Sergio Iglesias studied the photo of the Eden tattoo for a long moment. “My wife set up my Instagram account a few years ago. She went through all the photos I’d kept since I started tattooing and picked the ones she liked. This was one she liked.”
“It’s beautiful work,” Liza murmured.
He dipped his head once. “Thank you.”
“Do you remember the subject?” Daisy asked.
“I didn’t when you first contacted me, Daisy. I had to go back into my files to jog my memory. Once I saw the file, though, I remembered him well.”
The photo was of the tattoo itself, so only the person’s left pectoral was visible. It had the grainy quality of a photo taken with a cheap camera, then scanned.
“When did you ink this tattoo?” Daisy asked.
“Eighteen years ago.”
Liza was surprised. “You keep your files that long?”
“I do. I’ve kept them all, a file for every tattoo I’ve ever done, including signed documents stating that they are not intoxicated, and that they approve my design. It was the way I was taught by my mentor, almost twenty years ago.”
“Why do you remember him specifically?” Daisy asked.
“Partly because it was one of my first, and I was really proud of how it turned out. But mostly because I almost didn’t do this tattoo. He seemed really young and immature, which was funny, because we were about the same age. The day he came in was his eighteenth birthday and I’d had mine only a few weeks before. But he had ID and there wasn’t anything offensive about the design, so I did it.” He hesitated. “Why do you want to find him?”
“The short answer is, we don’t know,” Daisy admitted. “We’re looking at every connection to the community from which our friends escaped. This person”—Daisy pointed at the photo—“wouldn’t have been from their community, because he would have already had a tattoo by his thirteenth birthday. But he has to have known someone who had one. The tattoo you inked is identical to the one my boyfriend had inked over when he was eighteen.”
“We ultimately want to talk to whoever told this guy about the tattoo,” Liza said. “That person may give us information about the community and the people who are trying to hurt us.”
Sergio inhaled sharply. “It was like a cult?”
“Yes,” Daisy said. “My boyfriend still wakes with nightmares from that place, and he’s been gone for seventeen years.”
“The young man who got this tattoo was very happy to be eighteen, to ‘finally be free.’ ”
“Free from what?” Liza asked.
“I asked him that. He said it was from his mother’s control. She was apparently quite overbearing and he was very unhappy at home. He said that the tattoo would ‘show her.’ I got a bad feeling while I was working on him. I might have stopped, but he was eighteen. I made a copy of his driver’s license. Just to cover myself, you know. He’s one of the reasons I keep all my files with signed releases. Just in case someone comes forward years later and complains.”
“Oh wow!” Daisy exclaimed, excited. “Please say you still have it!”
Sergio’s smile was faint, but genuine. “Yes, I have it. I scanned the files to my phone when you first contacted me.” He tapped his phone and turned it so that they could see the screen.
“May I?” Liza asked, reaching for the phone.
“Yes,” Sergio said warily, handing it over.
The driver’s license photo showed a young man with a baby face, but his lips curled down, giving him a sullen appearance. His hair was blond, cut military short. Nearly black eyes stared defiantly through round-rimmed eyeglasses.
“William Holly,” Daisy murmured, looking over Liza’s shoulder. “The name doesn’t mean anything to me, but it might to Gideon. Can you send us this file?”
Sergio nodded. “Of course.”
Liza tried to enlarge the photo, but it swiped left, revealing the original tattoo design with a scrawled signature beneath. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Sergio said. “That’s the design he approved.”
“What’s this?” Daisy pointed to a second signature in the margin.
Liza enlarged the sketch. The children kneeling in prayer had something written beneath them. “Are these names?” She peered harder. “Bo and Bernie.”
“Yes,” Sergio confirmed. “For him and his sister, but when I got to that part, he decided he didn’t want the names after all, so I updated the release and had him sign off on the changes.”
Liza frowned to herself. She’d heard those names before, and in conjunction with Eden.
Sergio was also frowning, but at Daisy. “You know who they are.”
Liza turned her attention to the other woman and knew that Sergio was right. Daisy appeared stunned, but her eyes were coming back into sharp focus.
