“You’re a sicko all right,” I say. “But I don’t believe for a second that you’re above blackmailing the members of your little club to ensure your own ass stays covered. Figuratively speaking.”
“It’s an insurance policy, okay?” he says. “I’m not blackmailing anyone with those videos...yet. It’s a last-resort measure, for my own protection.”
“Well, at least you’re using protection.” I glance back at the video, at the devil himself, grunting and sweating over a blonde with glassy, vacant eyes. I’d have to zoom in to be sure, but I’d bet the deed to my truck that she’s one of our missing persons.
Vindication surges through my veins like a shot of epinephrine. I’ve been scraping and scrambling for proof that the reverend isn’t the saint he presents himself to be, and here it is, playing out before my eyes, ugly as ever.
With the discovery of this drive, we now have enough evidence to incriminate anyone who’s ever attended one of King’s parties, including the reverend. Admissible evidence, if sent to the station by an anonymous tip.
But there’s still the matter of the leak in the department. I can’t trust that what happened to the flash drive won’t happen to this drive, too, after I’ve turned it in. And as damning as these videos are, I already knew the reverend was dirty.
It’s the blood on his hands I still need to prove exists.
“I know it’s fucked up,” King says. He’s on the verge of tears. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you whatever you want. Just...forget about the drive. You wanna know about the girls? I’ll tell you all about them. How I recruit them, what I pay them—"
“I already knew all that, counselor.” I motion for Mike to turn off the video, and all of my guys breathe a collective sigh of relief. I forgot I’m the only one who’s had to live with this shit in his head for the past two years.
“Right now, I’m only interested in one particular girl,” I say. “Last weekend, a man in a black SUV came here to pick her up for a private rendezvous, away from your little party.”
“Okay. So what? Are you her pimp or something?”
“This driver was working for one of your usual guests. Someone who couldn’t attend the gathering. He requested the girl be brought directly to him. I assume that sort of special arrangement would require your prior approval.”
“Yeah, probably,” he says.
“So what’s the driver’s name?”
He shakes his head like he’s trying to buy time. “I don’t know.”
I nod for Jonah to slap him.
“What the fuck?” King barks.
“Each time you lie to me, my man here is gonna slap you like your mama should’ve. Now, tell me the driver’s name.”
“I don’t know his name!”
Jonah slaps him again.
“Goddamn it! Fine, it’s Hoyt. His name is Hoyt.”
“Last name?” I ask.
“Now, that I don’t know.”
He flinches as Jonah raises his hand. I motion for him to stand down. Unfortunately, King appears to be telling the truth for once. Still, a first name is better than nothing.
“Where’d he take the girl?” I ask.
“Some house on Cherokee Lake,” King says.
A piece of the puzzle suddenly falls into place. In researching the Davis family’s properties, I stumbled across some public records pertaining to the purchase of a two-million-dollar estate on Cherokee Lake—a mere thirty-minute drive from King’s house.
Thing is, it wasn’t the reverend who made the purchase.
It was his brother, Governor Jim Davis.
“You’re saying Hoyt works for the governor?” I ask.
“No.” King’s gaze narrows. “He works for his brother, Clyde.”
“Clyde requested the girl?”
“Yes, Clyde requested her,” King says. “Under normal circumstances, he never misses one of my ‘little parties,’ as you so affectionately put it, detective. But he knew you were coming.”
Jonah and Austin shoot troubled glances my way.
“That’s you, isn’t it, Detective Larkin?” King says. “I should’ve known. You’re the only man in this fucking state who gives a damn about those worthless little—”
Austin whacks King in the back of the head with the butt of his gun.
“My bad, counselor,” he says.
King whines about his injuries for a quick minute. I figure there’s no point in maintaining pretenses when I’ve already been found out. I take off my ski mask, wipe the sweat from beneath my eyes, and move in closer to King.
“How’d you know I was gonna be there?” I ask, glaring down at his red face.
“I told you,” he says. “I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, detective.”
I nod for Austin to give him another well deserved whack upside the head.
King flinches. “Fine... Fuck. Clyde told me himself.”
“And how the hell did he know?”
“I don’t know,” he says breathlessly. “I swear to God, I don’t know.”
“I don’t think God is listening, counselor.” I look to my comrades. “I think we’re ready to wrap this up.”
Austin pulls out his hunting knife. King stares, wide-eyed, as Austin grabs one of the throw pillows from the couch, cuts a gash along one side, and empties out the fluff. In one fluid motion, Austin covers Russell’s head with the empty pillow sack.