Broken Boys_The Extractor

by L. J. Sellers

  At the truck, Rox asked, “Want me to drive for a while?”

  “No. I’m too pissed off to just sit as a passenger.”

  She felt the same. “Are we going back to search again?”

  “Not right now.”

  She wanted to argue but didn’t. They both climbed in and Marty explained. “A blind search could take days or weeks. That’s a big wilderness. Meanwhile, we might get lucky and have the authorities shut down the camp.”

  “If they can find it.” Rox shook her head. “Or if they even care. I’m calling the locals again.” Rox found the number in her call log and pressed it.

  After several rings, a woman’s voice said, “Police Department.”

  “I need to speak to the person in charge.”

  “Just a moment.”

  A minute later, a male voice came on the line. “Chief Manford. What can I do for you?”

  “This is Karina Jones again. I left a message last night about a teenager in the Ridgeline program.”

  “And?”

  She wanted to know if he’d tipped off the camp, but asking was pointless. “I’m a family friend of Josh Lovejoy, and I have to find him and bring him home.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with Ridgeline. We don’t interfere with their program. They’re doing a great thing for those kids.”

  Oh no. “The boy’s mother is dead, but the Ridgeline office won’t return my calls.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t know how I can help you.”

  A brick wall, as she’d suspected. “They left a kid for dead up there and moved their camp in a hurry.”

  A long pause. “I find that hard to believe. It’s a good program.”

  “A girl went into a coma, and they walked away from her like she was trash!” Rox shouted, unable to control her fury.

  Marty patted her arm and gestured for her to calm down.

  The Sun Ridge police chief snapped, “Don’t be such a drama queen! I’m sure they intended to come back for her. You have no idea what it’s like to keep a group of troubled teenagers in line.”

  Drama queen? What an asshole. “They covered her with pine needles and left her.”

  “I’m sure whatever happened was an accident.” His tone softened. “They probably thought she was dead and covered her to keep the coyotes and bugs off until they could bring her down. I’ll look into it.”

  “I want to know where the camp moved to.”

  “I have no idea.”

  Rox didn’t believe him, but she was too upset to continue, so she hung up.

  She and Marty were both quiet for a minute. Finally, Rox said, “We have another option.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Find the transport office and follow the van when it goes out.”

  “Let’s give it twenty-four hours and see what happens. If Josh doesn’t surface, we’ll go back for him.”

  Chapter 23

  Sunday, July 9, 8:45 a.m., Portland

  After sleeping late and sitting around with coffee and the newspaper for an hour, Rox finally got dressed. Twelve hours of riding in the truck the day before had been strangely exhausting. Her head was eager to get back to work but her body was not. She still had leads to explore, but other than the location of the transport office, none seemed that critical. Her concerns for now were simple: Would Ridgeline send Josh home so he could attend his mother’s funeral service? And would they drop him off where they picked him up—at his mother’s now-empty home? That seemed irresponsible. More important, how would she learn any of this? Curtis Fletcher hadn’t returned her phone calls. Marty had volunteered to sit in front of the man’s house this afternoon, but that seemed iffy. He’d made it clear he had no interest in Josh.

  She also needed to know when Carrie’s service would be held. Rox planned to be there as part of her investigative process. Homicide detectives attended murder victims’ services to see if anyone unexpected, such as the killer, showed up—so she would do the same. She might even run into Kyle at the memorial for the same reason, which could be weird. But she would let the detectives solve Carrie’s murder. Her purpose was to ask attendees about Ridgeline and the Oregon-based transport to its camps.

  Rox opened her laptop, loaded the Fellowship website, and checked its events section. Carrie’s service was scheduled for that evening at six. Rox added it to her task list for the day, then checked her email and groaned. Another flood of Craigslist-based messages had come in. She clicked each one open with a quick scan. Most were bizarre spam messages, some sexual in nature. She made a mental note to delete the Yahoo account after this case was over. Buried in the spam were two messages that focused on Ridgeline.