“Where were you when you did his tattoo?” Daisy asked. “Which city?”
“Benicia, same city as is on his ID. It’s outside of Oakland.”
“I know it,” Daisy said quietly. “I lived in Oakland when I was a little girl.”
Liza wanted to ask questions but held them. She could ask once they were in the SUV.
“Can you send this to my phone?” Daisy asked. “It’s the number I called you from a few weeks ago.”
Liza returned his phone and Sergio sent the files via text, paling at the concern etched into Daisy’s brow. “Is this man a danger to me and my family?”
“I don’t know,” Daisy said honestly. “It’s unlikely, but . . .”
Sergio’s expression became grim. “But I should be very aware.”
Daisy nodded. “I would be.”
Sergio ran his hands through his hair before turning to Liza with a strained smile. “Do you still want the memorial tattoo? No worries if you don’t.”
“I really do. But can you give us a minute to talk privately?”
“Of course. I’ll go in the back and prepare your design. It will take me fifteen minutes.”
“Who is he?” Liza asked as soon as they’d shut all the doors to Gideon’s Suburban.
Daisy quickly brought Gideon up to date, his eyes widening at the mention of Bo and Bernie.
Gideon’s mouth fell open. “Are you fucking kidding me? The guy who got the tattoo was Bo? Pastor’s dead son, Bo?”
Daisy nodded. “He initially wanted his and his sister’s names included on the tattoo.”
Gideon stared at the driver’s license photo in disbelief. “I don’t recognize him, but I was very young when he and his mother and sister were declared dead, and he was a lot younger than he is in this photo. Plus it’s been twenty-five years. We need to show this photo to Amos. He might be a better judge.”
“Oh,” Liza breathed. “Bo and Bernie. Boaz and Bernice.” That was where she’d heard the names. They were Pastor’s children.
Gideon was shaking his head, stunned. “This . . . this is not what I expected. We were told that they were lost in the wilderness.”
“Which is what they said about you,” Daisy said softly.
Gideon’s laugh was bitter. “True. Marcia—she was Pastor’s wife—had taken the kids on a hike to gather herbs and they never came back. Pastor looked and Waylon looked. All the men searched, but never found them. Eventually Waylon found their remains at the bottom of a ravine. They were not recognizable. Or so goes the story we were told as kids. It was something the leaders told us to keep us from venturing far from the compound.”
“Those remains belonged to someone else,” Liza said, feeling foolish for stating the obvious. “Hopefully victims of an unrelated accident.”
“But possibly murder victims,” Daisy said soberly. “Waylon brought back a body after Gideon escaped. Told everyone it was him, but he was also unrecognizable.”
“So Pastor’s wife and kids survived,” Liza murmured. “I wonder why she ran? How old were they when they disappeared?”
“Eleven,” Gideon said, still staring at the photo. Then he looked up, understanding in his eyes. “Almost twelve. Bernice would have been married off very soon.”
“And her mother didn’t want her daughter raped in the name of marriage at twelve years old,” Daisy finished. “What a hypocrite.”
“Yes, but also a mother who saved her kids,” Liza said. “Although it sounds like Bo didn’t like being saved all that well if he wanted an Eden tattoo.” She sighed. “So which of us is going to tell Tom?”
Daisy and Gideon shared an uncomfortable glance. “I’m not supposed to be here right now,” Gideon said. “I’m recused.”
“I’ll tell him,” Liza said. Having an appointment for a tattoo would make a good reason to cut her conversation short. “Are you going to stay here? Or go get some food or something?”
“We’re staying,” Gideon said firmly. “No way are we leaving you alone. Go ahead and call Tom. We’ll have your back if he gets angry with you like Irina said he did this morning on the telephone.”
“Let him even try,” Daisy added. “He’ll be sorry he decided to tangle with me.”
The thought of five-foot-nothing Daisy facing off against six-foot-six Tom was enough to make her grin. “That is exactly the image I needed today, Daisy. You, fists on your hips, glaring up at Tom. I think he’d be quaking in his boots, quite honestly.”
