Silenced

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Friday

“Thank you for agreeing to talk with us,” Kate said over the speakerphone after introductions. Kate and Lucy were in their family room, the files spread around them. Hans was patched in on the conference call from his office at FBI Headquarters. Kerry, Mrs. Carson, and Agent Rachel Burrows were at the Carson house in Richmond.

Kate informed Kerry that they were recording the conversation.

The situation had become more volatile than they’d planned when Mrs. Carson wanted to wait until she could find a lawyer to represent Kerry’s interests. The other missing girl, Bryn, was also staying at the Carson’s. She was Kerry’s fifteen-year-old sister. Hans convinced her that they had no intention of prosecuting Kerry, that they were trying to find Ivy before she ended up dead. Time was critical.

Kerry wanted to talk, and once Mrs. Carson reluctantly agreed, it was early Friday morning. Dawn had just broken by the time they had everyone on the phone.

Kate began asking the questions. They quickly recounted what Kerry had already told Rachel, then Kate said, “The arson investigator said that the cause of the fire was inconclusive. Meaning, he needs to investigate further as to whether the fire was arson or not.”

“It was on purpose,” Kerry said. “Ivy smelled alcohol and saw someone in the next yard, then woke everyone up.”

“Alcohol?”

“The kind they use in hospitals.”

“Did you smell it?”

“When I got downstairs. By that time, the smoke was coming up through the floor vents. Ivy said to run out the front because she saw someone in the back.”

Kate asked, “Did anyone else see the intruder?”

“No, why do you care?”

“I’m just trying to get an understanding of what happened, maybe someone else could identify him.”

“It was dark, and we’ve always been security conscious, but particularly now.”

“Now? Why now?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with the fire.”

“Is it because Ivy brought her sister to live in the house?” Lucy asked carefully.

“Partly.”

“After the fire, what did you do?”

“We split up. We had to disappear. We didn’t know if the intruder was hanging out or what.”

Kate asked, “Did you have reason to believe someone was going to attack you?”

“No, but—” She hesitated.

Lucy asked, “Kerry, we understand that you want to protect Ivy. It sounds like you and Ivy were very close.”

“You don’t understand what we’ve been through. The last two weeks have been so hard on her—”

“Since Sara came to live with her.”

Again, hesitation. “Do you know who their father is?”

“Yes.”

“Ivy was terrified of him. And nothing scared her. Ever since I met her, when she finally trusted me enough to tell me her plans, it’s been about saving enough money to rescue Sara and disappear. That’s why she agreed to Wendy’s proposition.”

Kate and Lucy exchanged an optimistic look.

Kerry continued. “Wendy ran our group. I don’t know how Ivy and Wendy hooked up, they knew each other before I met them. Wendy had a great system. We were making enough money for the house, and to save money for S-Day.”

“What was S-Day?”

“February second. Sara’s birthday. The day we planned to rescue her.”

“That’s still seven months from now—” Kate began.

“No, last February.” Kerry took a deep breath before continuing. “Ivy didn’t think it through. She wanted to get Sara away from her father before her fourteenth birthday. Because Ivy knew he would rape her on that day. It’s what happened to her older sister, it’s what happened to Ivy.

“But,” Kerry continued, “she didn’t factor in that for six years, Sara thought she was dead. Then all of the sudden, her sister is standing in her bedroom telling her that her father is an evil prick who’s going to rape her. What would you do if someone you loved had died, you went to the funeral, then they just walk in and want you to run away?”

Lucy could picture the scene vividly. “Were you there?” she asked Kerry.

“I was the driver, waiting in the woods.” She laughed humorlessly. “I tried to warn Ivy, but she can be stubborn. And I guess I wanted to save Sara before she had to suffer through that.”

“What did Sara do?” Kate asked.

“Started screaming. Ivy had to leave her or be caught. At that point? He would have really killed her, not just pretended she was dead.”

“Pretended?” Hans asked. “Did Edmonds know Ivy faked her suicide?”

“Faked? She ran away. She tried to take her sister with her, but Sara was only eight and didn’t want to go. She found out through his television show that he’d told everyone she’d killed herself. But that was before we hooked up.”

Lucy understood now how Ivy had spiraled into such dangerous activities. While anyone can disappear into a big city, surviving cost money. If everyone thought you were dead, it was both freeing and soul-destroying. At fourteen, young Hannah Edmonds had no one to help her.

“Ivy was so depressed afterward,” Kerry continued. “Wendy used that.”

“You didn’t like Wendy?”