  One was from a young girl named Rosa who couldn’t spell or use complete sentences. The message was so truncated it was almost meaningless: Rdline last sumer hated ok now. Rox tried to extrapolate. Rosa had participated in a Ridgeline camp last summer and hated it, but now her life was fine?

  Rox opened the last email, from the address sharonlee876, and scanned the message. Her mouth dropped open, and she read through it again more slowly: A Ridgeline camp targeted me. The one called Get Straight that’s meant to convert kids who think they’re gay back into being normal. When I say targeted, I mean they blackmailed me. They sent pics of my son kissing another boy and threatened to tell my church, plus upload them online if I didn’t send Luke to the camp. So I borrowed ten thousand against my house to pay for it. And Luke is still gay. I never told anyone about the blackmail because I’m ashamed. But I thought someone should know. It’s not a very Christian way to operate a business. Especially one that doesn’t work. Please don’t reply. I don’t want to think about this again. S.L.

  Stunned, Rox got up and walked to the back deck to process the information. The morning sun was warm and lovely, but her plants needed watering again so she went back inside. Even if participation in both behavior-based boot camps and gay-conversion therapies was declining, blackmailing churchgoers to drum up clients was disgusting. Ridgeline was getting away with it because of the stigma attached to homosexual children in religious groups—and apparently the shame of giving in to blackmail.

  Maybe that was why Donna Goodwin pretended Tommy had run away—because she was too ashamed to admit she’d sent him to conversion therapy. Had she been blackmailed too?

  Shock escalated into outrage, and Rox desperately wanted to call and report the incident. But to what agency? She had no idea where the gay-conversion camp was located and no real proof of anything. Her source didn’t want to be contacted and wouldn’t likely back her up. Still, this seemed like a scam the feds would be interested in. She added Call FBI about blackmail to her list. But it could wait until after they extracted Josh.

  Her conversation with the teenage girl in the fellowship daycare came back to her. What was her name? Something religious? Oh right, Rebecca. Rox added a chat with the girl to her list, but that would have to wait until later as well. She had to stay focused on Josh. And Tommy, she reminded herself. The possible link between the cases could be important. Tommy’s mother might know where Ridgeline’s base camp had moved to. They might have several sites that they rotated. Rox recalled the conversation she’d had with the missing-person detective and the moment she’d asked for Donna Goodwin’s contact information. The number Kushing had given popped into her head, and Rox punched it into her phone.

  A woman answered, sounding a little tipsy. “This is Donna.”

  “I’m Karina Jones, a private investigator. Scott Goodwin hired me to find his nephew Tommy.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know.”

  Maybe the woman was just sleepy. “Can we meet? I’d like to talk about the case.”

  “There’s no case. Tommy ran away.”

  “But you want to find him, don’t you?”

  “Of course. But I can’t make him come home even if I do.” Donna sobbed and hiccupped at the same time.

  Rox wanted to ask about the possibility of a correcti
onal camp but decided to wait for a face-to-face conversation. Donna might not lie to her in person. Especially if she was drunk at ten in the morning. “Are you home?” Rox asked. “Can I stop over? Or buy you lunch?”

  “I’m not hungry, and I’m not going out.” The woman took a slurp of something.

  Rox talked over the sloshing sound. “I’ll come over. You’re still on Prescott?”

  “Yes.” A wary tone. “How do you know where I live?”

  “I’m an investigator. And I’m trying to help your family.”

  “No one can help me. Brett is dead, and Tommy is gone. My life is pointless.” Donna hung up.

  Rox felt bad for the woman and started to wonder if Goodwin was wrong about Donna sending her son to Ridgeline. Rox wanted to drive over and ask anyway, just to see the mother’s reaction. She texted Marty to let him know her plans, then grabbed her shoulder bag and headed out. Her office was on the way, sort of, and she decided to stop by and pick up the cash she’d left in the safe. She might need it to bribe a transport driver or a store clerk in Sun Ridge when they went back. She had no faith that Ridgeline would release Josh. Curtis Fletcher was connected to Ridgeline, possibly an owner, and leaving Josh at the camp would be the easiest course of action. The boy needed someone to intervene.

