Say Goodbye

by Karen Rose

  Liza sighed sadly. “Sergio said he knew that he was an unhappy young man.” She sighed again. “Daisy and I were hoping that whoever we found could give us one of the more recent Eden sites. Amos said that they reused sites, so if we found other locations we might find Eden now.”

  Tom hid his wince. Liza and Daisy had gone to a lot of trouble because they hadn’t known that the Bureau already knew all of the old sites. That was on him. Or on Raeburn, because he’d forbidden any information sharing.

  He must not have hidden his wince well enough, though, because her eyes narrowed. “You know,” she whispered. “You already know the locations of all of the old Eden sites.”

  He sighed. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “How did you know?” she demanded, ignoring his reluctance.

  “Ephraim left some notebooks in his safe-deposit box.”

  She drew a breath and let it out slowly. “He mapped out the old sites, but you didn’t tell us.”

  “I’m not allowed to discuss the case with Gideon and Mercy,” he said regretfully.

  “I understand need-to-know. You’ll make sure I know what I need to know, right?”

  He tipped her chin up and kissed her. “If it keeps you safe, I’ll tell you everything.”

  “I trust you,” she whispered against his mouth, then jerked away with a gasp. “Pebbles, no!”

  She leaped out of bed in all her naked glory and reached for Pebbles, who was headed out of the bedroom, Liza’s boot in her mouth. Tail wagging, the dog thought it was a game and ran. Liza chased her around the bed, then stopped in the doorway.

  Whirling around, fists on her hips, she glared at Tom. “A little help? She listens to you.”

  “Because I don’t let her lick my face,” Tom said dryly, then openly leered at her. “Plus I’m too busy looking at you.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she was pleased. “That shouldn’t make me forgive you as easily as it does.” She stomped out and he could hear her calling to Pebbles from down the hall.

  And then he heard nothing.

  He waited another beat, then jumped from the bed, closing the bedroom door before running to his office. Pebbles was half in and half out, her tail still wagging furiously. When he pushed by her, he could see the boot still in her mouth. “Drop it,” he ordered.

  She dropped it immediately and Tom bent to scoop it up. “Here it is,” he said, but Liza didn’t reply. She was standing at his bulletin board, staring at the photos he’d collected.

  His first thought was to tell her they were classified, but she’d already either known or figured out nearly everything about the case. Still, he strode forward, tugging at her shoulder.

  “Liza, honey, don’t look at those. Some of these are intense. You don’t want those images in your mind.”

  She looked over her shoulder, incredulous. “Tom, what part of ‘I was a fucking combat medic’ hasn’t sunk into your thick skull yet?”

  He grimaced. “Right. Sorry. Still. Come back to bed with me.”

  Ignoring him, she pointed to the photo of DJ Belmont as a child. “Where did you get this?”

  Once again he considered telling her they were classified, but she was going into Sunnyside Oaks on Tuesday morning. She deserved all of the information he could give her.

  Who knew what small detail might save her life if things went sideways?

  He set her boot on his desk. “Waylon Belmont’s sister-in-law let me take a photo of one of the pictures she had on the wall when Croft and I interviewed her. Interestingly enough, we were at their rental house when you called—the same address as was listed on William Holly’s ID. We’d gone to check it first in the event that DJ remembered the house and went back there. He’d lived there with his mother at the time of their disappearance. Pastor’s wife showed up with the kids four years later. Those photos are of DJ and his father at the same age.”

  “Whoa,” she murmured. “So you were physically sitting in front of William Holly’s old house when I called you about tracking him and his tattoo to Sergio?”

  “Yes.” Resting his chin on the top of her head, he wrapped his arms around her waist as he studied the photo of DJ Belmont, curious as to what she saw that had her so transfixed. “Why?”

  She pointed to the grainy photo he’d pulled from the old newspaper article about Pastor’s crimes against his old L.A. congregation, the embezzlement and fraud. “Bo and Bernice. Look at them. Now look at DJ. They’re about the same age in these photos.”