“No,” Kerry said without hesitation. “She was selfish and manipulative. She used Ivy. Ivy knew she was being used, but she was getting what she wanted, so she let Wendy get away with all this crap.”

Lucy asked, “And that’s when Ivy agreed to this proposition?”

“Wendy was videotaping her clients. These weren’t just sex tapes; some of these guys are total pervs with all their weird-ass fetishes. Who cares anymore if two consenting adults have sex? And proving Wendy was a call girl would be next to impossible. But if you found out that your doctor liked to wear women’s underwear and high heels while having sex? Or the guy you voted for could only get off if he were being paddled? I told Ivy it was risky, one of her clients would find out. And I was right.”

Hans spoke up for the first time. “Do you think that one of Wendy or Ivy’s clients is responsible for these murders?”

Kerry didn’t say anything at first.

“Kerry,” Lucy said, “Dr. Vigo wants to know if you have any evidence—no matter how small—that it is a client who is responsible?”

“I’ve been thinking about this since I heard about what happened to Wendy—I don’t know. I don’t have any reason to, I just assumed because who else would want them dead?”

Lucy kept her voice calm and soothing, less interrogative than Kate. “It’s all right, Kerry. It was your first thought, and it would have been my first thought, knowing what you know.”

“Do you know more?”

Kate said, “We’re working on it. That’s why this conversation is critical—we have evidence that we can’t connect up. For example, you said that Wendy was video-recording her clients. We found a hidden room in an executive apartment with wires that may have been connected to recording equipment, but the place was wiped down.”

“Apartment seven-ten.”

“Yes.”

“We’ve all used it, but it was Wendy’s place.”

Kate said, “There were people who leased the space. How did Wendy know when it was available?”

“Betty Dare, the manager,” Kerry said as if they were dense. “Betty scheduled the apartment. If she wanted information, she put people in that space. It wasn’t just about sex—it was about secrets. That’s what Ivy said. Ivy knew too much about what Wendy was doing, I think that’s why someone is trying to kill her.”

Kate sent Noah a message about Betty Dare. This could blow the case wide open.

Kate said, “We’ve gone through Wendy’s finances and she’s not getting any unusual payments that would indicate blackmail.”

“It wasn’t always money, not anything easily traceable. I don’t know those details, and I don’t think Ivy did, either. Ivy got paid in cash, though, for using the apartment to record specific clients. She had all that cash in the house when it was set on fire.”

“How much?” Kate asked.

“It depended, between one and two thousand a pop. For an escort night, we made on the high end five hundred. Ivy had a list of clients Wendy wanted on tape, and she was working through them.”

Kate said, “If Wendy wasn’t getting paid in cash, how did she pay Ivy? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know, but I saw the money, I swear to God.”

“I believe you,” Kate said, “I’m just trying to put conflicting information together. For example, was she being paid in jewelry? Property? Clothing? And if these guys were being blackmailed, why did they still pay her for sex?”

“After they were blackmailed, most stopped being clients. It’s not like they were doing this every night. Maybe a couple times a month. And not everyone was a regular. Many were here in town for business. In our established escort service, we saw mostly out-of-town businessmen. Wendy took the calls, kept the schedule, kept the books, and took twenty percent.”

There had been no record of any of that in her apartment, Lucy remembered. Where were these books? Most likely on a flash drive or something easily concealable. But the FBI had gone through both apartments three times and had found nothing.

It could be her killer already had it. But then why go after Ivy and the others?

“And Ivy helped her?” Kate asked.

“The money was good, and Ivy was desperate. Then—” She hesitated.

“Then?”

“Ivy stopped talking to me. Something was going down, it was like she was looking for a big score. Taking huge risks. It started when Sara called her. You gotta understand, Sara isn’t allowed to use the phone. Ivy had hidden a disposable cell phone in the barn for Sara to call only when it was safe. Sara was crying, begging her to come back and get her. Ivy had already spent a small fortune to get her the first time, and she was hysterical about not having the money to go back. She started meeting with this guy I’d never seen before—not a client, at least she said he wasn’t. And then two weeks ago, he came to the house with Sara in tow. I haven’t seen him since.”

“What did he look like?” Kate said.

“Older—forties. Nice-looking Italian guy, not short or tall. Buffed—he definitely worked out. I really don’t think he was one of her clients—I can tell when men are pervs, and I didn’t get that vibe from him. He treated Ivy like a sister or daughter or something.”

“Did she hire him to kidnap her sister?” Kate asked.

