CHAPTER 10

Depositing the three, extra-large containers of dark roast coffee on the table, Hawk looked at the three men who gave every indication of having severe cases of cabin fever. “How are we doing with our Jane Doe? Any progress finding out who she really was?”

Rosenbloom pried the lid off his giant container and took a long swig of the still-hot coffee before giving him an answer. Only after the black liquid had wound its way through his system did he frown critically at his container.

“What did they use to make this, trail mix?” he asked.

“I guess gourmet coffee hasn’t made an appearance in Cold Plains yet,” Jeffers quipped, seemingly grateful to have something black and hot to sustain him.

“Hey, it’s better than nothing,” Patterson commented, downing all but the last third of his container.

“Jane Doe?” Hawk prodded, looking from one man to the next. All three shook their heads.

And then Jeffers put it into words. “We haven’t found any missing persons report matching her description so far. At least not in Wyoming in the last four years. I’m going to check the out-of-state reports next.” His expression said he didn’t hold out too much hope. “But after four years, this seems like a pretty cold case.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Well, then, warm it up,” Hawk instructed.

Rosenbloom turned his chair back to face the laptop on his side of the table. “By the way, how’s life in the outside world?” he asked. “The sky still blue?”

“Do people still get to listen to the news?” Patterson put in.

Hawk ignored the flippant remarks and filled the men in on his meeting with the new doctor and the latter’s hunt for his missing son. He went on to tell them about the physician’s theory about what he believed was going on in the Urgent Care Clinic.

Jeffers ate up every word. “You know, once we wind this up, we’ve got the makings of one hell of a movie script here,” he commented.

Hawk laughed shortly and shook his head. “Yeah, if we ever do wrap this up.” Right now, he had his doubts about that happening. There was no denying that Grayson was slick. Nothing seemed to stick to the man. And without the information that Micah was supposed to provide, who knew if they would ever be able to pin anything on the so-called community leader.

“Do I detect a lack of faith?” Jeffers asked with a touch of surprise.

It wasn’t so much a lack of faith at play here as a healthy respect for the reality of the situation. On the average, more cases remained open than were closed. “It’s just that everywhere we turn for answers, all we find are more questions.”

“Well, my money’s on us,” Jeffers said cheerfully. “Don’t forget, we’re the good guys,” he reminded his superior.

“Yeah, well, if we don’t get out of this cabin soon, we’ll be too stiff and out of shape to do anybody any good,” Rosenbloom complained. He was far from happy about being confined this way.

Patterson’s nerves were getting frayed. “Maybe if you started cooking something that wasn’t exclusively made up of fat, salt and sugar, we wouldn’t be getting out of shape.”

He had to nip this before it got out of hand. Ordinarily, the three men worked well together, but that was when they weren’t living in one another’s pockets 24/7. “You three keep this up, and I’m going to have to send you to your rooms without your supper,” Hawk warned, looking from one to the other.

He got his point across. They were bickering like children. Not that he didn’t secretly sympathize with them. Staying in the cabin for an indefinite amount of time, waiting to finally be able to spring into action, could drive anyone crazy. But playing the waiting game was all part of the job. Not a pleasant part, but a part nonetheless.

The moment Hawk started toward the door, Rosenbloom was instantly alert. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“It’s time to see if I can rattle the head honcho’s cage and hopefully get him to make a mistake.” Hawk paused by the door just before leaving. “If I’m not back by tomorrow, pick him up for questioning,” he told Rosenbloom.

“You think he’d actually try something?” Jeffers asked.

“He does know you’re an FBI agent, right?” Patterson asked.

“He does, but desperate men resort to desperate measures. Especially if they think they can get away with it.”

He had no illusions about Grayson. If he had had those women murdered, then what was another body more or less? At this stage, having gotten away with so much, Grayson had probably developed a god complex, he reasoned. Or at the very least, thought he was invulnerable.

So far, he was right.

“Remember, one day,” Hawk reminded his men as he went out. The way he saw it, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

* * *

Rather than corner Grayson alone in his office and ask him questions that the man was probably going to respond to with lies, Hawk decided to observe the man in his full glory first. He wanted to see for himself exactly what all the excitement was about.

Hawk was aware of several motivational speakers who had managed to do very well for themselves, building up an empire based on books, audio tapes and speaking engagement fees. He’d heard that Grayson had had a modest amount of success following that route, but obviously the man wasn’t strictly interested in making a living or even in the “calling” of helping people fulfill their true potential, something that was the supposed cornerstone of every motivational speaker’s philosophy.

The only one Samuel Grayson wanted to help was Samuel Grayson, and apparently the way he did it, at least in part, was to boost his ego by seeing just how many people he could get to pledge their undying loyalty to him.

As he stood in the back of the room, near the door he’d used to slip into the auditorium, Hawk watched Grayson become a dynamo of barely harnessed energy. Moving about the entire stage and remaining in perpetual motion, Grayson created the illusion of addressing each person in the room individually. He singled them out, as if that particular person was the only one who mattered at that particular time.