  Rox called the county jail again and tried to convince the desk deputy to take a message for her client.

  “I can’t do that. I’m not the inmates’ secretary. If you need to reach him, have his lawyer call or come in.”

  “I’m not sure he has one.”

  “Everyone has a court-appointed public defender.”

  “Can you tell me who that is?”

  “I’ll transfer you to the records office.” The line went quiet for a moment, then a canned message recited the office’s hours of operation—which didn’t include Sunday. Rox cursed and slammed down her phone. Inmates were so isolated! She took some deep breaths, found the number for the Bend hospital, and gathered up her stuff. On the way out, she put in her earbud and made another call.

  As Rox climbed in her car, a receptionist answered, “St. Charles Hospital.”

  “Hi. I’m the woman who brought in the unidentified teenage girl yesterday. Can you tell me how she’s doing?”

  “You don’t know the patient’s name?” The woman was a little condescending.

  “No. I found her in the woods and brought her in. She was unconscious and had no ID. But I’d like to know if she’s okay.”

  “I wasn’t here yesterday and don’t know anything about her. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rox drove halfway to her office before the receptionist came back on the line. “She was transferred to the children’s hospital in Portland. She’s in the ICU, but she’s stable and likely to recover.”

  “Great news. What happened to her? Why was she left for dead?”

  “Uh. Her chart says hypothermia and a high level of benzodiazepines.”

  Where had the kid gotten sedatives in a wilderness camp? “No identification yet?”

  “No, but our admin office is working on it.”

  “Thanks.” Rox hung up and took the exit to her office. Maybe the girl had stolen the meds from a counselor and taken an overdose. Then hypothermia had set in, making her look dead. Knowing the camper probably hadn’t been assaulted by Ridgeline employees, a level of tension left Rox’s body. Still, the bastards had left her! What had they intended to tell her parents? The police chief seemed confident the staff would have come back for the body. Had something like this happened before?

  A few minutes later, Rox stared at her office building’s front door. Someone had drilled out the lock and left it ajar! What the hell? She’d never even worried about a break-in. Rox pushed the top of the door with one finger, not wanting to smudge any prints the intruder may have left. The front room seemed fine, but there was nothing to steal except the monitor on the desk, and it was still there. The interior door lock had been drilled out too. Dreading what she would see, Rox pushed it open. Her file cabinet drawers had been yanked out, and her papers had been rifled. She spun toward her desk. Her laptop was gone, and the big monitor that had been attached to it was askew. Shit! A thousand bucks out the door. Her slim backup hard drive was still on the desk. Thank goodness! She still had copies of all her files, plus her home laptop. Also, the thief wasn’t likely to get past her security to access the software. Rox glanced at the corner floor. The square that held the safe was still tightly in place.

  Rox pried it up, accessed the steel box, and pulled out the cash. She slipped it into her shoulder bag, then scanned through her printed files, which were scattered around the cabinets. Nothing seemed to be missing, yet it was obvious someone had been looking for information. But who and why? Her current clients were both concerned with protecting teenage boys, so it probably wasn’t either of them. A wild thought hit her. Had Curtis Fletcher come here looking for information related to Carrie or Josh? That seemed unlikely too.

  It had to be about another case. She’d worked a divorce situation a few weeks earlier, and the cheating husband might have come looking to destroy the incriminating information against him. Rox checked that file. The paperwork was still there, and the digital photos were on her computer. She’d given her client a thumb drive and hadn’t bothered to make any prints. A worried thought came to her. The cheating husband may have been looking for information about his estranged wife—such as her new address. Damn!

