The Hero (Thunder Point #3)(61)

“You were hungry,” Mac said. “And scared.”

“The nights were cold back in Seattle,” she said softly.

She glanced at Mac out of the corner of her eye and saw his jaw pulse. It was quiet in the car for a while. Then Mac said, “Devon, that’s not going to happen again. You’re a part of the town. You have friends. You’ve been a friend. Tell the FBI what they want to know. That bastard has preyed on frightened young girls long enough.”

* * *

Devon was taken to a small interview room with a table and a few chairs...and a recording device. Her two agents, McGrump and McGlower, were there, of course. But she was relieved to be joined by a pleasant young woman, also a special agent, who asked most of the questions. Emma Haynes was her name.

The process was grueling. She had to go through every detail of how she was first introduced to Jacob and The Fellowship. Then she was asked about everything she knew of the background and personalities of every woman in the family. She had to describe the men, who had changed over four years—only one had been with Jacob the entire time Devon had been there and his name was Brody, big strong Brody, and he was mostly sullen and private and quiet.

Then she had to try to describe Jacob’s evolution from the man she’d originally met into an angrier, more paranoid man; a man who believed he had to protect his domain from outsiders and the invasion of government and their foolish laws and punitive taxation. There were many questions about the treatment of the women and children, even more questions about the growing of marijuana.

The interview went on for hours and Devon did her best to recall as much information as she could about every detail of life at the commune, including the little she knew about the actual grow-op.

“Can you remember how many times you were in Jacob’s house?”

“Four times. Within two months of my arrival.” Then followed a painful recounting of how she had been foolish enough to believe that Jacob loved her. She had listened to his grand plans and had believed every word.

The agents then turned the questioning to matters concerning the role of the women at the compound. Again, Devon was open and honest with the agents.

“Some of the women were more agreeable than others,” she told the agents. “Jacob never forced anyone to sleep with him, but he did belittle women who weren’t inclined, painted them as not very giving by nature. The only woman brave enough to argue with him or disagree with him was Reese—the oldest in our house. The only women to clean his house were Charlotte and Priscilla, and only when he was in his residence. When Mariah joined us and Jacob began to seduce her, Reese fought with him. But he overpowered her and it wasn’t long before Mariah was pregnant. Getting a woman pregnant thrilled him.”

“You must have hated him,” Emma said.

Devon laughed. “For a little while. Until he started to complain about how impossible his life sometimes seemed, managing a home full of women and children who were expected to be gentle and get along. We didn’t always get along. But we all had one thing in common—no other resources. Nowhere to go. More than hating him, I felt like such a failure, such a fool. I felt like I had nothing and no one except the women I lived with. I’d still be there if I hadn’t wanted a different kind of life for Mercy.”

“Tell us more about the barns where the marijuana was grown. Was it an acre? Quarter acre? Concealed? Did you have any contact with the plants or the transport or sale of the plants?”

She’d seen inside the buildings through open doors; she knew what it was but none of her duties had anything to do with it. That was mostly up to the men. The women tended the vegetable gardens, livestock, chickens, household chores and children.

She had to list the names of people she could remember leaving the family—there were quite a few over four years. But no women who had children while they were there were allowed to leave with their child. So they stayed.

Question after question, and the only one who cajoled pleasantly was the woman, Emma Haynes. She seemed to be just slightly older than Devon, maybe early thirties.

“We’re going to take a break,” Ms. Haynes said. “I’m going to get us some lunch. Anything in particular you’d like, Devon?”

“Anything would be fine.”

“Is there anything you don’t like? Something I should avoid? I’m thinking about a half a tuna sandwich, small salad and cola.”

“Sounds perfect. I’m a little worried about Dr. Grant and Mercy.”

“Why don’t you take a few minutes to check in. You can use your phone—you’re certainly not suspected of any crime. If you could say as little as possible about our line of questioning, that would be appreciated. I don’t need Jacob to be warned that we’re looking at him.”

“Don’t you think he knows?” Devon asked.

“I think he suspects,” she said. “I’ll get your lunch. Make a couple of phone calls and ease your mind.”

“How much longer will I be here?”

“We’ll have you home for dinner, Devon,” she said. “If we need any more information from you, we can get in touch later. One long day of answering questions seems like more than enough to expect from you. And we’re grateful for your cooperation.”

“Can I have some privacy?” she asked, glancing at McGrump and McGlower.