Daisy grinned back. “As he should. But I hadn’t planned to personally confront him. I just took a page from his book and got one of these.” From a pocket in her jacket she produced a flip phone. “It’s a burner. Got it at Walmart. The FBI won’t be able to track us back to Sergio.”
“Seriously, Daisy?” Gideon asked. “What have you used it for?”
“Nothing. This is its inaugural call. I like carrying it. Makes me feel all clandestine.”
Gideon’s smile was fond. “You’re impossible.”
Liza took the phone, completely impressed. “I’m just glad you’re on my side.”
“Many people say this,” Daisy said loftily.
Liza laughed softly. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”
Daisy winked at her. “That’s what family’s for. Make your call.”
BENICIA, CALIFORNIA
THURSDAY, MAY 25, 4:00 P.M.
“It’s empty,” Croft said, peering into a window of the Belmonts’ rental home.
Tom joined her after taking a walk around the perimeter of the house. “Basement too.”
They’d come up empty on their search for members of the Chicos gang. The local PDs knew of them, but no one knew any names or locations where they might hide out. The gang, which seemed to have ceased recruiting new members, stayed under the radar through both skill and intimidation. Every cop they’d asked requested they share any information they dug up.
A call to Raeburn yielded his agreement that they should at least check DJ’s surviving family off their list of suspects, so they’d made the hour drive to Benicia, a quiet community northeast of Oakland. But if DJ was here, he was hiding his presence well.
Tom wanted to sigh. It was more likely that DJ hadn’t been hiding here and didn’t intend to.
Croft patted his shoulder as they returned to the SUV. “Don’t look so glum.”
“I wasted our time,” Tom said when they’d closed the SUV’s doors. “You were right.”
“Nah.” Croft clicked her seat belt into place. “It wasn’t a bad guess and we needed to check it out, especially since this was the address listed on his missing-person report.” Tom had sent his Eden file to her phone and she’d refreshed her memory by reading it aloud as they’d made the drive. “This was the last place he lived before Eden. He might have remembered it. Look, kid, most of the job is paperwork, checking off things that aren’t relevant, chasing dead ends, and waiting for new leads. Didn’t they teach you that at the Academy?”
“I thought they were exaggerating,” he muttered.
Croft chuckled. “Nope. Let’s check off another box by talking to DJ’s aunt and uncle.”
“Waylon’s brother and sister-in-law,” Tom agreed. “They seemed to be telling the truth when I met them a month ago, but I’m interested in your take.”
“Merle Belmont is Waylon’s younger brother,” Croft said, referring to the Eden file on her phone. “Unlike Waylon, who spent time in the federal pen, Merle’s kept his nose clean. He’s had a few traffic tickets, but nothing more than that. He might think he’s doing a good deed, giving his nephew a place to hide. The missing-person report says that DJ’s mother disappeared at the same time as DJ. Only a few months after Waylon went to Eden. Did Amos tell you anything about how DJ got to Eden?”
“Only that he showed up with Waylon one day, but Ephraim talked about it.” He leaned over the center console to swipe her phone screen until he came to a part of the Eden file she hadn’t read aloud. “Did you see these? The photocopies of the notebooks that Ephraim Burton left behind in his safe-deposit box?”
“I read the parts that Raeburn highlighted—mostly about the fifty million in the offshore accounts. Which part specifically?”
Tom was annoyed. Raeburn had dismissed much of Ephraim’s record as interesting reading but not integral to finding Eden. “Read the page I turned to. W is Waylon and P is Pastor.”
“ ‘I got goods on W. I’m saving it for now, but I’ll tell P if W gets in my way. W killed a chick who showed up at Eden’s gate in a very hot car with a kid—his kid, she said. W called the chick Charlie. She said she was tired of babysitting his kid, that she wanted to have fun, so it was his turn. He twisted her neck. Snapped it like a twig, then saw me standing there. He was not happy to see me, but I told him that if he taught me to snap necks and gave me the car, I wouldn’t tell P that he let a woman follow him to the compound. He agreed to both and now I have a very hot car and I can kill with my bare hands.’ ”
Croft looked up, her expression grim. “I wonder if Waylon’s brother suspected that Waylon was involved in DJ and his mother’s disappearance.”
