Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Linnea stayed at home last night, so I tiptoe around the kitchen making myself breakfast and packing my lunch, then make sure to refresh the coffeemaker and get a fire going in the hearth before leaving for town.
We’ve had a steady series of storms all week, but this morning, the clouds are whipping around the spires of the Bitterroots, with the hint of winter blue sky peeking out between them.
During the drive, I should be mentally preparing myself for the meeting, but my thoughts drift to Keo instead. By the time I pull up to the sheriff’s department, that unwelcome flutter is rolling through my insides.
Enough. I exhale hard, puffing my cheeks, then after digging a pair of spare readers from my console, I search my wallet for the film festival ticket stub with Keo’s number scrawled across the back.
My kids would tell me to text, but as I like to remind them, I am a dinosaur, so I type in her number, coax in a series of breaths, and press CALL. When Keo’s voicemail answers, her sultry voice coaxing me to leave a message is like a sip of good whiskey on a cold night.
I hang up so fast, I drop my phone.
Resting the back of my head against the seat, I blink at the ceiling. Maybe I’m not so brave after all.
A gust of wind rocks my truck, snapping me back to my purpose and the brand-new task force meeting I’m going to be late for.
I’ll call Keo another time. Or never.
After gathering my things, I step down to the parking lot and head for the entrance. The thin layer of plowed snow crunches beneath my boots while the icy wind works under my collar, making me shiver.
I’ve barely finished signing in when Zach appears to take me back. He nods at the folder under my arm. “You come bearing gifts?”
“Something like that,” I reply because no one outside of law enforcement would consider what’s inside this folder a gift.
He leads me past the bullpen, then says in a low tone, “Quick update for you regarding our runaway. Sofie met with him yesterday, and he got the clothes Ms. Stratton sent.”
Sofie sometimes volunteers with protective services. My chest warms at the thought of her taking on this particular case. “When can he have visitors?”
“I’ll find out.” He leads me past a small break area to the back hallway, then opens the conference room door for me.
Inside the windowless room is an oval table with an AV setup in the center, surrounded by chairs. Built into the right wall is a coffee station. A giant whiteboard covers most of the entire left wall, with a retractable screen hanging above it.
Special Agent Luke Ballard turns from the coffee station where he’s talking with a woman dressed in dark trousers and a pale blue sweater, her short blonde hair in a low ponytail.
The two of them meet me halfway. “Great to see you again, Rowdy,” Luke says, his intelligent brown eyes shifting from me to the woman with him. “This is Special Agent Annette Mills, from the Crimes Against Children Unit.”
That he’s not introducing her as his girlfriend catches me off-guard, but maybe that kind of thing breaches professional lines.
When she switches her mug of tea to shake my hand, I catch the glint from the diamond on her left ring finger.
Luke’s engaged?
“Great to meet you,” I say with a smile that hopefully covers my surprise.
Annette’s on the petite side, but her grip is firm. “You as well. I’m thrilled we’ve made this happen.”
“Lucky for us, Everett’s persistent,” I reply as three more people enter the conference room.
The first is a tall, slender woman with her dark hair in a tight bun and dressed in the navy-blue Idaho State Patrol uniform.
The second is Rex Rolland, our overworked county prosecutor, dressed down today in chinos and a button-down shirt rolled to his elbows, and finally, in walks Sheriff Rumsey—Everett.
He’s carrying a ceramic mug of coffee with the words HANG IN THERE printed next to an image of a cat clinging to the mug’s rim.
Fitting, given the mess we’re in.
Zach introduces Vera Perch from State Patrol and Rex, who flashes everyone a wave, and then we settle into our chairs. Annette sets up her laptop while Zach pulls his trusty notebook from his chest pocket and clicks open his pen.
Everett carries his coffee to the front of the room.
“First, I want to thank you all for coming. Let me reiterate a few facts so we’re all clear.
” He sips from his mug. “Sons of Eden now have two separate sects. The main one in Miller’s Ferry, run by Otis Wakefield, and a newer one in Elk Flats, led by Otis’s forty-year-old son, Jerome.
