“And you just came from a second murder site?” Colby asked weakly.
“Third, for me, but I believe it’s the second to be part of a particular murder scenario,” Hunter said. “We haven’t been able to identify the young women. Which suggests they could be from elsewhere. Morrison owns several private detention camps for immigrants, and we know paperwork has been sketchy at those institutions, to say the least.”
Colby stared at him blankly. “I still don’t see what the thoroughness—or lack thereof—of Morrison’s office personnel might have to do with this.”
Hunter watched as Amy leaned forward, looking at the man earnestly. “Pastor Colby, we’ve seen your church, we visited a youth group, and I can tell that you are a caring and godly man. Surely, to you, sir, the life of every living soul is of value.”
“But—”
Amy continued passionately. “Sir, we believe the women who are dead might be immigrants, young women full of hopes and dreams who crossed the border, wound up in a camp and were then seized and made sacrifices in some ungodly agenda.”
“What?” Colby looked stunned. He also looked nervous. He sat back in his chair, staring at them both, wide-eyed, as he continued. “No. Ethan would never kill anyone. He might be a capitalist—we are a capitalist country. He likes money. But that doesn’t mean he would kill!”
“Do you know him well?” Hunter asked.
“I... Yes and no. I grew up near here—I still live in my old family home. And the Morrison family has property in the area. Ethan was here now and again when we were kids. He sees me sometimes, and I try to use that friendship to good end. I point out people who need help. He does contribute to charities, you know. He’s a philanthropist! Yes, he makes money, but... I believe his detention centers are kept to high standards. I don’t believe—I can’t believe that Ethan Morrison could have anything to do with this!”
“What is his religion?” Amy asked, looking at him curiously. “Does he have one? I really need to read up on the man,” she said, looking at Colby. “Of course we’re asking you about him. Because he does own property out here. Almost bordering the first murder site,” she said.
“He—he, well, he isn’t a member of this church,” Colby said. “But he is very generous. I think he’s given donations to many churches. His family doesn’t go way back or anything like that. I believe his father bought the land, and it was worked for a while—sugarcane. I’ve tried to renew Ethan’s interests in this area. We do need conservation efforts done right—a way to see that the Everglades and water supplies are untainted or polluted. He could help a lot down here. There are tons of rich folks in Miami-Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties along the coasts, but move inland and...plain folk!” he said, his sound cheerful and then the cheer fading as he shook his head. “Another young woman is dead?” he said weakly.
“Another young woman. Horribly murdered,” Amy said, and her words were heartfelt.
The murder scene they had just left had been absolutely, stunningly, horrific. They’d have been robots not to have been affected by it, even needing time to emotionally recover. He couldn’t think of an agent so jaded they wouldn’t have been moved.
But time was something they didn’t have.
“How did she die?” Colby asked weakly.
“Horribly,” Amy said.
“Yes, but—”
“There hasn’t been an autopsy yet and law enforcement is keeping details from the press,” Hunter said. “We’re already getting tons of tips—sadly, many from zealots who simply want to predict the end of the world.”
“Maybe the end is coming,” Colby said on a breath. He looked distracted.
“When is the last time you saw Ethan Morrison?” Hunter asked Colby.
Colby lifted his hands. “Uh, maybe a month ago.”
“What does he do when he comes here? Does he stay the night on his property?” Amy asked.
“I doubt it,” Colby said.
They both waited.
He shrugged. “There’s still a house out there on the property, as I said. And he pays maintenance people to keep it up. But...well, it’s a house. It’s nothing fancy. No room service or maid service. I just don’t see... I’m not suggesting he’s spoiled—he’s just accustomed to creature comforts. Although...”
“Although?” Amy asked as Colby’s voice trailed.
Colby seemed to be looking off into the distance. “When we were teenagers, the Morrisons were already rich. They weren’t just into the land, agriculture or ranching or any such thing. They were making big money on the stock market. I believe Ethan is still big into pharmaceuticals, and I guess there’s really big money there. But once, with a scout troop, we went on a camping trip. Some of the older kids teased him, and he said he could survive anywhere. He could do anything they could, and he wasn’t afraid of creatures great or small. He would survive just fine in a tent and do great with a canteen of water and some jerky sticks. Of course, that was a long time ago now.”
“Did his family attend any of the churches out here?” Amy asked.
“I think his mother attended this church. I didn’t see him in any of my youth groups, but maybe he came by now and then. I don’t think his dad was much of a churchgoer.” He hesitated. “His father ruled the roost, not his mom.” He was quiet again. “Okay, so I guess his dad’s god was money. And sometimes, I admit, a lot of Ethan’s charity work is done to create tax breaks, but it’s still charity. Being rich does not make a man a murderer, regardless of his religious practice.”
“Of course not,” Amy said. “Committing a murder—or conspiring to commit a murder, ordering one to be committed—that makes a murderer.”
“Anyway,” Hunter said quickly, “due to the proximity of his property, we wanted to speak with you. As before, if you think of anything that can help us, we’d be grateful.”
“Me, too,” Colby murmured. “These killings... My congregation is going to grow more frightened. I can tell them to have faith, but...the first girl. She was killed on a cross. That news is out there. That’s frightening. What does it mean?”
“I think it means someone is abusing religion,” Hunter said, and he stood, aware Amy joined him almost simultaneously, as if they did have a silent language between them. “Cults,” Hunter said. “Most often, they’re led by someone using the framework of religion. A charismatic speaker, like Jim Jones, or someone who can appeal to the young and disenfranchised, like Manson. There are still major cults operating around the country, you know. And cult leaders have openly asked congregants to bring assault weapons into their churches. They can convince parents that thirteen-year-old girls—and younger—are being touched by God when they have sex with the leader. The right speaker first lures people with faith and goodness and love and hope—and then any disobedience is seen as an affront to God. Alternatively, there are those who don’t really bother too much with religion, but they convince people they have a rite or a program that can make them happy within, strong and ready to move mountains. It’s a different kind of faith, but if it abuses the believer’s rights, it’s no less dangerous.”