In shock she asked, “He’s not unknown to me, but human trafficking?”
“I intend to prove that his legal activities and outspoken activism provide cover for his baser hobbies,” Bass said.
Tess took a deep breath. This was big. Among other things, Beck was a vocal environmentalist and one of the richest men in the country, maybe the world. In law enforcement circles he was what was considered a high-profile agitator. He would hire protesters to vocalize his beliefs, and he didn’t care if his hires got violent—which they did, more often than not. She’d worked a couple of those incidents years ago, with Long Beach PD, and faced rioters behind riot shields.
One particular day stood out, a protest she’d worked down in the Long Beach harbor. Beck wasn’t there, but it was well known he’d financed the activity. The group was protesting a Chinese company Beck accused of using manufacturing processes that contributed to global warming. Among other incendiary activities, they attempted to board container ships from China.
That day in the harbor a man died when the brakes on the truck he was driving failed and the vehicle slammed into a wall. The brake lines had been cut. Such sabotage was something Beck’s protesters routinely engaged in. Unfortunately, no arrests were ever made. And now this man she considered an irritant and provocateur was being charged with human trafficking.
As far as Tess knew, Beck’s money was mostly inherited, but she’d read somewhere that he was a savvy investor and he also published a couple of magazines devoted to conservation. Tess believed in conservation, but she was not on the drive-only-electric-cars-or-only-ride-a-bike bandwagon. Cyrus Beck claimed to be passionate about ending all dependence on fossil fuels. Yet he was a jet-setter, from what she knew, flying all over the world on a private plane—talk about a carbon footprint. He threw his money behind any politician who shared his views, and he himself had stated in interviews that he believed in fomenting change, “by any means necessary.”
This was where Tess had a major problem with the man. He endorsed violent revolt in the name of his cause. As a law enforcement professional, Tess hated it when the line between legal protests and violent riots became blurred.
It was the elephant in the room. Everyone knew that Beck, or one of the many nonprofits he financed, paid the agitators, and they did damage, hurt people, destroyed businesses, not only in Long Beach, but all over the country. Yet he was never indicted for his role, never made to pay for the havoc he created. And scant few of the protesters were ever held accountable either, which always rubbed Tess raw.
Tess never understood it but knew it was political. All a cop could do when politics was involved was follow orders and policies and procedures to the letter.
She looked from the press release back to Bass, his expression unreadable. “You’re sure?”
Bass nodded. “It will be all over the news tomorrow or the next day. I believe I have probable cause to ask a judge for an arrest warrant for Beck. Our girl has testimony and evidence that could put Beck away for a long time. I need to keep her safe, locked away. An Oregon battered women’s shelter is the last place anyone would look.”
“Doesn’t the FBI have safe houses? Closer, maybe somewhere in Arizona or Nevada?” Tess’s knee-jerk response was, After the episode with the DEA rolling in for a high-profile search and arrest, did she really want to put her little hamlet through something similar again?
“Let’s just say I’m afraid that the kind of money Beck has can buy information. He might own someone in Arizona law enforcement—I don’t know for sure. I want my wit as off the radar as possible.”
Something about the request bothered Tess. She glanced to the list of her life rules, framed and hanging in her office, a gift from Oliver. Rule #1: “Listen. Think. Speak. LTS.” She sipped her coffee. Lately, she’d been working a lot with one federal agency or another.
“How long would you expect to keep her hidden?”
“I can’t say. It depends on the court process. You know as well as I do things can drag out once his lawyers are in play.” He hiked a shoulder.
Yes, Tess did know how things could drag out. “Do you need an answer right this minute?”
He sighed, clearly impatient. “Right now, my partner is with the girl in a hotel in White City. We have, at most, forty-eight hours to secure the witness. Time is a luxury.”
“I understand, Agent Bass, but we just survived a big fire, we’ve yet to lift all the evacuation orders, and after what happened here this summer, I’m reluctant to put the people in my community at any further risk if I can avoid it. Let me speak to the people at the shelter. And I’ll have to notify the sheriff. It’s a county facility.”
