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“Every name,” Rachel says, giving the camera a pointed look. “Including a name we know very well at Cressidan City News. Isn’t that right, Leanne?”
“That’s right. Michael Parker, head of broadcast, bought ten Omegas from Harlan West. Two of them are being treated now in a medical facility. One was found dead in a park last year. One was found six years ago, on a train track. We suspect the others are dead, too, but I’m sure the police will look into that soon. We left Harlan and one of his heavies on the steps of Cressidan City Police Department this afternoon. They haven’t come looking for the evidence we have yet, but I’m sure they’re getting to it. I know they’re busy.”
Definitely playing with fire, but I also know I’m going to get away with it.
“Of course,” Rachel says. “You said there are thirty-four names you can give us?”
“Yes. There’s Trent Quinn. He’s bought sixteen women from Harlan over the last twenty years. One survived. She’s currently in critical condition. Half of the others bodies have been found, and not one of them was listed as having any suspects, despite two of them working for him for several years and one of them actually dating him for close to a year before she went missing.”
“That’s strange,” Rachel says. “Why do you think that is?”
“Well, Rachel, Harlan had a few local cops in his pocket. I would bet good money one of their names was on the report when those bodies were found.”
“I’ve noticed you don’t seem to have to read from a list with any of this, Leanne. Why is that?”
“I never want to forget what they did. All these details are burned into my memory because they killed women. I want the world to know what they did, Rachel. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this because of their wealth and status. They got away with it for too long already. It’s time they faced justice.”
“Well said,” Rachel tells me. “That’s all we have time for tonight, but don’t worry, more details are coming. Stay tuned, Cressidan City!”
Chapter One Hundred Fourteen
Leanne
The local cops never show up, but the FBI are on our doorstep before Rachel’s camera man has time to pack up all their equipment. The young male agent looks bemused as he follows the older female into the agency.
“We caught your show,” the woman says. “It was certainly eye-opening.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I tell her.
“You know those rich entitled Alphas could sue you for slander?”
“It’s not slander if it’s true,” E.A. says.
“I didn’t hear a lot of proof in your broadcast.”
“Oh, the proof is boxed and labelled for you in the other room,” I say. “I mean, besides the women who are being medically treated. They’re at Goldcrest Academy. I’m sure they’ll have some things to tell you once they’re feeling a little less like they’re about to die.”
She takes in a breath. “Okay, look. I believe Harlan West is a trafficker. We’ve had him on our radar for a while now. If you have actual, honest to God proof, I’ll personally thank you for finally taking him off the streets. If you don’t, well, we’ll find something to arrest you for, and that big list of names will sue your asses into oblivion.”
“I prefer my thank yous to come in the form of flowers, just FYI.”
I lead her into the other room and show her to the folding table full of evidence.
The box of surgical gloves is still sitting there on the table.
“These are missing person reports,” she muses, while her partner pokes at the box of gloves.
I take the box of gloves and hand it to E.A.
He puts them on and opens the first box with the jar in it.
“This is the first jar of trophies Harlan kept. I saw it years ago when we were friends, before I worked out what it was.”
He unscrews the cap and takes out the ribbon with his mother’s locket on it.
“This locket belonged to my mother. Edeline Keyes.”
Her eyes widen. “The woman who jumped from Anchor West’s roof.”
