The police might not have liked it, but it didn’t appear Brother William and his deacons were doing anything wrong or illegal. People had the right to live the way they chose, even if it meant living so...strangely.
They didn’t find the stockpile of weapons.
It was the next week that Cameron had stumbled upon Alana. Dead.
Brother William made another alarming demand of Jessie: she would have a week of sleeping alone in the “cleansing” chamber. She and Sam were no more; she would now honor, obey and sleep with Brother William when he chose.
Miraculously, it was Alana’s brother—worried when she broke ties with her family—who convinced the FBI that something was very wrong. And an undercover agent from the FBI had come in. They’d already heard rumors about illegal arms being amassed. He and Sam had connected. And they had made their plan to flee, Sam swearing he would tell the courts everything he knew. And there were others, Sam could swear, who would tell the truth about things that happened at the compound.
There were others like him. Disenchanted with the cult, furious with Brother William’s Divine Right demands—and yet so terrified for a wife or a child they did nothing.
The plan had been made.
They had run in the deep darkness of the night, ready to meet with their saviors as dawn broke over the hills.
A sob escaped Jessie now. Sam clamped his hand over her mouth, whispering a soft warning.
There was movement before them in the trees.
He prayed then, as he had never prayed before.
And the seconds ticked by.
8
Amy and Hunter were on the scene before anyone else. That was because the person who had called Hunter had been none other than their host at the motel, Martin Sanders.
Sanders had called Hunter the minute he’d stumbled upon the body while cleaning up in back. In panic, he had reached for Hunter’s card.
Hunter had called it in to his headquarters, who in turn notified local authorities even as he and Amy hurried back to the motel.
The victim was a distance into the rich trees and bracken that grew behind the little patch of backyard. Martin Sanders, white as a sheet and sweating profusely when they reached him, said he’d followed a loud buzzing sound to find her, thinking that he had a dead raccoon or possum back there. The growth had apparently been too thick for the vultures. He reluctantly led them to what he’d found.
It had been a long time since she’d been sick at a scene, but Amy swallowed hard and tried to breathe in a manner that would keep her from retching. She’d had to step closer than she wanted to in order to ascertain with any certainty that the corpse was real and that it was the body of a woman. It was impossible to guess what had killed her; it was almost impossible to see she was naked. She was covered by a swarming hill of ants, and flies buzzed around so thickly they almost appeared to be a blanket.
Amy’s first feeling was horror.
Her second was deep and profound sorrow and failure. They hadn’t caught the killers; the killers had struck again.
Despite their distance from heavily populated areas, sirens were soon heard. Detective Victor Mulberry was quickly there, alone in his car, but the local forensics department was right behind him. Dr. Carver reached them with applaudable speed, along with his assistants and morgue vehicle. Amy was glad the FBI had taken over and Hunter was lead investigator on the case. He did the talking to the others. Nothing had been moved; they had not touched the corpse.
Dr. Carver quickly went to work, getting help from his assistants and forensics. He needed to capture some of the insects on the body, and get rid of others so he could give it his initial inspection.
While Carver and his team worked, Amy and Hunter stood in a line with Detective Mulberry, watching as Carver inspected the body and the forensic team carefully inspected the area. Aidan Cypress was working the scene, Amy saw, and she was glad. Cypress had grown up just an hour or so south of where they were; he knew the landscape here as few others would.
She stepped back as the team moved in, her movement instinctive as the swarm of flies and other flying creatures took flight at the disturbance.
She and Aidan looked at each other.
“Ants,” he said quietly.
“Pardon?”
“I’m not the ME, but I’d bet a bundle they’re going to discover that she was killed by some form of army ant. There are hundreds of kinds of army ants, but...the way the body looks, I’d say that’s what happened.”
“There are...large colonies of army ants around here?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “No.”
“But—”
“I had several classes in entomology at the university, but I also had a cousin who had been traveling, bought a colony of the suckers and forgot to cover their dome one night. Another cousin woke up screaming. A small colony had started feasting on him while he was sleeping. I’ll never forget how quickly they did a number on his skin.” He hesitated. “I’m not the medical examiner or a detective, Amy, but I’m going to suggest the ants were brought in on purpose. Not that they don’t exist in North America—they do. But a colony that could do that to someone...wherever they came from, it was planned.”
“Pestilence,” she said softly.
“Are you all right?” Aidan asked her.
She shook her head. “We...we didn’t stop this.”
“Amy, this corpse—and some of the insects at least—were brought here. I’m going to bet, too, she’s been dead for several days. They held her somewhere and had the insect population under their control. They brought her here to let other forest creatures finish her off.”
“Last night?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think she’d have been here right around the same time we found the other woman on the cross.” He hesitated. “Don’t go thinking you could have stopped this. It likely happened before you were on the case.”
“Thanks, Aidan,” she told him.
She looked over to where Hunter was standing, a few feet away, and caught his eye. Amy thought he had probably heard her conversation with Aidan, as well.
