“Special Agent Forrest, we are nothing like that here!” Colby said, horrified.
“No, sir. Of course not,” Hunter said, smiling. “But it’s scary just how much of it does exist—out there. Thank you again for your time. And for any help you can give us. We never asked—how is your family? You have three children, right?”
“What?” Colby looked surprised and then wary. “My kids are fine. My wife...my wife died young, I regret to say. She was beautiful and sweet, and a good person. And my kids are great. Why?”
“Hunter is just being polite,” Amy said, giving the man one of her disarming smiles. “We bug you, but never ask how you’re doing, how the family is doing... Just hoping you’re doing well in the midst of all this. And we do so appreciate all your help and your time.”
“Right. I see. Sure. Yes, well, I’m doing fine—or at least okay,” Colby said.
“Hey, are any of your children going to follow in your footsteps?” Hunter asked. “Become pastors?”
“Casey is in media. Jayden is in medicine. Chase just started college—he’s up north in the state, figuring out what he wants to do with his life.”
“Sounds like they’re all doing really well,” Amy said. “Anyhow, thank you again.”
She turned and started for the door. Hunter thanked him again and followed her. In the car, he paused for a minute, determining his next move.
He looked over at Amy. “I want to go to the morgue. It’s a drive. An hour at least, in and then out.”
“Were you thinking to leave me here?” she asked.
“I’m thinking it’s your choice.”
“I doubt Dr. Carver will be ready for autopsy.”
“But the body, or what’s left of it, will be ready for autopsy.”
“What exactly are you looking for?” she asked.
He was silent a minute and then said quietly, “A brand.”
She turned in her seat so she could look right at him. “A brand?” She seemed confused at how specific that was. “As in...the killer’s initials?”
“I don’t know if it would be the killer’s initials. But it would be something that identified the woman as having been...his. A sign of some kind, something.”
“Is that common in cults?” Amy asked.
He nodded. “It can be. Years ago, there was a cult. It wasn’t even so much a religious cult—it was an organization for self-empowerment, to know yourself, become a better person. But it was a bizarre pyramid scheme—one man at the top, getting very rich off the ‘courses’ they offered. It was huge, hundreds of thousands of people took the classes and became members, many of them recruiters. But they had an offshoot, as well—and to be part of it, women were branded. Not against their will. They were convinced receiving the brand—something burned into their flesh—was a triumph of will and self-power. Same as sleeping with the founder—the act of sex with him lifted you to a higher plane. There was a side organization to his main group, run by a woman. In learning to be true to promises, they were taught a method in which they punished themselves if they didn’t do something. The punishment was supposed to be self-empowering. Say, if they didn’t get to work on time, they’d make themselves sleep on the floor the next night and then they’d learn to be on time. His second in command—or whatever one might have called her—told her followers they were getting tattoos, but when they showed up, it turned out they were being branded. To make sure they’d go through with it, they’d been ordered to write up notes to family, work or friends that they wouldn’t want given out. Then, of course, they were also told they had no will, no self-strength, if they couldn’t handle pain to be a member of such a strong group. The founder and his second in command are in prison now. He finally fell to child abuse charges because he decided he was so powerful he could go for underage girls. I don’t remember what else they got him on, but at least his power seems to have ended. That’s one. It’s still very frightening to see how many men like him are in prison, with followers who didn’t seem to mind giving their children over to obeying at any cost. And these followers are still out there, worshipping them.”
Amy shook her head. “I wonder how... I mean, how do people fall beneath the spell of others like that? Willing to do anything.”
He shrugged, clenching his teeth, and then spoke. “Charismatic leaders start by appealing to goodness and godliness. They prey upon the young and the lost. People disappointed with the mainstream can fall under that spell.” He hesitated and looked her way. “Both Charles Manson and David Koresh were big on spouting Revelation. If you can convince someone they will rise above everyone else when those who didn’t seek the right path are wiped off the face of the earth as the end descends, you’ve twisted young minds nicely. Some people grow up in cults. They learn that doctrine from the time they’re born.” He turned the key in the ignition. “Sometimes they escape.”
There was a heavy pause as Amy considered his words.
She looked over at him. His grip on the steering wheel was tense. When she must have realized Hunter didn’t want to add anything, Amy changed the subject. “I didn’t sketch this morning. I can’t believe it.” She looked out the window. “I want to see Dr. Carver—and the corpse. I think I can be most useful going with you. Detective Mulberry is canvassing the locals, and Agent Anders will be back here soon to hold down the fort.”
He nodded. “Right.”
There were several phone calls to be made as they drove. His first was to Carver; his second was to his home office, reporting to his field director, and then finding out if anyone had gathered any more information on Ethan Morrison and his Florida properties—or on the children of Jared Colby.
He put the phone on speaker, introducing Amy to Sheila, the agent doing the research.
Then Sheila gave them what she had.
“Ethan Morrison spent many years down in your area there,” Sheila told them. “His father made the family fortune, dabbling in sugarcane, but hitting the stock market, mainly pharmaceutical companies. He was a heavy investor in a company called Ever-Questing. They’re always fighting to keep the cost of their drugs high,” Sheila reported. “He likes to drive. A lot of his property is over the border in Georgia, but he’s back and forth all the time—per his credit card expenses. Could he have been at the murder sites? Yes, for the woman who was found in Maclamara, Hunter. No, for South Florida—he’s been at a convention in Atlanta for the past week. His own convention, by the way. ‘Invest and Thrive: Empowerment for the Soul.’”
“All right, thanks, Sheila. Keep me posted on anything.”