The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2)

by John W. Mefford

  Archie touched my arm as I stepped closer to the center of the room. “Alex, he’s a dumbass hick. He doesn’t get it. It’s a waste of your time.”

  “What the hell did you say, boy?”

  Archie poked his own chest, sticking out his neck. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. You mouthin’ off, just like your bitchy partner?”

  “Screw you, asshole. And the only person in this state who can say she’s bitchy is me.”

  “Thanks, Archie. I think,” I muttered.

  The sheriff opened his pie hole, but I held up my hand. “Save it for someone who cares.”

  I grabbed my stuff and headed for the door, pulling out my phone. At the threshold, I turned back around and locked eyes with the sheriff, although I could feel stares from the others in the room. I dialed information and said, “Get me the number for child protective services for the state of West Virginia.”

  Then I flipped on my heels and walked out.

  ***

  Standing in the lawn of First Trinity Church of Elkin, Archie and I cupped our hands as we gazed up at the bell tower in the steeple of the brick church. A bright sun had just risen above the angled rooftop. I walked a few steps to where I was under a canopy of trees and was able to see the sheriff’s team moving in and out of my motel room about a hundred yards away.

  “Unless the shooter was up on a firetruck ladder, or dangling from a helicopter, I think this might be the only structure in town where he could have shot from and still hit my second-floor room,” I said. “What do you think?”

  When Archie didn’t respond, I shifted my eyes to find him at the top of the church’s stone steps, yanking on the front door. “It’s locked.” He looked through a small, vertical window next to the door. “All dark. No one’s in yet.”

  Not surprising, considering it was still prior to nine in the morning on Tuesday. Archie joined me back on the lawn.

  “Any theories on who would have wanted to kill you?” I had intentionally waited until we were clear of Sheriff Kupchak before I broached this topic with my partner.

  “Me? Why me? They could have been shooting at you.”

  He already sounded defensive. Something I was hoping to avoid. I needed to crack through his shell of secrecy, regardless of what it took.

  “You were standing in front of the window, Archie. I think it’s pretty obvious.”

  Jingling change in his pocket, he moved around the tree, studying the bark and leaves, acting like he was a horticulturist.

  “You have nothing to say?”

  He paused, his hand touching a green leaf. “With the cover of the tree and the distance, he probably just saw a figure. Remember, we were in your room, not mine.”

  He had a point.

  “Besides that, you found Claudia, who could be at the top of this cult’s most-wanted list. Why do you think she was in hiding? Because she feared for her life.”

  I clenched my jaw, pissed for two reasons: he’d twisted my words around to make me think I was indeed the target, and now I was fearful for Claudia. “Crap. Now you’ve got me worried about Claudia. Let me put in a quick call to Hank, her sister.”

  As I found the number to the bar, Archie’s phone rang. “Gotta take this,” he said, turning his back to me and moving over to the next tree.

  I spoke to Hank, who assured me that Claudia was still safe, although going a bit stir crazy from not being out of the makeshift apartment for three months straight. She asked if I’d addressed the rescue of my mother. “You are going to bring in help, aren’t you?” she asked.

  Eyeing Archie’s back, I said, “That’s the plan, yes.”

  “FBI or outside?”

  “Outsider, but he has knowledge of how I operate. It’s a good fit.” As the words left my mouth, I felt a tinge of doubt creeping into my voice. But she didn’t seem to notice.

  “Good luck, Alex. And remember, once you pull this off, I trust you that you’ll pull in Claudia when it’s right. When you have the right set of people aligned, she might need a new identity and everything.”

  We had discussed that possibility during our visit. I hadn’t made promises, but said the FBI would take every precaution necessary to ensure her safety. And I meant it. But I also couldn’t predict the future.

  First things first. Verifying if Beulah was indeed my mom and then figuring out how to safely get her out of the camp.

  Hank and I ended our brief conversation, but Archie was still on the phone, pacing back and forth between two trees, as if he were a pinball.

