“They would be, but people have children. The Williamsons might have been born in the commune and stayed there. The man in charge was Thaddeus Lucius. He was ex-military, fought in Vietnam, bought the land about fifty years ago and settled there with his friends. If he’s still alive, he’s at least eighty now. He’s never filed for his veterans’ pension or Social Security. Since he was big on denouncing the government, it makes sense. The commune is set up as a trust, and all of its paperwork is in order and land taxes paid on time. The IRS checked the SSNs of those who lived there. They thought they might catch some of the people on tax evasion, but everyone who was gainfully employed filed a tax return on time, including the Williamsons, who filed their taxes last month. That would be fine except that Mr. and Mrs. Smith have been living in Boston for the past four years and filed their taxes here as well.”
Faye’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously? Are you sure it’s the same people? No one willingly pays twice as much tax as they need to.”
Rob smiled. “Exactly. So why would they?”
Chapter Sixteen
Rob settled on the picnic table beside Faye. He’d struggled with that question, too, and wondered if Faye would come to the same conclusion that had everyone at Homeland Security scrambling.
She chewed her lower lip. “Because they didn’t want anyone to know they were here.”
“Exactly. As long as taxes are paid and the paperwork is in order, even the IRS doesn’t get nosy. Apparently it’s a fluke we were able to recover the bodies and identify them. Fingerprints gave us their true identities. Young Mr. and Mrs. Williamson had a scuffle with the law in New Mexico about twenty years ago. They got caught shoplifting and were fingerprinted. According to the file, they spent the night in jail but were released the next day when someone from the New Horizon commune came in and paid for everything. The charges were dropped, and the files should’ve been destroyed, but the old sheriff, a by-the-gut type of lawman, didn’t trust the collective, and the prints stayed in the system.”
“Just because someone from the commune bailed them out doesn’t mean anything. It could’ve been a parent, and living in a commune doesn’t mean they’re part of a cult.”
“I know, but bear with me. Isaac’s been living and working in Boston for the past four years. The address on his business license is bogus, so we have no idea where he and his wife have been staying. We assume it’s in the Cambridge area since that’s where they brought the baby, but it could have been anywhere in Greater Boston. He was still carrying his New Mexico driver’s license according to the DMV, renewed it three years ago. He was living in Boston by then.”
“Maybe their stay in Boston was meant to be temporary. Business license?” she asked, her brows furrowed. “People don’t set themselves up in business without help from banks, and arranging for an ironclad alias that’ll stand up to official scrutiny takes money and connections. What kind of business did he have?”
“Here’s where it gets interesting. Williamson was the manager of the Fotomat franchise where you, and incidentally all the others, including Mary, had passport pictures taken.”
Faye choked on a mouthful of tea, and he patted her back. She shuddered. This was what she’d hoped for, a solid lead on where she and the others had been selected, but now that she had it, she felt like a cornered animal—stalked, hunted, and claimed.
“So that Fotomat was the bastard’s hunting ground.”
“It looks that way, and we’re convinced the Williamsons weren’t working alone. Assuming the resemblance is part of the MO, Trevor thinks they might have been doing triage. Mary had her picture taken in August. She must have come up to see her mother and decided to update her passport while she was home.”
“That’s vaguely familiar. I was in Maine most of that month. It’s when I learned my stepfather was dying.”
Rob reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry about that. He was a good man.”
She nodded and blinked. She’d been emotional lately, and it didn’t take much to bring tears to her eyes. Dr. Chong had warned him about that.
“You were saying?” she asked once she was in control again.
“The coroner is checking Williamson’s DNA in case he’s the rapist, but I have my doubts. I’m thinking the man has to be younger, and now that we have your description of the Joker, his physique doesn’t match.”
“I see, but he could be a relative. Parents have been known to do strange things to support their children. Have the police spoken to anyone at the Fotomat yet? It must have reopened by now.”
“It hasn’t. Boston PD is trying to track down the owner, but it’s as if no one owns that place. The building may be there physically, but legally, it doesn’t exist. It’s been closed ever since Trevor sent someone there to question the staff.”
“The leak?”
“Probably. It’s damn convenient otherwise.”
“Are they any closer to finding the person? Has anyone been to the hospital?”
Rob shook his head. “No, at least not as far as I know. Trevor claims he’s got a lead on the mole, but nothing he’s willing to share yet.”
“Just because the Fotomat is closed doesn’t mean there aren’t other women out there at risk. They could easily have set up shop elsewhere.”
“I know. There’s no telling how many people could be working for the Harvester, and we have who knows how many missing from that compound in New Mexico. If the Williamsons were here, it stands to reason others are as well.”
She shivered and put her empty mug down on the table between them.
“We’re still short a victim, too,” Rob said. “The State Department’s working on it, trying to collate missing women with passports issued with photos taken from there, but it’s like searching for a needle in a haystack. It’s going to take a while.”
“What about that place in New Mexico? Can anyone there give the FBI any more information?”
