He returned to his laptop. He’d give the name to Leonard in the morning to do a thorough background search. In the meantime, he decided to check his company’s database to see if anything popped up. A recent claim? Any sort of anomaly associated with either of the guy’s names.
He typed in the URL for his company’s mainframe computer in Memphis and, when prompted, supplied a password he wasn’t authorized to have. He prayed the code hadn’t changed since the last time he hacked his way in.
Ten seconds never seemed so long, but finally the menu he was looking for popped up on the screen. His company had an extensive record of criminals and repeat offenders—people who had made a habit of trying to cheat insurance companies out of money that wasn’t due them. In addition to that list, there was a collateral file. Names of everyone who ever settled a claim or accepted a check for a death benefit.
He quickly set up the parameters of his search and hit Enter. The results were instantaneous. He sat back as if hit solidly in the chest by an iron fist. The coffee he’d drank a few minutes earlier nearly made a return trip up his throat.
In the past eighteen years, Jonas’s company had written six checks to the good reverend. Six deaths. A sad coincidence? Not very damn likely.
Brother Thom was more than just an opportunistic evangelist who traded on people’s faith, fears and generosity to make a living. Somehow he’d contrived a way to supplement his income by convincing members of his congregation to take out insurance policies that named Brother Thom as the sole beneficiary.
Jonas had no problem seeing how such a heinous crime could take place. A respected and revered spiritual guide, the man had easy access to the disenfranchised, the easily swayed. Society’s lost and most vulnerable members who didn’t have close friends or family to look after them.
Once indoctrinated into the cult, the chosen soul would be convinced to leave all their worldly possessions—including a life-insurance policy the church would pay for—to help the good work continue after he or she was gone. The chosen would be an honored guest of the cult for a year—until the policy was vested. After that, all Brother Thom had to do was figure out a way for that member to die—an accident, suicide, a health condition in keeping with the person’s age or physical problems.
Jonas didn’t have access to cause of death. But he knew his suspicions had merit. Brother Thom was a murderer at the very least, and possibly, a serial killer.
I wonder if the bastard calls each death “divine intervention.”
Jonas surveyed what he’d found. Circumstantial evidence spread over several states. Murder would be difficult to prove without exhuming a body. If there were any bodies left. The man was probably smart enough to pay for his victims’ cremations.
Jonas tried not to let his imagination probe too far into Brother Thom’s psyche. The man might have gotten caught up in an easy way to make money. Wrong. Vile. Reprehensible. That didn’t mean he was serial killer, per se. The kind who thrived on human sacrifice. Who got off on murder. It was one thing to be broke and make a really horrible choice; it was another to lust for blood.
Jonas didn’t see any way of convincing a D.A. in one of the cases to go hunting for foul play. Nor did he care at the moment. His main concern was whether or not Brother Thom was poised to cash in on Cheryl’s accidental death.
He quickly typed in his ex-wife’s name. Nothing. There was no record of a life-insurance policy being issued in Cheryl’s name. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean she wasn’t a target. There were hundreds, possibly thousands, of insurance companies worldwide that sold life-insurance polices. That this asshole used Jonas’s company more than once seemed sloppy. Although, Jonas had to admit, no red flag had surfaced to date. The guy was undoubtedly counting on a big company being too large to notice a few relatively small payouts.
He didn’t have a printer handy, so he picked up his pen and quickly made a list of the payouts his company had made to Brother Thom, starting at the first check he’d received twenty years earlier. Forty thousand dollars for the loss of his father, Reverend Thomas Goodson, Sr.
Jonas stared at the name with a heavy heart. If Jonas’s mother was right, he was looking at the name of Remy’s birth father. Which meant the man behind this cult, Brother Thom, aka Thomas Goodson, Jr., was Remy’s real half brother.
Bizarre. Incredible. Freaking messed up, no matter how you tried to spin it.
He had no idea how to break this news to her.
He started to turn off his computer but paused, his gaze falling on the date of Brother Thom’s last claim. Four years earlier. He did a quick calculation. The woman who escaped from the GoodFriends claimed her life had been in danger. She’d just celebrated her first anniversary with the group. If she’d been Brother Thom’s next victim, that might explain the group’s current lack of funds.
A thought hit him. Cheryl wasn’t the only one who joined the cult a few months after Jonas left the country. He frantically typed in another name: Brigitte Leann Galloway.
The search result flashed on the screen. Pain as swift and intense as a bullet strike ricocheted through his body. “No. God, no.”
He pawed through the papers he’d printed from the GoodFriends’s website until he found a head shot of Brother Thom. “You hurt her, you bastard, and I will kill you. You have my word.”
Before he could decide what to do—or even get his head back in the game and out of the deep pit of terror—his phone rang. It wasn’t quite 5:00 a.m. “Hello.”
He hadn’t had time to check the caller I.D. but he knew who it was.
“It’s Leonard Franey. I think I’ve found your cult. By found, I mean a general location based on recent credit-card sales to one of the core members. One Reuben G. Baker.”
“Where?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“You’ve found something, haven’t you?” Leonard deflected the conversation to Jonas.