This task force will focus on Jerome and the Elk Flats compound.
Last year, the Wakefields threw a lot of money into getting one of their puppets elected as sheriff of Finn River, so we believe their goal is to keep expanding.
” His serious gaze sweeps the room. “We’re going to stop them. ”
A charged silence follows, then Everett nods at me. “Why don’t you start, Rowdy, since I know you’ve got to get up north.”
I wince. Today I meet the kid I’m being forced to mentor for the next two months. He’s also in the running to take over my district when I retire next year.
I pat my pockets for my reading glasses, then remember they’re in my coat, which is…in the truck. Whatever, I have the information memorized.
From inside the file folder, I pass out a double-sided sheet of paper to everyone. “Forensic results from the state crime lab on evidence I collected during an illegal logging operation. I believe the two men are cult members.”
All eyes refocus on the printouts.
“They left a thermos and a chainsaw behind when they fled by snowmachine,” I add.
The bullet I brought back is commonly used for deer hunting—a dead end unless we also obtain possession of the gun that fired it.
“The state crime lab pulled DNA from the thermos. No match in CODIS, but there is a match to an open case—”
Zach sits bolt upright, his eyes on the bottom of the paper. “Human trafficking?”
Everett mutters a curse, his brow deeply furrowed.
“Looks that way,” I say while handing out a second sheet of paper, this one with crime scene details from an unsolved trafficking investigation.
“I know this case,” Vera says with a grim set to her lips. “One of our troopers found an abandoned trailer at a rest area. The evidence inside indicated it was being used to transport people.”
She’s right about that. I saw the crime scene photos. The makeshift bucket toilet, clothing, and cases of snack foods and jugs of water. “The DNA from the thermos matched evidence ISP collected from inside the trailer.”
To think I had been that close to nabbing those two scumbags out at Crooked Pine Creek.
Annette glances over the lid of her laptop. “Any idea who was being trafficked?”
Vera sets her paper down on the table. “There wasn’t much to go on, and none of the evidence matched existing missing persons on file. We even expanded our search outside Idaho.”
“It’s possible they’re not US citizens,” Everett says.
Zach nods. “Or they’re from an underserved population.”
Rex taps his thumb on the table, his brow furrowed in thought. “There was a case a couple of years ago. Teen girls coerced from a group home. The case manager didn’t report them missing because those kids often become transient. They were taken across state lines. Sold into a trafficking ring.”
I huff a startled breath. “My god.” These are human beings, possibly children. Being sold and traded like animals. Like property.
“Do we think they’re bringing runaways into the cult, or is this one of their business ventures?” Vera asks.
“No way of knowing until we can get inside,” Everett replies, crossing his arms. He side-eyes Rex Rolland. “Or we get a judge to sign off on a wire.”
Rex raises an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that. Get me the proof that there’s a phone being used to coordinate criminal activity and you’ll get your wire.”
“Wakefield’s using a burner,” Zach says with a shake of his head. “We need him on a landline or cell we can tap.”
“Can we get eyes on him?” Luke asks, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe he’s using a particular location to run his operations. That might be a quicker way to bring in more intel.”
Zach and Everett exchange a quick glance. “That’s not a bad idea,” Everett says while Zach starts scribbling in his notebook. “He owns that run-down diner. Maybe he’s stupid enough to use it like an office.”
“To do it we’ll have to fly under that sheriff’s radar,” Zach says.
Everett gives a scornful huff. “Maybe we’ll catch him too.”
Annette’s fingers fly over her keyboard. “I’m putting in a request for audio surveillance in the diner. I also think we should get some visuals on the compound. We need to start identifying the players, their movements.”
“Agreed,” Everett says. “But no tactical, okay? Eyes and ears only. There are kids in that compound.”
It’s an important line to draw in the sand. Tactical missions can take on a life of their own.
Annette’s still typing but affirms with a nod.
Zach reaches over to wake up the laptop open in the center of the table.
“We’ve been collaborating with the Crimes Against Children Unit for the past two years in relation to the six minors who have left the cult and for one reason or another have interacted with law enforcement or first responders,” he says as an image projects onto the screen.