Page 80 of Lust
“I can tell you what they call themselves. The Syndicate. They’re all over the world, they have ties in law enforcement from the Pentagon down. Let’s just say there’s a reason why they haven’t been investigated yet. The white-robed lackeys are called the Faithful. They do the Syndicate’s grunt work and sow chaos.”
“Your boss says he’s got it under control.”
“If that were true, then why haven’t there been other Feds on the scene? Or Homeland. Anyone?”
Morais knew it was true. Joe could see it in his eyes. He also had the notion the man was not happy with the state of his city. He’d worked hard at reducing crime, with and without the Deadly Seven involved. So Joe took a stab. “I think you see what’s happening, and you hate it just as much as me.”
“What do you want?”
“The name and address of the man who pressed charges against Liza.”
“Why?”
“She’s missing.”
Morais’ eyes flashed. “You’re telling me this now? What happened?”
“That, I can’t reveal.”
A heavy sigh from the portly man. “Then, on the record, I can’t help you. Wait the allocated time and lodge a missing person’s report.”
Meaning off the record he had another option?
“She’s one of us,” Joe chided.
Morais paused, then unlocked his desk drawer before standing up. “I need a coffee. Be gone when I get back.”
Joe watched the man leave, and then quickly opened the drawer to look inside. As expected, there was the case file. He’d also left his laptop unlocked. Joe rifled through reports until he found what he needed. A statement, and an address.
When he left the office, he almost ran into Briggs.
“We heard what you said.”
Joe looked around the big man’s body and found they weren’t alone. Many of the local cops and detectives stood by.
“Liza’s missing?” Briggs asked.
Joe gave a curt nod.
Houlahan stepped forward. “What do you need, G-man?”
Joe felt a rush of warm relief and held up the name he’d scribbled down. “I need everything we can find on this man. Geoff has started, but I want to dig deeper. Add a man called Julius Allcott to the list. While you’re doing that, I’m going to pay Mr. Smith a visit.”
* * *
Two hours later,Joe walked away from Gareth Smith’s place with blood on his hands. Unfortunately, the man was unprepared to give up any information, which, in itself, was a certain admission of guilt. Joe had tried everything he could to get the man to speak. He had beat him bloody, broke his fingers, and threatened him with psychological manipulation—but he seemed prepared to die for his cause, and Joe wasn’t prepared to be a murderer. The only thing he squeezed out of Gareth was that he preferred to be called Quarry.
With no leads, Joe returned home alone. He considered visiting the hospital to check on Misha’s condition, but without Liza, it all seemed empty, just like his apartment as he crossed the threshold. Dark, open, and full of ghosts from the evening before. Breakfast dishes. Case files, reports, and pictures on the floor. His bed sheets would smell like her.
There was no way he’d sleep tonight.
Scrubbing his hand through his hair, he went to the case files on the floor and stared at them. What use were psychic sketches if they couldn’t tell him where Liza had been taken? He dashed his hand through the pile, spraying the leaflets over the floor. Then he sat down hard and put his head in his hands.
He couldn’t imagine a world without Liza. Just when he was getting used to her being infallible, this happened. Those people would use her as a lab rat. They’d drain her dry, or worse, turn her into the same sort of brainwashed killing machine as those Faithful who’d attacked in the street. And she’d given herself up to save Misha’s baby.
He’d have done the same thing. With nothing left to do, he collected the sketches on the floor and stacked them one on top of another. Some had shifted beneath the couch. He speared his arm beneath and fished around for the missing leaflets, but his fingers hit something glossy and hard. Like a box.
Frowning, he pulled it out.