“That’s why heads are going to roll here. Trevor sent in a team of agents from Santa Fe and found the place deserted. They must’ve abandoned the location and moved on. According to the local sheriff, at this time last year, there was a prosperous horse-breeding farm set up there, more than sixty adults and a couple dozen kids.”
“Why are things constantly adding to the problem rather than solving it?” Faye started to pace. “If the commune or cult vacated the location, why keep up the pretense they were still there?”
“Trevor thinks they’ve gone underground. He’s convinced they’ve relocated in this area.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have trouble with that. If the Harvester is a member of the New Horizon commune, why kill the women and leave the bodies where they can be found so easily? He had to know it would draw attention to him and his followers.”
“But did it?” Faye asked. “Think about it. The only reason we know about New Horizon’s link to this is because of the knife used in Lucy Green’s murder, which I’m beginning to think wasn’t planned. You have no leads on the Harvester and nothing at all on the commune based on the evidence from the bodies themselves.”
“We’d have the Howard baby and your rape.”
“Would you? Maybe you’d have connected Meredith and her son because of the hemophilia, but you wouldn’t have found me, and you know it. The only reason you came to my apartment that morning was because of Lucy’s murder.”
Rob swallowed the last of the coffee in his mug, its taste bitter, as he realized the truth of what she said. If she hadn’t found Lucy’s body, he would never have approached her. He might’ve sent Tom to question her since she knew the victim, but would they have put any of the rest of the case together? Probably not.
“I hate to admit it, but you’re right. So Lucy Green’s murder was a screw up.”
“And there’s a good chance it threw off everything. The Harvester was on a schedule, and Lucy’s death forced him to change it. For communal life to work, there have to be strict rules, even more so if you ma
ke the leap from commune to cult.”
“What do you mean?”
“It isn’t easy for a person to put all their basic human wants and needs aside and put others first. Communes originated back in the Middle Ages. People banded together with a common goal, a common purpose, as a way to protect themselves from bullies—in most cases a feudal lord, the king, or some other authority. The line between cult and commune is a fine one, but once it’s crossed, there’s no going back. The communal aspect is replaced by a leader, usually an autocratic one who controls everything and everyone.”
“Well, the New Horizon commune was established in the sixties, so which is it?”
“It’s not that simple. I need more information. There has to be someone in New Mexico with answers. You say it started as an anti-establishment, anti-war group, but it’s morphed into a prosperous horse farm. Who’s in charge now? If the place is making the kind of money it must be to have employees and pay taxes, I doubt an eighty-year-old man is calling the shots.”
“I don’t see the Harvester as an octogenarian, that’s for sure. So, how does command get transferred in those groups?”
“Many communes and cults are survivalist, promoting the old ways, denying technology and modern values. Some are uber religious. There’s usually a leader—in the case of a cult, he’ll be charismatic, almost godlike to the others. What he says is law, and everyone wants to please him. My guess is whoever’s in charge now is a descendant of the commune’s founder. And that brings us to my other concern here. Why leave New Mexico? That’s completely out of character. A commune might break up and move on if, for some reason, the population dropped and there weren’t enough members left to handle the work, but it’s more likely they’d look for new members than abandon the home base. If the family grew too large, they’d subdivide into smaller groups and spread out among existing groups with similar philosophies. If they’ve evacuated that land, it’s because they didn’t feel safe there. Why?”
“I don’t know. They weren’t being watched, at least not by anyone on the government’s radar. But if the leader said go, they would, right?”
“Yes,” she said and huffed out a breath, no doubt as frustrated with the way things were going as he was. “If the commune had evolved into a cult, and the leader said ‘move,’ they would.”
“Let’s assume that’s what happened. The leader gradually moved his people out of New Mexico and re-established the group in this area. What would he need?”
“A place to keep them together. You know, Slocum would’ve been ideal. Didn’t we pass a horse ranch?”
“We did, but Slocum’s a dead end, and you know it. Clark confirmed there’s nothing going on there. We saw that for ourselves.”
“Then we’re looking for a similar place. I doubt he’d want them spread throughout the population, but anything is possible. Maybe he’s using them to recruit new members. There are a lot of dissatisfied people out there who might find a group like that appealing. The sense of family would suck them right in.”
“Let’s say the Williamsons were among the first moved and have been helping him with his baby project, because they believed in him. So, we’re back to why he killed them or had them killed.”
“They violated some sacred rule, endangering the cult, and he had to make an example of them. He wouldn’t be the first cult leader to rule through fear. Why did you say we were lucky to recover the bodies?”
“There was a storm with high winds from the east. The killer probably dumped the bodies, expecting them to be sucked out into the ocean with the tide, but because of the extra-high water level and strong winds, the bodies got hung up in the underbrush.”
“That points to the killer not being a native East Coaster. Everyone knows that an east wind makes the water behave differently. We need to know why that compound was abandoned and who the leader is.”
