“Stalled out at this point. Vanderhaul International Wines has several distribution centers in the United States. One in Georgia. As a membership club, they automatically ship preset orders to customers on a monthly basis. The clerk at the company thinks there’s been a mistake in the information. The mansion’s account is in the name of Vanderhaul Wines. It bills itself and pays itself from the company’s accounts. We don’t have a person’s name to go after for a search warrant. Also, the judge said there isn’t enough information to issue a warrant and search the distribution center here. The family lives in Amsterdam, which makes it even more unlikely they are involved.”
“Why? Last I heard sex and depravity didn’t have borders. The family’s black sheep gained quite a bit of notoriety ten years ago at Yale.”
“We looked at that. A girl accused Peter Vanderhaul and three other lacrosse players of rape. She later recanted.”
“Or was paid off. As I remember it, they’d taken her on a yacht to the Caribbean and back. The crime fell into the FBI’s hands because the victim was American and assaulted outside the U.S.”
“After she changed her story the case was dismissed. FBI reports have him living in Switzerland where he heads up the philanthropic arm of the family’s empire.”
“So they say.” Eva picked up her phone and did a search for Peter Vanderhaul. Reports had him as one of the world’s richest, most eligible bachelors. Numerous pictures showed him fit and trim, then looking ill in the recent ones. She tried to imagine if he was the man from her vision, but the pictures of him were all too distant to tell for sure.
“We are looking for a connection between Granville and any of the Vanderhauls.”
“My experience says the past always holds truths we can’t see in the present. Crime bonds. Who were the other lacrosse players with Vanderhaul? Where is the victim in that case now?”
Adam arched a brow. “Revenge ten years later?” But he made the call anyway and their food arrived.
She inhaled the scent of grilled cheese and chocolate milkshake then frowned at her vegetables. Life wasn’t fair. At all.
Her vegetables were very good, but she’d only picked through half of them when Adam’s cell vibrated. The mouthwatering grilled-cheese-BLT he’d just taken the last bite of, had hijacked her taste buds.
His brows shot up in surprise at what he heard. “Text me the address.” He stood as he disconnected the call and tossed money on the table.
She’d already washed down her bite and gathered her purse. “We’ve got a lead?”
“More than that. One of the Yale lacrosse players on Vanderhauls yacht ten years ago was Barry Bennington. He currently has a law firm in Midtown. He’s Granville’s nephew and hasn’t shown up for his morning appointments. Guess what the name of the yacht was?”
“Bacchus.”
“Close. Bacchus Lives. How’s that for a cult motto?”
Eva followed Adam from the Buckhead Diner, her mind searching for connections. How did the sisters murdered in the dungeon tie into what happened ten years ago? If the Justice Card murders were revenge for the past, then why wait ten years?
They arrived at Bennington’s Midtown house in minutes and found their missing victim number two. The cold didn’t hit her until she stepped into the sunshine at the back of the house. She hadn’t seen the video of Bennington’s murder, but felt the same sense of emotional distance as she had in her vision at Granville’s crime scene. No sound. No thoughts. Just calm action.
The killer hid behind a tree.
Dressed in a bathrobe, Bennington exited French doors with newspaper and coffee in hand. He sat at a patio table, his back to the tree. Sunlight glinted off the gold ring on his right hand as he sipped his coffee. The killer crept from the tree, but then ducked back when the man dug his phone from his pocket and held it to his ear.
The man’s coffee cup fell from his grasp to the table. He didn’t move to mop up the mess. Just held the phone to his ear and shook his head.
The killer again crept from the tree, approaching Bennington from behind. In one swift move, the killer snapped a white bag over Bennington’s head and slit his throat. Blood stained the white material as Bennington slumped backward in the chair. Using a nail gun, the killer pinned two Justice Cards to the mouth area then prayed before leaving through the courtyard’s gate.
Eva shivered from the deep cold. The vision had been swift, silent, and deadly. The killer had worn gloves as before. His reflection in the paned glass of the French doors only revealed a black hooded shadow wearing a long black robe. Grim reaper-like? Priest-like? She didn’t know. But she wanted to be at the church waiting when Father Joseph arrived. Did he really have a funeral this morning? Or had he helped someone meet their maker?
The killer never entered the house. But somebody had. Bennington’s place had been ransacked and evidence had been destroyed. Security cameras had been ripped from the ceilings and outside mountings. Computers, iPads, cell phone all gone. The scent of smoke hung heavily in the house and the charred remains of papers and files still smoldered in the hearth. A few salvaged pieces appeared to be donations made to what might be a church. The killer had taken Bennington’s signet ring.
Unable to tell the investigators what had happened, she fisted her hands in frustration and left. She thankfully found Adam in the front yard.
“Ready to meet Father Joseph?”
“It’s early yet.”
“I know, but I’m anxious to hear what he says. Maybe his secretary will know something, too.”
“I guess we’ll make better headway with the priest now. It’ll be hours before they’ll get answers here. If I haven’t said it yet, thanks.”
“For?”
He shrugged. “Not sure we would have dug into Vanderhaul’s lacrosse pals this soon.”
