The White Iris

by Susanne Matthews

  Rubbing her temples to ease a nascent headache, she continued down the hall to Ellie’s old office. Lenore was making dinner tonight. The least Julie could do was be on time. She’d stop for a bottle of wine on the way home, then put up her feet. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she’d take Leon’s advice.

  Since Lenore was due at a faculty dinner tomorrow night, Julie had invited Dalton to dinner at her apartment, not because she was attracted to him, but because she didn’t want to be alone. He’d canceled earlier in the day when he’d been called back to Nevada for a family emergency. She hadn’t even realized he had family there.

  Why wouldn’t he? Just because she was alone in the world didn’t mean everyone was. Maybe she should see a grief counselor. She couldn’t go on like this, but for now, she’d unwind with a bottle of wine.

  • • •

  Knuckles rapped on Trevor’s door, and Tom Adams, one of the Boston Police Department detectives seconded to the task force, poked his head inside. The burly man with blood pressure issues had opted to put off his retirement until they solved the Harvester/Prophet case. His instincts had probably saved more lives than Trevor could count. He’d been the one to see Special Agent Garrett Pierce wasn’t who he claimed to be. Just thinking about how Pierce had played them for fools made his own blood boil.

  “What’s up, Tom?”

  “I’m taking off early. I’ve got to drive up to Canada and back this weekend. Fiona’s niece in New Brunswick fell and broke her leg. She’s got three little ones, so Fiona wants to go up and help for a couple of weeks. She’s spent the last two days cooking and baking. There’s enough food in our freezer to feed a platoon. Some she’s leaving for me, the rest she’s taking up there. Personally, I hope she stays as long as she can. I get up each morning wondering if today will be the day he strikes again. I hate sitting around waiting.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve had the feeling someone’s about to pull the rug out from under me for the past two weeks, and now the weather’s gone to hell in a handbasket.”

  Tom nodded. “Driving in the rain sucks, but I’ve got a good three hours of daylight still. I should be back late Sunday afternoon. Fiona should enjoy the fall colors. You know, autumn in New England, and all that.” Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “I got that report on the Templars, that cult Lilith wanted me to look into, the place where her niece apparently was sent fifteen years ago. The damn thing took me so long because it wasn’t a cult. The Templars of Mary was a religious order that provided shelter for orphans and abandoned children. It was located just outside of Reno, Nevada. The order disbanded about twelve years ago, which was why nothing came up in the preliminary searches. The facility was bought out by the White Iris Foundation and turned into a research and rehabilitation center for cancer patients.”

  “Damn, that’s not going to help much. What about records?”

  “No one seems to know what happened to them. According to the agent in Reno who managed to track this down, the nuns put the children up for private adoption. The lawyer who did most of the work is dead.”

  Trevor shook his head. “It figures. Another dead end, pardon the pun. Lilith’s going to be disappointed.”

  “I know. She was so sure she’d find a lead on Rose there, but damn it, fifteen years is an eternity in a case like this. Maybe if we’d started looking back then…”

  “Yeah, but Lilith was only fourteen when her sister died and the baby disappeared. It wasn’t her responsibility to look for the child. Someone dropped the ball, but it wasn’t her.”

  “Unless something new crops up, I’m going to check in with my old precinct on Monday. We don’t have any fresh leads, and I’m spinning my wheels here. Aren’t you supposed to go to Washington in a week or so?”

  “Yes, I have a meeting with L.D. Hamilton, the president’s advisor on domestic terrorism, scheduled for next Thursday. You can be damn sure it won’t be pleasant. The boss has already spoken to me about this, but I’m sure L.D. wants to get his own licks in for being questioned in connection with the Prophet. You’d think the agent would’ve realized that was a false lead. The president of the United States appointed the man himself. Apparently some well-meaning individual sent Hamilton a photograph of the writing on the wall in the pub Pierce and his crew blew up in September. He’s convinced the Prophet poses a clear and present danger, especially now that he realizes we haven’t got a clue as to what the bastard really looks like. I told him we had it under control, but he wants a face-to-face meeting. Probably has to justify his expenses for the Treasury watchdogs, or he wants to hand me my ass in person.”

