Tim. A man used to getting his way.
"The marshal probably has his own opinion on the matter."
"He'd like to talk to you about some creative solutions in person." Tannino's business card magically appeared in Will's hand. Tim took it, running his thumb over the raised gold Marshals seal.
On the back, in Tannino's distinctive hand: Rackley -- tomorrow a.m. 7:00.
Tim handed the card to Dray, who gave it a cursory glance, then tossed it on the coffee table. "Tell me about the cult," he said.
"I don't know a goddamn thing about it, not even its name. Considering the amount we've paid for information..." Will shook his head in disgust.
"How do they recruit?"
"We don't know that either, really. We talked to a few cult experts -- deprogrammers or exit counselors or whatever they're calling themselves this month -- and they coughed up some generalities. I guess a lot of cults prey on young kids, in college or just out. And they recruit rich kids." He grimaced. "They get them to turn over their money." He ran his hand through his hair, agitated. "Leah gave away a two-million-dollar future. Just gave it away. That money was for her first indie film, grad school, a house someday. I even bought her a forty-thousand-dollar car before college so she wouldn't have to dip into it. Now her money's gone, she's alienated her friends, her family" -- he nodded at Emma, who sat passively, hands folded, forehead lined. "She has nothing, nowhere to go. I've sent her letters begging her to come home. Emma has sent articles about cults, what they do, how they work, but she's never responded. I tried to talk some sense into her when we had her that day, but she wouldn't listen." His face had colored; his tone was hard and driving. "I told her that she'd given away her whole future."
"You told a girl in a mind-control cult that?" Dray said.
"We're not here for family therapy. We're here to get our daughter back. And besides, what was I supposed to say? You try dealing with a teenage daughter who's got all the answers."
Dray took a gulp of her vodka. "I would love to."
Tim squeezed her hand, but Will just kept on talking. "Leah's trust fund is irrevocable -- I set it up that way to maximize tax benefits. It turns over money to her every year, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. She gets another million when she turns twenty, another million every year after that until she's thirty. Those people are stealing my money."
"The car," Tim said. "She still has it?"
"Yes. It's a Lexus."
"Is it registered in your name or hers?"
Will thought for a moment, eyes on the ceiling, fingers fiddling with the catch on his gold watch. "Mine."
"Okay. When you leave here, file a report that it's been stolen. The cops will put out a BOLO on the car -- a Be On the Lookout. If they pick her up, they can hold her, and we'll see about getting her released into your custody."
"Jesus." Will looked excitedly to his wife. "That's a brilliant idea."
"Did she tell you anything about the cult?"
"No. No names, no locations, no matter how hard we pressed."
"So how do you know it's a self-help cult?"
"From her buzzwords. They weren't religious. More about how she learned to 'tap her inner source' and 'own her weaknesses' and crap like that."
"She didn't mention any names?"
"No."
"What did she refer to the guru as? She must have mentioned the leader."
Will shook his head, but Emma said, "She called him the Teacher. Reverently, like that."
Her husband regarded her, brow furrowed. "She did?"
"You mentioned the cult was dangerous. Did you get any death threats?"
Will nodded. "Couple. Some punk called, said, 'Back off or we'll slice you up like the lamb you served for dinner last night.' " Emma raised a wan hand to her mouth, but Will didn't take note. "Creative little threat, letting us know they had eyes on us. I'm used to threats and bullshit -- thirty-four years in Hollywood -- but I don't like being pushed around. I didn't realize how serious it was until
"The marshal probably has his own opinion on the matter."
"He'd like to talk to you about some creative solutions in person." Tannino's business card magically appeared in Will's hand. Tim took it, running his thumb over the raised gold Marshals seal.
On the back, in Tannino's distinctive hand: Rackley -- tomorrow a.m. 7:00.
Tim handed the card to Dray, who gave it a cursory glance, then tossed it on the coffee table. "Tell me about the cult," he said.
"I don't know a goddamn thing about it, not even its name. Considering the amount we've paid for information..." Will shook his head in disgust.
"How do they recruit?"
"We don't know that either, really. We talked to a few cult experts -- deprogrammers or exit counselors or whatever they're calling themselves this month -- and they coughed up some generalities. I guess a lot of cults prey on young kids, in college or just out. And they recruit rich kids." He grimaced. "They get them to turn over their money." He ran his hand through his hair, agitated. "Leah gave away a two-million-dollar future. Just gave it away. That money was for her first indie film, grad school, a house someday. I even bought her a forty-thousand-dollar car before college so she wouldn't have to dip into it. Now her money's gone, she's alienated her friends, her family" -- he nodded at Emma, who sat passively, hands folded, forehead lined. "She has nothing, nowhere to go. I've sent her letters begging her to come home. Emma has sent articles about cults, what they do, how they work, but she's never responded. I tried to talk some sense into her when we had her that day, but she wouldn't listen." His face had colored; his tone was hard and driving. "I told her that she'd given away her whole future."
"You told a girl in a mind-control cult that?" Dray said.
"We're not here for family therapy. We're here to get our daughter back. And besides, what was I supposed to say? You try dealing with a teenage daughter who's got all the answers."
Dray took a gulp of her vodka. "I would love to."
Tim squeezed her hand, but Will just kept on talking. "Leah's trust fund is irrevocable -- I set it up that way to maximize tax benefits. It turns over money to her every year, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. She gets another million when she turns twenty, another million every year after that until she's thirty. Those people are stealing my money."
"The car," Tim said. "She still has it?"
"Yes. It's a Lexus."
"Is it registered in your name or hers?"
Will thought for a moment, eyes on the ceiling, fingers fiddling with the catch on his gold watch. "Mine."
"Okay. When you leave here, file a report that it's been stolen. The cops will put out a BOLO on the car -- a Be On the Lookout. If they pick her up, they can hold her, and we'll see about getting her released into your custody."
"Jesus." Will looked excitedly to his wife. "That's a brilliant idea."
"Did she tell you anything about the cult?"
"No. No names, no locations, no matter how hard we pressed."
"So how do you know it's a self-help cult?"
"From her buzzwords. They weren't religious. More about how she learned to 'tap her inner source' and 'own her weaknesses' and crap like that."
"She didn't mention any names?"
"No."
"What did she refer to the guru as? She must have mentioned the leader."
Will shook his head, but Emma said, "She called him the Teacher. Reverently, like that."
Her husband regarded her, brow furrowed. "She did?"
"You mentioned the cult was dangerous. Did you get any death threats?"
Will nodded. "Couple. Some punk called, said, 'Back off or we'll slice you up like the lamb you served for dinner last night.' " Emma raised a wan hand to her mouth, but Will didn't take note. "Creative little threat, letting us know they had eyes on us. I'm used to threats and bullshit -- thirty-four years in Hollywood -- but I don't like being pushed around. I didn't realize how serious it was until
Similar Books
The Great Scottish Devil
Starla Kaye
Bone Deep
Gina McMurchy-Barber
In Vino Veritas
J. M. Gregson
Wolf Bride
Elizabeth Moss
Just Your Average Princess
Kristina Springer
Mr. Wonderful
Carol Grace
Captain Nobody
Dean Pitchford
Pretty Witches All in a Row
Lisa Olsen
Paradise Alley
Kevin Baker
Kleber's Convoy
Antony Trew