Eva nodded, and released some of the tension inside her. She had helped.
The knot of anxiety in Adam’s gut tightened as he entered the church. It was in the quiet moments that his mind screamed the loudest. Emotionally, he wanted to keep shouting “why?” Why had God let tragedy strike and destroy his family? Intellectually, he kicked his own, sorry-for-himself ass and shoved the past back where it belonged. Shit happened to everybody.
Eva appeared uncomfortable, too. They waited in a sitting area outside the priest’s office. Adam could see the sanctuary across the lobby. A large crucifix stood before stained glass windows. Yep, bad stuff happened to everybody and had been for centuries.
Father Joseph returned early from the funeral. They only had to wait ten minutes. Under six feet and slender, the priest had a kindly, but weary, smile. He seemed greatly burdened.
Before Adam or Eva could explain why they were there, Father Joseph spoke. “Sister Sarah explained what she told you in the meeting this morning. I am torn as to how to help you and keep my vows as a priest.”
Eva spoke up. “She told you my concern about women being abducted and forced into things they may not want to be involved in?”
The priest nodded. “Women come to the church for assistance—food, money, clothing. They are not in the United States legally. I know they believe they have no legal recourse for crimes committed against them or their family members. No woman has come to my office and sought help for such a thing. But in the confessional, I hear stories, awful stories. Stories that may resemble your exact concerns. Those here illegally are targets for horrible abuses because to cry for help would jeopardize their dream and their family’s dreams for a poverty-free future.”
Adam sat forward, anger flashing through him at the injustice. “I need to speak to these women. These crimes must be stopped.”
“To them, the law is their enemy, too. Not their friend. Deportation is worse than degradation.”
Adam popped from his seat. “By not helping stop this sex abuse, you’re complicit in it. You do understand we have a vigilante killer on the loose now and—”
Eva grabbed Adam’s hand and stood “Father Jos
eph, please forgive the impassioned response. We’re only trying to help and to save lives. If you can’t tell us specific women whom we could speak to, is it possible that Sister Sarah or one of the other nuns can help us? As Sister Sarah said, there is talk in the community about this. Maybe, someone will be willing to help?”
Father Joseph rose. “Nothing to forgive. I war with the same question in my heart just as passionately.” He sighed. “Sister Mary is deaf and suffers from a deep trauma, but perhaps she will share her story.” He called his secretary. “Can you have Sister Sara bring Sister Mary to my office?”
He sat back down. “It would be good for both of you to sit as well—less threatening to her. Two years ago, Sister Mary was brought here, left abandoned on the church steps. She’d been physically and sexually abused. Two families immediately stepped in to support her, the Benningtons and the Granvilles. Too traumatized to even try and communicate past her disability, she has—”
Eva’s mind raced as the pieces solidified in her mind. Vanderhaul the killer in the dungeon. He had to be taking the rings and had ransacked Bennington’s. Sister Mary had to-
High pitched screaming rent through the quiet of the church.
Adam sprang to his feet and barreled out of the office. Eva and Father Joseph followed.
A nun ran their way, waving her arms. “He’s kidnapping her!”
Adam drew his weapon. “Where? Who?”
“The garden! Sister Maria. He’s wearing a mask! He said he’d found her now and she would pay for her sister’s crime.”
“Call 911.” Adam ran in the direction the nun had come from. He saw an exit and slammed through the door.
In the garden, a masked man had a nun by her hair, dragging her as she fought to free herself.
Adam raised his gun. “FBI. Let the woman go. Now! I’ll shoot.”
The masked man looked up. At that moment, the woman pulled a knife from her robe and slashed at her hair, freeing herself. She didn’t even look Adam’s way before she charged at the masked man. Her knife aimed to kill.
“FBI! Stop!” Adam screamed, adjusting his aim to the woman, his heart hammering with a sickening dread. Mid-kidnapping or not, he couldn’t let her stab the man.
“No!” the priest yelled and slammed into Adam’s arm. “She’s deaf!”
Adam’s gun fired from the jarring blow. The woman stabbed the knife into the masked man’s heart, pulled it out and rammed into his groin as she fell to her knees then to the stones.
The masked man stood for a moment, blood spurting before he crumpled to the ground.
Adam’s gut twisted in an agony of frustration. He wouldn’t have killed the woman, just stopped her from killing the masked man. He shoved the priest back and hurried toward her. He had no doubt the masked man was either dead, or seconds from it.
Eva ran forward, her heart and soul sinking as Maria’s tragic outcome. Sister Mary was Maria, who’d been on the altar in the dungeon. The man on the ground, now wore the same mask that she’d seen in the vision. The priest pulled the hood off.
Vanderhaul.
She lifted Sister Mary in her arms, blood gurgled from the woman’s throat where Adam’s bullet had exited. Instead of fear or pain, Eva saw peace in the woman’s eyes.
Adam removed his shirt and pressed the cloth to the wound, stemming the flow of blood. “Hang in there. Help is on the way.”
“Sister Mary. Dear God.” Father Joseph fell to his knees, tears pouring.