He held his hands up. “Speak to the couple, but I’m asking that you not notify the county. I realize that’s putting you in a tough position, but seriously, the fewer people who know about this, the better. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how far and quick even the most unintended slip can spread. If Beck gets even a hint . . .”
Tess regarded Bass. He was right, she knew it, but now he was asking her to lay her butt on the line. She had a good working relationship with the Jackson County Sheriff’s Office—did she really want to jeopardize it?
She wanted to talk to Oliver, Rogue’s Hollow PD’s official chaplain. She wanted to think about this for a good long time.
“I’ll drive out there now. They weren’t ordered to evacuate. I’ll be as quick as I can, but I’m not going to make a decision this minute. And I need to read the department chaplain in on this. He’s made aware of every woman who goes to Faith’s Place in case they request spiritual help. I won’t deny this victim that.”
Bass frowned. “Will he keep his mouth shut?”
“I trust him.”
After a long moment, he nodded. “Fair enough.” He dropped a card on her desk. “That’s me if you need to call and check up on me. Won’t tell you who to talk to, but you can call the Phoenix office. Just don’t mention the domestic violence shelter or my wit—and especially not in the same sentence—okay?”
“Gotcha.”
“Do you mind if I go get a cup of coffee and come back in a bit?”
“I’ll find you.”
7
After Bass left, Tess sat at her desk for a minute. She’d planned on researching Livie Harp this morning, but instead she looked into Alonzo Bass. She couldn’t help it; after coming face-to-face with a dirty DEA agent, one who nearly killed her, she wasn’t going to take anything at face value. She called the Phoenix office and confirmed what Bass had told her. He was who he said he was, and he was part of a human trafficking task force. Tess skimmed the preliminary press release Bass had given her, still amazed that they were going to arrest Cyrus Beck.
She almost called Faith’s Place, the domestic violence shelter, to speak to the couple who ran the place, Bronwyn and Nye Scales, give them a heads-up. But she put the phone down, deciding to drop in unannounced. Everything in Rogue’s Hollow was a few minutes away. Tess finished her coffee as her phone beeped with a text. It was Oliver’s good morning text. He was on his way back to the Hollow after the visit with Cherry.
Tess smiled and returned the message, at the last minute adding a question. When you get back, will you have a few minutes to take a drive with me?
Love to.
I’ll be at the church and wait for you there.
Fifteen minutes later, with Oliver in the car, Tess started toward Faith’s Place and told him about Agent Bass. He couldn’t get past Cyrus Beck.
“Beck? Are you kidding me?”
“No, not at all.” She cast a glance across the car. Oliver was certainly animated. “You sound as if you know him.”
“In a way, I do. For a while, he was public enemy number one here in Oregon.”
“What? Here? Why?”
“He was born and raised in Eugene. From what I’ve heard, his father owned a large logging operation. Beck Senior had his hands in a lot of different businesses. He was also an av
id hunter, fisherman, outdoorsman.”
“You’re kidding me. Cyrus Beck is definitely not a chip off the old block.”
“True. From what I’ve heard, he hated hunting and logging long before his father died. In fact, Beck Senior was killed in a freak accident while on a hunting trip. The story goes that as soon as Cyrus got control of the estate, he sold all interests in the logging operation and then set out to put all logging out of business. He organized protests in the forests, had people living in trees to save them, and started a save the spotted owl campaign and all that. A lot of old-timers blame him for the practice of spiking trees. When I first came here, his face was on a lot of shooting targets.”
“Spiking trees?” Tess frowned. She’d heard the term but didn’t remember where.
“A vicious tactic. Protesters would nail large spikes into trees. His stated reason for spiking trees was to make them worthless if cut. And when loggers did cut the trees, running a saw through a spiked tree became deadly. The saw blade would explode, and anyone nearby could be seriously hurt. A logger in California was almost killed. Beck was unrepentant. You can probably find videos on the Internet of him instructing people on how to spike trees.”
