GODDESS OF THE MOON (A Diana Racine Psychic Suspense) (45 page)

Beecher’s description of Lucier’s automaton-like voice bothered Craven most.
A
no-nonsense boss
, well-
liked and respected
by his men, he c
ould
sometimes
be aloof
. But
no one would ever describe his speech pattern as robotic.

Beecher
had
brought
Craven
up to speed on Lucier’s investigation
.
He’d
c
heck
ed
the whereabouts of Compton’s group
.
All were out of their offices
this
morning except Martin Easley, and none of the secretaries would confirm when their bosses would return.
H
e
’d
called the Sunrise Mission
,
too, and
the secretary said
Edward Slater
ha
d
left on a
short, well-deserved vac
ation.
”

Coincidence?
Craven
didn’t
think so. He
believed in coincidences. They happened all the time
, b
ut there were too many in this case to ignore.
Lucier’s
disappearance
might
push the right buttons
to
search more thoroughly into
Compton’s hidden properties
. He picked up the phone and called FBI agent Ralph Stallings to fill him in on
the
going
s
on.

“Any luck untangling the mess of properties owned by the men, especially Co
mpton and Crane?” Craven asked.

“
Our
team of forensic accountants
is
working on it. The
men’s
multiple corporations have a tangled provenance of ownership, most through shell companies and land trusts, some registered offshore.”

“We’re looking for
someplace
within a few hundred miles, I’d guess,” Craven said.
“Someplace a couple of hours by private plane.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Nothing concrete.
I’m hunching here, Ralph.”

“Hold on.”

Craven heard the rustle of paper. He waited.

“Sorry to keep you. I wanted to make sure I had all the facts. At least those w
e can confirm. Hmm, let’s see.”

More paper shuffling.

“Both Crane and Compton
were born
in Oklahoma. In fact, all
five men are
Okies.
P
eople
often
resort to their comfort zone when
seek
ing
a place
to hide. In other words, so
meplace they’re familiar with.”

“
Which would be
somewhere in Oklahoma?”

“If I were a guessing man, yes, although I’d hate to hang someone’s life on a supposition.”

“What about Slater?”

“Born in Texas.
Never had enough money to buy property.
Not according to his tax returns.”

“You have better resources than I do, Ralph, but go
deeper
into Crane’s history. This thing may go back generations. He’s the one I’
m betting
on, ’cause it’s his
seed
money. He bought Co
mpton and the others
too.”

“I’ll get back to you
,
”
Stallings said.

“Thanks. Meanwhile,
there’s
one
last
idea I want to investigate.”

Craven hung up and buzzed Beecher to his office. The big man entered
,
looking more put together than usual. With Lucier AWOL and B. D. Harris retired, Beecher was senior man. Today, he wore a pressed shirt tucked it into his pants, although they were still slipping down below his gut
.
Beecher and Lucier were close, and
Craven
saw
the
worry
lines
on his detective’s face.

“
P
ay a visit to Martin Easley, Sam, and take Cash with you. Easley’s the only one in town this morning and the only one you verified who stayed in New Orleans this weekend. I
called
and
made
an appointment. I wanted him to think about
the reason
you’re coming. Think and worry, if he has reason to. I think he has.”

“Why
, Captain?”

“
S
omething strange in his history makes me wonder,” he said, referring to a folder on his desk. He opened it
, riffled through until he extracted
a sheet of paper. “In the late fifties, Easley’s father was accused of raping and murdering a college girl in town. The cops went to his house to question him, but he resisted, claiming he was innocent. One overzealous cop knocked him around. Easley
,
Sr.
,
fought back and they beat him so bad, he later died of a brain hemorrhage. Ten-year-old Martin
witnessed
the whole thing. Easley’s mother filed a lawsuit, but no jury was going to convict two cops of killing a dirt-poor farmer. The
y
got off
, and l
ater, another man confessed to the girl’s murder.”

No light bulbs seemed to be going off in
Beecher
’s head
. Maybe
his
idea wa
s off the wall,
Craven
thought.

“What are you thinking, Captain?” Beecher asked.

“If Compton and Crane are masterminds of a group of baby-kidnapping Satanists
―
of which we have no concrete evidence
―
Easley
’s been
involved.
Until now.
I think he opted out because his friends abducted a cop
, and
Easley has a deep-rooted, lifelong fear of the police.”

