Say Goodbye Read online

  A call to Raeburn yielded his agreement that they should at least check DJ’s surviving family off their list of suspects, so they’d made the hour drive to Benicia, a quiet community northeast of Oakland. But if DJ was here, he was hiding his presence well.

  Tom wanted to sigh. It was more likely that DJ hadn’t been hiding here and didn’t intend to.

  Croft patted his shoulder as they returned to the SUV. “Don’t look so glum.”

  “I wasted our time,” Tom said when they’d closed the SUV’s doors. “You were right.”

  “Nah.” Croft clicked her seat belt into place. “It wasn’t a bad guess and we needed to check it out, especially since this was the address listed on his missing-person report.” Tom had sent his Eden file to her phone and she’d refreshed her memory by reading it aloud as they’d made the drive. “This was the last place he lived before Eden. He might have remembered it. Look, kid, most of the job is paperwork, checking off things that aren’t relevant, chasing dead ends, and waiting for new leads. Didn’t they teach you that at the Academy?”

  “I thought they were exaggerating,” he muttered.

  Croft chuckled. “Nope. Let’s check off another box by talking to DJ’s aunt and uncle.”

  “Waylon’s brother and sister-in-law,” Tom agreed. “They seemed to be telling the truth when I met them a month ago, but I’m interested in your take.”

  “Merle Belmont is Waylon’s younger brother,” Croft said, referring to the Eden file on her phone. “Unlike Waylon, who spent time in the federal pen, Merle’s kept his nose clean. He’s had a few traffic tickets, but nothing more than that. He might think he’s doing a good deed, giving his nephew a place to hide. The missing-person report says that DJ’s mother disappeared at the same time as DJ. Only a few months after Waylon went to Eden. Did Amos tell you anything about how DJ got to Eden?”

  “Only that he showed up with Waylon one day, but Ephraim talked about it.” He leaned over the center console to swipe her phone screen until he came to a part of the Eden file she hadn’t read aloud. “Did you see these? The photocopies of the notebooks that Ephraim Burton left behind in his safe-deposit box?”

  “I read the parts that Raeburn highlighted—mostly about the fifty million in the offshore accounts. Which part specifically?”

  Tom was annoyed. Raeburn had dismissed much of Ephraim’s record as interesting reading but not integral to finding Eden. “Read the page I turned to. W is Waylon and P is Pastor.”

  “ ‘I got goods on W. I’m saving it for now, but I’ll tell P if W gets in my way. W killed a chick who showed up at Eden’s gate in a very hot car with a kid—his kid, she said. W called the chick Charlie. She said she was tired of babysitting his kid, that she wanted to have fun, so it was his turn. He twisted her neck. Snapped it like a twig, then saw me standing there. He was not happy to see me, but I told him that if he taught me to snap necks and gave me the car, I wouldn’t tell P that he let a woman follow him to the compound. He agreed to both and now I have a very hot car and I can kill with my bare hands.’ ”

  Croft looked up, her expression grim. “I wonder if Waylon’s brother suspected that Waylon was involved in DJ and his mother’s disappearance.”

  “Waylon was a suspect at the time, mostly because of his prior record and the years he spent in the pen, but they never found him, of course. It’s all in the file.”

  “Dammit. I need to read all of this, don’t I?”

  Tom wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. “I’d recommend it.”

  “I deserve that.” Croft frowned. “But didn’t I read that Pastor adopted DJ?”

  “You did. It was a casual arrangement, according to Amos. Pastor’s own children had died and he wanted to raise DJ. But this was years before Waylon died.”

  “Why would Waylon allow that?” Croft wondered. “Unless DJ was a hell-child even then.”

  “Possibly. But Gideon remembers that DJ was nice to him when they were little. DJ was four years older and played with Gideon sometimes. But DJ changed when he was thirteen and became Edward McPhearson’s apprentice.”

  “The pedophile blacksmith,” Croft said. “Who targeted adolescent boys.”

  “Exactly. As opposed to his brother Ephraim, the pedophile who targeted adolescent girls.”

