Twenty-Two

Megan sat in front of her computer holding the DVDs she’d confiscated from Campbell’s home. She hedged on viewing them. She knew what she’d find. Willingly going back into the pit, bearing witness to the most appalling, cruel acts by human beings—monsters, really—made her take pause. She needed to remind herself of the many crime scenes when she had to disconnect at a certain point, disengage her feelings from the victim’s and their family’s. The personal note Nappa brought from her last case was a sore reminder of her failings, which was the very reason it remained unopened. She needed to admit, if only to herself, that emotional compartmentalization was not her strong suit after all.

She loaded the first DVD into the computer.

Four men sat in chairs facing the bed. The hooded robes veiled their faces. There was one chair not spoken for. It was on a step, meant to be higher, more important than the rest.

That has to be Judge Campbell’s.

The room was filled with candles. The chandelier above the bed was lit. Megan heard the boy before she was able to see him on screen. He was crying. He looked to be twelve, maybe thirteen, but his whimpers made him sound like a toddler. He swayed back and forth, as if he were drugged or drunk. The leader of the group returned to his seat and removed his hood. His face was covered in a gothic-style black metal mask. The leader ordered the boy to his knees, and in front of each member seated, he was commanded to perform fellatio.

“Jesus Christ!” Megan put her hands up to her head. “You fucking bastards.” She had to stand up and look away. Then a scream in the video made her turn back. The boy was being raped now, attacked by the leader while the camera closed in on his face. When his assault was complete, the leader took a candle and lit something. Megan couldn’t tell what the object was. The footage was far too dark. The leader ordered the boy to go back on the bed, face down, while two other members held him still. The leader’s actions were now in full sight. He was holding a metal rod, glowingly hot. He pressed it to the boy’s lower back, just above his tailbone. The young boy wailed in agony.

“Fucking hell.” Megan knew those screams would not leave her memory for a very long time, if ever.

She forced herself to watch the other videos. The violence varied from boy to boy. However, each boy’s face could easily be seen, especially the tears and the annihilation of their youth.

Megan turned her computer off and sat numb until the walls of the room felt as though they were closing in, ready to crumble around her, pinning her down with the horrific scenes she’d just witnessed. She stood up, needing to steady herself for a moment before walking over to the sliding glass door. She didn’t care how hard the snow was coming down. She didn’t care how cold it was; she had to get out of the room, away from that computer and those videos. She fell to her knees on the cold deck, leaned forward, and sobbed until there was nothing left. During the last few months her tears were for different, more personal reasons. With what she’d just witnessed, after all her years on the force, not even her last case came close to this level of perversion.

They’re so young, so innocent.

Megan let out a deep breath.

Not anymore they’re not.

Megan took a long hot shower, a modest attempt to cleanse her mind of what she’d witnessed. Two Valiums and a glass of wine were needed to get even a minimal amount of sleep that night. As she double-checked the locks and the alarm on the lake house, she was pleased to see flashing lights at the judge’s home.

“You’re welcome, asshole.”

When she woke, she donned leather gloves, cleaned her finger prints off the DVDs and their boxes, and found a padded brown envelope. All the while she tried to figure out the best way to forward the DVDs to the detectives. She’d checked the morning newspaper wondering if anything had been written regarding suspects in the judge’s murder. Nothing, though there was still plenty commemorating the life of that sick bastard. Which, Megan thought, is probably good news for Vivian, for now. If they had arrested her, it would have received top headlines. She needed to get ready and find Callie, but her first mission was to rid Chez Mack of the grotesque sex tapes. She closed the brown envelope and addressed it to the Mount Arlington Town Police, Attention Detective Krause. She slapped on more than enough stamps to ensure it would arrive and threw the pouch on the passenger seat.

Megan started to drive to Lake Mohawk. Working off little sleep and thinking of the boys in the videos, she couldn’t help but be distracted. She missed the turn she was supposed to take and found herself traveling toward Lake Hopatcong State Park. She was looking for a place to turn around when she saw the sign for the Lake Hopatcong Historical Museum. She wasn’t about to take a museum tour, but the symbol embossed on the sign made her pull over. She took out her cell phone and opened the pictures application. The symbol from the robes Megan had photographed was an exact match for the symbol of the Lake Hopatcong Museum.

On the other hand, a quick tour might be a good idea.

The museum was a rustic white building more similar to homes on the lake than a museum. An older woman greeted Megan from behind a desk when she entered. The woman seemed happy to have company. She had a warm smile and wore a button-down sweater that had two turkeys embroidered on each side of the chest. Her nametag read Hope.

Megan was counting on the sentiment of her name. She was near to her last drop of hope, especially after viewing the videos.

“Why, hello there.”

Megan fumbled for words in the quiet environment. It’s not as if she were preparing herself for loud crowds; this was not going to be an hour at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There wouldn’t be busloads of tourists being dropped off, clicking their cameras in every direction of the museum, or sightseers wearing black socks and Birkenstocks. She didn’t need to worry about vacationers displaying confused looks as to what direction they needed to walk, or asking for directions with the kindness of a Rottweiler attacking a toddler. There would be no Manhattanites zigzagging around tourists attempting to decipher streets, bus stops, and subway stations on the maps of the city. No vendors here offered to draw your caricature or sell you I ♥ New York City t-shirts, artwork, and the occasional piece of jewelry.

Megan brought her voice down to a whisper. “I’m new to the area and just wanted to look around.”

The museum guide stared at Megan strangely and looked around. “Why are you whispering, hon? We’re the only ones here. Feel free to walk around.”

Megan went to reach for cash. “What’s the fee?”

“No charge, hon. It’s free admission.” She was so kind and had such a sweet temperament. Megan felt as though she was about to walk through another dungeon of secrets, but she was smart enough to know they were lies; this place appeared to be more of a shrine than a museum.

“I can give you a brief tour, if you like?” Hope asked, clearly wanting to have something to fill the next few minutes with rather than sit and pretend she was busy.

“That would be nice. I appreciate it. I do have a question or two,” Megan continued. “The symbol on the front of your sign, it’s unique. Is it the symbol of the town or something?”

Hope adopted a somber tone. “Oh, well.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not sure how long you’ve been here, but there was a tragedy recently. A wonderful man in our community died suddenly.”

Megan noticed Hope had looked away when the expression died was used. “Oh, I hadn’t known. And it has to do with the symbol, how?”

“Well”—she pointed to a photo of a much younger Judge Campbell—“he paid for the whole museum, out of his own pocket. The only thing he asked was to place a family emblem on the museum’s signs. It wasn’t much of a request, when you think about it.”

Family emblem, my ass. That’s his fucking calling card. Son of a bitch.

Megan tolerated a few more minutes of history on the land, the lake, and local business, then she politely excused herself. But not without making a donation to the museum, for Hope’s sake.