  I thumbed a quick group text to Gretchen, Brad, and Nick, asking if they could identify the members of the church. In a rural area like this, the number couldn’t be that high. I also asked if they could figure out anyone who had access to get inside the church—officials, administrative personnel, or deacons.

  Archie meandered my way, pocketing his phone. While he’d come out of the shooting without a visible scratch, he now looked like he’d been punched in the face.

  “Everything okay?”

  He wiped his face. “Just tired.”

  “Tired, or tired of someone in particular.”

  He shifted his eyes to me. “I don’t want to get into it.”

  He seemed drained.

  “I talked to Hank, and she said Claudia is fine. No issues on her end.”

  “You’re assuming, then, the shooter was after me?” he asked.

  “This isn’t a popularity contest, Archie. We can’t put our heads in the sand and pretend this isn’t related to something you or I are working on—this cult, or your case, or maybe even one of your old cases.”

  He nodded, but didn’t seem on board with my line of thinking. He paced back and forth, slowly. That was when I noticed a toe poking out of one of his running shoes.

  “Archie, you’re broke, aren’t you?”

  He looked at me, but his lips didn’t move.

  “You’re too proud to admit it, right?”

  A slow nod. “Why couldn’t you tell me? It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Did you forget how to speak?”

  “I can’t…I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “You said ‘I can’t.’ Why can’t you?”

  “Shit, Alex, get off my case, will you? Fuck!”

  I stared at him, but he refused to look at me. “Fine,” I said, walking toward my car.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to find someone who’s got the balls to help me get my mother out of this camp.”

  “Stop,” he said, moving toward me. “I want to help. I know how much this means to you.”

  I had my door open, one foot inside the car. “Then tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  He glanced up and down the street. “Can you close your door and let’s get back under the trees?”

  I huffed out a breath and then grudgingly complied. With my arms folded across my chest and both of us in the shadow of a large tree, I said, “I’m ready.”

  “You’re right. I don’t have a penny to my name.”

  “What happened to your money-making agency? Your website, whiteshaft.com? And didn’t you hire an assistant?”

  He twisted his lips under his bushy mustache. “A little bit of that was smoke and mirrors. Carrie was a Filipino girl I met online in a group chat session about finding a mail-order bride.”

  “Tell me that was a case you were working on.” It was difficult not to show my disgust.

  He shook his head while saying, “That was a case I was working on.”

  “Which one is it?”

  “Okay, I lied. It was a personal thing…just curiosity. The Internet is a dangerous weapon, that’s for sure.”

  I didn’t really want to know, but I had to ask. “Did you pay for a bride and the girl never showed up?”

  “Never got that far. But I met an investment specialist online, and he basically sucked me dry of every dime I had. Retirement
money, everything. Which led to…”

  “Yes?”

  “I forgot to pay the IRS.”

  “You forgot?”

  “On purpose. I forgot on purpose.”

  I could feel my gut tighten as his story continued digging a deeper hole. “And…?”

  “The IRS tracked me down. We had some intense discussions. Well, they talked and I just sat there,” he said. “Then, out of nowhere, this FBI agent shows up to a meeting. And he offers me a deal. Work this case for them and they’ll erase all my IRS debt. I couldn’t pass it up.”

  My fingers dug into the tree bark, wondering where this would all end.

  “What’s the case, Archie? Why were we shot at?”

  “Well, Agent Vandiver said this might happen. I just didn’t believe him. I wasn’t paying attention to everything around me.”

  “The guy in the parking lot. Vandiver?”

  He nodded, his expression that of a scolded boy.

  “And?”

  He lifted his chest, then released a bag of air. “I was asked to do some undercover work at Camp Israel.”

  My heart almost exploded out of my chest. “You did what?”

  His neck practically disappeared into his body cavity. “You heard me,” he said meekly.

