Guilt Game_The Extractor

by L. J. Sellers

  As she neared the duplex, Rox called Marty. “Hey, pal. I’ve got good news.”

  “About time. What’s the word?”

  “Ronnie, the older member I told you about, is Margo Preston’s daughter. We can exploit that to get Margo out of the complex right after Blackstone leaves.”

  “I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that.”

  “Me too. And I have Margo’s phone number.”

  “How the hell did you get all that?”

  “Another trip to the soup kitchen, posing as a freelance writer.” Rox was proud of her performance. “Pretending that I admired Margo enough to want to interview her was challenging.”

  “Could you have done it before your treatment?”

  “Maybe, but I would have been less believable.”

  “Are you gonna start wearing something besides blue?”

  The blue bothered him? He mostly wore blue, gray, and white. Marty laughed, and she relaxed. “Maybe some teal or violet,” she joked. “Blue has been good to me, so I can’t abandon it.”

  “As a former cop, me neither.”

  At home, she heated up a frozen pizza and sat down to watch the news. After a few minutes of watching another bomb report, she shut off the TV. Shaking, she had to sit for a minute before she could eat dinner. Working at the CIA and learning just how devious and evil terrorist organizations were had made her hypersensitive to the subject. Mass shootings were becoming like that for her too. She wanted to be informed, but all the death was overwhelming.

  After she washed up, she headed to her desk and took out her case file. A piece of this operation was still missing, something she’d forgotten to do. She suddenly realized what it was and called her client. Jenny Carson didn’t answer, so Rox left a message: “I’m attempting an extraction tomorrow afternoon. Have the deprogramming specialist ready to step in.” She hoped the Carsons had found someone as she’d suggested.

  Rox hung up and read through her notes, hoping to find a loose end, a piece of research she could do this evening to be productive. Halfway through, her burner phone rang. Not Jenny or Greg Loffland. Another client? That would be surprising. With some reluctance, she answered. “Hello?”

  “Is this Karina Jones?”

  She didn’t recognize the voice, and he sounded a little drunk or high. “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Just think of me as the guy you fucked over when you took my son. The state has him now, and when I find you, you’re gonna pay.” He hung up.

  CHAPTER 18

  Sunday, April 23, 8:40 a.m.

  Detective Kyle Wilson parked in the lot behind the Sister Love soup kitchen and climbed from his unmarked sedan. The area was overrun with homeless people and a bit sketchy. But that didn’t stop fifty people from standing in line at the Voodoo Doughnut shop across the street on a Sunday morning. He rounded the building and saw a line at the charity kitchen too. Blackstone’s work crew wouldn’t appreciate having to stop and answer questions right now, but murder investigations didn’t run according to witness convenience.

  The ragged men ignored his polite attempts to bypass the line, so Wilson called out, “Police, let me through.”

  They grudgingly parted, and he stepped into the dark, ugly building that was filled with a delicious simmering smell. He pushed his way to the counter and tried to get the attention of the first woman on the line. Her yellow scrubs and meth-scarred face surprised him. Another detective had been here a few days before, but he hadn’t reported what the crew was wearing, and Rox had indicated the girls were all young. Probably none of it mattered. This was likely a dead end for the murder case, but he was still trying to find Bethany’s family. The rest of his team was more focused on finding the serial killer. But they needed to notify Bethany’s next of kin, and he was behind on the task. The whole department had been sidetracked for two days with a shooting at a library, and they were just now getting back to their regular duties.

  When the woman finally looked at him, he said, “Detective Wilson, Portland PD. I need to ask a few questions about Bethany Grant.”

  The woman grimaced. Grief or frustration, he couldn’t tell. “Can it wait a few hours? We’re kinda busy here.” A little sarcasm.

  “I see that, and I won’t take up much of your time. Can we step out back where it’s quiet?”

  “I’ll give you five minutes.” The woman turned to the other girls, who were much younger. “I’m stepping out for a cigarette break.”

  The closest one, wearing blue scrubs, rolled her eyes but didn’t respond.

  Wilson walked around the end of the counter and followed the woman in yellow out the back door. She lit a smoke, took a deep drag, and leaned against the back wall.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ronnie.” She eyeballed him. “You find Bethany’s killer yet?”

  Her attitude annoyed him. “I’ll ask the questions.”

  “Whatever.”

  “What do you know about Bethany’s life outside the charity?”

  “Not much. We leave our past behind.”

  Yeah, right. “Where was she from?” They hadn’t found the victim in the DMV database, nor did she have an Oregon birth certificate.

  “Northern Cali, somewhere. Some coastal town that started with an i or an e.”

  That narrowed it down a little. “Eureka?”

  “Maybe. We didn’t talk much.”

  “Who did talk to her?”

  “Don’t know.” The heavy woman gave a small shrug.

  “Do you know anything else about Bethany?”

  “Not really.”

  This was a dead end. But just in case Bethany’s murder had been personal but made to look like the work of the serial killer, he tried a more traditional approach. “Was there anyone new in her life? Someone unexpected?”

  Ronnie took another drag and said, “A nun came in and chatted with Bethany a few days ago. That was kind of odd.”