  Tom did as she directed, then exhaled, far more stunned than he had any right to be. Because she’d immediately seen what he should have seen, but had not. “DJ and Waylon looked alike, but Bo and DJ could have been twins,” he said quietly.

  “Uh-huh. And who is the common denominator?”

  “Waylon. That certainly would explain how Pastor’s wife magically ended up in the Belmonts’ rental house. Croft and I figured that Waylon had taken them there, but we weren’t sure why.” He tapped a document thumbtacked at the top of the bulletin board.

  She lifted on her toes to examine it. “A marriage license? I didn’t know that Waylon and Pastor’s wife were married. Was this while he was in prison?”

  “The day he was released. Dammit, I should have seen this before.”

  But he’d been distracted the day he’d fixed these photos to his board. By the woman who was now scrutinizing each and every document and photo he’d collected.

  “What else did Waylon’s brother tell you?”

  “That Pastor’s wife, Margo Holly, a.k.a. Marcia Travis, kept to herself, but the elder Belmonts—DJ’s grandparents—kind of adopted her kids. Holidays, school events.” He shook his head at his own thickness. “Because they were Bo and Bernie’s grandparents, too. By blood.”

  “So . . .” Liza said slowly, “Waylon and Marcia marry and, I’m assuming, get divorced because she married Pastor six months later?” She’d found the copy of Marcia and Benton Travis’s marriage license on his bulletin board. “Then what? They changed their names, cooked up fake backgrounds, and applied to work at a church in L.A.? And nobody checked up on their résumés?”

  “Back then it was easier to fake an identity and a résumé,” Tom said. “And I think that many congregations have a basic trust that whoever joins them in worship is one of them. Embezzlement from churches happens all the time still, and the churches are more likely to forgive the crime than a corporation would be. I can get you the statistics if you’re interested.”

  “No, I believe you. That’s doubly sad, you know? Assholes who steal from churches don’t just steal money. They steal trust, too.”

  “Yes,” Tom said simply. “I don’t know how many of these cases are even reported—then and now. Religious organizations—whatever the denomination—are either more willing to forgive because it’s ingrained in their beliefs or they’re embarrassed to have been cheated.”

  “I imagine it’s a little bit of both,” she said thoughtfully. “I wonder if Pastor knew. That the kids weren’t his, I mean.”

  “Good question. None of this helps us find Eden, but I’m kind of invested in the story now. Once we do find Eden, and Pastor and DJ are in custody, I’d like to find Marcia and ask her.”

  Liza leaned into him and he tightened his hold. “Do you know where she is?”

  “Not exactly. I know where she went after she left Benicia, after her daughter graduated from college and her son killed himself. I know the daughter’s name was Tracy and she got married and moved away. Merle’s mother still gets postcards, but with no return address.”

  “Bernice is still hiding,” Liza said sadly. “What about Margo or Marcia or Pastor’s wife, whatever you call her?”

  “She married an architect in Modesto, which was when she moved out of the house in Benicia. I can’t find any architects in Modesto with a wife named Margo. Once i
t’s safe, maybe you should do your Facebook magic and track her down.”

  “Don’t make fun,” she warned.

  “I’m not,” he promised. “I’m totally not. I’m serious.”

  “Then maybe I will.” She turned to look up at him. “How did you know Pastor was at Sunnyside Oaks?”

  “I was able to get into Eden’s bank account by tracing transfers made to Ephraim’s account. I set an alert for activity and it let me know that money had been transferred to Sunnyside Oaks.”

  “Who did the transfer?”

  “I assume Pastor did.”

  “Not DJ?”

  Tom frowned. “I don’t have any proof one way or the other, but it seems that if DJ had access to the money, he’d have taken his share a long time ago.”

  “Pastor’s holding on to the purse strings,” she murmured. “Not a shock. He must do Internet transfers, since they have a computer.”