  My vision became clouded with little black spots, and I could feel bark wedge under my fingernails as I clawed at the tree.

  “Do you need some water?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” I pinched the inner corners of my eyes, then tested my vision again. Okay for now. “Give it all up, Archie.”

  “I’m kind of naive about everything at Camp Israel…well, up until the point you reached out to me and shared Claudia’s story.”

  “You’re confusing me, which isn’t the first time. What in the hell was your undercover assignment about?”

  “Is. It still is an assignment, at least when Vandiver needs me,” he said, looking up into the dense tree. Anything to avoid eye contact, apparently.

  “More confusion, Archie. I need facts. And quickly, before I kick your ass.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “The FBI was investigating the leaders of Camp Israel for fraud, money laundering, and a bunch of other financial crimes.”

  “Financial?’

  He turned his palms to the sky. “Vandiver only told me the place was backward, run by some religious fanatics who might be living double lives.”

  “Double lives?”

  “Acting like they’re all into this Bible beating, but then running some type of financial scam on the side. But the FBI is having a hard time finding a money trail, or the start of one. Frankly, Vandiver didn’t tell me much. You know the whole song and dance…the less I know, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Have you actually been inside the camp?” My voice was laced with venom at this point.

  “Yes, yes. Keep calm, Alex. I’m on your team.”

  “I’ll decide that, thank you. What did you see? And how did you get in?”

  “The FBI toyed with their electrical power. I was part of a crew that went in to work on restoring power.”

  “Hard hat and all?” I asked, touching my hair, knowing how sensitive he was to someone messing with his helmet hair.

  “I did it for the cause.”

  I tilted my head.

  “To keep me out of jail. The IRS said they would prosecute me, dammit.”

  “What was your mission once you got on the inside?”

  “Mostly visual intel. Looking for any semblance of an operation that might be used to run a financial scheme. And if I had an opportunity, they wanted me to load this program onto a laptop. Probably put some type of tracking software on it that makes it easier for the FBI to follow their activity.” He held up a flash drive. “Just as I was about to enter that small building in the back of the compound you were showing me on your phone earlier, a man from the camp called me out and told me not to go in that building. He said I could have access to the electric through a box hanging on the outside.”

  “So you saw just that one man?”

  “Got the best look at him, yes. Saw a couple of other men milling about. Oh, I saw two girls inside the fence of this garden, picking vegetables or something. Vandiver was right.”

  “How so?”

  “Their clothes. It was like I’d been transported back in time a hundred years.”

  I tore off a small branch and began to pick apart the leaves, my mind grinding through the information Archie had shared. “Vandiver…he’s going to need you to go back in.”

  “How did you know? That was him on the phone telling me the same thing.” He forced out a chuckle. I wasn’t laughing.

  “Set up a meeting with Vandiver, but don’t tell him that I’ll be with you. Make it at a neutral public setting.”

  He pulled out his phone, then glanced up at me. “I…”

  “Spit it out, Archie.”

  “I don’t want to get in trouble. My life depends on me finishing this mission successfully.”

  I didn’t want to get into a debate about whose life was more important. “That’s why I want to talk. The FBI leaders on this case need to understand the full picture of what’s really going on in there. Ultimately, I want them to understand that if I get what I need, they’ll get what they need. A win-win.”

  They just didn’t know to what lengths I would go to win, the IRS be damned.

  14

  Beulah took a moment to rub her aching knees—a direct result of sitting at the altar and being forced to pray for two hours straight yesterday, following the gut-wrenching killing of Hodiah Harrington right in front of her own daughter. Wiping her brow, she lifted out of her seat to join the other ladies in the washroom, where they cleaned all of the elders’ dirty clothes. It was a weekly job, one that took tremendous stamina from handwashing each and every article of clothing, as well as an astute focus on the detailed task of ironing. The clothes had to be immaculate by the time she turned off the hot steam iron.