  Tom chuckled. “I doubt he’ll fire you, but you know, he may not be too far off the mark about the threat level.” He leaned against the door frame, not in the least as relaxed as his pose indicated, according to his flushed face. “The Prophet promised ten plagues unless he got his people back, and so far, he’s delivered only one but has nothing to show for it. We’ve cremated all the bodies, and most of those have gone to Australia with Jacob, the children, and the settlers. Not only will the Prophet never get his people back, but we’ve arrested nine more and killed six others.”

  “There was no way we could keep those bodies. Once the autopsies were done, Amos signed off on them. There’s plenty of evidence when this case comes to trial. Those kids we’ve got in custody didn’t really belong to New Horizon, although God knows what’s going to happen to them. They resisted arrest, shot and wounded law enforcement officers, and were implicated in a terrorist attack. The state and the feds will throw the book at them. They’re expendable. I honestly don’t believe the Prophet is losing any sleep over them.”

  “You’re probably right, but he won’t quit. I don’t see him giving up on the children, the women, and the rest of the settlers that easily. Pierce might’ve been a son of a bitch, but that plague wouldn’t have been his idea. That had to come from the top.”

  “I agree, but I’m grateful for the respite.” Trevor stood, walked over to the window, and looked outside. The rain had eased some, but from the color of the clouds, it was far from over. Tom’s six-and-a-half-hour drive wouldn’t be pleasant.

  “Checking in with Boston PD is a good idea,” he continued, turning back to the detective. “I know they’re shorthanded these days. Crime’s on the rise, and we can’t blame the Prophet for all of it. You might as well stay there until you hear from me. Drive carefully. The roads are a mess, and unless the damn rain lets up, visibility won’t be that good. While I’m in Washington, I’ll check in with Cartwright, the top dog over at Homeland Security, and see if they can look into that lawyer—what was his name?”

  Tom looked at the notes in his hands. “Andrew Weber.”

  Trevor scribbled the name on a memo pad. “I know this isn’t really part of the case, but damn it, Lilith’s suffered enough because of these bastards; she should be entitled to a freebie. If we can track down her niece, it’ll go a long way toward making things right again. It’s my fault she ended up in Pierce’s hands a second time. I owe her.”

  “I don’t know how long a lawyer’s files are kept,” Tom said, “but there would’ve been papers filed with the state, and if we can determine when they were filed, we might be able to track them down. Adoption records are usually sealed, but the FBI and Homeland Security should be able to do something about that.”

  “I hope so. Lilith, Rob, and Jacob should be back soon, and I’d love to give her something else to make her smile. She’s excited about Micah’s potential lead into Kelly Kirk’s whereabouts, but finding Rose would really be something.”

  “I’m praying those three down under come up with new ideas on the Great Burning while they are recuperating. God knows we can use all the help we can get.”

  Trevor nodded. “Amen to that. By the way, as soon as the weather clears, Micah and Davis are going to Nebraska, following a lead on an Arabian horse.”

  “When Lilith suggested we accept Micah’s help, I was leery, but the man seems d
edicated to bringing down his former god. Must be tough admitting you’ve been made a fool of all your life. And, as much as I hate to admit it, having Homeland Security put a member on the team was a good idea. Davis and Micah work well together.”

  “Yeah, they do. When the case is over, he’s free to go to Evergreen, but don’t ask me what the hell we’re supposed to do with the rest of the New Horizon cult members when we do find them.”

  “It shouldn’t be our problem,” Tom said. “Once you cut the head off the snake, the damn thing dies. The brethren will be better off without their Prophet. If they choose to keep living like that, at least the simple, old-fashioned part of it, so be it. It won’t be a lifestyle imposed on them by a megalomaniac with delusions of godhood, willing to kill millions to support his cause. Who knows? Maybe, like Micah, they’ll see the light. Without the Prophet’s mesmerizing rhetoric and mind-control drugs, they might recognize the truth of the matter.”