“Yes. I’ll tell you after you bring me up to date. Did your associate talk to the woman who ran away from the cult?”
Jonas looked toward the kitchenette and wasn’t surprised to see Remy standing there in the pretty yellow cover-up she’d worn on the beach. Her hair was a sexy, messy tumble and she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes like a child.
“I’ll make coffee,” she whispered.
“He did. She confirmed—”
“Excuse me, Leonard. Remy just came into the room. I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”
“Sure. No problem. Good morning, Remy.”
“Hi, Leonard,” she called out. “You’re an early bird.”
“Very true. Now, as I was saying, the gal who got away was very happy to talk about these people. She was madly in love with the good reverend—even had a kid with him. Apparently the boy died in an accident. I haven’t been able to track down a police report, but she pointed the finger at the whole lot. Even accounting for bias, she gave us a lot of inside information that seems valid.
“For instance, she said the operation has been going downhill. Lower attendance means fewer donations. The faithful have been dropping like flies, so to speak.”
“What do you mean?” Jonas asked sharply. Dead flies? And what kind of accident was to blame for a young child’s death?
“Attrition. Infighting. Petty politics that caused a serious division. Apparently, they bought a big hunk of swampland for more than it was worth and when the economy tanked, they couldn’t afford to pay the taxes, much less make the necessary improvements to provide for a growing community.”
“So, people dropped out.”
“Right. And, the remaining followers went back to traveling again, doing the one-night or weekend tent revivals to raise money. They never stay in one place very long. A day or two at most, usually long enough fill up their vehicles with gas and hit the road again.”
“How many are with him, now?”
“When she left the group, they were down to three men, counting Brother Thom, and six women—all
mothers with young children. The other men appear to be drivers. There’s the reverend’s high-end motor home, along with a truck and fifth-wheel combination. They pitch a couple of tents when they stop.
“The drivers park the campers then head off and do advance work for the gospel meetings. You know, put up flyers and hand out free tickets.”
Jonas didn’t want to bring up his unproven theory—not with Remy listening, so he kept his questions general. “Which vehicle do Cheryl and Birdie travel in?” The farther away from Brother Thom, the better.
“I can’t say. It would appear the social dynamics are in a constant state of flux. Some nights Brother Thom invites one lady to stay with him, some nights another. I don’t know where your ex-wife falls in the hierarchy.”
Jonas looked at Remy who reappeared, a mug in her hand. She motioned to it, asking if he wanted one. He shook his head.
“We do have one piece of good news,” Franey said. “One of my researchers found a video posted by someone with a screen name of JCSBaby. Apparently this person is a loyal fan of the GoodFriends. I’ve sent you the link. There’s a little girl who looks like your daughter dancing with the other children. We think it was taken about two months ago.”
Remy moved to where Jonas was sitting. A few seconds later, the laptop screen was filled with a circle of children holding hands as they danced to a fiddle playing off camera.
“That’s her,” he cried, pointing to Birdie. “Thank God. Look. She’s smiling.” He let out a long, shaky breath. “Thank you, Leonard.”
But Jonas knew something Leonard didn’t. He had to tell Leonard his fears and suspicions—even if that meant Remy would receive the news secondhand.
“I went through the transcripts you gave me, Leonard.
Before I tell you what I’ve found, let me add that my theory is completely unsubstantiated at the moment. But, I’ve been doing this sort of work a long time and my gut thinks we have a major problem. If you see any flaws in my assessment, I would truly like to know, because this changes everything—particularly the speed in which we need to act to find Birdie.”
Remy took the chair across from him. Her expressive face showed fear and concern. He hated to think what she was going to feel when she heard what he was about to say.
He took a deep breath and plunged in, outlining exactly what he’d uncovered and how he came to his conclusion. “I don’t have all the files, obviously. The details of these cases aren’t accessible outside the office. I can only see the name of the deceased and the date of the payout. No cause of death, age or medical history. If we were talking one or two claims, I wouldn’t be that suspicious, but six, Leonard. Six death benefits to one person. In my company alone.”
The P.I. let out a low whistle. “That’s one serious and ugly can of worms you just opened.”
Jonas agreed. And the worst was yet to come. “I’ve tracked this back twenty years, Leonard. The first payout Brother Thom received was from the death of his father, one Reverend Thomas Goodson, Sr.”
Remy inhaled sharply. “My father?” she exclaimed.
Jonas quickly brought the P.I. up to speed and what they knew—or thought they knew—about Remy’s family history.
“But that would make Brother Thom…” Leonard said, letting the obvious stand like a big striped elephant.
“Thomas Goodson, Jr., legally changed his name to Brother Thom shortly after his father passed away.”
He looked at Remy. Her eyes were round, her expression horrified. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and make all of the bad news go away.
“Check the last entry that I emailed you, Leonard. He’s taken out a policy on my daughter.”
“How is that possible?”
“Ask my ex-wife. Something I intend to do the minute I see her. So, I need a location. Where are the GoodFriends? And how soon can we get the cops there?”
