CHAPTER 34

FLOOD LIGHTS BEAMED through the cabin’s windows, blinding most of the men in the room. Without being instructed to, almost everyone threw up their hands and remained silent.

Corliss walked over to Wilfred Lee and handcuffed him. Lee stumbled without the help of his cane.

“Let’s go, old man,” Corliss said. “The feds will get you a new crutch in prison.” He handed Lee over to another FBI agent and began pacing the room. “Give these women their dignity back and get them some clothes.”

Another female agent hustled over with some blankets and helped the women cover up.

Corliss turned toward Cal. “Thank you for your help. If it hadn’t been for your hunch, you would’ve had to witness the awful thing these cretins had in mind or worse—you might not be here at all.”

Cal rushed over to Kelly and put his arm around her. “There was something about it that didn’t make sense to me.”

“It wasn’t until we pulled a partial print from Emily Palmer’s car that your idea seemed plausible,” Corliss said. “It didn’t match Josh Hood. And while he could have been wearing gloves, crimes committed in passion rarely have such forethought put into them. But the print matched Jeremy Lee’s—as well as his DNA at the scene. That’s when I figured out you were right.”

A grin crept across Cal’s face.

“I didn’t kill anybody,” Jeremy Lee said, stepping forward.

“Easy, kid,” Corliss snapped. “You’re not being charged with anything just yet, but your father is.” He took a deep breath. “Now, we also have a number of crimes that were committed or were about to be committed here tonight. I can’t promise you all a plea deal, but I can guarantee one for the person who steps forward first and tells me what’s going on here. Any takers?”

The men glanced around at each other but no one moved.

“Very well then. If you all want to protect each other, I’ll get to the bottom of this myself and make sure that you all do equal time—in a federal penitentiary.” He stopped and turned toward one particular man. Corliss grabbed the man’s biceps and squeezed.

“I doubt you’ll fend off many midnight callers you’ll be sharing a cell with.”

Corliss turned toward another. “Or you. Do you think your ‘I heart Emmy Lou’ tattoo is going to strike fear in the hearts of the gang members roaming the bone yard?”

He surveyed the room again. “Or you, Mr. Bean Pole. You might be a hero when they ask you to change the light bulbs, but thwarting an attack? Hardly. You’ll be begging to be thrown out with the busted bulbs. Or you—”

“Enough,” one man said. “I’ll show you.”

Corliss spun toward the direction of the voice. “And you are?”

“Seth Reed, sir.”

Corliss scanned the room, now full of faces sneering at Reed. “Okay, we have a wise man, here. I appreciate a man who values integrity over loyalty. Tell me what I need to know.”

“Follow me,” Reed said.

Reed marched outside and led Corliss and two other agents about thirty yards into the woods before anyone spoke.

“This better not be a trap,” Corliss said. “I have my gun trained on you.”

“It’s no trap, sir. Just the truth.”

It was another twenty yards before Reed stopped and stomped on the ground. The hollow sound of wood echoed through the forest. “Here’s what you really need to know about.” He knelt down and looked up at Corliss while he tried to shield his eyes from the glare of his flashlight. “It’s worse than murder, if you ask me.”

Reed yanked up on the handle, revealing a staircase down into the ground.

“What’s this?” Corliss asked.

“You’ll see.”

Corliss told one of the men to watch Reed while he descended the stairs with another accompanying agent. The wood planks creaked beneath his weight. A blast of cool air overcame him as he neared the final step. He shined his flashlight around the cavernous area, revealing water trickling down the earthen walls. A musty smell wafted over Corliss.

“What is this place?” Corliss shouted.

“Keep going,” Reed yelled back.

Corliss forged ahead, probing the room with his flashlight. It seemed like nothing more than a hole in the ground until he noticed a door at the far right corner of the room.

He turned the knob and swung open the door.

Instead of silence, Corliss was greeted by shrieks and screams.

“Don’t hurt me.”

“Not again.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Please, I’m begging you.”

Corliss’ flashlight nearly fell to the floor as he found more than a dozen women caged up. The underground prison reeked of urine and feces.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said. “I’m with the FBI.”

Their pleas to be left alone quickly changed to cries for help.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to get you all out,” he said. “Just be patient.” He turned to his partner. “We’re going to need some more agents.”

Corliss brushed back a few tears as he worked to unlock the cages. The stench served as an ever-present reminder of what these women had endured. Their matted hair, sunken eyes, and jaundiced skin all helped paint a picture of the depth of depravity the little cabin in the woods had fallen to. The smell of mold overwhelmed Corliss, as did the musky scent that melded with urine and feces. Rust flaked off the cages and flittered to the ground as he inspected them. Plastic bowls filled with water rested in each corner along with a small tray of food. No plates or utensils. Just bread and some mush that looked solidified. Water dripped from the ceiling and splashed onto the rocky floor.

One by one the women filed out of the cages, shivering and muttering thanks to him. They looked like demonic apparitions from a horror movie. Corliss slumped to the ground and didn’t try to hold back his tears once he freed them all. The Gentleman’s Club was home to unspeakable atrocities committed on innocent women. It would be days before he would learn the full truth—something he could never erase from his memory.

I should’ve shot Lee on the spot.