  Croft rolled her eyes. “Their mother must be so proud.”

  Tom grimaced. “She is. I listened when Mercy visited her in her nursing home last month. The woman was convinced her sons were angels. I don’t think that was her dementia talking.”

  Croft tilted her head. “Liza Barkley was with Mercy that day,” she noted.

  “Yes.” Which had been both a good and colossally bad idea on his part. “Liza worked with Alzheimer’s patients at the VA home and she’s levelheaded in a crisis, so I thought she’d be a good companion for Mercy.” It had also bonded the two women, creating an instantly deep friendship and further drawing Liza into Mercy’s troubles.

  Which was why she’d been in a killer’s crosshairs the day before. I set Liza up for that.

  “I read the transcript of the nursing home visit,” Croft said, interrupting his guilt fest. “Miss Barkley was really good at distracting and redirecting Ephraim’s mother.”

  “She was.” Of course she was. Liza was good at everything she did.

  Except picking men, apparently. Present company definitely included.

  “But back to DJ,” Croft said, her gaze far too knowing for Tom’s comfort. “If he was apprenticed to McPhearson and his behavior changed, it’s not a huge leap that he was molested as well.”

  “I agree. Doesn’t excuse him being a monster.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Let’s go talk to the aunt and uncle. And I’m going to go over Ephraim’s notes with a fine-tooth comb. I should have anyway. Glad you did.”

  Tom nodded once, because she was right. She should have. He’d started to put the SUV in gear when his work phone buzzed in his hand. “I don’t recognize the number.” He answered, putting it on speaker. “Special Agent Hunter.”

  “Tom, it’s Liza.”

  He immediately sat up straighter, his heart taking off. “Liza? Why are you calling from this number? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m with some friends. I just wanted to pass on a tip. Do you remember the Eden tattoo that Daisy was trying to track down? The one she saw on Instagram?”

  “Yes. We got a name and address for the artist, but when agents went to question him, he ran. He went underground. Why?”

  “The person who got the tattoo is named William Holly, who got it on his eighteenth birthday, eighteen years ago. He originally asked that the children kneeling be labeled as ‘Bo and Bernie.’ For him and his sister.”

  “Holy shit.” Bo and Bernie were Pastor’s twins, whose bodies had been found at the bottom of a ravine—unrecognizable. “How do you know this? Did you find the tattoo artist?”

  “William Holly’s address eighteen years ago was 966 Elvis Lane in Benicia,” Liza replied.

  Tom stared at the Belmonts’ empty rental property—966 Elvis Lane, Benicia. Rafe was right. Pastor’s wife and kids hadn’t died in that ravine. He set the revelation aside for a moment, refocusing on Liza. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you find the tattoo artist? Whose phone is this? Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m texting you the photo ID William Holly used when he got the tattoo,” Liza said very calmly. “I thought this information might be useful to you right away.”

  “Goddammit, Liza,” he snarled. “I need to know where you are and if you’re safe.”

  “I’m safe. I promise. I’ll call you later, but I need to go now.” And the call ended.

  “Fucking hell.” He tried redialing the unfamiliar number, but it just rang. He tried Liza’s cell number and it went to voice mail without ringing once. She was either qui
ck to hit decline, she was talking to someone else, or she’d blocked him. The latter stung.

  “Which friends do you think she’s with?” Croft asked.

  Tom made himself breathe, not allowing his frantic anger to consume his logic. “Daisy’s gotta be one of them. She’s been pushing to find the owners of the Eden tattoos she discovered online.” He dialed Daisy’s cell, but it went to voice mail. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, then dialed Irina’s number.

  “Yes, Tom?” she answered.

  “May I speak with Liza, please? I think she had a lesson with Abigail today.”

  “Oh, that’s long over. Liza’s no longer here.”

  “Is Mercy there?”

  “No. Mercy is with Raphael today. He didn’t want her to leave the safety of their home.”