It was a pretty neat parlor trick, Hawk couldn’t help thinking. Admittedly, it was a skill that not that many people had.

What was the man’s end game? he wondered. Was Grayson just doing this to see how many people he could get under his thumb, vowing to follow him to the ends of the earth—and beyond? Or did he have almost a physical need for all this adulation? Was he stirring everyone up for a reason, for some personal gain at the end of the line, or was it all just a power trip?

Most of all, how had he benefited—if he actually had—from the deaths of those five women? Why those particular women? And were they the only dead bodies to be found, or were there more that they just hadn’t come across yet?

Hawk had an uneasy feeling it was the latter, but for now, he shut the thought away and observed Grayson in his element.

“You can’t let life drag you down,” Grayson said, his words and gaze taking in each and every person seated at the seminar. His voice swelled as he asked, “What do we do with negative thoughts?”

“We flush them away,” the audience chanted in response.

Grayson cupped his ear as if trying to make out a faint sound. “I can’t hear you,” he announced in a singsong voice.

The audience responded with enthusiasm, repeating what they’d said, only louder this time. However, it still wasn’t loud enough to suit Grayson. He kept egging them on to say the phrase louder and louder until they were all shouting the words.

Only then did he smile with approval, an approval his audience ate up and reveled in, like children allowed to temporarily sit at the adult table.

The guy’s a real puppet master, Hawk thought, his eyes sweeping over the faces of the audience that he was able to see from where he stood. They looked as if they were in the throes of rapture. It reminded him of a black-and-white film clip he’d seen on one of the history channels, chronicling a dictator’s rise to power just before the fateful second world war.

A chill went down his spine.

Hawk saw no difference between the dictator and Grayson. Both appeared enamored with the sound of their own voices. And with the desire to seize power through the people they so obviously commanded.

It was enough to make a man sick.

As Grayson moved about the raised platform he’d had specially built according to his exact specifications, focused on working up his audience the way he did every day as he brought each of his seminars to a close, his eyes met Hawk’s.

Hawk was immediately alert. There was no quizzical pause, no indication that Grayson didn’t know who he was looking at. Instead, there was an evident smugness, as if he was well pleased with his performance and satisfied that he had created the impression Grayson wanted him to witness.

“That’s all for tonight,” Grayson finally announced. Taking a hand towel from the podium, he wiped the perspiration from his brow. “I want you all to go to your homes and think about how you can improve upon what you’re doing and how you can enrich your neighbors’ lives through your own evolvement.”

Yeah, and how to put more money into your fearless leader’s pockets, I’ll bet, Hawk thought cynically. Grayson was as phony as a three-dollar bill. If he hadn’t believed it before, he did now. What completely mystified him was how nobody seemed to be able to see through the other man’s facade. It was all sparkling glitter and hyped-up rhetoric.

As the meeting broke up, Hawk watched the people in Grayson’s audience rise to their feet, applauding wildly. Those who didn’t swarm around the speaker began to file out of the auditorium.

A few hung back, neither trying to gain Grayson’s attention nor leaving just yet.

He realized that Carly was in that third group. Why was she lingering?

And then he had his explanation. A girl who looked vaguely familiar—was that really Mia, all grown up now?—was part of the circle clustering around Grayson. They all appeared to be eagerly vying for the favor of the speaker’s momentary attention.

Carly’s sister smiled broadly as he heard Grayson say, “Mia, I need a word with you, please.”

“Of course, Samuel,” the young woman replied.

She sounded just like a robot, Hawk couldn’t help thinking.

Despite the fact that there was half a room between them, his eyes met Carly’s and he could see she was thinking the same thing. And that it really upset her. Small wonder.

Grayson, with his lofty seminars and flattering words, with his attention, which made the members of his circle feel as if they were being singled out by God, had managed to brainwash a room full of easily manipulated people, young and old.

To what end? Hawk wondered again.

Was it just to feed his ego, or was there some darker purpose in all this? A dark purpose he wasn’t seeing just yet.

He could see why Carly was worried. Hell, he’d been worried himself before he realized that Carly was only putting on a show for Grayson’s benefit.

And it was a pretty damn convincing show at that, he thought now, watching her. Though it took some restraint, Hawk made no effort to approach her. As far as he knew, Grayson wasn’t aware that he and Carly had a history, and he wanted to keep it that way. Not knowing that little fact would keep Carly a lot safer at the moment. He didn’t want to think what might happen if Grayson suspected she had a connection to an FBI special agent—no matter how innocent that connection might actually be.

He watched as Grayson took both of Mia’s hands in his. “The ladies have selected a wedding dress for you,” he informed her. “You need to make yourself available for a fitting.” He bestowed a benevolent smile on the young woman whose hands he still held. “You wouldn’t want to offend your husband by not appearing perfect at the ceremony.”

“Oh no, Samuel, I would never do that,” Mia assured him with immense feeling in her voice.

His voice was patronizing as he said, “That’s my girl.”

Hawk stole a covert glance at Carly. That was the kind of remark that would have had her seeing red in the old days. Seeing red and putting someone like Grayson in his place.