Sister Mary held up her hand, giving Father Joseph an envelope. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” had been written in red on it. When he took if from her, something fell to the ground. Adam picked it up.
The final card of Justice had been dealt.
Epilogue
Tuesday May 26th
The names of those killed had been released.
Eva stood at the back of the crowded room. The press conference to answer questions about the murder of Judge Granville, prominent attorney Barry Bennington, and heir to billions, Peter Vanderhaul, had just finished.
Still, cameras flashed and questions rang out as the spokesman tried to bring order to chaos. Adam, who’d been on center stage with several officials, walked her way—his expression tortured. Sister Mary’s fate weighed heavily on him.
Reporters demanded answers, but he ignored them after several no comment responses. She felt for him. She knew how grueling being in the spotlight could be, especially with no answers to give the sharks out for blood.
The details of the case had not been released and wouldn’t be until the FBI’s investigation proved the men guilty of the crimes Sister Mary had revealed in her letter. The motivation for their murders would remain secret for now. The powerful families of the three men had promised to bring hell on anyone who defamed the memory of their loved one.
Eva knew the truth and Sister Mary’s parting letter filled in the gaps. Sister Mary hadn’t known who’d kidnapped her and her sister, but she had seen Vandherhaul’s face after he’d killed Carmen. She then passed out, and when she woke up, she’d been left at the church. Six months ago, after a church meeting, a girl who’d come for help, recognized Granville and Bennington as men in charge of the sick sex games at the mansion.
Sister Mary found the men’s addresses in the church files. She took money from the church, bought a camera and followed the men. She caught pictures of them with women, then sent Granville’s wife copies of a few. One day, she saw Vanderhaul enter Bennington’s house and knew the three of them had been part of what happened. Her research into Vanderhaul, brought up his and Bennington’s past. If they had been stopped then, her sister would be alive today.
Sister Mary’s mother had been a Tarot reader and a believer in Karma.
Carmen’s stab to Vanderhaul’s stomach in the dungeon had left him with only half of his intestines working and a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. His life had been forever ruined. He’d deduced where Bennington and Granville had hidden Maria when he found the large donation receipts at Bennington’s. He’d gone after Maria before she could kill him.
Eva bet they’d find Carmen buried on the estate. Would it be proof enough?
She didn’t know.
Vanderhaul had a lighter skinned ring around his finger, too, but no rings had been found yet. Eva concluded that part of her detachment from the murder of Granville and Bennington had been because of Mary’s deafness. Another element might be because of their own guilt in covering up murder and rape. Maybe even raping women themselves.
“Let’s get out of here,” Adam said as he walked up.
“Gladly.” Eva turned for the door. As they crossed the crowded room, she saw a man’s hand holding one of the double doors open. He stood out of sight on the other side. His signet ring gleamed in the bright lights. The letter B over a ram’s head framed by a pentagram.
Heart thudding, she rushed forward, but he disappeared before she reached the door. On the other side, crowds of people walked. No man stood out to her.
Adam caught up with her. “What’s wrong?”
Eva shook her head. “I’m angry. It’s as if they’re getting away with it. The men may be dead, but if their crimes are never exposed, how will the cries of their victims ever be heard? There are more men like them out there and the innocent need to beware.”
Adam looked into her passionate, gray eyes and knew what she would do. “No matter what those powerful families do, you’re going to write the women’s stories like Maria wanted you to, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am. Justice will be fully served. No matter how long it takes,” she said under her breath.
13
the hanged man
matthew costello
Upright: Wisdom, trials, circumstances, discernment, sacrifice, intuition, divination, prophecy
Reversed: Selfishness, the crowd, body politic
The first day – or was it night? – the room had nothing in it.
There was a window, so very
tiny, in one corner, near the ceiling.
Out of reach of course, and looking like someone had taken black paint and smeared it over the glass. Allowing only small slivers of light – like now, which is how he knew it was day.
But just those slivers.
He had his first important thought, the first beginnings of a plan to get out of here.
Wherever ‘here’ was.
And why ever…was he here.
Just a window. If one screamed loud enough, someone would hear. If he kept screaming, someone would have to hear.
They’d find someone, a cop, and say… I heard someone, just down there.
Yeah…
The beginnings of a plan.
Because—core to his goddamn philosophy, his way of navigating this planet—if you had a plan, there was always hope, always possibilities.
And the more plans, the better.
So, though he stood in this empty room—what, maybe twelve by twelve? Perfectly square. Cinder block walls. Stone floor. Basement-like room.
He knew he could use his brain to start sorting this out
Yeah. What all his UK friends said in the city, whenever one of their big deals went fubar.
“Just got to sort it out, mate…”
Right. He’d tell them. That’s all.
And good luck with that.
Because sometimes when you got to the “sorting it out” stage, the eggs were hopelessly scrambled, and so were their balls.
Cash gone down the old porcelain chute, never to be recovered.
He took a breath.
That brain working.
But with an almost near-hangover throb, he started to think…how the hell did I get there?
How the hell did that happen?
*
Night.
In the city, summertime.
Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know? Page 28