  She said she’s with friends. Who else did she consider her friend? Immediately the image of Mike the Groper popped into his mind, but he shoved it aside. She wouldn’t involve a stranger in an active investigation. “Did she mention where she’d be going this afternoon?”

  “Why don’t you ask her, Tom?” Irina asked, her tone heavy with maternal disappointment.

  “She’s not answering my calls.”

  “That is not good to hear. I recommend you try harder.”

  The call ended. Tom gaped. “She hung up on me.”

  “She totally did,” Croft said. “Okay then, your personal drama aside, why has Daisy been searching for the owners of Eden tattoos? Why has she been searching for Eden tattoos at all?”

  Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on. “She’s looking for other escapees because she thinks that they might be able to lead them to old Eden locations.”

  “But we know all of the old Eden locations.” Then she nodded, understanding filling her eyes. “But Daisy doesn’t know that because you’re not allowed to tell her.”

  Tom nodded. “Exactly. Up until today she’d only located two people with Eden or Eden-like tattoos. Both are dead—one suicide and one car accident. I should have known she wouldn’t give up—and that Liza would get sucked into it.”

  “All right.” Croft was calm. “Then we need to figure out what to do with this information—if anything.”

  Tom closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. “Probably nothing? This would be more important if we didn’t already know where Pastor is. We just don’t know where Eden is, which is why we haven’t rushed in to arrest him. That’s the big prize. Finding Eden.”

  “But Daisy and the others don’t know that, either—that we know where Pastor is, I mean.”

  “Right.” He sighed. “I mean, I’d love to find Pastor’s wife, because she could fill in our knowledge gaps—how Eden came to be and all that. But to be brutally logical, she’s been gone for nearly twenty-five years. I don’t think she can help us find Eden now.”

  “But,” Croft mused, “this does tell us that Pastor’s wife and children probably didn’t die and probably lived in Waylon Belmont’s brother’s rental house. Waylon was the one who supposedly found their bodies, so it’s fair to assume he’s the one who helped them escape.”

  “Like he helped Gideon. It makes sense, actually. Waylon was married to Pastor’s wife for a little while. She left Waylon to marry Pastor right about the time he assumed a new identity and claimed to be a minister.”

  “Which was when the embezzlement began.”

  “Exactly,” Tom said. “And, if Waylon helped her escape and at some point she lived in his brother’s house, it might also mean that Waylon continued to have contact with his family long after he went into Eden. Unless his brother had no idea who he was renting to.”

  Croft held up one finger. “But if the brother did know back then, it means he was in touch with Waylon and possibly with DJ.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘mights’ and ‘maybes,’ ” Tom said doubtfully.

  Croft shrugged. “I know. We could be veering down a garden path, but if Waylon’s brother knows where DJ is, we need to find that out, because while we know where Pastor is, DJ is still out there with a rifle. Drive, please.”

  Tom started the SUV. “So what’s the plan?”

  “For now? Let’s let them talk and see where it goes. I’ll ask more targeted questions if we’re not getting the answers we need.”

  FIFTEEN

  BENICIA, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, MAY 25, 4:30 P.M.

  Can I help—” Merle Belmont’s expression fell when he realized who stood on his doorstep. “Oh. Special Agent Hunter.” He sighed. “I suppose you want to come in.”

  Okay . . . “Yes, please. This is my partner, Special Agent Croft.”

  Merle sighed again. “I guess I knew this was coming. Doesn’t make it easier. Follow me.”

  “Thank you,” Tom murmured as he and Croft followed Merle into the foyer, where they were met by Merle’s wife Joni, who patted her husband’s arm sympathetically.

  “I’m glad you called him, honey,” she said. “It was the right thing to do. And you’ll get it back, eventually.”

  Merle’s eyes dropped to his feet. “I . . . well, I didn’t exactly . . .”

  “Merle Belmont,” Joni scolded. “You didn’t call him? You promised me. Now this will be a mess.” She looked at Tom and Croft apologetically. “Please come in. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Lemonade?”

  “We’re fine, but thank you for offering,” Croft said. “I’m Special Agent Croft, ma’am.”