But she looked perfectly serene now, as if the man’s smarmy remark made absolutely no impression whatsoever.

She really was one hell of an actress, Hawk thought again, silently tipping his hat to her. This was a side of Carly that he’d never seen before, hadn’t even suspected existed. All he knew was that there was a time when she would have instantly made her feelings about Grayson’s crass assumption known.

Hell, she might have even contemplated gutting the man—or making him think that she would.

Hawk suppressed an amused smile. The next moment, he saw that Grayson’s eyes had shifted in his direction. Hawk was instantly on his guard.

Walking over to him, hands outstretched as if he were greeting a long-lost brother, Grayson asked in a booming voice, “Am I in the presence of a new convert?” he asked.

Rather than tender a negative answer to the question, Hawk identified himself instead. Taking out his wallet, he opened it to display his ID and held it up for Grayson’s perusal.

“I’m special agent Hawk Bledsoe with—”

“The FBI,” Grayson concluded with a nod of his head, which seemed more of a dismissal. “Yes, I am well aware what makes you so special, Agent Bledsoe,” Grayson replied in a humoring tone that Hawk found exceedingly grating. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, his tone neutral, giving nothing away.

How much did the man actually know, and how much was he bluffing? Hawk caught himself wondering.

Out loud, he announced, “I have a few questions for you, Mr. Grayson.”

Though Grayson continued to maintain his welcoming smile, there was a complacency to it that existed just along the perimeter. He thought himself superior, Hawk realized. That was fine with him. As long as the man thought he had the upper hand, he wouldn’t be that aware that he was being taken down.

“Everyone does,” he told Hawk easily. “I’ll do my best to answer them for you. In just one moment,” he said, holding up his finger to indicated that he wanted his “guest” to pause his thoughts. “Carly, I’m going to need to see your lesson plan for tomorrow’s children seminar,” he told her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to drop it off in my office later this evening. Say around nine?” he suggested, eyeing her. Waiting for her compliance.

“Of course, Samuel. Nine will be fine,” she replied in the same obedient, subservient tone that her sister had.

Turning back to Hawk, Grayson clasped his hands together before him and said, “Now then, you said you have some questions for me?”

He had questions all right. Foremost was why did Grayson want to see Carly in his office later this evening? Was he just asking her to drop off the papers, or did he have something else in mind for her?

Though he gave no outward indication, Hawk could feel anger flare within him. It took a great deal to keep it under control.

Forcing himself to focus on the present, Hawk opened up the manila envelope he had brought with him. As Grayson watched with what he took to be feigned interest, he removed five eight-by-ten photographs, one for each of the women who had been found.

“We’re investigating the deaths of these five women,” he told Grayson, deliberately substituting the word deaths for murders. One by one, he shuffled through them, displaying each for Grayson’s benefit. He watched the man’s face intently. “Do you recognize any of them?” he asked.

Grayson dutifully viewed one photograph after another. His expression never changed, and he gave no indication that he recognized any of the women.

Even so, Hawk could have sworn that the small, blue vein at the man’s right temple pulsed as he looked down at the photographs. There was genuine surprise registered there, he thought. Apparently Grayson hadn’t thought that these bodies would ever surface.

But he knew them. Hawk would bet his soul on that. Grayson knew each of these women, including their mysterious Jane Doe. Getting him to admit it, though, would be difficult if not impossible.

He needed someone on the inside to bear witness against the man.

Shaking his head, Grayson returned the photographs. “I’m afraid I really can’t be of any help to you. I don’t recall meeting any of these unfortunate ladies. The faces from my past tend to run together.”

I just bet they do, Hawk thought, taking the photographs back and slipping them into the envelope again.

“I have seen so many people—I started out as a motivational speaker, you know,” Grayson explained in an aside. “That was before I found my true calling.” His hands swept about, indicating the now-empty auditorium.

Hawk continued to watch the man’s face, looking for a breech, some telltale sign, however small, to give him a clue to his real intent in taking over Cold Plains. “And that would be?”

“Why, leaving my mark on this wonderful town, of course. Making sure that it is developed to meet its full potential, so that everyone here might benefit. You’re free to move about, you know, Special Agent, so you can see for yourself how business is thriving and how well and happy everyone who lives here is. I’d like to think I had some small part in that,” he added with studied modesty.

Had the so-called spiritual leader just inadvertently admitted to eliminating the people who weren’t “well and happy?” Hawk wondered, because they clearly weren’t out and about. Everyone he’d seen so far had the same frozen, unnerving smile plastered on their faces as if anything else was strictly forbidden.

Hawk took the opening to ask, “I’ve noticed that nobody here seems to be sick. No colds, no allergies…” He allowed his voice to trail off, curious as to what the other man would say.

Grayson laughed. “Well, we’ve decided to outlaw all that.”

He made it sound like a joke, but Hawk had an uneasy feeling that the man wasn’t really kidding. It was all about his choices, his preferences, his master plan. Whether he made light of it or not, Grayson was convinced that the world revolved around him—as it should.

Hell, it was clear that Grayson really did think he was God.