  A wave of discomfort hit him. “What day and what time?”

  “Last week. Maybe Wednesday afternoon. That’s the best I can remember.”

  The day Rox had been here. “What did they talk about?”

  “Bethany said the nun wanted to recruit her.”

  “What did the nun look like?”

  Ronnie rolled her eyes. “Ugly black dress. You know.”

  “What size person? Tall, short, fat? Give me something.”

  “Tall, but not fat. Sort of pretty.”

  It could have been Rox. Damn. Why hadn’t she told him? And what else was she keeping from him about this case? He really cared about her, but she could be so stubborn. Plus, the treatments were changing her personality, and he didn’t know what to expect from her anymore. “Thanks for your time.” He handed Ronnie a business card. “If you think of anything else you know about Bethany, please call me. I need to find her family.”

  Already in the back lot, Wilson turned and walked toward his car. This was the weirdest case. The victim had no ID, no cell phone, no computer, and no personal effects to search. And they still had no idea who she really was.

  Abruptly Ronnie called after him, “Bethany killed her father, so I don’t think she has any family to find.”

  Wilson spun back. “What do you mean?”

  “She accidentally shot her father when they were doing target practice, and I think he was the only family she had.”

  Bizarre! But it also explained why she’d joined the guilt cult. Now the poor girl had been murdered, mostly likely by a psychopath. “Do you know the father’s name?”

  “No.” Ronnie flicked her cigarette down and went back inside.

  As Wilson drove back to the department, he considered calling Rox, then decided to wait. He would rather confront her in person and look in her eyes when they talked. The magnet treatments had changed her, and she seemed less direct and more emotional now. He cared about her, but it wasn’t a good combination for him. He wanted more affection from her, but not in public. And he needed her to be
consistent. His job made most of his life chaotic, and he needed his girlfriend and potential life partner to be predictable. With her blue shirts and direct, deadpan responses, Rox had been that. But now he didn’t even know if he trusted her to always level with him.

  At his desk, he got online, found the Eureka Police Department, and made the call. After identifying himself and the nature of his inquiry, he was finally connected to Detective Allen Walsh. “I need to know about Bethany Grant. She was murdered here in Portland, Oregon, and I’m looking for her family.”

  “Wow. That’s damn sad.” Papers rustled in the background. “The girl accidentally shot her father a year or so ago, then tried to commit suicide.” He paused, as if trying to recall. “She was in a treatment center for a while, then disappeared after she was released.”

  Walsh was a slow talker, and Wilson made notes as he listened. The backstory was interesting, but not what he needed to know. “What about her other family? I need to notify someone so they can claim her body.”

  “There’s no one that I know of. The dad was an only child, and so was Bethany.” The other detective made a mulling-over throat sound. “I wonder what happens to the royalties now.”

  “What royalties?”

  “Barrett Grant was a writer. Science fiction, I think. He had a monthly income from his books that he left to Bethany in a trust.”

  Also interesting. “How much money?”

  “I’m trying to remember. But I think it was several thousand a month.”

  The Eureka PD had probably seen the financials at the time of the father’s death. “Do you still have a copy of the will?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll check.”

  “Fax it to me, please. Along with whatever financial and banking information you have.” Wilson rattled off his fax number, hoping he didn’t have to make a trip to California. “Did you ever suspect the daughter of murder?”

  “Of course.” The slow drawl was gone. “But that girl was so distraught, we quickly let go of the idea. Besides, Grant didn’t have much in the bank at the time, just the latest royalty payment.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “Nope. I hope you catch her killer. Good luck.” Walsh ended the call.

  Wilson silently cursed the new information. Not only was there no one to claim the body, but now that money was a possible motive, the task force had to reconsider Blackstone—and everyone in the cult—as suspects. First, he needed a look at Barrett Grant’s will and finances. Maybe it wasn’t enough money to kill for. Had Bethany left a will? Doubtful. If she hadn’t, where would the royalties go? Did they come by check, or were they directly deposited? Shit. This was getting complicated, and he had just wanted to send the poor girl home.

  CHAPTER 19

  Sunday, April 23, 8:35 a.m.

  After a morning dance session and shower, Rox headed over to Marty’s for their traditional Sunday breakfast. He liked to make French toast and bacon, and she was happy to eat it. Thank god her size and healthy metabolism burned off almost everything. She knocked, he called out, “Clear,” and she stepped into his side of the duplex. She glanced around for signs that his new girlfriend had stayed over but didn’t see any. The side-by-side recliners didn’t have any pillows or blankets added, and she didn’t smell any perfume. The wall filled with sports photos and memorabilia still visually bothered her, so clearly parts of her brain hadn’t been affected by the treatment. The blanket made of MacFarlane tartan still hung over the couch. She hated the damn thing. But she kind of loved it too, despite its garish red-and-black plaid.

  “Good morning,” Marty called cheerfully from the kitchen.

  Maybe he had gotten laid the night before while she was working. Good for him. “Morning.” Rox walked into the kitchen, and the smell of crispy bacon overwhelmed her. She snagged a piece from the plate where it cooled and munched it. “You ready to tell me about your girlfriend?”