  “I figured as much. I haven’t been able to trace the location of whoever’s moving money around, though. We could subpoena the bank’s records, but it’s offshore and that would take a long time.”

  “And Pastor and DJ might find out and move Eden again. Plus, that young woman needs help now. The one who’s pregnant.”

  “Hayley Gibbs. She’s been on my mind,” Tom admitted.

  “No surprise. Just like I want to save Mercy and Abigail because I didn’t save my sister, you want to make sure Hayley’s baby is safe because—” She cut herself off. “I’m sorry.”

  His heart hurt, but she wasn’t the cause. “No need to be sorry. I do want Hayley safe because I couldn’t save Tory and our baby. You can say her name. You can mention the baby. It’s okay. I know you care.”

  Her smile was tremulous, as was the kiss she pressed to his jaw before turning back to study the documents on his board. She tapped a finger on Eden’s bank account summary, the minimal withdrawals and the hefty quarterly deposits. “The quarterly deposits are really big,” she said. “Are they making that much money from selling mushrooms?”

  “The guys in Forensic Accounting think that those are investment dividends, based on the rate of growth. Pastor and DJ may keep the cash from their drug sales for operating expenses.”

  “Wow. Well, whoever is managing their money is doing an amazing job.”

  “Pastor did time in the pen for bank fraud and forgery, among other things. He was a stockbroker who skimmed money from his clients. He was pretty good at making money for his clients, so they didn’t suspect him for some time. He has the skills to manage money.”

  “I wonder how he did his banking back then. I mean, before the Internet.”

  Tom hadn’t expected that question. “What?”

  “Well, they’ve been nomadic for thirty years. The Internet’s only been around for, what, twenty-five years or so? And online banking is newer than that. I guess Pastor had to visit an actual bank in person in the early days. Especially if he was setting up an offshore account. And someone had to manage his investments before the Internet unless he managed to leave the compound to do it himself.”

  Oh my God, she’s right. Tom’s thoughts began to percolate. “Amos said Pastor hasn’t left the compound in more than ten years. Not until now—which Amos doesn’t know about, so don’t tell him.” His heart began to beat faster as he mentally worked through the possibilities. “The money Pastor embezzled from his church in L.A. was never found. It’s likely that he parked that offshore, too. He had to have had a banker on the outside at the beginning. What if he still does? Their money has grown incredibly and maybe Pastor’s savvy enough to invest in all the right places, but . . . what if he’s had help?”

  “But you’d need to subpoena the offshore bank to find out who that is—or was, right?”

  “Yeah, unless . . .” A puzzle piece dropped into place. “Unless I can find someone who knew him well enough to know who he’d trust with his money.”

  Liza turned in his arms, her eyes wide. “Someone like his wife?”

  He smiled at her. “Exactly. I mean, if we find her and if she did know who helped him set up those accounts, it’s unlikely that he’s still working with that person after all this time. But it’s a start. There should be some evidence, like paperwork transferred from one bank to the next.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her hard. “You are a genius, Liza Barkley.”

  Her cheeks went pink, but she looked pleased. “But even if you find his banker, what does that tell you?”

  “If he’s communicated with Pastor recently—like to maybe transfer money to Sunnyside Oaks—we can get a warrant for his computer, or even his phone records. It might be another way to locate Eden. Especially if we aren’t able to get the location from either Pastor or DJ. They may never discuss it inside Sunnyside’s walls, and if we arrest them, they may not talk. We have to have alternate paths to getting the information we need.”

  “So you’re going to keep looking for Pastor’s wife?”

  “Yes, but secondary to getting your protection set up. I need you safe on Tuesday, and every day after that you go into that place.”

  She nodded. “I’m not oblivious to the danger, Tom,” she said seriously. “And I am afraid. But not so afraid that I’m going to back out.”

  “I know. I also know that you were incredibly brave the day your friends were killed. I know that you saved a lot of lives and got hurt yourself. Molina told me the whole story. She called your old CO, who was very complimentary. You never mentioned that you got a Purple Heart.”