“Charming. He’s obviously graduated to more heinous crimes if he’s involved in human trafficking.”
“Jethro used to talk about the guy a lot. He knew the elder Beck and Cyrus, when he was a kid. Cyrus was spoiled, given anything and everything he ever wanted. He’s never been held accountable for anything. . . . This is absolutely amazing if he’s really going to finally be charged with a crime.”
“A big-league crime at that,” Tess added.
She had to pull over for a fire truck to pass on the narrow road they traveled. She nodded to the driver.
“When I first started at the church, in the children’s ministry, Jethro often warned parents about indulging kids. In his mind that was what ruined Cyrus.”
“Really? Sounds as if Jethro was really close to the Beck family.”
“He was. He and the elder Beck served in the Army together. He always said Cyrus was Senior’s blind spot. If you get him going, he’ll tell you story after story about what a great man Senior was.”
“I’d like to hear those stories.”
“It’s been at least ten years since Beck or his protesters have been in Oregon. I imagine Jethro will have a lot to say about Cyrus being arrested. He’ll probably say it’s poetic justice that we might keep a witness safe who could possibly serve up justice to him.”
Tess shrugged. Though she firmly believed in the justice system, she couldn’t deny that sometimes, people were able to buy justice. But human trafficking was a lot more serious and heinous than political agitating. Could this really be Beck’s undoing?
She pulled up to the gate barring access to the shelter’s driveway. Though Faith’s Place was secure, it was not as secure as Livie Harp’s compound. There was only a small camera at the intercom for IDs. And even though its location was a poorly kept secret, Tess had only heard of one incident here, several years ago, when a husband tried to get his wife out. Ken Blakely had broken his wife’s jaw and disappeared before officers could arrest him. When his wife was released from the hospital, she was one of the first women to be housed at the shelter. Blakely ran his car through the gate, which at that time was wood, and tried to get into the house, but Rogue’s Hollow officers arrived quickly and took him into custody. He ended up serving five years in prison for the incident and for injuries caused in a road rage encounter on the way to Faith’s Place.
Tess had the code, and she punched it in and the gate swung open.
The battered women’s shelter was in a part of the Hollow where no lot was less than an acre and the largest was five. The shelter itself had three acres. Tess knew that at one time the place had been part of a working farm, but the owners lost the business after some bad financial decisions, and the property was split up and stayed vacant for years. Bronwyn and Nye Scales had cleaned it up and set it up to rescue horses at first. When their daughter, Faith, was beaten to death by an abusive boyfriend, they set up a foundation in her name and remodeled the bedrooms to take in battered women. They kept up the horse rescue because Bronwyn couldn’t say no to any hurting horse and they’d found this odd synergy in their quest to restore broken creatures: battered horses helped battered women recover and vice versa.
Tess felt a kinship with Bronwyn and Nye. She knew from experience how deadly domestic violence was. She’d lost her father when he responded to a domestic violence call. When the abusive husband raised his weapon to shoot his wife, Tess’s dad stepped in the way and took the bullet, saving the woman’s life and losing his own. Abused women needed a safe place to regroup and recognize that the abuse had to stop.
She pulled into the circular driveway and parked. The structure was a long, rambling house, the decoration and landscaping done in a Texas ranch style, right down to the long horns mounted over the front door and the large tree stump carving of a rearing horse on the right side of the driveway. Off to the left she saw Bronwyn working with a horse in the corral. The animal was thin and limping, Tess noted as she climbed out of the car. There was also an assortment of cows and goats in the front pasture area, animals rescued and kept safe from the fire, no doubt. Since Faith’s Place had only been on standby for evacuation, the Nyes had taken in some livestock from places that had been required to vacate.
Tess and Oliver walked over to the corral.
“That a new acquisition?” Oliver asked.
