(Blood and Bone, #2) Sin and Swoon (27 page)

I nod. “We will be in DC in five hours, the pilot says.”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

I close my eyes and sigh, savoring those words like they are food for my soul. “Me too.”

I sit back in my chair and hang up the phone, then dial Antoine and put my headphones in. “Okay, lead me through this.”

“Okay, well, thanks for the warning first of all. When you get an ass ton of sex tapes with old fat people in them, you could at least warn a guy. I was eating a big ol’ plate of spaghetti my mom made, and then I was gagging and choking and throwing up. My mom comes running in, yells at me for watching porn, and takes my pasta away.”

I chuckle, remembering the faces Henrico made. “It was bad, walking in on that. You don’t even bother me with your First World problems. Stop taking your work home.”

He scoffs. “The computer at work isn’t as good as mine here. I built a new one, and it’s amazing. Anyway, this hard drive is a hot mess. It’s a million hours of old-people sex. They start, I’d say twenty years ago, so you know they loaded that shit up from CDs they made. Twenty years ago she was fatter too. These are not people who should be filming themselves naked.”

“Anything with the parents?”

He scoffs again. “Oh, let me tell you. These people are frickin’ weird. The mom and dad were bad people. I swear to God, these books don’t add up either. I bet you they have done money laundering for the mob, which is how the dry cleaning made so much money. He went from nothing to a whole lot of something and fast. The whole financial situation is dodgy. And even better, Old Dick has weird videos of himself training girls in those cells. We won’t go there. Then even more bizarre is the old movies on here—after they watch their porn or make it or whatever, they all settle in for Alfred Hitchcock. It’s weird. The Google history is bad. Like ‘how fast does lime dissolve a boy after he’s been dead a week’ bad. The amount of porn these people have searched is criminal. There are teenage boys who don’t know about some of these sites.”

“What about the will? The houses? How about some of the useful stuff?”

He chuckles. “Okay, so we have five bank accounts, all of which are bloated with cash. Three rental houses in Seattle alone.”

“Get the locals to run well-being checks on those houses. They could be brothels in disguise.”

“Oh God.”

I massage my temples and close my eyes as we take off. “Right.”

“There are two houses in Canada; coincidentally enough, one is on the East Coast. It doesn’t look so hot either—a bad neighborhood in Halifax. And even worse, it’s near the police department downtown. So if it
is
a brothel you know somebody’s on the take, because there has been suspicious behavior there, like inquiries about prostitution. But it doesn’t look like they have gone anywhere with it.”

“Could be where the girls are coming from to supply the hookers-in-the-hills program.”

“Sounds like an outreach program.” He makes a fake coughing sound. “I found something else. In the will it states that the oceanfront house has been deeded to the children upon their mother’s death, but the cabin in the woods is to be given to the Backcountry Brothers Society.”

“Wow, they made a society?”

“Yeah. The Backcountry Brothers Society is a not-for-profit society that owns that entire mountain where the lodge and the slave cabin are. The property is eleven thousand acres and completely pie-shaped. It’s narrow at the cabin and wide at the lodge. It’s a property that’s been attached to the cabin in the woods for fifty years—sold off and made to look like the man was setting up a private park. Signature is none other than the president of the United States in 1963. We won’t mention names, because you should know that.”

“Why the hell would the government sell him that land in the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s hard to set up parks. They have to be approved, and inquiries have to be made. Then they have to be checked on. It leaves a paper trail.”

I pause. “So sell the land and it’s a private park?”

“Yeah, but the trick is to find a house to sell the land to, so that there is already a structure and you aren’t getting approval for building permits and making more of a paper trail. So at the time, the only private residence up there belonged to one Mr. Francis Richard Russell. It was a shit shack back then.”

“Oh my God. Attaching the land to the cabin totally makes sense. It was the closest structure up there, and the old man was clearly for sale, in his soul. It was an easy way to ensure the land was privatized, and no one had to know about it. The government wasn’t giving it away—they sold it. No one is the wiser.”

He coughs. “Yeah, and they sold an even eleven thousand acres for eleven thousand dollars. Old man Russell paid a dollar an acre, which even at that time was insane for land with no access. But if they were making a park with it no one would have batted an eyelid at this, unless they wanted to chuckle about the moron who bought land he couldn’t even use.”