  She would call the woman to alert her and upgrade the building’s security, maybe even put an iron-grid exterior door on the front. Fortunately, most of her clients didn’t know about the back door. She gave it a quick check. Still intact. Should she call the police? It was most likely a waste of time. Unless the intruder had left prints and was already in the system, property-crime detectives would never make an arrest. Maybe she was reading too much into the break-in. It could have simply been a meth addict with a drill and a crowbar, looking to steal a computer he could sell. He’d probably searched the file cabinets looking for drugs, watches, or jewelry.

  She pulled out her phone and took photos of the drilled-out doors and ransacked files, then texted them to both Bowman and Marty with the message: Seen any MOs like this before? Bowman would check the bureau’s database for similar crimes. Rox called Marty, reported the incident, and asked him to find a locksmith.

  “I just looked at your text, and I think you’ll need a whole new front door. I’ll take care of it for you. But for now, I’ll rig something to keep it secure.”

  Damn, she loved him. “Thanks, Marty! You’re the best.” She’d never called him Dad. But she’d also called her mother Georgia from an early age—at her mom’s request.

  “Where are you going now?” Marty asked.

  “To see Donna Goodwin. She’s the mother of the missing boy.”

  “Shouldn’t we be focused on Josh?”

  Rox bristled a little. “I took a retainer from Scott Goodwin so I have to make an effort. Plus, he thinks Donna sent her son to a correctional camp, so this could help us find Josh.”

  Marty was silent for a moment. “We need to locate a transport office in Oregon. I’m sure Ridgeline either has one or contracts with one.”

  “I know. Maybe Hunter, the kid who gave us directions, can help with that.” Rox was skeptical, but she would email him and ask. She recalled the message from Sharon Lee and told Marty about Ridgeline’s blackmail scheme for its other program.

  “What a dirty business. I hope we can shut them down.” He started to hang up, then said, “Hey, email the woman who was blackmailed and ask her about the transport office.”

  “I will.” Probably another waste of time. “I’ll be in touch.” Rox closed the call and headed out to her vehicle. She wasn’t looking forward to her chat with Donna, a woman with nothing left but despair.

  In the parking lot, she noticed a tiny piece of something white and picked it up. Part of a breath mint? Had the in
truder dropped it?

  Chapter 24

  Donna Goodwin lived in a modest home a few miles south of their duplex. Rox parked next to the Honda CRV in the driveway, which was probably ten years old. As she walked up to the door, she had serious doubts about whether Tommy’s mother could help her locate Josh. Ridgeline was too expensive for the owner of this house—unless she had help paying for it. But Rox had to honor her promise to search for Tommy too, so she might as well learn what she could from the person who’d last seen him.

  Donna took a full three minutes to respond to her knock. With the summer sun directly overhead, Rox broke into a sweat while she waited. Finally, the faded-green door opened slightly, and a disheveled woman peered out the gap. “Who are you?” Mascara was smudged under her eyes.

  “Karina Jones.” Rox had almost said her real name. “I called you earlier about coming here to discuss Tommy’s disappearance.”

  “I’m not dressed.” She glanced down at her orange-floral bathrobe and flip-flops.

  “It’s all right. I know it’s Sunday, and this won’t take long.” Rox tried to give a charming smile, but knew she’d failed. The sight of Donna distressed her. The woman was obviously not doing well. Rox couldn’t focus on that—she was on a mission.

  The grieving woman led her into a dark, cluttered house with all the drapes pulled tightly closed. Food-crusted bowls covered the coffee table in the living room, and a faint smell of rotting garbage drifted in from the kitchen. Donna gestured at the couch. “Have a seat. I’m sorry about the mess.”

  Rox nodded. She couldn’t make herself lie and say it was fine. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through. I assume you haven’t heard from Tommy.”

  “No.” Donna picked up a glass from the table that looked like it contained orange juice.

  With a little splash of vodka? “When did you see him last?”

  “Friday morning before school. He came home Sunday evening for a minute before he took off again, but I was in the bathtub and didn’t actually see him.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”