A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(51)

“Absolutely,” she said. “Just a lineup to rule him out. We don’t want to waste any time.”

“Karl, is that okay with you?” Otis asked.

The rest was playacting. Karl said, “Sure, whatever I can do to help.” And the tension in the crowd dissipated. Abby exhaled, relieved.

“He’ll follow you in his pickup truck with our attorney, Richard,” Otis said.

Abby didn’t let her hesitation show. Unless they were willing to arrest Karl right now, it was the best they could do. “Absolutely.”

Otis motioned for Karl and another man, presumably the attorney, and the three of them strode aside to have a quick word. Abby examined their faces—the attorney was clearly worried; Otis appeared calm. Karl’s face was impassive. The rest of the community walked toward a large barnlike structure, which was presumably where they had their meals.

“I’ll stay behind,” Wong told her. “Look around.”

“You’re not alone,” Abby answered in a low voice, glancing significantly at a large man who remained outside the house, studying them.

“If the boy is here—”

“If he’s here, they won’t let you get near him. You’ll need a search warrant and a lot of backup,” Abby said. “Just be careful.”

“I didn’t think you’d manage it,” Wong said. “Force them to let you take Karl like that.”

“I gave them something in return,” Abby said darkly. “I gave Otis time to talk to his flock about the kidnapping. And after he’s done, we won’t get anything useful from them. I just hope we can get something out of Karl.”





CHAPTER 33


Abby let Carver start the interrogation of Karl Adkins without her. She wanted to talk to Eden first and get as much information as she could about the Tillman cult beforehand. As soon as they got to the station, she took her own car and drove to Eden’s house.

Eden looked worse every time Abby saw her. The intense fear and pressure she was going through would crush anyone’s spirit, and in some ways, Eden was more fragile than most. She was wilting, her eyes watery and empty, her posture stooped.

Abby smiled at her, touching her shoulder briefly as she stepped into the house. She paused just a few steps beyond the threshold. Gabrielle sat in the living room alongside a man in a cheap suit. Gabrielle talked, tears in her eyes, as the man listened sympathetically. Gabrielle’s phone was in her hand, and she showed it to the man.

“And after the call and the recording . . . they sent us this image.” She let out another sob. “See? It’s Nathan with the newspaper. It’s proof he’s alive.”

The man shook his head in dismay.

“Can you send me the photo?” the man said.

“Sure.” Gabrielle sniffed and tapped on her phone.

Abby took three quick steps inside. “Are you a reporter?” she asked sharply.

The man got up and smiled at her. He held out his hand. “Tom McCormick. I write for the New Yorker Chronicle.”

“You can’t publish that photo,” Abby said. “There are details in it that we want to keep from the public.”

He blinked, and then his face brightened. “Aren’t you Lieutenant Abby Mullen? You were the hostage negotiator who saved those people during that bank robbery. Are you part of this case?”

She sighed. “Mr. McCormick, publishing details about the investigation might hurt our chances of getting Nathan back safely. I would really appreciate it if you waited before publishing anything—”

“I asked Tom to do this interview,” Gabrielle said, her voice raw. “He’s interviewed me before. And we need the media on this. We need the public’s awareness.”

Abby hesitated. Gabrielle wasn’t wrong. More exposure meant more donations. And if the kidnappers saw that their payout was on its way, they would have good reason to keep Nathan alive. Besides, they could use the article to send a message to the kidnappers. “Don’t publish the photo,” she said. “And I would appreciate it if you run your article by me. When do you intend to publish it?”

“I promised Gabrielle that we’ll post it on our website this evening,” McCormick said. “And it’ll be published in our paper tomorrow.”

“Let me go over it before you publish it, and I’ll give you a quote,” Abby said.

McCormick nodded. “I’ll send it to you in a few hours.”

Abby gave him her phone number and email and then glanced at Eden. They went up to the third floor, leaving Gabrielle and the reporter to proceed with their interview. They entered Eden’s bedroom and shut the door behind them.

“I went to the Tillman farm this morning,” Abby said in a low voice.

“Oh.” Eden sat on the bed heavily. “Is . . . is David still there?”

“Yes.” Abby examined her carefully. “Eden, the man you described, the one you saw a few times in the past month, is part of the Tillman cult.”

The blood drained from Eden’s face. “It . . . it can’t be.”

“You didn’t recognize him?”

“He must have joined after I left. I’ve never seen him there.”

“His name is Karl Adkins. Does that ring a bell?”