My mind is blown. “So Old Dick’s dad owned the cabin in the woods, which at the time was a shack, and the president and his cronies, who probably wanted to open a legal form of brothel slash resort, decided using the old man as a patsy was a good idea?”

“Yeah. But the old man wasn’t a patsy. That explains where the money came from. That friggin’ dry cleaners went from just making it to banking, fast. And get this—the fucking kids, the dirty, fat sex addicts, were the first ones to contest the will because of the nasty cabin in the woods. They contested because the land never went to them. It’s worth a ton to the forestry companies, which is who it looks like the kids want to sell to. They even have a contract drawn up. It’s dated two weeks after Daddy Dearest died. But then the will stated that the Backcountry men—or Backdoor, as we so fondly know them—got the cabin and the land.”

“Holy shit. So then Rory comes along and wants the land to stay in the pervert’s hands. He pretends to be a lawyer and an executor and gets the whole will tied up even more?”

Antoine sighs. “Even my brain is hurting from all this.”

I scowl. “Why does Rory need to be the lawyer and the executor?”

“I bet he was pretending to be a lawyer to convince the adopted kid, Amanda, to sign the papers, and if she didn’t then he would kill her or something nefarious. But if she does sign, Rory sweet-talks Amanda into going for the money and then earns her trust, which we all know he’s good at. He then convinces her to go with the lawyer chosen by the horde of evil men. Rory probably told her he was the executor and was looking out for her best interests.” Antoine gasps again. “Executors are the only people allowed on the property when buildings and plots of land are being contested. I always knew Rory was smart, but
dude
!”

“Oh my God, this is intense.” I collapse my head into my arms. “And for the record, he’s not that smart. This has him being the fall guy for the higher-ups written all over it. I bet you any money he was allowed up there and partied up there, and was convinced this was the right choice. But in the end, if shit goes south, he will be the fall guy.”

He pauses. “Then why’d he take it to such a dark place if he’s just a patsy?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m tired and my brain hurts. Send whatever the Feds need to charge the disgusting-piece-of-shit Russell family. I will call you tomorrow. We can rehash a little and see what else we come up with.”

“Okay; night, Jane. I’m sorry about Rory.” He sounds serious, which never happens.

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Me too, Antoine. I know you guys were as close as we were.”

“Yeah, we were. See ya, Jane.” He hangs up as I realize the screen is still filled with people doing the nasty, and close the computer.

The plane rocks me like I am a baby, and eventually I fall asleep. My dreams absorb and re-present the past few days. It’s uncomfortable and weird to have sex dreams that you can’t admit to yourself you had. I end up feeling bothered by the visions when I wake.

I sit up to see we are just landing.

It’s dark and I’m exhausted, but I can’t help but be excited to see Angie and Dash. I fidget with the ring on my finger and wonder how she’s doing with the truth we have all had to face. Rory was my partner, but outside of work I didn’t see him nearly as much as Angie. He was someone I trusted, which is hard for me. Having him betray me hurts, but what he has done to Angie kills me.

When the jet finishes taxiing across the tarmac, the flight officer drops the door down, and Dash and Angie board instantly. I jump up, letting him wrap around me. He breathes me in, kissing the side of my head. When he lets go, I run at her, giving her the biggest hug I ever have.

She shakes her head, stifling tears and sadness. “I’m an idiot, Jane.”

I lift her chin. “You are not an idiot. Not any more than the rest of us.”

She sighs. “I am. I should have known. I slept beside him every night. I should have known.”

I refuse to let her believe that. “No. You couldn’t have known. He kept it so secret. He’s a spy—he was taught how to lie perfectly.”

She passes me a small crate and sits in her seat. I look down at the cloth crate to see a snarling Binx. “Binxy, why do you look so angry?”

“I gave him a cat sedative. He didn’t relax, at all.” Dash shakes his head, looking mystified at my savage cat’s behavior.

I wince at Dash. “He doesn’t relax with sedatives or tranquilizers. They make him anxious and stressed. They actually have the opposite effect.”