  “Not yet.” He grinned and transferred food from the counter to the table. “Let’s eat and plan this mission.”

  After they’d cleared the dishes, Rox finally told him about the threatening phone call the night before.

  “Son of a bitch!” Marty slammed down his empty coffee cup. “Do you know who it was?”

  It was more reaction than she’d expected. “My best guess is Marcus Cubano, the guy we took the little boy away from in our first case.” She’d had only four extractions in the year and a half she’d been a private investigator. “His wife was our client. And if the state has custody of the kid now, then she messed up.”

  “How did he get your Karina Jones number?”

  “Good question. She probably went back to the prick and told him.”

  Marty shook his head, obviously disgusted. “I don’t understand why women stay with abusive men.”

  Jolene was the unspoken mystery, as always. They would never really know how a smart, confident woman had ended up in an abusive multiple marriage. But Rox knew the scenarios were always more complicated than they seemed on the surface. And this subject was always personal for both of them. “Don’t think about Jo,” she pleaded. “Or my safety. It’s probably an empty threat. He sounded a little drunk.”

  “What if Cubano finds you?” Marty stood, his body stiff with tension.

  “I’ve covered my tracks well.”

  “We have to find him first.”

  She shook her head. “No, let’s stay focused on getting Emma out. Then we’ll worry about Cubano.” Rox stood, feeling too worked up to sit any longer. “And we still have to shut down the charity.”

  “Blackstone needs prison time,” Marty snarled. “I can’t believe he’s physically abusing those poor girls who already feel so bad about themselves.”

  Her stepdad was such a good man. Maybe that was the reason she’d never dated anyone for more than a year. Most men just didn’t measure up to his level. Kyle might though. She shook off the thought. “Let’s run through the plan again, then head out. I’d rather sit in a stakeout at the complex than wait it out here.”

  “I’m with you on that.” Marty suddenly grabbed both her arms, like he had when she was a child and he needed her undivided attention. “Promise me you won’t go anywhere by yourself until we resolve the Cubano issue.”

  She wondered what he had in mind. “What’s your plan? Break his leg?”

  A wicked smile distorted his sweet face. “That would slow him down and keep him from coming after you.”

  “Or it might make him even more determined. We might have to put him in jail too.”

  “I have an idea for that, but I’m not going to share it yet.” Marty nodded. “To protect you from knowing.”

  “Let’s focus.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ll watch the work camp and let you know when Blackstone leaves. Then you make the call from the Riverview Medical Clinic.” It was the urgent care facility halfway between the soup kitchen and the compound. “When Margo takes off, I’ll notify you and you haul ass over to where I’m waiting.” She was glad they’d found the nearby spot in advance. She’d also checked to make sure Ronnie was at work.

  Marty chimed in with the rest of the plan. “You drive up to the complex and ask to use a phone and the restroom. Once inside, you text me that it’s a go.”

  Rox nodded. This was the part of the scenario that could go five different ways. “I find Emma, say her mother’s having an emergency, and drag her out if I have to. You’re waiting outside, on foot, to watch for trouble and assist if needed.” They wanted only one vehicle to deal with at that point—in case Emma tried to resist or bolt.

  Marty grinned. “Then I drive like a bat out of hell away from the work camp, while you talk to the girl and help her realize Blackstone is a predator.”

  “I’ll tell her she can live a life of service through the Peace Corps or Habitat for Humanity just to lure her out,” Rox added. “Don’t forget to call Mrs. Carson and let her know we’re coming.” Jenny Carson had called back the night before and w
as scrambling to find a deprogramming specialist who could work with them right away and help the girl process her guilt.

  “I think we’re about ready.” Marty nodded at her.

  Full panic suddenly set in, and Rox had to take deep breaths. Would she ever be an old pro at this? As a cop, she’d had a badge and gun to back up her bold moves and protect her legally. This could turn into a kidnapping. She could go to prison.

  “You okay?”

  “I will be.” Rox straightened her shoulders and started forward. “Why are you so calm about this? You know we could get rolled up for years.”

  “Emma won’t file charges. Girls with low self-esteem never do. Besides, at this point, I don’t have much to lose.” He tipped his Blazers cap and stepped outside.

  Rox followed him. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Nothing, sweetie.” A sadness in his eyes. “But we both know cops don’t live long lives. And golfing bores me. Without these cases, I’d eat my gun.”

  She didn’t believe that. As Marty locked his door, she said, “I thought you were dating.”

  “I am, but we’re just friends, having fun.”

  He’d had lots of girlfriends over the years, but they’d never gotten serious or moved in. When they were young, she and Jo had been the focus of his life, and he hadn’t let go of that yet. “Maybe it’s time you got serious about somebody.”

  “Right after you do.” Marty laughed, then looked her over. “You going like that?”

  Rox glanced at her clothes, jeans and a light-blue T-shirt. “What’s wrong?”

  “They can ID you.”

  “Oh shit.” She’d been so preoccupied with the plan itself, she’d forgotten her disguise. “Give me five minutes.”