Dr. Carver swatted at a flying bug, left the corpse and approached them. His expression was grim and he had a sheen of perspiration on his face.
“Insects,” he said.
“Lots of them,” Hunter agreed. “But did they kill her?”
“I’m going to have to get her to the morgue, get her cleaned up enough so that I can do a thorough inspection and autopsy. Honestly, there’s been a lot of damage. A form of army ant has been at work on her along with any number of other creatures—worms, flies, you name it.” He hesitated. “She’s, uh, still being compromised as we speak, so we’ll have what’s on her now to study—”
“Compromised?” Mulberry said.
“They’re still consuming the body,” Hunter said quietly. His expression remained hard and dark. Amy wondered if he, too, had thought at first they might have stopped this.
Mulberry made a sound in his throat and turned away.
“She could have been dead before the insects started?” Hunter asked.
“I’ll get right on this. We have fine entomologists in the forensics department locally, but any evidence or...anything can be handed over to the FBI.”
“We’re going to need to know, if possible, how she died—and when,” Hunter said.
“An exact time is going to be difficult, but the entomologists will help in that area. Even when you have army ants, as you see, there are flies, and larvae, and growth stages,” Carver said.
Hunter looked at Mulberry. “You good to stay here?” he asked.
Journalists were starting to arrive. Mulberry’s men were keeping the trucks and cameras back on the main road.
“I’ve got this. Do what you need to do,”
Mulberry said.
“We’re almost ready to get her to the morgue—and keep this from becoming a dog and pony show,” Carver told them.
“Thank you,” Hunter said. “Amy?”
She nodded, and Hunter turned away from the scene. She followed as he walked toward the motel owner’s little house. They had already talked to the man, of course. Sanders knew he would have to give a statement, but Hunter had let him go back to the house since he’d been such a wreck.
Hunter knocked at the door. Martin Sanders answered it, still ashen, still shaking.
“It’s...it’s...she’s...gone?” he asked.
“They’ll be heading to the morgue soon,” Hunter told him.
Sanders nodded. A woman came up behind him; she had long white hair and a cherubic face, big blue eyes and a look of sorrow and concern on her face. “I’m Patty,” she said. “I’m sorry we haven’t met yet. I’m in the middle of chemo treatments and I’m afraid I spend a lot of my time resting.”
“Patty, good to meet you. We’re so sorry regarding the circumstances,” Amy told her. “Of course you must rest. That’s so important in the middle of chemo treatments.”
“You have a loved one with cancer?” Patty asked her.
“Everyone has a loved one or friend with cancer,” Amy told her. “But thankfully, you may well beat it.”
“That’s what Martin keeps telling me. Maybe I will. Martin, my love, let’s not leave these young people standing here. Invite them in,” Patty said.
Patty might need her rest, but she—or possibly the motel’s housekeepers—kept their home neat and clean. Patty asked them to sit at the dining room table and offered them something to drink. Both Amy and Hunter demurred.
“I think Martin needs some water,” Patty said. “Or a double bourbon.”
“I’m all right, Patty, please sit. Don’t let me worry about you, too, now—more than I do already.”
They took seats at the table, Martin and Patty facing each other with Amy and Hunter between them.
Martin Sanders spoke, not meeting their eyes, still seeing an image of the dead woman that must have been locked in his mind.
“I didn’t do it,” he said. “Oh, God, I didn’t do it. I couldn’t. I could never have done anything like that. I know she’s on my property, but I swear to you...oh, God. I didn’t do this.”
People could lie. They could pull off extraordinary lies—and the best profiler who had ever studied human nature could be fooled.
But Amy couldn’t believe Martin Sanders or his wife could have been involved with this.
“Mr. Sanders, we don’t think you killed the young woman,” Hunter said.
Amy was glad he spoke sincerely. But then Hunter added, “But you do know something. I believe you know more about the missing woman, Wilhelmina, or Billie, than you’ve been telling us. And I think you’re very afraid this might be her.”
Sanders covered his face with his hands. Patty stood, coming behind him, curling her arms around his shoulders.
“It’s okay, Martin. We should have told them.”
“It’s really okay,” Amy said, setting a hand on his where it lay on the table. “Please, we don’t think you’re a suspect in this. What we need is your help.”
“Tell them. Talk to them, Martin!” Patty said firmly.
He sighed deeply, shaking his head. “She came here—just as I told you. And just as I told you, when I said she needed ID and a credit card, she was disappointed—and she walked away. But...”
“But?” Amy encouraged.
“I couldn’t let her go,” Martin said.
“He’s a good man,” Patty said, indicating her husband. “He asked me if it was okay, and I said, yes, we must help her.”
“So, you did,” Amy said. “You are good people.”
Martin didn’t appear to be as trusting as Patty. He studied Amy through narrowed eyes.
“I told her the heyday of our place was long over. We were never full. I said I wouldn’t rent her a room, but I’d give her a key. She was welcome to stay.”
“And then?”
