I stopped outside a small hunting shop, painted a worn, peeling blue. A little bell hung on the door. “Don and Rachel aren’t their real names.”
Jamie crossed his arms. “Probably not.”
“Are they even father and daughter?”
“I have no idea.”
I couldn’t help the strange stir of relief for Rachel. She’d killed Clem, so I hated her, owed her nothing; still, there was release, knowing life with Don might have been something she’d chosen, rather than been born into. Nicole’s words echoed back: At least here I’m walking in with open eyes.
“The bottom line is,” Jamie said, “even if the Paters call her Rachel, she could be using a different name officially. That makes her nearly impossible to find. I have Dougie working on some creative stuff. He’s tracing all rare antique sales to buyers in New York, since we know Don collects old weapons.”
“That’s a good idea.” It seemed obvious to turn each of Don’s devotions into a hook that could snare him, but it hadn’t occurred to me before.
Jamie shrugged. “It’s frustrating, actually, that we haven’t made more progress. It’s expensive to hide this well. Most people can’t do it. We’re clearly dealing with people who have access to a lot of wealth.” He glanced in the direction of the Hudson River, which ran along the edge of Brookview, the small dairy town we were standing in. “Which reminds me… Dougie tracked down who owns Campbell Island.”
I looked far off in the island’s direction. “It’s privately owned?” Imagine, buying an island.
He nodded. “It went up for sale a few years ago…rare for an island in the Hudson.”
“And you think because the gathering’s there, the Paters own the whole thing?”
The text had shown up two days ago: Saturday, three pm, The Hunting Lodge, Campbell Island. The island was really more of a peninsula, and it butted up against a nature preserve, but altogether, it was ninety-plus acres of shoreline and dense woods, full of wildlife.
Jamie squared his jaw. “I know they do. Guess who’s listed as the buyer?”
I blinked at him.
“Dominus Holdings. The same LLC that took over paying Laurel’s rent.”
A memory floated back from the Pater gathering in the city: Nicole had called those young Paters traders. Steven, the sadist. The unnamed one, who hadn’t introduced himself. And Greggy, who’d shaken my hand. “Gregory Ellworth was the name you tracked to Dominus?”
Jamie nodded.
Not Greggy—Greg E.
“I think I met him,” I said. “If I’m right, he’s young and lives in the city. He’s connected to the finance crowd, maybe one of them.”
“That’s good, Shay. That’ll help Dougie find him.” Jamie drew his peacoat tighter. “I shared everything we have with my executive producer, by the way. My other producers made contact with the governor’s team. Tipped them we have a big story coming, and to get their lawyers and the attorney general ready.”
A shiver traveled up my spine and settled somewhere in my throat. It sounded so real. So final, like we were almost at the finish line. But I hadn’t found Don yet. I didn’t even know for sure the Paters were his. I needed to make a move fast.
“The governor’s people agreed,” Jamie said. “They’re going help us. So when it’s time, we’ll send them copies of the evidence, all your recordings from the Pater events, and our interviews.” Here, he paused. “Are you still comfortable with that?”
I imagined a conference table full of men in suits, gray-haired lawyers, hunched in their chairs, listening to what I’d poured out to Jamie in the intimate bubble of our hotel rooms. Listening to the screams and moans from Pater parties. Which one embarrassed me more?