Fight Dirty

by CJ Lyons

  Morgan was slowly unraveling the tapestry of lies that concealed Jenna’s secrets. It was for Jenna’s own good. She would never use what she knew against Jenna; she only wanted to protect her. Jenna was her friend. Well, as close to a friend as Morgan had ever had. Morgan wasn’t sure if their bond included anything like the kind of love Norms—her term for the sheep (those who milled around, living their bland, ordinary lives) and fish (the weak, victims, easy prey)—felt for each other, but her best bet to get what she wanted meant making Jenna happy. And wasn’t that what friends did for each other?

  Jenna didn’t make it easy. But that was Jenna. She never made it easy for anybody.

  She and Andre retreated to the smaller, more intimate office, while Morgan opened the door to Robert Greene and his wife, Caren. Interesting that it was the dad pushing this investigation—the mom barely showed up in any of the notes from the attorneys Greene had consulted before coming to Galloway and Stone.

  Was the mother overwhelmed by grief? Controlled by the husband? Morgan wondered at the family dynamics. And where their daughter, BreeAnna, had fit in.

  Caren Greene was thirty-four to Robert’s forty-one—a stay-at-home mother until they lost their only child last month. Guess she was just a stay-at-home now.

  Morgan took their coats, expensive cashmere, London tailored for him; Italian silk-wool blend with a Hermès scarf for her. He didn’t wear a wedding ring; she did. Caren’s gaze never left him, while he barely seemed to notice her, not until she slipped an arm around his waist and leaned her weight against him, threatening to collapse if he didn’t reciprocate. His movements as he draped his arm across her shoulders seemed more reflex than a true offer of comfort.

  Were either of them truly grieving their daughter? Morgan couldn’t tell for sure. As if they both wore masks.

  Finally something interesting. Were they like her? Fellow non-Norms, sociopaths and narcissists, people beyond the bell-shaped curve, fascinated Morgan. She loved to study them—their failures as well as their successes.

  She led them into the consultation room. Jenna made introductions and seated the Greenes on the wine-red love seat while she sat opposite them in a black leather chair. Andre stood, leaning against the wall diagonal to their prospective clients. Morgan took a seat near the door, pretending to take notes, and wondered how Jenna would turn the secondhand gossip Morgan had uncovered about ReNew into a case worth pursuing.

  Jenna hated to lose, and no way in hell would she risk disappointing someone like Robert Greene. His energy firm could provide Galloway and Stone with enough work to put them in the black before they even officially opened their doors.

  But first Jenna would have to solve the mystery of their daughter’s death—a death the rest of the world had decided was no mystery at all.

  Morgan watched in interest as Jenna took the lead. “Thank you for coming, Mr. and Mrs. Greene. I’m afraid we have some bad news.”

  That caught them off guard. Caren Greene jerked upright, sliding to the edge of the sofa. “What do you mean bad news? Does that mean you’re not taking the case?”

  Her tone was a combination of disbelief and strident entitlement. Her husband placed a possessive hand on her knee as if intent on holding her in place.

  “It means that any investigation into the ReNew treatment program would be prolonged and with little hope of gaining you the evidence you need to prove they caused your daughter’s death,” Jenna answered in a level tone.

  “She killed herself the day we rescued her from that hellhole,” Caren retorted. “Of course, it was their fault.”

  “Yes ma’am. But if you want to pursue legal action against them, you’ll need proof of that.” She glanced at Andre who took his cue.

  “That will mean looking into your daughter’s life as well as investigating ReNew. I’m afraid what we’ve found so far isn’t very promising.”

  “Surely there have been other incidents,” Robert Greene said. “Students who could act as witnesses—”

  Jenna shook her head. “We found several complaints—not unusual given that they serve such a high-risk population of juveniles. However, they were all rescinded by the families involved. And because ReNew is church owned and operated, they aren’t bound by the regulations restricting other schools, so there’s no official government agency that could justify an inquiry.”