“Waylon was a suspect at the time, mostly because of his prior record and the years he spent in the pen, but they never found him, of course. It’s all in the file.”
“Dammit. I need to read all of this, don’t I?”
Tom wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. “I’d recommend it.”
“I deserve that.” Croft frowned. “But didn’t I read that Pastor adopted DJ?”
“You did. It was a casual arrangement, according to Amos. Pastor’s own children had died and he wanted to raise DJ. But this was years before Waylon died.”
“Why would Waylon allow that?” Croft wondered. “Unless DJ was a hell-child even then.”
“Possibly. But Gideon remembers that DJ was nice to him when they were little. DJ was four years older and played with Gideon sometimes. But DJ changed when he was thirteen and became Edward McPhearson’s apprentice.”
“The pedophile blacksmith,” Croft said. “Who targeted adolescent boys.”
“Exactly. As opposed to his brother Ephraim, the pedophile who targeted adolescent girls.”
Croft rolled her eyes. “Their mother must be so proud.”
Tom grimaced. “She is. I listened when Mercy visited her in her nursing home last month. The woman was convinced her sons were angels. I don’t think that was her dementia talking.”
Croft tilted her head. “Liza Barkley was with Mercy that day,” she noted.
“Yes.” Which had been both a good and colossally bad idea on his part. “Liza worked with Alzheimer’s patients at the VA home and she’s levelheaded in a crisis, so I thought she’d be a good companion for Mercy.” It had also bonded the two women, creating an instantly deep friendship and further drawing Liza into Mercy’s troubles.
Which was why she’d been in a killer’s crosshairs the day before. I set Liza up for that.
“I read the transcript of the nursing home visit,” Croft said, interrupting his guilt fest. “Miss Barkley was really good at distracting and redirecting Ephraim’s mother.”
“She was.” Of course she was. Liza was good at everything she did.
Except picking men, apparently. Present company definitely included.
“But back to DJ,” Croft said, her gaze far too knowing for Tom’s comfort. “If he was apprenticed to McPhearson and his behavior changed, it’s not a huge leap that he was molested as well.”
“I agree. Doesn’t excuse him being a monster.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Let’s go talk to the aunt and uncle. And I’m going to go over Ephraim’s notes with a fine-tooth comb. I should have anyway. Glad you did.”
Tom nodded once, because she was right. She should have. He’d started to put the SUV in gear when his work phone buzzed in his hand. “I don’t recognize the number.” He answered, putting it on speaker. “Special Agent Hunter.”
“Tom, it’s Liza.”
He immediately sat up straighter, his heart taking off. “Liza? Why are you calling from this number? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m with some friends. I just wanted to pass on a tip. Do you remember the Eden tattoo that Daisy was trying to track down? The one she saw on Instagram?”
“Yes. We got a name and address for the artist, but when agents went to question him, he ran. He went underground. Why?”
“The person who got the tattoo is named William Holly, who got it on his eighteenth birthday, eighteen years ago. He originally asked that the children kneeling be labeled as ‘Bo and Bernie.’ For him and his sister.”
“Holy shit.” Bo and Bernie were Pastor’s twins, whose bodies had been found at the bottom of a ravine—unrecognizable. “How do you know this? Did you find the tattoo artist?”
“William Holly’s address eighteen years ago was 966 Elvis Lane in Benicia,” Liza replied.
Tom stared at the Belmonts’ empty rental property—966 Elvis Lane, Benicia. Rafe was right. Pastor’s wife and kids hadn’t died in that ravine. He set the revelation aside for a moment, refocusing on Liza. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you find the tattoo artist? Whose phone is this? Where the hell are you?”
“I’m texting you the photo ID William Holly used when he got the tattoo,” Liza said very calmly. “I thought this information might be useful to you right away.”