  “My wife, Joni,” Merle mumbled, then followed his wife, his shoulders slumping.

  When the couple’s backs were turned, Croft gave Tom a what-the-hell look. Tom shrugged.

  “Well,” Joni said brightly when they were all sitting in the living room. “I suppose you’ll be wanting the keys.”

  “I want a receipt,” Merle said, his chin coming up. “And if there’s one scratch on that car when I get it back . . .”

  “Merle,” Joni hissed, then sighed. “Please excuse my husband. He’s just disappointed.”

  “I don’t understand,” Croft said. “Agent Hunter?”

  “I don’t understand, either,” Tom admitted. “What is this about a car?”

  Merle visibly brightened. “You’re not here for the car?”

  “What car?” Tom asked slowly.

  Merle and Joni exchanged a long glance. “Well,” Joni said again. “We assumed you were here to take custody of the Camaro. You know, Waylon’s Camaro. We just got it back from the nice policemen in San Francisco. Merle hasn’t even driven it yet.”

  Tom frowned, then remembered the set of GM keys they’d found in Ephraim Burton’s pocket and the very hot car he’d extorted from Waylon Belmont. They must have been one and the same. “I see. Where was the car found?”

  “At the airport,” Merle said. “It had been parked there for several weeks before one of the security guards ran a check on the VIN and saw that my father had reported it stolen.”

  Makes sense. Tom kicked himself for not thinking to check the San Francisco airport himself. Using his tablet, he pretended to be taking notes as he typed out a message to Croft.

  Ephraim Burton had a set of GM keys in his pocket when he died. He left out of SFO when he flew to New Orleans to stalk Mercy last month. This has to be the car he took from Waylon.

  He angled the tablet so that Croft could see, and her small nod indicated that she’d read and understood. “When was the car reported stolen, sir?” she asked.

  “Almost thirty years ago.” Merle exhaled, his expression becoming pained. “My father had loaned it to DJ’s mother because she wanted a night on the town with her friends. She had DJ with her. Said she was taking him to a babysitter.”

  “It was the last time we saw them,” Joni added soberly. “We figured whoever had taken them had stolen the car, too. That maybe they were carjacked. It was a valu
able car even then.”

  “It’s a ’69 Camaro,” Merle explained. “Mint condition.”

  “A very hot car,” Tom said quietly. “Did you wonder where it had been?”

  “Of course,” Merle said. “But whoever stole it took really good care of it. I’m grateful for that, at least.” He frowned, then sucked in a breath. “Wait. You asked about DJ the last time you were here. Are you saying that he had it?”

  “No,” Tom said easily. “I’m not saying that at all.”

  “Have you found DJ?” Joni asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “No, ma’am,” Croft replied. “We haven’t found him. But he is why we’re here. We were wondering if you knew anywhere he might go.”

  Both Joni and Merle shook their heads. “No,” Merle said warily. “We told you—we haven’t seen him since he was four years old. Why are you asking us this again?”

  The couple joined hands, appearing anxious now.

  Croft met their eyes squarely. “Would he stay at your other house?”

  The couple glanced at each other in confusion. “You mean our house on Elvis Lane?” Joni asked. “Why would he? You’re scaring me, Agent Croft. What’s going on here?”

  “He lived there once,” Croft pressed.

  “When he was four years old!” Merle exclaimed. “The house stood empty for years after he and Charlene disappeared. My father went over there every day, sometimes multiple times a day, hoping that they’d magically come home, but they never did. He refused to rent the place to anyone else. For years.”

  This was the opening Tom had been hoping for. “How many years, sir?”

  Again Joni and Merle shared an anxious glance. “Maybe five years?” Joni said slowly.

  “That’s about right,” Merle agreed. “Dad heard about this single mom and her two kids who needed a place to live. Margo had run from her husband, who was abusing her, and she needed a place to hide. Mom and Dad took her under their wing, you know? Her kids—twins—were only a few years older than DJ would have been. I think Mom and Dad kind of connected with the kids, so they let them stay.”