  “We know all that,” Greene snapped. “We’ve been through that already with our lawyers.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” his wife added. “We want you to investigate them. Find whatever proof you need to shut them down.”

  Jenna opened the folder Morgan had given her and leaned forward, sliding an eight-by-ten in front of the Greenes. It was a headshot of a distinguished-appearing middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a friendly smile.

  “Reverend Amos Benjamin. Founder of ReNew.” She tapped a manicured nail on Benjamin’s forehead, the exact same spot a sniper would take a kill shot. “He’s fifty-seven years old. Never married. No criminal record. His bio states he has a doctor of divinity, but our research wasn’t able to confirm that.”

  “Because the man’s a fraud,” Caren said, sounding vindicated.

  “Because the school closed and all their records were lost in a fire.”

  “Convenient.” Greene pushed the photo away in disgust.

  “He moved here from Ohio sixteen years ago and established the ReNew Foundation. Built his congregation over the next several years and then bought the land and began the community. He—or rather the church—now owns over two hundred acres, the church, a fellowship hall, the ReNew Treatment Center, and there are fourteen families living on the land in houses leased from the church with the plans to build eight more this year.”

  “It’s a cult. He’s building a cult—surely that’s against the law?” Caren bounced in excitement.

  “I’m afraid not. It’s all legal. And we’ve no evidence of any classic cult behavior. His members are free to come and go. We couldn’t find any disgruntled members with our brief background check.” She meant Morgan’s research, but Morgan simply sat quietly, studying the Greenes and how Jenna maneuvered them. She was setting them up for a big payoff, and even Robert Greene, Mr. CEO, didn’t see it coming.

  “In sum,” Jenna said, “everything appears to be legit.”

  The Greenes bristled at that, but Jenna didn’t give them time to jump ship. “Which means we’re going to have to do a lot of digging to find their secrets. Anything buried that deep is going to take time and resources to unearth.”

  Caren gripped her husband’s hand. “We have resources. Anything you need. But please, please, you have to find the truth. I need to know why my baby died.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Start by telling us about BreeAnna,” Jenna said.

  Caren nodded, glanced at her husband, took his hand—he didn’t offer it, Jenna noted—and started. “BreeAnna’s always been a sensitive child. High-strung, sometimes even willful. She was an early-bloomer, started puberty when she was eleven, and well, ever since, living with her hasn’t been easy.”

  She made it sound as if her child had broken a lease agreement. The dad wasn’t even paying attention; his head was turned to look out the window.

  To Jenna’s surprise, Andre spoke up from behind her. “Did you also have problems with BreeAnna, Mr. Greene?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral, but Jenna knew better. Andre’s dad had died in prison when he was a toddler; his mom had taken off to parts unknown soon after until she’d also died, drug overdose, when he was ten. He had strong feelings on the sanctity of family.

  Robert Greene took his time in answering, slowly turning back to face them. “Caren bore the brunt of it,” he said, now intertwining his fingers with his wife’s as if he spoke for both of them.

  “But you both thought ReNew was the best place for BreeAnna?” Andre continue
d, his voice gentle now. He didn’t mention that the mother had been the one to remove BreeAnna from the treatment facility against medical advice. Only hours before she hung herself from the upper balcony of their three-story mansion.

  The couple focused on the floor in front of them, not meeting Andre’s or Jenna’s gaze—and not making eye contact with each other. Jenna restrained her own glare, irritated that Andre’s questions may have scared them off. How were they supposed to investigate anything if they couldn’t even get their own clients to talk?

  “Can you give us specific examples of BreeAnna’s behavior?” Jenna asked Caren, trying to get things back on track.

  The mother stared at her husband’s hand wrapped around her own. She made a choking noise, shoulders heaving.

  Her husband glanced up, his gaze sliding off Jenna’s, then placed his arm carefully around Caren’s body, drawing her to him protectively. “What does this have to do with ReNew?”

