Matt called in for some computer experts but he wasn’t all that interested in The New Day. He was interested in finding Lily. And he didn’t think what they had found on those systems would bring them any closer to her. But he could be wrong. He hoped he was.
Templar identified the building across the breezeway as a dormitory for church members and employees, where members could choose to live with a small stipend in exchange for work on behalf of The New Day but were certainly not forced to live. Only about 20 percent of the rooms were occupied. The rest of the rooms were clean and empty, beds and desks awaiting tenants.
Most of the members on the premises were young, in their twenties and thirties. Some were disturbed from their sleep, others were playing cards in a rec center. None of them seemed under duress. Jesamyn and one of the other detectives set about rounding them up in a single room and one by one taking them into another space to ask questions. Who were they? How did they come to be living there? Where were the rest of the New Day members? Had anyone seen Lily Samuels?
“What exactly did you expect to find here, Detective?” said Templar with flat eyes and a mirthless smile. Matt had returned to the foyer, frustration and disappointment lodged in his throat like a chicken bone.
He turned on Templar quickly. “We have computer experts on their way. They have ways of retrieving deleted data.”
It sounded weak and desperate even to his own ears.
“This is an organization that helps people, Detective. You’ll find no evidence to the contrary.”
Matt was just barely holding onto his temper. He looked the lawyer over and figured he could lift the little ferret off the ground by the collar of his shirt, shake him until all the money fell out of his pockets.
“Really,” he said instead. “Helps people by keeping them in five-point restraints, hooked up to feeding tubes and stealing all their money.”
Templar’s smile turned to granite. “Is that what Randall Holmes told you, Detective Stenopolis?”
Matt didn’t say anything.
“It wasn’t his tip that led you to come here in the middle of the night, was it?”
Matt took a long, slow breath. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “You tell Trevor Rhames that I want Lily Samuels back or I’m going to tear the roof off of The New Day. I’ll use every resource I have at my disposal.”
Templar rose from his seat and leaned on the desk in front of him.
“I wouldn’t advise you to start issuing threats to Trevor Rhames. It’s not healthy.”
“I know that I didn’t just hear you threaten a New York City police officer,” said Jesamyn, coming up behind them. “I know you’re not that stupid. Are you, Templar?”
He gave her a cold, assessing look and Jesamyn squared off, stuck her chin out at him in a dare.
“The New Day has no knowledge of Lily Samuels or her whereabouts,” he said. “You have no evidence otherwise. So, you’ll desist from harassing my client.”
“That’s not exactly true. Because we have an eyewitness who places Lily at this church just days before she was reported missing.”
“An old man in a nursing home with poor eyesight and documented dementia.” Matt glanced at the cellular phone sitting on the desk where Templar had been sitting. The boy had been busy.
“We have a photograph of Lily running from a van bearing the emblem of The New Day on Halloween night.”
Jude Templar blinked at that but said nothing.
“We have reports of a black SUV waiting for Lily as she withdrew all of her money from Chase Manhattan bank and we’ve linked its license plate to the owner. I think it will only be a matter of time before we can connect her to The New Day.”
Another reptilian blink from the lawyer.
“I’m also aware of the allegations leveled against Rhames and The New Day since its inception in 1977.”
“Allegations which were never substantiated,” Templar said, looking at his cuticles.
“I want Lily Samuels and I’m going to do whatever it takes to get her back,” Matt said, leaning into Templar, putting his face so close to the lawyer that he could smell his cologne. He felt Jesamyn’s hand on his arm.
“Mount-” she started, looking uneasily at Templar and then back at him, but he lifted a hand.
“Be careful, Detective,” said Templar. “Be very careful.”
Templar reached for the phone he’d left on the desk, never taking his eyes off Matt. “I’ll wait outside until you’re done with your pointless, fruitless search. But our conversation is officially over. And, if you don’t stay away from me, so is your pathetic career.”
Matt pointed to the ceiling. “The roof,” he said. “Right the fuck off.”
Templar turned his back and left.
“Take it easy, Mount,” whispered Jez. “You coming unglued or what?”
He looked at her and she had genuine worry in her eyes.
“She was here,” he said to her. “I can feel it. She’s still alive.”
Jesamyn stared at him, opened her mouth like she was going to say something and then clamped it shut. They stared at each other for a second.
“If she was here, if she’s still alive, we’ll find her,” she said, her voice soothing and sure.
“How?” he yelled, causing Jesamyn to jump a little in surprise. “There’s nothing here. We’re too late.”
He looked at her a second, felt briefly bad for yelling at her, and then turned his back and walked away toward the breezeway. After a second, he heard her running after him.
“Maybe not,” she said. “You have to talk to some of these people.”
“Why,” he said, turning. “You got something?”
“I don’t know. They seem normal enough at first. But the longer you talk to them, the weirder they get. Mount, there’s something wrong with these people. Something really wrong with them.”
Usually when people woke up in a room with Dax, there was some kind of a powerful reaction. But Charley opened his eyes, registered Dax’s presence, and was as placid as a lamb. He sat up on the cot they’d placed him on, taking the ice pack off his face, and asked politely for some water. Dax complied.
“How are you feeling, Charley?” Dax asked when he returned with a frosty bottle of water. He removed the lid and handed it to Charley.
“Not very well,” he answered. He drank gingerly, as if the action pained him. “My head hurts.”
Charley looked like a raccoon. His eyes were so purple and swollen that Dax was surprised he could even open his lids. The ridge on his nose told Dax that Charley’s nose was broken and that he’d never be quite as pretty again.
“So let’s have a little chat,” said Dax, straddling a chair he’d placed beside the cot. Charley slid back on the cot, rested his back against the bare white wall and pulled his legs into a half-lotus position, as if nothing could please him more than having a little chat. He gave Dax a peaceful half-smile.
“Let’s start with the fact that your name’s not Charley,” said Dax, softly. “It’s James. James Rainer.”
Charley blinked slowly. “You’re mistaken,” he said. “My name is Charley.”
“Your name is James Rainer, known as Jamie to your friends. You’re twenty-two years old and were reported missing by your parents eight months ago. You were last seen leaving a party at the Tribeca loft belonging to your girlfriend. You were angry, upset, drunk.”