Franey hesitated. “If you’re right about him being a killer, the last thing you want is for law enforcement to show up and push him into a corner. He might pull a Jim Jones and take everybody out.”
Remy made a whimpering sound and rushed from the room. Jonas wanted to break something, but he had to admit, Leonard was right.
“What do you suggest?”
“What I want to suggest is against the law. Only a complete and utter fool would walk into this sort of thing without backup. But if we could narrow our search grid, a small group of highly trained Special Forces types might be able to get in, retrieve your daughter and get out without a fight. Best-case scenario.”
“Maybe I didn’t make it clear when we met. I’m not the sit-back-and-wait sort of guy. By the time you put together a commando force, my little girl could be dead. Tell me where you think he is. I just got back from the Middle East. I can handle this myself.”
There was a long pause. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Unfortunately, I have a relatively copacetic relationship with law enforcement predicated on me not getting civilians shot and maybe killed.”
Jonas made a fist. “Is there any reason to believe this guy is armed?”
“No, but one of his drivers has a record. I don’t remember the details, but I can find out.”
“I’d rather you find me a location.”
“I know where they are,” a voice said.
Jonas turned to see Remy standing in the doorway. “I saw something in my dream. I could be wrong, but…I could be right.”
Jonas didn’t hesitate. “Leonard, I appreciate your help, and I’d doubly appreciate it if you didn’t get me arrested before I can save my child.”
“If anyone asks, I advised you to sit back and wait for a call from your ex-wife, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Then I will wish you well and safe travels. Don’t forget your mosquito repellent.”
The line went dead.
Jonas looked at Remy. “Where are we going? You lead, I’ll follow.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
REMY PACKED WHILE JONAS took his laptop to the hotel’s business office to print off the information Leonard had forwarded, including a topographic map of the land the GoodFriends owned. There were even a few photos. Photos that matched the images Remy had seen in her dream.
She crammed her cosmetics bag into her satchel. Jonas hadn’t asked her to pack his things, too, but she looked around the room and made an executive decision. The sooner they were on the road, the sooner they’d find Birdie. And, even if Jonas hadn’t come up with a reason to fear for his daughter’s life, Remy did.
Her final dream of the night had been more of a nightmare. She’d been in a long hallway marked by dozens of doors, all closed. She’d been vacuuming, using her mother’s older model that was difficult to push and impossible to maneuver in tight places. She could feel an overwhelming sense of urgency—if she didn’t finish her work, something terrible was going to happen.
She woke, heart racing and armpits tingling.
The vacuum was symbolic of feelings of emptiness. It also signified the loss of control, of literally being sucked up by a problem.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked haunted. So had Birdie’s. She’d seen the little girl in an earlier dream, before the vacuum. Birdie had taken Remy’s hand and led her into a clearing where a collection of buildings sat. Remy had been to this place before, but this was the first time she noticed the abandoned train track, built up above the marsh with knee-high weeds growing between the rails. The weathered gray framework of an old building—a loading dock of some kind—bore a faded sign, half-destroyed by shotgun pellets.
Big Stump, the sign read.
Remy felt a thrill of excitement. She knew where to find Birdie, but at the same time, she could feel the child’s despair run through her veins as if they shared the same blood. She reached out a hand to touch the little girl’s head, only to have someone grab her from behind and spin her around. “Who are you?” a stranger shouted. “Why are you here?”
Remy trie
d to warn Birdie to run, but no words would come out of her mouth. It was as if the man with hazel eyes as dead as glass had cast a spell on her.
And the next thing she knew, she was vacuuming. An endless hallway leading straight to hell, she feared.
“Hey,” a voice said behind her. “Are you okay?”
She turned. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was remembering my dreams. They were…vivid.”
Jonas held up a sheaf of papers. “Leonard was more than generous. A map and photos. Sounds like this place was an old town at one time.”
“A cotton depot,” she said, dashing in the opposite direction. “We have to hurry, Jonas. I have a bad feeling about this. Are you sure you don’t want to call your friend in law enforcement?”
“I already did. I gave him a heads up in case this goes south, plus I needed someone to know where we were and why. I also forwarded him the stuff I sent Leonard. One thing about insurance agents, we live for redundancy.”
She watched him stuff the papers into his computer bag, then give the room a quick once-over. She could tell he was in his element here, focused and intense while moving forward with a plan. He joined her by the door. “So, the plan is you and I are going to find the GoodFriends’s compound—this Big Stump place. Then, I’m going to drop you off at the closest police station, where you’ll go in and raise holy hell if I don’t come back for you in an agreed upon time, right?”
That was the plan she’d let him devise. She hadn’t actually agreed to it because she knew it wasn’t going to happen that way. In her dream, she was there looking straight into the eyes of her half brother. He didn’t look like a murderer, but how could you tell? If he was a murderer, she might never get another chance to talk to him outside a jail cell. So, whether Jonas liked it or not, she was going to see this through.
“The GoodFriends might not even be home when we come calling, Jonas. Let’s worry about what happens next once we find the place.” She opened the door and stepped into the mild Florida morning. “Are you coming or not?”
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