“Yeah, she came in a couple of weeks ago. She’s just calming down. The fires spooked everyone. I’m calling her Lollypop. Not sure what’s up with her leg; have a vet coming out later this afternoon.” Bronwyn led the animal to a trough, where Lollypop immediately stuck her nose in a pile of feed and began to munch.
After she tied the animal down and exited the corral, Bronwyn turned to Tess and Oliver. “What brings you two out here? Fire’s out, and right now, I don’t have any residents.”
“We might have a resident for you.”
Tess explained about the eighteen-year-old witness and the request for protection. And the secrecy involved. To Tess’s surprise, Bronwyn knew about Beck. Not his past and not the environmental issues, but about the trafficking.
“I’ve heard whispers about that man. I attend a lot of domestic violence conferences all over the world. Lately, they intersect with this growing worldwide human trafficking problem. Gossip has been floating around about him for years.”
“Really?” Tess was floored. She considered herself up to speed on law enforcement issues, but she’d not heard a whisper linking Beck to human trafficking.
Bronwyn nodded. “He’s cagey. Scary too. There’s a lot of fear about him. I met a woman from Malaysia, and she was convinced that Beck, or someone from his entourage, kidnapped girls from a small village there. Two villagers, mothers who wanted their daughters back, tried to complain to the government and were brutally murdered, and the story died. And it’s not an isolated incident. I’ve heard similar ones from the Philippines, Pakistan, and India. He picks places where the authorities are easily bribed.”
“So this could be a very dangerous proposition for you to house this girl,” Oliver said.
Bronwyn hiked a shoulder.
“No pressure,” Tess said. “I’ll tell the agent no if you have any reservations.”
Bronwyn’s husband, Nye, walked up. “Reservations about what?”
Bronwyn filled him in. He smiled. “We’re all about rescuing women. If this girl can put a bad man in jail, we’ll help. We can’t turn this one away, now can we?”
Bronwyn nodded. “I’ll get a room ready straightaway.”
8
“You don’t think it’s a good idea for them to house the girl?” Oliver asked as Tess drove back to town.
Tess tapped absentmindedly on the steering wheel. “Besides the fact that everything I now know about Beck is dangerous and disturbing,
I don’t really like leaving the sheriff in the dark. I don’t know what to think. Beck has a lot of money. If he found out where the girl was and he wanted to cause problems here for Nye and Bronwyn, he certainly could.”
“They don’t seem to have a problem with the risk.”
“No, they don’t, but maybe they don’t know what they’re getting into.”
“What has you so bothered?”
Tess blew out a breath. What did bother her? That something out of a suspense novel could happen? That Beck could send waves of hit men into Rogue’s Hollow to locate and murder the witness, taking innocent people as well? That some horrible disaster was in the wings because of the power and reach that Beck had?
“I’ve just got a bad feeling about this. Maybe it’s just coming too close on the heels of what we went through with DEA Agent Ledge and his crooked partner. I can’t really verbalize a solid reason why I don’t like the idea.”
“Generally, I would agree with your hunches and feelings, but I think we should help this girl. We should help every girl or boy impacted by the evil and dehumanizing practice of human trafficking. It’s a scourge on humanity that needs to be eradicated completely.”
Tess looked across the car at Oliver and smiled as a warmth enveloped her. Oliver was the real deal when it came to helping others and to rescuing those in need. As a cop, Tess was used to helping people, but it was always surface aid because she had to move on, she couldn’t get involved. With Oliver, his help went deeper. He truly cared about the souls of the people he assisted. Bottom line, he was genuine, and Tess loved that about him. He was her sounding board on a lot of things.
“I agree. Human trafficking is worse than drug trafficking, a horrible plague on humanity. But after subjecting this town to a bloody shoot-out and two weeks of federal authorities looking into everything . . .” She patted the steering wheel with her palm. “Part of me wants everything to settle down. I’ve come to appreciate the quiet in small-town Rogue’s Hollow.”
Cold Aim Page 5