“Goddammit, Liza,” he snarled. “I need to know where you are and if you’re safe.”
“I’m safe. I promise. I’ll call you later, but I need to go now.” And the call ended.
“Fucking hell.” He tried redialing the unfamiliar number, but it just rang. He tried Liza’s cell number and it went to voice mail without ringing once. She was either quick to hit decline, she was talking to someone else, or she’d blocked him. The latter stung.
“Which friends do you think she’s with?” Croft asked.
Tom made himself breathe, not allowing his frantic anger to consume his logic. “Daisy’s gotta be one of them. She’s been pushing to find the owners of the Eden tattoos she discovered online.” He dialed Daisy’s cell, but it went to voice mail. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, then dialed Irina’s number.
“Yes, Tom?” she answered.
“May I speak with Liza, please? I think she had a lesson with Abigail today.”
“Oh, that’s long over. Liza’s no longer here.”
“Is Mercy there?”
“No. Mercy is with Raphael today. He didn’t want her to leave the safety of their home.”
She said she’s with friends. Who else did she consider her friend? Immediately the image of Mike the Groper popped into his mind, but he shoved it aside. She wouldn’t involve a stranger in an active investigation. “Did she mention where she’d be going this afternoon?”
“Why don’t you ask her, Tom?” Irina asked, her tone heavy with maternal disappointment.
“She’s not answering my calls.”
“That is not good to hear. I recommend you try harder.”
The call ended. Tom gaped. “She hung up on me.”
“She totally did,” Croft said. “Okay then, your personal drama aside, why has Daisy been searching for the owners of Eden tattoos? Why has she been searching for Eden tattoos at all?”
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on. “She’s looking for other escapees because she thinks that they might be able to lead them to old Eden locations.”
“But we know all of the old Eden locations.” Then she nodded, understanding filling her eyes. “But Daisy doesn’t know that because you’re not allowed to tell her.”
Tom nodded. “Exactly. Up until today she’d only located two people with Eden or Eden-like tattoos. Both are dead—one suicide and one car accident. I should have known she wouldn’t give up—and that Liza would get sucked into it.”
“All right.” Croft was calm. “Then we need to figure out what to do with this information—if anything.”
Tom closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. “Probably nothing? This would be more important if we didn’t already know where Pastor is. We just don’t know where Eden is, which is why we haven’t rushed in to arrest him. That’s the big prize. Finding Eden.”
“But Daisy and the others don’t know that, either—that we know where Pastor is, I mean.”
“Right.” He sighed. “I mean, I’d love to find Pastor’s wife, because she could fill in our knowledge gaps—how Eden came to be and all that. But to be brutally logical, she’s been gone for nearly twenty-five years. I don’t think she can help us find Eden now.”
“But,” Croft mused, “this does tell us that Pastor’s wife and children probably didn’t die and probably lived in Waylon Belmont’s brother’s rental house. Waylon was the one who supposedly found their bodies, so it’s fair to assume he’s the one who helped them escape.”
“Like he helped Gideon. It makes sense, actually. Waylon was married to Pastor’s wife for a little while. She left Waylon to marry Pastor right about the time he assumed a new identity and claimed to be a minister.”
“Which was when the embezzlement began.”
“Exactly,” Tom said. “And, if Waylon helped her escape and at some point she lived in his brother’s house, it might also mean that Waylon continued to have contact with his family long after he went into Eden. Unless his brother had no idea who he was renting to.”
Croft held up one finger. “But if the brother did know back then, it means he was in touch with Waylon and possibly with DJ.”
“That’s a lot of ‘mights’ and ‘maybes,’ ” Tom said doubtfully.
Croft shrugged. “I know. We could be veering down a garden path, but if Waylon’s brother knows where DJ is, we need to find that out, because while we know where Pastor is, DJ is still out there with a rifle. Drive, please.”
Tom started the SUV. “So what’s the plan?”
“For now? Let’s let them talk and see where it goes. I’ll ask more targeted questions if we’re not getting the answers we need.”