  “We need to understand everything we can about BreeAnna,” Andre answered. “Her life, her dreams, her hopes.” Caren flinched at his words, but the father remained impassive. “Why she grew so out of control that you sent her there.”

  Caren’s head jerked back so hard and fast it hit the back of the sofa. “It was me. I made the decision. I’m the one who sent her there.” Spasms ran up and down her neck as she choked back sobs. “It’s all my fault. BreeAnna is dead because of me.”

  Andre knew he’d pissed off Jenna with his questioning of the Greenes. He didn’t really care. Why come to a brand-new firm like theirs to start with? Sure, Jenna had been in the headlines with her big-time cases when she worked for the Feds, but Andre was just a grunt. Yet even he could see there was something off with this case and the Greenes. Why were they so insistent on pursuing this investigation while refusing to give Andre and Jenna any facts to go on?

  Greene didn’t even turn the whole way around to face his wife. It was obvious he’d heard her confession before. As the father’s expression turned to granite, Andre caught a flicker of guilt. Greene leaned forward, both hands gripped tight around his knees, leaving his wife without comfort.

  Had the father no say in the decision to send his daughter to ReNew? Busy executive, how involved was he with his wife and family? Maybe Greene was having an affair; that would account for his distance. Andre made a note to look into the Greenes’ marriage. With a child dead, nothing was off-limits.

  “I did the best I could,” Caren said to the ceiling, leaning back against the couch as if she couldn’t support her own weight. “The school, ReNew, they had references—even from our minister. And I just couldn’t take it anymore.” Her chest heaved as she gulped down a breath. “I couldn’t watch my family self-destruct like that. I had to do something.”

  Greene made a low noise, deep in his throat, and finally raised an arm to wrap around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her to him once more. He glared at Andre as if her pain was his fault. Andre kept his face impassive as he stared back. Nice thing about his scars, they made for a helluva poker face.

  Jenna broke the impasse, awkwardly handing Caren a tissue. Caren stifled her sobs, wiped her tears, but still didn’t look up. “You don’t understand,” she said in a low tone, one suitable for confession—or a funeral. “I was trying to save her.”

  “It’s okay,” Jenna said, even though clearly it wasn’t. “Tell us what happened.”

  Caren nodded. Andre had a feeling Caren Greene enjoyed the spotlight as much as she did the catharsis of baring her soul to strangers.

  “I could take the smoking, her skipping school, the shoplifting, sneaking our liquor, even the marijuana,” Caren started. “I mean, we were all kids once, right?”

  Andre glanced up at that. Hardly overboard for a rebellious teenager. Of course, that was teenagers from his Homewood zip code—the kind of folks who wouldn’t even qualify to work as servants for a family like the Greenes. The ME’s report had documented a negative tox screen. BreeAnna had been clean at the time of her death.

  Jenna made an encouraging noise. Caren continued, “She hated me. She really did. The things she said when we fought—and we fought constantly. Hateful, vile, things. She even hit me a few times. I tried to get her to counseling, to talk to the youth ministers at our church—she refused. Said I was the one who needed help, not her. That I was trying to control her life—”

  Finally her husband joined in, although he still didn’t turn to look at his wife. “She was a fourteen-year-old girl, Caren. Of course, she hated her mother for trying to set boundaries. You can’t keep beating yourself up over it.”

  “Is that why you sent her to ReNew?” Jenna asked in a gentle tone. “Because she was becoming more violent?”

  Caren shook her head, staring at the wrung-out tissue in her hands. “No. Not just that. I was bringing her clean sheets and towels when I found a bag full of lingerie on her bed. Expensive lingerie she could never have afforded to buy. Things much, much too mature for her to ever wear. And then, in her bathroom, I found a pregnancy test.”

  That got Greene’s attention. “A pregnancy test?”

  Andre looked up. Why did Greene sound as if he was hearing this for the first time? If not from his daughter, then why hadn’t his wife told him? Maybe Greene wasn’t just a father who was absent physically; maybe he’d checked out of the marriage and his family altogether . . . or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe Caren hadn’t disclosed anything to her husband because she was afraid of his reaction. Greene was solidly built, seemed like the type who might hit first and ask questions later, despite his veneer of a polished executive.