  Trevor nodded. “You know, when we do catch the Prophet, we’ll have a hell of a dilemma on our hands. The last thing I want is a bunch of demigods haggling over his throne. I’m not sure what charges we can bring against the other Chosen, but we have to avoid a turf war.”

  “We sure as hell can’t make a martyr of him. Some civil rights lawyer could turn everything into a media circus.”

  “I agree,” Trevor said. “When we nail the bastard, and we will, I want this case sewn up so tightly, no one can unravel it. It anything goes wrong, someone else might pick up his fight.

  Before you go, have we had any reports from the CDC or pharmaceutical companies about any thefts of virulent substances?”

  “No. The new guy Quantico sent us, Declan Horvath, is keeping tabs on it. He’s contacted all the major drug companies and spoken with the acting director at the CDC. Nothing amiss, nothing out of line. Apparently he got quite an earful on security. Only a few facilities work with anything that lethal. The president should appoint a permanent director for the CDC next week. He’s just giving everyone time to mourn before he makes the announcement.”

  Trevor nodded. “I had a tour of the CDC the last time I was in Atlanta. If the director says there isn’t a problem, I’ll accept that. I knew the people killed. I only met Brad Johnson in July, but Ellie Swift was an old friend. Have Declan stay on it. I still think the easiest way for the Prophet to get his hands on a deadly virus or a nerve agent is to steal one, and while the CDC may be safe, not every lab is as secure as they are.”

  “Will do. I’ll see you when I see you.” Tom left the office and shut the door behind him.

  Trevor reopened the file he knew inside out and backward, praying something new would jump out at him. Half an hour later, disgusted with his lack of progress, he closed the folders, shoved them into his bottom drawer, and reached for his suit jacket. It was almost five, and there wasn’t much more he could do today.

  He picked up his phone and dialed the bullpen.

  “Horvath.”

  “Declan, I’m packing it in for the day. I won’t be in this weekend. I need to clear my head. Call me on my cell if anything comes up.”

  “You’ve got it, Trevor. Have a nice weekend. You going to watch the game?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a twenty-dollar bet on the Bengals over the Seahawks—double if the Patriots win, too. See you Monday.”

  Trevor hung up. At least he’d be talking to his brother on Sunday. Julie had no one left.

  Chapter Four

  Trevor was halfway out the door when the phone on his desk rang. Had Declan forgotten to tell him something? He glanced at his watch. It was only 8:00 a.m. in Melbourne. Maybe Lilith had good news. He could certainly use some. The call was on an outside line—had to be Lilith.

  “Hello,” he answered on the third ring. “How are things in the land down under?”

  “Is this Special Agent Trevor Clark?”

  Silently cursing his bad habit of jumping to conclusions, he squared his shoulders and assumed his professional demeanor. That tendency of his had driven Julie crazy. She was all about doing things scientifically.

  “This is Agent Clark. I’m sorry. I was expecting another call. How can I help you?”

  “This is Lynette James. We met at a symposium a few years ago on forensic anthropology. At the request of the FBI—you in particular, I believe—the Jefferson University Forensic Department sent me to study the remains unearthed at an abandoned commune in New Mexico.”

  Trevor inhaled sharply. Dr. Lynette James was one of the nation’s foremost authorities on forensic pathology and anthropology. There’d been a number of bodies uncovered in shallow graves back at the original compound site, before New Horizon had left its home and scattered across the remaining states.

  He’d forgotten she was still working on those old bones. Back in June, when Dr. James had been brought in, he’d been looking for evidence to prove a pattern of cyanide poisoning, the method the Prophet used to release, aka kill, James Colchester’s rape and kidnapping victims. But based on the information they’d since learned from Jacob, most of those people likely had died as a result of an epidemic.

  “I remember,” he said. “During the seminar, you claimed they spoke loudly and clearly. Did those?”

