seen it before?”
He shook his head, still dazed. “I haven’t,” he said.
“Monique claims it’s hers,” Kinsey said, soft and kind. She wasn’t falling for this broken-hearted leader act, was she? And yet, Gerri’s own gut had fallen silent. Was he telling the truth? If he was to be believed, it was a large organization. Maybe he couldn’t be expected to know everything about it. Still.
Still.
“If she says so, it must be.” Gideon stood. “I must talk to her. She knows the importance of the artifacts. I must know where she acquired it and if it is connected to the return of our property.”
Gerri stood as well, Kinsey following suit a moment later, looking anxious.
“Detective.” No more on first name basis? “I would ask you to keep me posted on this matter. Whoever killed John and Emma Sonnicker must be apprehended.”
“Funny, you didn’t seem so worried about them earlier.” Gerri loved this part, as much as she hated to admit it to herself.
But he didn’t rise to her bait, just sagged ever so slightly. “Forgive me if I’m making this about the safety of the Collective. But, if they were killed over the necklace…” He reached out one hand, gripped her upper arm, gave her a gentle push. Gerri found herself being guided toward the exit, Kinsey trailing along behind her. “I’ll offer you every asset in my power to assist, just find who murdered them.”
A moment later, despite her wish to protest, Gerri stood on the other side of the metal door, closing in her face. Kinsey grasped her hand, tugged on it.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
Gerri sighed heavily, frustrated. What the hell just happened? She had zero answers, really, aside from the fact the leader of the Collective now had information she wished he didn’t. Information she might have been able to use to make him talk if Kinsey hadn’t shared it out of turn.
With a scowl for Constance who stared at them both with her viper’s venom aimed their way, Gerri stomped toward the elevators. Gideon Orter might think he’d gotten rid of her with his platitudes and compliance. But there was more going on here than he was telling her. And Gerri, a dog with a bone, her dad always said, was going to find out what.
***
***
INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE – EVENING
Ray looked up from the open Y-incision of a dead sixteen year old boy and into the creepily smiling face of Jackson Pierce. She admitted he usually gave her the willies just by being, but add to his smile the fact his black eyes were yellow and green around the edges, a burst blood vessel in his right eye making a lightning stroke of crimson across the white, and the glaring bandage keeping his septum straight just added to the creep factor.
“Can I help you, detective?” Ray straightened, pushing back the magnifying lens she’d been using, the bright, glaring illumination from the light over her head allowing for no shadow, only the stark brilliance of death.
He didn’t even seem to notice, though his grin faded at her cold attitude. “I’m trying to reach Meyers.” He said her name like it tasted bad in his mouth. Good. Ray hoped he choked on it. And if he ever touched her bottom with his disgusting hands—
Who was she kidding? Ray hated the truth. She would be powerless to fight him off, unless one could actually glare him to death.
“She’s not answering her phone.” He finally seemed to notice what Ray was doing, nose wrinkling in disgust before he cursed softly, one hand rising to cover the splint. That must have hurt. It was infinitely difficult to not smile. But, she managed.
“And I’m her keeper, of course. How silly of me I’ve forgotten.” Ray bent over the body again. This really was an open and shut case before her, the young man’s texting activity while behind the wheel leading to his projectile expulsion from the front seat of his car. A shame his older model car hadn’t contained airbags and that he’d failed to wear his seatbelt.
“Forget it.” Jackson sounded angry. As if Ray really cared one way or the other. But, Mummy taught her to at least pretend to be polite if she could help it. And he’d really asked a simple question. “Is there something I can pass along to her, if I do see her first?”
His sullen pout reminded her of the angry boys who hit on her in high school, only to discover she was gay. So pathetic, their disappointment.
Jackson looked like he was going to just walk out and not tell her a thing. But, at last, he wavered, shrugging inside his suit. A shame he was such an asshat. He really did cut a handsome figure in well-tailored clothing.
Not that she noticed. She didn’t play for his team.
“I tracked the son’s whereabouts the night of the murder. He wasn’t where he said he was.” Ray looked up, interested at last.
“And where, pray tell, was young Mr. Sonnicker?” Entremande, she corrected herself.
“Turns out,
” Jackson leaned in, grinning again, “he left the club early, with that girlfriend of his. Found a credit card receipt at a local convenience store. And his face on the tape.” He seemed quite impressed with his sleuthing skills. At least someone was.
Though Ray was fairly certain he shouldn’t have been sharing details of a case with her, she shrugged. “I’ll make sure Gerri hears it from me, if you fail to reach her.” Ray had the distinct feeling Gerri wouldn’t be answering his calls any time soon.
“Thanks.” Jackson continued to hover while Ray felt awkward discomfort crawl up her spine. She refused to look up and meet his eyes, to acknowledge he was still there. And he refused to just leave her alone already.
“I have those results, Dr. Hunter.” Robert slipped up beside her, smiling at Jackson, though he put himself subtly between the two of them, his slim form barely a block to the bigger man, shorter even than Ray. She loved him in that moment, for caring that much about her he’d risk prodding Jackson. “Detective.”
Jackson grunted and finally spun, leaving the morgue. It wasn’t until he passed through the swinging doors Ray straightened once again with a sigh of relief.
“I owe you one of those caramel double mochachinos you’re addicted to,” she said.
Robert rolled his eyes, wide smile sparkling. “I could take him.”
“You,” she said with a wink, “can have him.”
Her assistant laughed. “My fiancée would disapprove.”
The phone rang, pulling Robert away again. Ray set aside the excuse to save her, an empty folder she chuckled over, and threaded her needle, preparing to sew the young car-crash victim closed. What a waste. And yet, as she began the final stage of her procedure, the image of a blood clot formed in his left femoral artery told her, no matter if he’d died in a fiery crash or waited a few more weeks until the clot dislodged, he’d be just as dead.
Stolen (Episode Three: The Nightshade Cases) Page 7