  The chatter in the washroom was more vocal than any time Beulah could recall. Usually the discussions were nothing more than whispers and almost always related to the tasks at hand.

  But the shooting of Hodiah had roused the emotions of everyone in the camp, even if their faces didn’t show it.

  “I don’t know why I’m astounded that after all these years, we still have charlatans living within the confines of the camp,” Ruth said, the second lady to join the group, following Beulah so many years ago.

  Ruth was built like a submarine: compact, portly, but always able to raise her telescope and observe those around her.

  “When Jamin fired that bullet, I almost heaved up my lunch,” Moriah said. She and Ruth had been connected at the hip for the last several years. Moriah, with long, thin limbs and the neck of a giraffe, often sounded like Ruth’s public relations person, justifying every word that came out of her friend’s mouth.

  “But, Moriah, you must know that the bullet from that gun wasn’t loaded by just some ordinary thug who was robbed of his drug money. It was a bullet sent from heaven above. Knowing Jamin, I would imagine that he’s been weeping ever since he pulled the trigger. I’m sure it was difficult to do what he did, but we must be thankful for his strength.”

  “Amen, Ruth. Amen.”

  Beulah straightened out the collar of a shirt and laid it flat on her ironing board, her mind intent on staying focused on her chores, to hopefully snuff out the inner voice that wanted to speak up.

  Ruth leaned closer to her running buddy, Moriah, practically ignoring Beulah’s presence, even though she stood no more than ten feet away. “I just can’t understand what makes some women tick. I know she was upset by her child, but ultimately isn’t she to blame for her daughter’s transgressions?”

  Beulah turned her head slowly, but quickly regained her composure and repositioned the shirt on the ironing board. Ruth glanced in her direction, but that was all. Moriah had to respond to Ruth. It apparently gave her oxygen. “Kid
s are only a reflection of their parents. And in this instance, we all know that Amber didn’t have the advantage of so many other offspring in this camp.”

  Beulah bit the side of her cheek, trying to ignore their snooty gossip. She knew that Amber’s father was not one of the elders, as was the case with so many others. Hodiah, whose real name was Shirley Harrington, was one of the few to bring her child with her. She had been able to convince Amber that this way of life would secure them a place in eternal heaven, but only if they followed the teachings of Malachi and his self-chosen elders.

  “Then again, Moriah, we’re all snowflakes. And Amber, despite being just sixteen, knew full and well what she was saying and doing. It wasn’t just reprehensible, it was just plain stupid. We should not feel a bit of pity for that girl.”

  “What did Amber do that was so bad?” Beulah couldn’t believe the words had poured out of her mouth, and she pressed her lips shut.

  Ruth slowly turned her torso, her beady, green eyes narrowing. “And look who just decided to come back to life, Moriah. It’s the one and only, Beulah,” she said derisively, elbowing her friend in the arm.

  “Yeah, Beulah, we wondered if you’d lost the ability to speak. You know, turned into one of those Helen Keller mutes.” The two ladies giggled like twelve-year-old schoolgirls.

  A wave of heat moved up Beulah’s neck until her head felt like it might set on fire and explode. But she kept her eyes down as she counted each time the iron moved a complete cycle, up and back.

  “So even though you won’t pay us any decent respect,” Ruth said, rolling up her sleeves as if she were about to step into a boxing ring, “I’ll tell you what that little heathen did. Jaala—well, I guess we should now call her Amber—dared to yell at Malachi. She said that even though she believed in his teachings and the word of the Lord, she could no longer sit idly by and witness such blatant favoritism. She said it wasn’t right, and she wasn’t going to stand for it anymore.”

  Beulah turned her head toward Ruth.

  “That’s right, the teenage girl committed blasphemy, that’s what she did,” Moriah said while nodding repeatedly.

  “But it’s the truth. And the two of you know it, just like everyone else around here does,” Beulah countered as she quickly realized that she’d let the shirt she had just folded fall to the table, crumpled. Now she would need to start over.