“She did not kidnap Sara!” Kerry said. “She saved her from being repeatedly raped by her father. You can’t possibly understand what they went through. Nobody understands what it’s like to have the person you trust more than anyone turn into a monster. My stepfather was so fucking drunk the first time he raped me that he didn’t know I wasn’t my mother. And then my mother, so desperate to keep a man, told me I was the whore.”

Lucy understood far more than Kerry thought, but she wasn’t going to say a word, especially when this conversation was being recorded. Her heart broke for what they had suffered.

Kerry said, “You got to let them go. Let them escape. If Reverend Edmonds gets his hands on Sara, you’ll never get her back.”

“The FBI isn’t going to send Sara back to a bad situation,” Kate said. “All she has to do is tell us she was raped and we’ll keep her in custody, give her a full medical exam.”

“And what if he gets to her first?” Kerry said. “What if he takes her home? Are you going to break down his door and take her away? I’m telling you, if he takes Sara back to the mountain, no one will see her again.”

Lucy said, “Kerry, I give you my word, when we find Sara, we will protect her.” She ignored Kate’s look of concern. There were promises agents couldn’t always keep. But Lucy would do everything possible to keep this promise. “You have to understand there is a killer searching for Sara and Ivy and Mina. And you, for that matter. We have to find the girls first. Do you have any idea where they might be?”

Kerry sounded distraught, and Lucy could hear Mrs. Carson consoling her in the background. “Ivy called Jocelyn, because Jocelyn always promised to help. And now Jocelyn is dead. Would you go to someone you care about if you thought they might get killed for it?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Lucy said. “Not for me. But if I was protecting someone, if someone else counted on me to keep them safe, I would do anything to guarantee their safety.”

Hans said, “Kerry? We know that Ivy stole five thousand dollars. What would she do with it?”

“Buy two passports so they could go to Canada,” Kerry said without hesitation. “That was her plan all along, and she had the passports, but they were destroyed in the fire.”

“Where did she get the first two?”

Kerry didn’t speak. Then she hedged, “I thought of someone she might go to. She was really close to the black lady who had a little church and school on Thirty-first Street.”

“Marti North,” Kate said.

“She’s not dead too, is she?”

“No. We spoke to her and she claimed not to have seen Ivy.”

Lucy frowned. There had to be another place.

“How did you and Ivy communicate?”

“We all had disposable phones,” Kerry said. “But I’ve been trying to reach Ivy and her phone isn’t working.”

Lucy pictured the two phones underwater in the sink of the Hotel Potomac.

Lucy pulled out the rental agreement that the owner of the Hawthorne Street house had faxed over. She asked, “Do you know Paul Harris? Ivy listed him as her father, but we know that’s not true. Was it a false name?”

“Father Paul,” Kerry said. “She hasn’t talked about him in years. He helped her when she first came to DC, and once or twice she’d mention something in passing about Father Paul. I don’t know where he lives, I’ve never met him.”

“Father Paul?” Lucy asked. “Is he a priest?”

“I don’t know, I guess he could be.”

Lucy typed the address from the rental agreement into her mapping program on her laptop. She smiled and said, “St. Anne’s Catholic Church.” She stood, antsy.

Kate held up her finger. “Kerry, thank you for your help. We’ll find Ivy and Sara, and it’ll be because you helped.”

They disconnected and Kate said, “We need backup, Lucy, we’re not going in blind. I’ll set it up.”

The phone rang again and it was Hans. Kate answered. “I’m sorry I hung up on you. I need to put a team together for this op.”

“We just got a search warrant for Betty Dare and Noah and Stein are already on their way. I’ll have a SWAT team meet you two blocks east of St. Anne’s—you don’t want to tip your hand. I don’t think Ivy is violent, but I do think she’ll kill to protect her sister.”

Lucy concurred, but didn’t comment.

“And Lucy?” Hans said.

“I’m here.”

“Good job.”

While Kate put the team together, Lucy went upstairs to change. She was still sore, but the ibuprofen she’d taken earlier had finally kicked in. She opened her bedroom door and jumped back, an involuntary yelp escaping before she recognized the back she was staring at belonged to Sean.

He turned around. “I’m sorry—I heard you and Kate on the conference call and came up here to write a note.”

“You could have come into the family room.”

He crumpled up the paper he’d been writing on and tossed it in the garbage gan. “Now I can tell you in person that I love you.” He smiled and hugged her, not tightly. “You’re still sore,” he said.

“A bit. We have a lead on Ivy Harris. She’s friends with a priest at St. Anne’s, a small Catholic church. Kate and I are going to talk to him now.”

“I hope you find her.”