“That’s an awful lot of ifs, sir.”

“Yeah, I know. But right now we have nothing else
. Won’t hurt to turn
the screws
and see his reaction
. He said he’d be home at noon. Probably doesn’t want the cops to go to his office.
I’m hoping
we
got
ourselves a weak link. God knows, we need one.”

T
o Act the Part

D
iana forced her eyes open
. She
lay
on a bed in a strange room
, unable to move
. Not her hands or arms or legs. Not anything.
It was if her
body
belonged to someone else
. She wasn’t dead because she
hear
d
her
accelerated
heart
beat
pounding
in her ears
from fear.
Where
am I
?
I
nch
ing
her head to the side
to
see her surroundings
took
every ounce of strength and
le
ft
her breathless
.
The
room
equaled one in
a five-star hotel
―e
xpensive furnishings, luxurious draperies pulled closed. She managed to turn to the other side
and saw
part of a marble-tiled bathroom.
A
fleeting memory attacked her consciousness
.

This
was no hotel.

S
lowly
, h
er fingers came to life,
followed by
her hand and arm. Next, her body regain
ed
prickly sensation, leaving her limbs heavy
and weighted.

But she felt them.

Nausea moved up from deep in her gut
. She needed to
get to the bathroom.
Sitting
up sapped her
energy,
and she collapsed back onto the bed. The nausea abated but still smoldered in her belly like a fire’s dying embers.

F
lashes of memory
hit
her next―
wavy visions and distorted sounds, Lucier’s heartrending helplessness as his head sank into his plate of food, the pungent aroma of lemon and salmon,
the
soft cushion of the fish’s flesh warm on her cheek
.

T
he blackness from her own lapse into unconsciousness.

She closed her eyes
now and
more memories
flooded into her mind
.

Silas Compton
stood
over her with a welcoming smile on his face as if she’d be happy to see him
.
Another man, someone she didn’t know, stood next to him.

“You’re awake,” Compton said.

Her throat was so dry
, tongue like sandpaper
. He held out something to drink. She shook her head violently.
Can’t drink.
Can’t drink.
Drugs
.

Compton handed the glass to the other man.
“Welcome to our world, Diana,” Compton said. “You will be happy here, I promise. You’ll be worshiped and adored.”

H
er voice, shrill in her head, scream
ed and swore
. She clawed a
t
Compton.
He jumped back.
The other man stepped forward
holding
something in his hand she couldn’t see.
H
e brought it forward
.
A
hypodermic needle.

She fought
some more
, but
she weakened quickly
. They held her down and the other man plunged the needle into her arm.

Diana bolted upright, fully awake now
, but the room spun, and she
once more
flopped on the bed
.
How
did
the group trick them? She and Lucier ate the same food
as the others
, drank the same liquids. The answer mattered little. She was locked in a room in a place
she assumed she’d never leave.

W
here was Lucier? The group needed the Goddess Diana but they didn’t need a New Orleans cop who could put them all in prison. Was he
already dead?

N
o, no.
She couldn’t think that
.

The possibility reignited, and sorrow clashed with anger.
She squeezed her eyes shut,
forcing
tears
that
crawled down her cheeks.
These people couldn’t be allowed to get away with such things. S
he had to stop them.

She laughed at the brave words. Stop them? She could barely move. The fury inside her forced another attempt to rise. This time she succeeded
with an extra surge of energy.

Okay, Diana, swing your legs
to the side.

The room spun
again
, and the nausea returned,
gathering force from deep in her belly, rising into her throat
. She swallowed to stave off the sickness until she felt steady
enough to get to the bathroom.

Deep breaths.
In. Out. In. Out.

S
he
sat
up,
saw the little red light high in the wall vent not unlike the
camera
setup in Slater’s office.
She didn’t care. If
watching
her
gave someone a thrill, let them
watch
.
She saluted to the red light.

Scanning
the room, she
noticed
clothes in the closet and a makeup case on the dresser. Everything a prisoner needed to make
herself
presentable. The clothes
appeared to be
the right size too. Compton had planned all contingencies.
She
checked
the a
rmoire
for
scotch.
Nothing better to ease nausea than a shot of whiskey.
Damn, nothing but a TV.