“Unfortunately, that may be harder than you’d expect. Since they were taken off the watch, Homeland Security doesn’t have a lot of current information on New Horizon. They’ve kept a low profile for more than thirty years, but if the group’s become radicalized …”
Faye wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. “If that was the case, and they were planning something big, it would explain their clandestine move. Either way, Trevor needs to get people in there and have them look around. These murders could just be the tip of the iceberg.”
• • •
Faye sat at the kitchen table, emptying the box of the most recent mail they’d collected from Lake Placid. It had been ten days since they’d learned about New Horizon, and additional information on the New Mexico compound came to them in dribs and drabs. An FBI forensic team had been through the place and collected hundreds of fingerprints, but so far none of them matched anyone in the FBI database. The place had been cleaned but not sanitized like the victims’ apartments, and Faye was beginning to think they were on the wrong track.
She reached for the glass of ginger ale she’d poured herself. Rob was outside getting the grill ready since they’d decided on burgers for lunch. She’d managed to fight off a summer cold, and while her sinuses weren’t bothering her, she still didn’t feel 100 percent. It was her time of the month—she didn’t suffer from PMS as badly as others did, but she was definitely more emotional than normal—and being stuck here, as nice as here was, with no one for company but Rob, was taking its toll on her.
She’d used the burner phone to call her mom last night, and it had taken all the willpower she had not to dissolve into tears and confess the whole sorry story. Mom had been pleased to hear she and Rob were working together again. She’d avoided preaching but simply had said she hoped cooler heads prevailed this time. Faye had ended the call with a promise to go to Maine when she could and bring Rob with her.
Grabbing another pile from the box, she disposed of the flyers and other junk mail, examined the other correspondence, and came up empty. Damn, that was disappointing. She’d hoped to find another clue, but what did she expect?
“I’m almost at the bottom, but there’s nothing new here,” she said as Rob entered the house to get the meat. “My work mail contained a couple of job offers, a few requests for seminars; some of these are repeats, so I’m amazed they even bothered to send a second request. If someone wanted to further torpedo my career, this was the way to do it. I still think Tina’s responsible.”
“Hey.” She heard the sympathy in Rob’s voice. “Trevor’s looking into it. Give him some time. Why don’t you answer them, apologize for not getting back to them earlier, and take it from there?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure how to answer some of them, especially given the present circumstances …” She reached for her home mail. An envelope fell to the floor, and she bent to retrieve it. Probably an invitation of some sort. She flipped the envelope over and stopped cold.
“It’s from Lucy Green,” she gasped and stood. “It’s the personalized stationery I gave her for her birthday a few years ago, before Mary moved to New York. See? Her initials are in the corner.”
“Handle it carefully. I don’t know why it took so long to get to you, but the techs may be able to get something off it.”
Inside the envelope was a folded note and a second letter addressed to Lucy. Faye recognized Mary’s handwriting. Rob placed his can of soda on the table next to her ginger ale. He reached for the note and read aloud.
Dear Faye,
I tried to reach you at the paper a couple of days ago, but you were out. Mary is missing, and I don’t know what to do. The police aren’t taking my concern seriously. This letter came ten days ago. I expected her home by now. Please contact me as soon as you can.
Lucy Green
Faye turned the larger envelope over and scrutinized the postmark. “It’s postmarked last week.”
“That makes no sense. The woman’s been dead six weeks. Dead people don’t send mail.”
“If she mailed it using the chute in the building, it makes sense. It
used to stick back in my high school days.” Faye picked up the letter Mary had written to her mother. “This could be what he was searching for.”
“It’s possible. He could’ve been looking for it at your place, too. What does Mary’s letter say?”
Faye opened the letter and read.
Mom,
I have good news and bad news—the good news is I don’t have an abdominal tumor or cancer like I suspected. The bad news is I’m pregnant, and I have no idea how it happened. Considering I’m not attracted to men and never have been, it’s a real puzzler, and since I very much doubt, despite my name, it’s the second coming, I’m going to try to retrace my steps. Someone interfered with me and I intend to find out who it was. I’m going to start with where I went after my last period and go from there. I never planned on being a mother, but it seems that’s going to happen in a little over five months’ time. That’ll make you a grandma. Muffin and I will be home next week. I’ve taken a leave of absence from work. See if you can get me an appointment with Dr. Webster. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right. Won’t Faye be surprised? She’s going to be an auntie!
Love you, Mary
“This was written in mid-April, almost three months ago. So where did she go?”
“I’m sure she went to Slocum,” Faye said, convinced there was something about the place in spite of what they’d seen and what Pierce had reported. “Given the dates, it’s where she was in November. She spent four days there. This is the evidence the killer was looking for—this and the postcard. I’ll bet she surprised him, and he must have drugged her to find out who she’d told about where she was going. That’s why she disappeared earlier than the others. She went after him, not the other way around. They knew someone would come looking eventually, and they showed us exactly what they wanted us to see.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about Slocum and all the small places around it as possible relocation sites. That café could have been the set of Alice. What if it was all staged? If the New Horizon cult is there, they’d behave the way they were told to, wouldn’t they?”
The White Carnation Page 20