He let her talk, gave her a push here and there, and the rest of the story flowed from her mouth. She seemed almost relieved in the telling, unburdening herself. She had nothing to lose anymore.
“You know they found out she wasn’t really a survivalist, but a researcher, right? They actually shut her up in the cabin for a few hours to discuss things. When they let her out, she raised all kinds of holy hell, trying to explain herself, but it wasn’t working. They were pissed. They told her to get out, and stay out.
“When she told me it was time to move on, I balked. I wanted to stay. I liked the group, they liked me. They treated me as an equal, not as a child. Mother never understood that—she thought that just because she let me stay up late and try champagne and travel the world that she was giving me equal status, but she would flip between friend and mother in a flash. If I didn’t do as she asked immediately, she treated me like a petulant child. Do you know how embarrassing it is to be grounded in front of a crown prince?”
Fletcher just shook his head.
“That was my mother. Hot and cold. I don’t think she ever really wanted to have children, I was most definitely an accident. One she gamely tried to stuff into a backpack and take along just like she did her camera and fresh underwear and toothbrush. And when I was little, that worked. But as I got older, started having my own opinions, wanted to play with my friends, go to school...well, we were destined to clash. She was used to getting her way. I was used to having a lot of freedom. When she laid down the law on me, for the longest time I would acquiesce. But in Colorado, that all changed. I didn’t want to let her bully me anymore. And I had my special friend, and when she tried to force me into something I didn’t want, he would take me aside and explain why I didn’t have to listen. That I was an adult in the eyes of the group, and should anything ever happen, I’d be expected to pull my weight accordingly, so she needed to start treating me as a real equal, like the rest of them did.”
“And that ‘special friend’ was the one you ran away with?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t the group kick you out along with your mother?”
“Because I was thirteen, and they knew I was just along for the ride, not playing a part in the charade. They left the choice to stay up to me. And I wanted to stay. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. Remember, this sort of continual assimilation was par for the course for me. I normally just melded into whatever situation we found ourselves in. But the group was different. They wanted me for me, and I had found a place where I could be comfortable, be myself.”
“Who was your friend?”
“I’d rather not say.”
He let that ride for now. He would come back to it in a bit.
“Your mother posited that the survivalists are all cults.”
“And in many cases, she’d be right. Especially when you look at the groups that are promoting violence, or hate wars, or finding some way to exclude people should the end of days come. But the Blue and Gray were just a bunch of normal people who decided to live life their way. They had no charismatic leader, didn’t have church services and stuff like that. They were totally normal.”
“I’ll take your word for it. So you ran away, they threw your mother out, and then what happened?”
She was growing visibly uncomfortable.
“Let’s just say things didn’t work out according to plan.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, my goodness. I am so late. I really must be going, Detective.” She stood again, this time determined. She was finished talking. He couldn’t make her stay, really; it wasn’t like she was a suspect.
Then again, twenty million was enough to lay the suspect carpet in front of anyone’s door.
He shrugged and rose himself.
“If you think of anything more, I would really appreciate it if you could call.”
There was a knock on the conference room door. Fletcher looked over Loa’s shoulder to see Inez. She had thick white art pages with her. He assumed it was the Identi-Kit.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Detective. The artist rendering you asked for has come in.”
“That’s fine, Inez. Ms. Ledbetter was just leaving. Would you mind showing her out? Thank you.”
“Of course. Ma’am, if you’ll just follow me.” Inez handed the drawing over, and he glanced down at it. It was a man. Just a man. He didn’t know if he was expecting horns and a forked tail, or a sign that blinked neon and screamed: I did it. This was just another run-of-the-mill schmo with a square jaw, short hair and shaded cheekbones. Caucasian features. It could be anyone.
Then he had a thought.
“Wait a minute. Loa, will you give this a quick once-over, see if it’s anyone you might recognize?”
She squared her shoulders. “Is it a picture of the man who killed my mother?”