After sitting in numb silence for several moments, he scrolled down. Below the photograph was a text summary from an unnamed investigator.
Real name is Violet Robin Novak, but currently uses only first, Violet, and provides no surname. Tells people that surnames have no purpose. It appears that she met Eli Pate in Cody, Wyoming. She does not own a home or vehicle and has no driver’s license. Her only known family in the area is a brother, Lawrence, and when she sees him she does so without Pate. Only other known family is a son, not local, and there does not seem to be contact between them: Markus R. Novak, of St. Petersburg, Florida, age thirty-three, father unknown. There is no indication that Markus Novak has been in Montana or Wyoming in the past decade.
Violet Novak was living in a motor home owned by Scott Shields, fifty-two, of Cody, Wyoming, when she met Eli Pate. Witnesses suggest that Violet Novak ended a romantic relationship with Shields after meeting Pate. What income she has is derived from providing what she calls “spiritual counseling” and giving palm readings. There are some in the area who are loyal customers, and they were distressed when she left Cody.
Friends paint a picture of Novak’s beliefs as being very ripe for Eli Pate’s exploitation. Although she is apparently of Germanic descent, she insists that she is of Nez Perce ancestry, though when pressed she will back down the claim to “spiritual ancestry.” She is an intense supporter of virtually any environmental cause, though she does not appear to put much effort into the study of these issues. A blanket supporter, easily swayed. Similarly, she is vocally opposed to many industrial efforts in the West but does not exhibit a great deal of understanding of the efforts she opposes. In these ways, she seems a perfect target for Pate, and with her existing beliefs and practices as well as her local contacts, she may be beneficial to his recruiting efforts. Her previous existence was already essentially “off the grid” through circumstance if not choice, so converting her on this front will not be difficult for him.
She was last sighted with Pate in Lovell, though their current location remains unknown. Her brother claimed no knowledge of Wardenclyffe and said he had not seen Violet in over a year, but she visited him just last week at his current residence (see supplemental), when the attached photographs were taken. She was alone for the visit, which lasted slightly over an hour, and drove there in a truck registered to Scott Shields. Visual contact with her was lost on Highway 301 near Belfry, when it appeared likely that she became aware of surveillance.
Both criminal records and acquaintance interviews suggest that while she has demonstrated little respect for the law or concern over legal consequences, she has always been a nonviolent offender and displays a general dislike of violence.
Further intelligence efforts on Markus Novak have shown no indication that he’s lying to you re contact with his mother. He’s a tough trace, very consistent in recent years but an absolute mess before that. In the past eight years he’s had two addresses; in the eight prior, he had twenty-three at a minimum. Most of those were in the West or Pacific Northwest. His criminal history is undistinguished, mostly misdemeanor charges stemming from fights or alcohol incidents. After he left the West, the only story of note, besides his wife’s murder, is his recent activity in Garrison, Indiana, with which you’re already acquainted. He appears to have reached a point of stability once in Florida, and there’s no evidence of efforts, successful or unsuccessful, to contact Violet. There is also no evidence of association or overlap with Pate, Cole, or Oriel until his arrival in Cassadaga. His ignorance of the phrase rise the dark appears genuine based on his interviews with police investigators in his wife’s homicide. With all that said, you should still consider him high risk.
He tried to open Lynn’s e-mail, but it was password-protected. He searched for other files, tried them, found the same problem. The only thing he could access was the file she’d left open before she came to see him. The last thing she’d read before she made a decision about him.
Consider him high risk.
He couldn’t locate the supplemental report referenced with the picture, but he didn’t need to. The surveillance photo was enough. It had been shot with a long-range lens, and his mother occupied most of the frame, either because the photographer had cared about nothing else or because he’d been trying to conceal her location, but if it was the latter, he would have needed a much tighter focus. When you were shooting pictures of a woman in a town with a population of fewer than two hundred, you had to be damn sure to hide all landmarks. In the picture, over her shoulder was a single sign that told Mark all he needed to know. It was a white square with the letters M and S painted on it, the S falling away from the M. There were no words, but he didn’t need them, not with that sign. It was Miner’s Saloon in Cooke City. Sixty miles away from where Mark sat, just over the Beartooths. Cooke City and Silver Gate had been frequent retreats for his family, both because his uncles loved the area and because the only police presence was second-day sheriff’s service from Gardiner. When things heated up, Mark’s family ended up in Cooke City more often than not.
He could not bring himself to believe that this was connected to anything. Not to Janell Cole, not to Garland Webb, not to Lauren. It couldn’t be.
Further intelligence efforts on Markus Novak have shown no indication that he’s lying to you re contact with his mother.
Mark drew a breath in through his teeth and looked at the window. The sidewalks were empty, the town dark and silent. Somewhere not far from this place, maybe just over the pass and in Cooke City, his mother waited. He’d kept his wife from any contact with her. Always.
This is a lie. All of it. Some sort of trick, Garland Webb’s work. Because the man in that report is not the man who lost his wife in Cassadaga. Not anymore.
Get out, his dead wife’s voice had whispered, and he had left, and now Lynn was gone and his mother remained.
His hand trembled a little as he withdrew his cell phone and called Jeff London.
Jeff’s groggy first words were “Please tell me you’re not in another jail.”
Not jail. Worse. Mark said, “Jeff, I need a big favor, and I need it fast.”
“That always seems to be the way.”
“I’m going to have to relay this information to Montana police in a hurry.”
Jeff’s tone changed instantly. “What happened?”
“I came here with another investigator whose case involved people associated with Garland Webb. She’s gone. I think she was taken. I need to speak to somebody who knows what she was working on. I think she lied to me, or at least withheld details. She’s with the Pinkerton office in Boca Raton. You have a contact with them?”
“Yes. A guy named William Oliver. High on the food chain.”
“Get him for me. The higher up, the better. His investigator’s name is Lynn Deschaine. D-e-s-c-h-a-i-n-e. He needs to know she’s missing, and he needs to help me with the police.”
“I’ll call back in five minutes.”
It took him fifteen and they passed like an hour. Mark tried to determine how long he’d been out of sight of the motel. Thirty minutes? Forty-five? The walk to Jay’s, the conversation, then back. That was all.
In that time, she’d vanished.
The phone finally rang. “Will he help?” Mark asked without preamble.
“He can’t.”
“Bullshit, Jeff, this isn’t about confidential client information. I think his investigator has been kidnapped!”
“She’s not his investigator. Nobody by the name of Lynn Deschaine works for the agency or ever has,” Jeff said. “Nobody named Deschaine, period.”