  “Loudly, yes, but in this case, clearly, no,” Dr. James answered, pulling him out of his head. “I’ve completed my examination. We found sixty-six bodies, but there were sixty-seven grave markers. One of the coffins was empty.”

  “You mean the body had completely deteriorated, bones and all?”

  “No. I mean someone removed the body from the coffin.”

  “Someone robbed the grave?”

  “It certainly looks that way. There was a body there about thirty years ago. We found scraps of fabric from a shroud—too badly deteriorated for DNA sampling—but nothing else. I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you,” Dr. James continued, “but these things sometimes take an unexpected turn, and we have to follow all the leads. Unfortunately, I’m on my way to Africa for the World Health Organization. My plane leaves first thing tomorrow. Can I give you an overview now and then send you the full report? If you have any questions, you can message me in Johannesburg.”

  “That’ll work. I hope that assignment will be more interesting than cataloging cases of dengue fever fatalities.”

  “While dengue fever definitely went through the compound, there were only about a dozen deaths that could be attributed directly to it, and even in those cases, there were extenuating circumstances and secondary issues.”

  Trevor choked on the air he’d inhaled. “Did you say only a dozen, as in twelve?”

  “Yes. Twenty of the victims died from natural causes—heart disease, cancer, and assorted system failures you’d attribute to old age. I found two incidents of cyanide poisoning, one from about twenty years ago—a young woman. The other was a three-year-old boy, and I’d date that one at no more than two or three years ago.”

  Trevor frowned. It looked as if he might have his evidence after all. The three-year-old would’ve been Rachel’s son, the first person in captivity to realize what a monster the Prophet really was. But who was the other?

  “And the rest?” If the fever and old age hadn’t killed them, what had? He’d gotten the impression from Jacob that people had been dropping like flies during the epidemic.

  “The remaining thirty-two, all of whom date back about twenty years ago and may have also had dengue fever, died from oleander poisoning.”

  “What?” he asked. His sister-in-law had oleander bushes in her garden in Tacoma. How the hell did people with dengue fever end up dead because of flowers?

  Trevor dropped into his desk chair and stared at the keypad on the phone as if it held some magic that would make sense out of what Dr. James had said. Why would Jacob have been so sure the people had died of dengue fever if they’d been poisoned?

  “Oleander, like the flower?” he asked, trying to get his head around this newest piece of information.

&nbs
p; “It’s a flowering bush, actually. There are quite a few plants all around us that can kill us if we aren’t careful. Nobody worries about buttercups, yet all parts of that plant can damage the digestive system. In addition to the oleander, we found high concentrations of DEET in a number of the older adults. I’m assuming it was misused to control the mosquito population. People had no idea how dangerous those chemicals were back then, but the oleander stymied us. We went back over the results several times just to be sure we hadn’t made a mistake. Eventually, a member of my staff and I returned to the commune to verify our findings. While we can’t be 100 percent certain, unless you can prove the contrary, we’re going to assume the poisoning was unintentional and rule those deaths as accidental, leaving you with two potential murder victims.”

  High concentrations of DEET? He knew the insecticide ingredient could be dangerous, but he hadn’t realized it could be fatal. Hell, he used the stuff regularly. Maybe he’d rethink that.

  “So, these people sprayed for bugs, cut down the trees and bushes, and poisoned themselves?”

  “Essentially, yes. Many of the bodies revealed they’d have been borderline anemic, some actually malnourished. Most likely they didn’t supplement their diet with vitamins, and their dental care was minimal. No doubt they used herbal medicines, and unless you know what you’re doing … If someone had tossed oleander branches into a fire, the smoke combined with a weakened immune system could account for the poisoning, but my guess is someone accidentally used the leaves to make tea, thinking they were providing an herbal remedy. It’s so easy to mix up ingredients.”

  “Sort of like Arsenic and Old Lace, or mixing up mushrooms and toadstools?”

  She chuckled. “Something like that, but as I recall, the ladies were quite deliberate in brewing their arsenic-laced tea.”

  “They were. What would’ve been the symptoms of DEET and oleander poisoning?”