“That explains why he started chewing at the bag. If he gets out, the pilot is going to kill us.”

I grip Binx and hurry to my seat. He snarls and growls as I sit down and unzip the bag just enough for my hand to slip inside. I pet him as best I can before it’s time to buckle up again.

Angie looks over at me, resting her hand on my leg. “I want the heavy version, Janey. No fucking about. Ya lay it on me.”

My brow knits. “Angie, you don’t want to know this.”

“I have to know.”

Dash nods. “I think we both have to know.”

“Then I have to start at the beginning.”

She nods and he grimaces but agrees.

As the plane takes off and my cat turns into a little savage, I slip my hand back inside and pet him softly and slowly, hoping to calm him down. “From what we have gathered thus far it seems the cabin used to be a small little shack on the hill. It was the only piece of property that was owned by any person for a hundred miles that had a structure on it. So the men who wanted to make a legal form of brothel—the men who were leading our country then—decided to let a man purchase eleven thousand acres of land for a dollar an acre. The acreage was meant to be a park, but a private one. Something no one could get into without his permission.”

“Damn, that’s a steal.”

I shake my head at Angie. “No, back then the land was unreachable except for an old Forest Service road that led to a logging road. They put in a paved road later. It was about market price. We suspect old man Russell was given the money to buy the land, which he attached to the deed of his cabin, making it a large estate, technically. The lodge was built during those years, and men started having their erotic holidays. I imagine it started out as a bit more fun than it is now. I imagine most of the girls were regular hookers and not slaves stolen from their homes.”

Dash winces. “Not unusual to have slaves in that time. It just was not televised all over the world every time it happened.”

“Gross.” I stroke Binx and continue. “The land was to be deeded back to the Backcountry Brothers Society when Old Dick’s dad died. I assume he never deeded it to the society to begin with, because his son had grown quite fond of it and convinced his father not to. Or maybe he just wasn’t certain the men who built the lodge would hold up to whatever bargain they struck. At any rate, the cabin in the woods was not deeded to the society until Old Dick died, but Dick’s kids didn’t know this. They probably don’t know about the disgusting cabin at all. It would appear they made a deal with a logging company for the land when their father died, only to be surprised that they had not been given the cabin. They were the first to contest the will because the logging deal was huge money.”

I pause, taking a long breath while contemplating how to tell the rest. “When I went to visit the neighbor next door to the townhouse in the Queen Anne area, I discovered Rory was the executor of the will. He was named Derek and actually the nephew of Old Dick. Clearly, it was a lie fabricated to some end. We figured out that the only person able to go on a piece of property when it is being contested is the executor of the estate.”

Dash nods, adding it up in his head faster than Angie does. She scowls. “So he was able to use the property but no one else was, even though it’s not deeded to him?”

“Right, he can go and do checks on the place, though not use it. So while it was wrong to use the cabin, what he was doing there wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone. He did regular checks and maintenance on the townhouse, however, like a good nephew.”

She closes her eyes, absorbing or just shaken at the idea of it all.

“Then he pretended to be a lawyer and convinced the adopted sister, who by the way has served time at the lovely chateau and the cabin in the woods. She’s a little different, but I think the most normal in the family. By far. Her name is Amanda.” I cringe. “Rory tells Amanda his name is Roland Guthrie, a lawyer, who has a friend who would like to take her case and get her the share she is owed of the family fortune. The only fee they ask for is the cabin in the woods and all lands.”

Dash’s eyes widen. “Smart and evil. And seems to suggest Rory was not working alone in a lot of this. He was part of the society.”

I nod. “Right. So that’s something. He wasn’t just a serial rapist and killer because—”

“Don’t justify him to me.”

I shake my head. “Sorry, I didn’t actually have anything to add at the end of that anyway. He’s a psycho.”

“But not a lonely psycho. He’s got connections and friends in the right places.” Dash gives me a look. “How bad is the chateau?”

“Bad. It’s got theme rooms and costumes and loads of orgies and fun, but the girls are broken at the cells first—the job that Rory seemed to be part of, in some sick way. I don’t know how long they’re meant to stay in the cells. It seemed to me they were there far longer than Old Dick used to keep them. One month is what Amanda, the adopted daughter, said.”