Sean wasn’t quite himself, but Lucy couldn’t figure out what it was in his demeanor that was off. If roles were reversed, Sean would know exactly what was bothering her. His insight into her personality and moods could be annoying, but she also found it comforting at times. And right now, she suspected Sean needed something from her.

“Sean, what’s wrong?”

He smiled and kissed her. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back last night. I wanted to, but got wrapped up in a project.”

“That’s okay. You’ll make it up to me, I’m sure,” she teased. But that wasn’t the only thing on his mind. Lucy pushed. “Is it a difficult case?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He played with her hair. “I don’t want to keep you, I know you have work.”

“I have a few minutes.” She sat down at the foot of her bed, and patted the space next to her. “Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He did, then pushed her gently back onto the bed. “You, me, bed—want to play hooky?” He kissed her neck, then her jawline, all the way to her lips.

He was avoiding her question. She recognized his ruse to sidetrack her.

“We both have work to do,” she whispered.

“I missed you, Princess.” He sounded like they’d been apart for a week, not one night.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” She sat up. Sean still lay on his back. “You always listen to me, I want to know what is bothering you about this project.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, but that was okay with Lucy. She let him think about it while she changed. He sat up to watch her. Though being watched by strangers still made her extremely uncomfortable, Sean didn’t. He was one of the few she felt so relaxed with that she almost felt normal. He’d healed wounds so deep she hadn’t even known they were there until he exposed them to light, and to love.

When she was done dressing, she sat back on the bed and kissed him.

Sean said, “It’s a complicated case.”

She didn’t say anything, but let him continue at his own pace. Sean was rarely reticent—he shared everything, his thoughts and emotions, both good and bad. His sharp wit and biting criticism of law enforcement had often gotten him in trouble with Noah and others, but one of the many things Lucy loved about Sean was that he didn’t keep everything bottled inside, like she did. He believed in addressing problems head-on.

“A college kid, from my alma mater MIT, did something stupid.” He hesitated again.

“I’m not going to turn him in to the feds, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not.” But he relaxed, just a bit, and Lucy wondered if that’s what his fear really was—that he couldn’t share something because of her position with the FBI.

“Sean, you know you can trust me. I’m not so naïve to think that RCK doesn’t handle some less-than-squeaky-clean cases. Two of my brothers work there. Don’t let my job make you think you have to keep secrets.”

“I trust you, Luce, more than anyone.” He took both her hands, kissed them, then held tightly. “It’s just complex. He’s nearly twenty-one, he should have known better. He decided to play Robin Hood.”

“Steal from the rich and give to the poor?”

“You make it sound like a crime.”

“It is a crime.”

“What if he stole from a thief?”

“It sounds like you have a complicated case.”

“I’m trying to help him fix things so he doesn’t do any jail time.”

Sean had such a soft spot for young people. The teenager in the Adirondacks who nearly burned down the lodge they were staying at, who nearly killed Sean, had been only the most recent in a long line of desperate kids who felt they had nowhere to turn for help. She knew part of his drive was because of his own troubled childhood, losing both of his parents in a plane crash when he was fourteen, and his subsequent rebellion against a brother who was himself too young to know what to do with a grieving genius.

“I know whatever you do, you’ll fix it and everyone will get what they need.” She smiled and kissed him. “That kid is lucky to have you on his side.”

There was a loud knock on Lucy’s door. “Get your butt downstairs, Lucy,” Kate said, “and tell Sean he wasn’t so smart that I didn’t know he broke into my house again.”

“You need a better security system,” Sean called back.

“Ass,” Kate said. “Two minutes, Lucy.”

Sean grinned. He really liked Kate. “She loves me,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean she won’t get back at you,” Lucy teased.

“That’ll be fun.” Sean wished he had more time with Lucy. He needed her. But she had a job to do. And so did he. He probably shouldn’t have even stopped by this morning, but it was early and he’d just wanted to see her.

“I have to go—set the alarm on your way out, or Kate really will have your hide.”

Lucy kissed him one last time and left. Sean wondered if she would have been as understanding if she knew the kid from MIT he’d told her about was himself, nine and a half years ago.

He heard Kate and Lucy drive off. He retrieved the note from the trash can, glad he had changed his mind. Lucy didn’t need any additional pressure, and he shouldn’t leave it in writing. He blamed lack of sleep for his near-slip.

Luce—

You were right about Paxton. Do not trust him. Do not believe anything he says. He’s not your friend.

He tore it into quarters, then went downstairs to Kate’s office. He pushed each piece through the shredder, glad that there was already paper in the can beneath. To be safe, he mixed up the small squares, then left.

