“The kid still stuck to his guns, though, and swore out a complaint, and this time it did go to trial. Again, they had a high-priced lawyer, and the fact that his own mother said he was lying—and, brainwashed or not, she was a damn good witness, very sympathetic—as well as the fact that we had no physical evidence and it was basically a he-said/she-said situation, practically guaranteed that they were going to win. They did, and the kid vowed to file a civil suit, but we never heard from him again.
“Third time a couple came to us, claiming that their daughter had been kidnapped by the Homesteaders. Again, we got a warrant, went in, and there was no sign of her. In fact, the parents themselves disappeared. The phone number they gave us was disconnected, the address false.” Stewart breathed deeply. “I’m still hoping that one was a setup. But it’s more than possible that someone made them disappear.
“After that, the harassment case was brought against us, listing the county, the entire department, and me and my men individually. There’ve been delays and postponements, so it hasn’t gone to trial yet, but it’s been winding its way through the system for at least a year. Needless to say, the county attorney has ordered us to stay away from the Home and avoid contact with any of the cult members.”
The deputy looked at Gary. “Which is why we’re lucky you showed up.”
“Exactly. There are four of you who are eyewitnesses and victims. We have drugging, kidnapping, breaking and entering, robbery, murder or attemped murder, and it’s across state lines and being investigated by Los Angeles police. And two of the Homesteaders are in custody. If we can tie all this together, it’s a slam dunk.”
“I’m not sure about the robbery charge,” Gary said. “They broke into my dorm room and trashed it. But they didn’t take anything. I don’t think I had what they were looking for.”
“Oh, you might’ve. And they might’ve gotten it. But they won’t take anything physical. ‘Thou shalt not steal’ and all that. They’re strict followers of the Bible, even though they’re a little loose around the edges. Tell me, have you noticed since then that your credit cards don’t work, or—”
“Yes!” Gary said.
The sheriff nodded. “They probably got information off your computer. That they don’t consider stealing, and it’s probably why they were there in the first place. They try to come off as simple, old-fashioned back-to-the-land types, but let me tell you, they use some sophisticated terrorist tactics to go after their enemies. Believe me, I know.”
“Why?” Stacy said. “What happened?”
“My credit rating was ruined. So were the credit ratings of my entire staff and half of the county employees. I ended up having to convince my own bank that I was me, and it took two years to prove to them that I owned my own house. Everyone here has a similar story.”
“Yep,” Hubbard agreed, lips tight.
“Let me tell you about Len Hearn, our then–district attorney. Len had it the worst. He was served with papers for back payment of child support, though he’d never been married and never had a kid. His pickup truck was repossessed and his house was foreclosed on, even though he had never missed a payment on either. Oh, and his bank account was cleaned out, every last dollar he had transferred electronically to a company in Barbados.” The sheriff paused. “Len killed himself, blew out his brains with a twenty-two.”
“You couldn’t get them for that?” Stacy asked incredulously.
“No proof,” Stewart said. “We called in the FBI, but everything was untraceable. Whoever their computer guy is, he’s good.”
Outside, there was a lessening of darkness, a hint of pink that showed through the slatted blinds covering the window. Gary glanced at the clock on the wall. Six o’clock. It was Thursday morning. He was anxious to go after Joan.
The sheriff stood and pulled open the top drawer of an old-fashioned file cabinet behind his desk. “One thing that will help you, I think, is getting a look at the Home and its layout.” He withdrew a thick manila folder and placed it on top of his desk, flipping it open and turning it to face them.
The first photo, taken from some distance away, showed a sprawling series of single-story buildings framed by a wrought-iron gateway topped with a cross. The buildings were at the far end of a twin-rutted dirt driveway. “We took these during our first raid. This one’s from the road.” Stewart slid the photograph off the top of the pile, revealing the next photo below: an aerial view of the property. “This was taken from a helicopter.” From this angle, Gary could see not only how large the grounds were but how isolated. The flat buildings of the first photo and a barn surrounded by planted fields were the only structures visible. An irregular red line had been drawn with a pen over a center section of the picture, encompassing the buildings, the fields and a sizable portion of woods.
“The front entrance is here,” the sheriff said, pointing with a pencil. “This driveway leads to the road, and the road leads to First Street at the east end of town. The compound’s about eight miles from where we are now. I have two men watching the grounds at this moment. Manny Trejo’s right here, by this tree.” The sheriff moved his pencil. “Ken Faul is staking out the rear of the property from a fire break just outside this part of the picture.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to—” Stacy began.
“What the county attorney doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“And it might help you,” Hubbard said.
“If something happened,” the sheriff said, “if you got in trouble somehow, if you saw something illegal, if you saw something suspicious, Manny and Ken would be in a position to quickly assist you.”
Gary nodded. “I understand.”
Stewart swiveled the monitor on his desk to face them and with a few clicks of his mouse brought up several rows of thumbnail photos. “More shots are on the computer here. Just click on the ones you want to enlarge.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to get some coffee,” Stewart said pointedly. “Taylor, why don’t you keep me company.”
“Sure,” the deputy said.
“But—” Gary began.
“We’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” Stewart told him.
Brian put a hand on Gary’s shoulder to keep him from protesting as the sheriff and deputy walked out of the room. “They think we’re going to break in,” Brian explained, once the door had closed. “They don’t want to know about it, but they’re giving us time to look over the surveillance photos, to try and find a way inside.”
“Oh,” Gary said, feeling dumb.
“Huh,” Reyn said. “I didn’t get that, either.”
“You two are so naive,” Stacy said. She reached down and picked up the aerial photo. “How do we get in?” she wondered. “This place is like a fortress. Even if they don’t have guards or people specifically assigned to watch for intruders, they probably have cameras and alarms set up.”