Professor Orson Blume was sixty-eight years old. Based on the rundown Tony had received from one of his few remaining friends in the Bureau, the man inherited well, which explained his million-dollar estate on Lake Sinclair. He had a wife who had recently retired, as well. No children. None of his former colleagues at the college knew what he’d been doing since he retired. Not a single one was aware of his involvement in any project connected to the old asylum. A neighbor they had questioned this morning said that Blume and his wife were out of the country on a tour of Europe for their anniversary.
If that was true, then Blume was another dead end. Joanna insisted the voice that had given the orders while they were in captivity was male. There was a remote possibility it was Conway, but Tony didn’t think so. Someone higher up the food chain would have been in control of the subjects, merchandise, whatever. Conway wasn’t nearly smart enough to hold together this complicated maze of abductions, much less conduct any sort of organized operation. His haphazardness had been evident in his home movies.
Martin/Houser? Maybe. She’d appeared far smarter than Conway, but her lifestyle had been too risky. The person behind these abductions, and whatever the hell he or she accomplished with the results, was smart. Tony was sticking with the scenario that the abductions were related to some sort of research or were episodes to be sold on the internet. His money was on the former. Those taken for making snuff flicks or fight-to-the-death gladiator-type videos didn’t typically survive. But none of the victims in question had ever popped up in known cases involving those types of abominable behavior.
It was as if the college girls were taken, used, and then released. No harm, no foul. Except for the other girls. The ones no one knew about who didn’t survive.
Tony pressed the doorbell again. The chime echoed through the house. No barking dog. No television. Like last night, there was no one home. But at least it was daylight and they could have a look around.
As if she’d read his mind, Joanna said, “I’m taking a walk around the property.” She headed down the front steps.
“Hold on. We’ll do it together.”
With the front windows blocked by plantation shutters there was no way to see inside. Maybe they’d have better luck around back. If they were caught it would be easy enough to say they’d thought the property was on the market. The one next door was for sale. So far he hadn’t seen any nosy neighbors out and about other than the ones with whom they’d spoken. Tony had flashed his invalid credentials so the neighbors shouldn’t give them any trouble.
He caught up with Joanna in the backyard. The view over the lake was peaceful, serene. He wondered how often the couple had sat on the back deck with a beer or a glass of wine and contemplated their life’s work. When he reached that age would he have a body of good work on which to reflect? Or someone with whom to celebrate and travel? Not at this rate, pal.
A dock and boat garage along with a small private beach were among the amenities that went along with the lakefront property.
If Blume was involved with this—how many young women had suffered while the bastard sat in this elegant home?
Anger roared through Tony. His niece was out there, enduring God only knew what. Shake it off. Stay on track.
There was no time to waste. What they needed to determine as quickly as possible was if Blume’s work included abducting and using young women for his own sick self-interests? Did his wife know? Was she involved, too? She was some sort of scientist. She apparently had retired from a reasonably prestigious career in the field of Cognitive Science at the University of Georgia in Athens, some seventy-five miles north of Milledgeville. With the husband’s specialization in psychology, it almost made sense that the two were in this together—if they were involved at all.
Grasping at slim leads, Tony.
Maybe he was, but it was the only lead they had left.
Joanna walked up onto the deck and peered through the towering windows that allowed the lake view into the back of the home. No shutters or drapes obstructed the key feature of the home. Since the rear of the house faced east, sunlight poured into the hearth and breakfast rooms as well as the kitchen.
She said, “The neighbor might be right about the Blumes being out of the country. It looks like they haven’t been here for a while.”
Tony picked up on the same details. The sun highlighted the fine layer of dust on the black granite counters and rich wood table. He ran his hand over the thickly cushioned back of one of the deck chairs. Dust or pollen coated, as well.
“Feels like no one’s been around for a couple of weeks.” Had they taken the girls, and then disappeared? Were they with the girls? Conducting their bizarre studies or orchestrating movieworthy scenes?
“I guess that rules out finding the victims in the basement,” Joanna offered. “I was really hoping it was almost over.”
Tony shrugged. “Maybe the victims aren’t here but, if the Blumes are involved, there could be useful information in the house.”
“The problem is, as Phelps will see it,” she offered, “there’s no true probable cause to go after a warrant.”
He nodded wearily. “That’s right.”
Joanna stared at him for a long moment. The sun highlighted the weariness in her eyes and on her face. No matter how tired she was, she still looked far younger than her thirty-six years. Especially with the T-shirt and skinny jeans she’d grabbed at Walmart. She could be one of the college seniors visiting her professor. Looking at her made Tony feel old, though he was only a year older. And exhausted.
“I’m desperate,” she said. “Am I in this alone, Agent LeDoux?”
“Former agent,” he reminded her. “And no, you’re not alone.”
She lifted her chin in challenge. “Does that mean you’re willing to break the law?”
They’d already bent it considerably. To be clear, he said, “Willing, ready and able.”
She smiled. “Let’s do this then.”
He checked the rear door. Locked. Then he checked each of the windows. The third one from the door that looked into the hearth room moved.
“There could be a security system,” she reminded him.
“Give me a minute.”
He hustled down the steps and back to the end of the house where he’d noted the electrical meter as well as other typical utilities. The power had been turned off to the house. No power, no security system. Strange though. If the Blumes were on a vacation in Europe surely they intended to return. Why turn the power off? Wouldn’t that present an issue with the insurance company?
He hustled back to the deck where Joanna waited. “Oddly enough, the power is off.”
“That’s weird, right?” She frowned. “People don’t turn the power off to go on vacation.”
“They don’t,” he agreed.
Tony raised the window and ducked inside. Joanna eased in behind him.
They moved through the downstairs rooms. Other than the recent layer of dust the home was tidy. Shelves were lined with books and photos. Artwork still hung on the walls. Drawers and cabinets contained the usual household items. But there was the distinct hint of that closed-up smell that went along with the idea that the owners had been gone for a while. Upstairs the bedrooms were in order. Clothes in the closets. Jewelry in the jewelry box. The house was stuffy without the circulation of the heating and cooling system.
Once back downstairs they headed for the basement. He’d spotted a flashlight in one of the kitchen drawers so he grabbed it en route. The door to the basement was in the hall off the kitchen. He clicked on the light and moved down the stairs. The basement was quite large. Thankfully four hopper windows lined the wall near the ceiling, allowing morning light to fill the room. He switched off the flashlight.
“Looks like they used this space as a shared office.”
“Looks that way,” she agreed.
Two large desks sat in the center of the space facing each other. Shelves lined with books covered most of the wall space. A couple of dead plants sat on the top shelf below the windows. A large, vault-style door stood at the end of the space. The digital lock was dark. No getting in there.