  She shrugged dismissively. “I got shot in the hip, but it wasn’t life-threatening.”

  He brushed his fingertips over the butterfly tattoo. “Here?”

  “Yeah. Got that in Chicago, a few days after Christmas.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to remember that day.”

  “But you’re okay with remembering it now.” A statement, not a question.

  “Yes. They deserve that much. For me to remember them.”

  “Will you tell me someday? About the Purple Heart?”

  “Yes.” Her voice trembled. “But not today, okay?”

  “Okay. You want to go back and finish our supper?”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  He led her back to the bedroom, grabbing her boot from his desk on the way out. As he expected, Pebbles sat at attention outside the bedroom door, sniffing the air.

  He opened the door and told Pebbles, “Down.” Immediately she dropped to her belly. “Good girl.”

  While Liza climbed back into bed, Tom dug his phone from the pocket of his trousers, hoping that he hadn’t missed any messages. Raeburn had put them all on call, after all.

  Thankfully there was nothing from Raeburn, but he did have a message. “Huh.”

  Liza paused, a slice of pizza an inch from her mouth. “What? Is something wrong?”

  “No, it’s a text from Jeff Bunker.” He turned it so that she could see the message from the sixteen-year-old journalism major.

  Got a promising lead on search for Craig Hickman. Expect news early in the am East Coast time. Will text when I know more.

  “Who’s Craig Hickman?” Liza asked.

  “He was the college kid who first exposed Pastor’s embezzlement from the church in L.A. He was beaten severely and then his parents’ house was burned down. Pastor’s followers were suspects. Craig disappeared shortly after that.”

  Her eyes widened. “He was killed?”

  “No. One of Jeff’s journalist mentors said he changed his name and moved away.”

  “That was probably smart,” she murmured. “Why is Jeff looking for him?”

  “I think he wants to write the story of his career when Eden’s found. He’s looking for all the background, and Craig Hickman is im
portant because he started it all when he exposed Pastor’s crimes. He’s keeping me up to date because I’m curious as well. Let me text him a quick thanks and then we can eat.”

  She smiled. “And then we can play.”

  GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

  MONDAY, MAY 29, 3:30 A.M.

  Cop or Fed?

  DJ studied the figure behind the wheel of the black sedan parked in front of Kowalski’s house. The sedan had been there when he’d arrived hours before and hadn’t moved. The driver wore a dark suit and tie. So probably a Fed. Possibly an undercover cop.

  He thought of the trash he’d left in the can the day he’d packed his things and left the Yuba City house. Kowalski had touched a few of those cans. Maybe they’d gotten his prints, too.

  That was a satisfying thought. But it could also be someone from a rival gang, out to end Kowalski, which wasn’t a bad thought, either. Whoever it was, DJ needed to get rid of them before he made his own move.

  The fence around Kowalski’s—or Anthony Ward’s—large estate was tall and likely electrified. However, the satellite view on Google Maps showed several large trees along the fence at the rear of the property. Depending on how old the satellite photos were, those trees could be even taller or possibly trimmed so that their limbs no longer hung over the fence. He was banking on the former, because that was how he planned to breach Kowalski’s stronghold.

  Kowalski had taught him that move, too. He would be so proud.

  He’d thought a lot about Kowalski and had concluded that the man couldn’t be convinced to back off. DJ needed to either kill him or get the weapons he was looking for, finish the job he’d started with Mercy and Gideon, then disappear.

  It was possible that none of Kowalski’s weapons were stored here, but DJ wasn’t leaving until he’d found either enough firepower to take out the Sokolov house with Mercy Callahan in it or something to trade for what he needed. If he had to, he’d take Kowalski’s kid.

  DJ really didn’t want to do that. Hostages were messy, but he needed as many weapons as he could get, and he wasn’t naive enough to believe that Kowalski would just give him some. If Kowalski played ball, DJ would return the kid. Worst case, he could leave the kid at the Smythes’ house and Mrs. Smythe would find him once she returned.