“I brought her some dinner that night,” Patty told them. “She cried when she thanked me. Such a beautiful soul! I asked if there was anything we could do for her, and she just said we’d done so much already. And she stayed—I brought her food in the evenings—until the day you checked in. Then she was just gone.”
“I wanted to reach her. I think she was afraid of someone local. I wanted to assure her you weren’t local,” Martin said.
Hunter glanced over at Amy, frowning, and asked, “She was afraid of local law enforcement?”
“Oh, no, not specifically. I’ve known Victor Mulberry for years. He’s a good man, and I tried to tell Billie he was. But she begged us to keep her presence secret. I think she was just afraid of anyone being friends with everyone else around here.”
“We talked about it, and that’s what we believe, anyway,” Patty said. She sighed. “She told me she just had to get away, far away, somewhere she could blend into a crowd.”
“I offered to drive her. She didn’t even trust me,” Martin said. He put his hands over his face again and started to sob. Patty hugged him more tightly. From under his hands, he said, “I saw the body. I was so afraid. So afraid.” He looked at them, his face red and tearstained. “It’s not her, please. I was so afraid!”
“According to the ME thus far, no, it can’t be Billie—not if you saw her the day we arrived,” Hunter assured him.
“Then it’s some other poor girl,” Patty said.
“Some other poor girl. Special Agent Forrest, what the hell is going on here?” Martin said, shaking his head.
Hunter leaned across the table and spoke with controlled passion. “Martin, right now, I don’t know. But I promise you, I won’t rest until we get the people doing this.” He glanced at Amy and amended his words. “We won’t rest until we discover the truth. I promise you that.”
“But there is something we have to ask you,” Amy said.
“We want to help,” Patty told her.
“I know you do. So, if you hear from Billie, if you see her—please, you must convince her she can trust us, come to us. We can protect her.”
“Like that witness was protected in jail, right?” Patty muttered. “That really filled up the news for days on end!”
Amy glanced at Hunter; it would be nice to have an answer to that “suicide.”
“She needs to come to one of us. I swear, I would never leave her under the protection of anyone I didn’t trust completely,” Hunter said. “She won’t be in prison. She’d be in protective custody, and trust me, I know the best men—and women—to watch over her.”
“If she calls us again or comes back,” Patty said softly. “Especially after this.”
“Martin, did you go out last night, hoping Billie had come back?” Hunter asked.
Martin sighed. “Yes, and I knocked over one of the big garbage bins. I thought... I thought I heard something. Maybe I did. Maybe those bastards were killing that poor woman right beneath my nose.”
“No, Martin, like I said,” Hunter told him. “The ME thinks she was killed before, that...well, he thinks she was killed a few days ago. She was just left to be...found recently.”
He glanced over at Amy. She knew what he was thinking.
The woman had been left out for the insects to finish consuming her, down to the bone. She was meant to be found, but not in any recognizable condition.
“Are we in danger?” Patty asked suddenly, her frown fierce.
“I don’t believe so. You have each other, and if you disappeared, you’d be missed. But another agent will be taking a room here for the next few nights, if that’s all right with you. He’ll be here tonight, and he’ll be keeping an eye on things, too. His name is Ryan Anders. Special Agen
t Ryan Anders, and I think you’ll find him trustworthy, as well.”
“We’ll get him set up right next to you, Special Agent Forrest,” Martin said.
“Maybe on the other side of Special Agent Larson,” Patty said.
“Whichever,” Hunter told them. He glanced at Amy. “Agent Larson is pretty good at taking care of herself.”
“Of course,” Patty said. “I didn’t mean to imply—oh, yes, sorry. I guess I was.”
“It’s all right, Patty,” Amy assured her. “We all need others to watch our backs.”
“I’m sure glad she has mine,” Hunter said, rising.
Amy followed suit, as did Patty and Martin.
“One more thing,” Hunter said. “And please, think carefully. Have you seen anything unusual around the motel?”
They looked at each other and shook their heads.
“I mean... Well, I guess we just don’t expect things like this to happen and don’t spend time watching for bad things?” Patty said weakly, the words a question to them, and herself.
“I do have a rifle,” Martin said. “I don’t have a pool, but where we are...well, I’m prepared for an aggressive gator.”
“Or human being,” Patty added. “Unfortunately, we don’t have an alarm system.”
“Even our room keys, as you’ve noticed, I’m sure, are older than dirt,” Martin added.
“You’ll be okay. Just...stay vigilant. You know, I can call in—get someone to watch over this place, if you’d like,” Hunter said.
Patty looked at her husband; Martin held her gaze. “No,” he said softly, addressing Patty rather than the two of them. “But, Patty, I’m not worried about me. I worry about you—”
“You think I’m more afraid of those bastards than I am of chemotherapy?” Patty asked him. “I think I’m going to put my faith is something high.” She looked straight at Amy and Hunter and said, “I’ve had incredible years, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get a few more. But I’d trade my old life for that young lady’s years in a heartbeat. Don’t you worry—Martin knows how to use his shotgun. And he wields it well, with damned good ammunition. You ever try to pierce a gator’s skin?”
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