He had another house to break into.

* * *

SSA Josh Stein acted like a kid on a sugar rush, he was so excited by the new intel, coupled with the financial statements of all the businesses and individuals who had rented executive suite 710 in the last six months. Noah almost began to like him.

“Look—they all connect somehow to DSA. Enviro Solutions hired them as their lobbyist. They get the suite, and then their retainer doubled. Mrs. Erica Craig is in the suite and wham, she makes a big donation to a nonprofit client of DSA.”

“It’ll still be difficult to prove there was illegal activity. Unless someone comes forward as a blackmail victim, Devon Sullivan can claim she’s just a good saleswoman.”

“I’m going to prove that she’s corrupt. Because she is. It’s all here—I feel it. And when I get little old Betty Dare in interrogation, she’s going to sing. She gives us one word that Devon Sullivan bribed or attempted to bribe, blackmailed or attempted to blackmail, even one person, the AUSA has a judge on standby. This is the biggest case of my career. Of your career!”

Noah didn’t agree. It would probably be the most high-profile case of Noah’s career, but he would much prefer to stick to the relative anonymity of violent crimes, putting killers behind bars rather than gunning for con artists and corrupt politicians. But he realized while working with Josh that they needed agents with passion for what they did, because criminals, violent or not, needed to be stopped.

“Devon Sullivan didn’t kill five people,” Noah said. “Betty Dare has only been implicated as part of the blackmail scheme.”

Josh waved his hand in dismissal. “You know what they say—we get them any way we can. Al Capone was a killer, but we nailed him on tax evasion. So if we can’t get her on conspiracy of murder, then we get her with this.” He tapped his files.

“I want the killer. There are three young women in grave danger, Josh,” Noah said. When he saw that Josh wasn’t paying attention, Noah barked out, “Stein!”

Josh looked at him, startled.

“Did you hear me?” Noah said.

“Yeah, you want to find the killer.” He was already turning his head away to look at his columns of numbers. “I’m with you on that.”

Noah grabbed his wrist and squeezed.

“Shit, Armstrong! Let go!”

Noah held on. “If you blow this, if you and your pet AUSA offer any immunity without talking to me, I will make your life Hell. Devon Sullivan did not kill Wendy James. She did not slit the throat of Nicole Bellows, or stab a social worker to death. I want to know who did it, and if she hired the killer, I want her, too. For first-degree, premeditated, special circumstances, homicide.”

Josh’s eyes darted to the SWAT driver as if looking for rescue, but the other cop didn’t acknowledge him. Noah dropped his wrist. He’d made his point.

The small SWAT team that was helping Noah and Josh execute the warrant reported that they had arrived, were in position, and were awaiting instructions.

Noah took the command headset from Josh. “On my call,” he said.

They got out and entered the lobby two minutes after seven that morning.

Noah took the stairs up to Betty Dare’s second-floor apartment. He pounded on the door. “FBI! We have a warrant! Open up!”

No answer.

He pounded again, shouted, “FBI! Search warrant! We’re coming in!” He waited a beat, then commanded SWAT to prepare to ram the door. Two men held the heavy steel battering ram.

“FBI! Stand back! We’re entering the premises!”

He nodded to the team, who rammed the door, breaching in one swift movement. Everyone stood aside, while two more agents held assault rifles on the room, visually searching for any threat.

The smell in the apartment was horrendous.

Noah walked down the hall, away from the apartment. Josh Stein looked confused. “What happened? Why aren’t you going in?”

Noah didn’t respond. He waited for the SWAT team leader to issue the all-clear report.

“Agent Armstrong?”

“Here.”

“We’ve cleared the apartment. One deceased, female.”

“How?”

“Appears to be a gunshot to the back of the head.”

“Silencer?”

“Poor man’s silencer. The pillow is still in place.”

Noah walked carefully through the apartment. Betty Dare had been murdered in her bedroom. On the bed was a half-packed suitcase. Had she been scared of prosecution? Or more terrified of who she worked for?

She’d used the extra bedroom as her own private office. Stacks of video-recording equipment were in the closet. The hard drive had been pulled from her computer. She had an industrial-strength paper shredder, filled.

“Call forensics,” he said to Josh. “This place is all yours.”

He left the apartment building on Park Way and called Kate. “I’m on my way, where are you?”

“We just arrived at St. Anne’s. Lucy and I are going to talk to the priest, I’ll let you know.”

“Be alert. Betty Dare, our potential witness, is dead.”