  “No. It was negative, thank God, but that’s when I knew I had to take drastic measures.” Caren glanced up at her husband. “Not like you’d ever do it yourself. She had you wrapped around her little finger, could sweet-talk you into anything.”

  He grimaced. “My hours, I work hard, travel weeks at a time—is it too much to ask to come home and relax with my family instead of walking into a battlefield and being expected to referee?”

  “She needed you to be her father, not her best friend,” Caren snapped.

  Greene slid his hand down her arm to intertwine his fingers with hers. He squeezed her hand. Offering support or reminding her they weren’t alone, Andre wondered. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Greene didn’t ask who may have gotten his daughter pregnant.

  Andre caught Morgan’s eye. She raised an eyebrow, glanced at Greene, and he knew she was thinking the same thing. He cleared his throat, wishing Jenna was the one doing the asking. She had a way of making the most intrusive questions sound reasonable.

  “We’ll need to know who BreeAnna’s boyfriend was,” he said. “And if she had any contact with him after she came home from ReNew.”

  Greene’s head jerked up, his expression thunderous. If it wasn’t for Caren’s grip on his arm, he would have come out of the couch. “Do you think we would allow our daughter anywhere near—”

  Caren interrupted, her voice carrying over her husband’s. “I have no idea who BreeAnna was seeing. She refused to tell me—it was one of the reasons why we were fighting so much, especially after I grounded her.”

  “How long after that fight did she leave for ReNew?” Jenna asked.

  The tension in the room eased, as if answering a simple numeric question would give them the key to BreeAnna’s death.

  “Two nights later,” Caren said. “I tried to talk to her, about the sex—she was only fourteen for God’s sake—about whoever the boy was.”

  Or man, Andre added silently. Fourteen-year-old girls didn’t find a way to the mall and shoplift expensive lingerie to impress fourteen-year-old boys.

  “But she became more and more out of control. Explosive is the only word I can use to describe what she was like. Then, that last night, I caught her trying to sneak out, run away, and I thought, this is it. If I don’t do som
ething here and now, I’m going to lose her forever.” She paused, eyes closed, face up to the ceiling. “So I made the call. I sent her away to that place.” She opened her eyes, stared directly at Jenna. “I will never, ever forgive myself.”

  After a moment of silence, Greene said, “Is there anything else you need to know about our private life?”

  Life. Singular. As if his daughter and wife lived for him, through him, three lives intertwined as one.

  There was a lot more they needed to know. Impatient with Jenna’s dancing around the issue, Andre asked, “Why did you withdraw BreeAnna from ReNew early?”

  Caren’s shoulders slumped as violent sobs rocked her body. Once again, her husband glared up at Andre as if he was to blame for her pain instead of the weight of their grief. Jenna shook her head at him, scowling as if he’d made a rookie mistake. He frowned back at her. He might not have her training, but he knew enough to see that the Greenes were holding out on them.

  Caren’s sobs grew in volume, crowding the small room as if her grief had a life of its own. It was clear they wouldn’t get more now. Might be best to question Greene alone, Andre decided. The more emotional Caren became, the more rigid and stoic the husband grew. They fed off each other.

  Where had BreeAnna fit into the family’s delicate ecosystem?

  “I think that’s enough for now,” Jenna said. “But we’ll need to talk to BreeAnna’s friends, teachers—see if any of them had any inkling she was about to kill herself.”

  “Electronics,” Morgan reminded her. Andre looked over at Morgan—she’d been so still and quiet, he’d forgotten she was there. He wondered what her take on the Greenes was. But Morgan’s poker face was even better than his own. He hoped Jenna knew what she was doing, bringing a kid like Morgan into the mix.

  “Oh yes,” Jenna said as if it was her idea, “any electronics she might have had access to and her passwords if you know them.”