When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(75)

On impulse she reached over and squeezed the sheriff’s meaty hand. “We’re on this.”

He didn’t appear convinced, but at least he squeezed back.

Fresh activity in the doorway. Kimberly’s fellow ERT agents arriving, dirt still smeared across their clothes. With Dr. Jackson en route to Atlanta with the recovered skeletons, the team would provide the update on the burial sites.

Kimberly waved at Harold, his lanky frame looming above his teammates. As always, their leader, Rachel, headed the charge. She nodded at Kimberly in greeting, her sunburned face streaked with sweat and grime. Franklin and Maggie filed in after their compatriots, and they all made a beeline for food and water. Harold, after a moment of hesitation, helped himself to three different subs. The man might be built like a beanpole, but he could eat like a sumo wrestler.

Flora and Keith had already taken seats, Flora with a bottle of water, Keith with pasta salad. Kimberly let the Evidence Response Team take up positions, then it was time to start. She rose, moving to the front of the room.

“It’s been a big day. Looks to me like many of you have findings to report. I’m going to start with our early morning callout to a suspicious death at the Mountain Laurel B and B.” Briefly, she recapped the discovery of Martha Counsel’s body, the accompanying suicide note, and Mayor Howard’s revelation that his wife had had an illegal kidney transplant approximately fifteen years ago. She noticed Franny stopped fussing at the food table and stood silently, the sorrow tangible on her face. Like the sheriff, she’d probably personally known the Counsels. Nothing in this community would be the same again.

Rachel raised her hand. “Hang on. We recovered medical supplies connected to one of the bodies in the mass grave. Are you saying that victim might have been the source of the illegal kidney?”

“We don’t know yet. The doctor who performed the operation passed away eight years ago. We’re working on tracking down his former receptionist now to gain access to his old files. But knowing a member of this town underwent an illegal medical procedure right about the same time four bodies were buried in the woods hardly seems like coincidence.”

“Meaning there could be other locals who visited this same doctor,” Rachel said evenly.

Kimberly nodded. “Absolutely.”

More hands shot up, but she held up her own.

“Hang on,” she said. “We learned other news at the Mountain Laurel, as well. It would appear at least some of the staff isn’t legal. And given that most are young women, it’s highly possible our four victims in the woods have a connection to the bed and breakfast. Unfortunately, because they weren’t all documented, I’m not sure how we can go back fifteen years and search for their identities. But at the very least, we know there’s some kind of human trafficking going on at the Mountain Laurel, whether it’s for low cost help or, worse, organ donor candidates.”

The revelation rippled through the room.

“Mayor Howard has been taken into custody for now and is on suicide watch. We also have a . . .” She hesitated. She didn’t want to give away much about D.D.’s new charge, Bonita. The girl was alone, voiceless, vulnerable. “We have a source,” Kimberly said at last, “who has led us to believe there is another player in this operation. An unknown male, can’t tell you anything more than that at the moment. It’s highly possible he’s the one who killed Martha Counsel, so whoever he is, he clearly has a stake in things. We believe the cook may also be complicit, and she has disappeared. Sheriff Smithers has issued a BOLO with her description. Also missing, another maid, Hélène Tellier. We have reason to believe her life is in jeopardy. Maybe even the cook, or the UNSUB, kidnapped her.”

Around the room, eyes widened. Hearing it all spoken out loud, even Kimberly was startled by just how much had happened in the past twelve hours.

One of her fellow FBI agents raised his hand. “We have news that might be relevant.”

“Go on.”

“We’ve been running background on all the names of hotel guests we’ve been able to gather for the past sixteen years, looking for registered sex offenders, individuals with criminal histories, et cetera.”

Kimberly nodded.

“A good ten to fifteen percent of the names registered at local hotels—they don’t exist. The names appear to be aliases. Nor can we find corresponding credit card charges to go with these reservations, which suggests the individuals paid cash. Cross-referencing the names with restaurant credit card receipts, also nothing. We have dozens of room reservations at multiple lodging establishments that appear to belong to ghosts.”

Sheriff Smithers stirred.

“Ten to fifteen percent, you say?” he spoke up.

The agent nodded. “We’re talking dozens of people a year, going back a decade.”

“There’s always some people who prefer to pay cash. But that number seems mighty high. All lone individuals? Male, female?” the sheriff asked.

“No discernible pattern. Some reservations are for couples, some for males, females. Some names imply ethnicity, though who knows?”

“Time of year?” Kimberly pushed.

“Follows the seasonal trend. Most of the names are from the summer, when Niche is busiest. Then weekends in the fall, that sort of thing.”

“So our ‘ghost’ tourists are arriving with everyone else. Blending in.”