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Chapter Two

Daniel Metwater and his followers had definitely chosen a spot well off the beaten path for their encampment. After an hour’s drive over washboard dirt roads, Walt followed Marco down a narrow footpath, across a plank bridge over a dry arroyo, to a homemade wooden archway that proclaimed Peace in crooked painted lettering. “Looks like they’ve made themselves at home,” Walt observed.

“They picked a better spot this time.” Marco glanced back at Walt. “You didn’t see the first camp, did you?”

Walt shook his head. While several members of the team had visited Metwater’s original camp as part of the murder investigation, he had been assigned to other duties.

“It was over in Dead Horse Canyon,” Marco said. “No water, not many trees and near a fairly popular hiking trail.” He looked around the heavily wooded spot alongside a shallow creek. “This is less exposed, with access to water and wood.”

“Their permit is still only for two weeks,” Walt said.

“There’s plenty of room in the park for them to move around,” Marco said. “And Metwater has some kind of influence with the people who issue the permits. They appear happy to keep handing them out to him.”

A bearded young man, barefoot and dressed only in a pair of khaki shorts, approached. “Hello, Officers,” he said, his expression wary. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re here to see Mr. Metwater,” Marco said.

“I’ll see if the Prophet is free to speak with you,” the man said.

“I think he understands by now it’s in his best interest to speak with us,” Marco said.

He didn’t wait for the young man to answer, but pushed past him and continued down the trail.

The camp itself was spread out in a clearing some fifty yards from the creek—a motley collection of tents and trailers and homemade shelters scattered among the trees. A large motor home with an array of solar panels on the roof stood at one end of the collection. “That’s Metwater’s RV,” Marco said, and led the way toward it.

Walt followed, taking the opportunity to study the men and women, and more than a few children, who emerged from the campers and tents and trailers to stare at the two lawmen. More than half the people he saw were young women, several with babies or toddlers in their arms or clinging to their skirts. The men he saw were young also, many with beards and longer hair, and all of them regarded him and Marco with expressions ranging from openly angry to guarded.

Marco rapped on the door to the large motor home. After a few seconds, the door eased open, and a strikingly beautiful, and obviously pregnant, blonde peered out at them. “Hello, Ms. Matheson.” Marco touched the brim of his Stetson. “We’d like to speak to Mr. Metwater.”

Frowning at the pair of officers, she opened the door wider. “I don’t know why you people can’t leave him alone,” she said.

Walt had heard plenty about Andi Matheson, though he hadn’t met her before. Her lover was the man murdered outside the Family’s camp, and her father, a US senator, had been involved in the crime. She was perhaps the most famous of Metwater’s followers, and apparently among those closest to him.

“We need to ask him some questions.” Marco moved past her. Walt followed, nodding to Andi as he passed, but she had already looked away, toward the man who was entering from the back of the motor home.

Daniel Metwater had the kind of presence that focused the attention of everyone in the room on him. A useful quality for someone who called himself a prophet, Walt thought. Metwater was in his late twenties or early thirties, about five-ten or five-eleven, with shaggy dark hair and piercing dark eyes, and pale skin that showed a shadow of beard even in early afternoon. He wore loose linen trousers and a white cotton shirt unbuttoned to show defined abs and a muscular chest. He might have been a male model or a pop singer instead of an itinerant evangelist. “Officers.” He nodded in greeting. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We’re looking for an infant,” Marco said. “A little girl, about three months old.”

“And what—you think this child wandered in here on her own?” Metwater smirked.

“Her mother was a follower of yours—Emily Dietrich,” Marco said.

Metwater frowned, as if in thought, though Walt suspected the expression was more for show. “I don’t recall a disciple of mine by that name,” he said.

Walt turned to Andi. “Did you know Emily?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“What about Anna Ingels?” Walt asked.

Something flickered in her eyes, but she quickly looked away, at Metwater. “We don’t have anyone here by that name, either,” Metwater said.

“I asked Miss Matheson if she knows—or knew—of an Anna Ingels.” Walt kept his gaze fixed on Andi.

“No,” she said.

“Asteria, you may leave us now,” Metwater said.

Andi—whose Family name was apparently Asteria—ducked her head and hurried out of the room. Metwater turned back to the Rangers. “What does any of this have to do with your missing infant?” he asked.

“Her aunt, Hannah Dietrich, came to us. She thinks her sister’s child is here in this camp,” Marco said. “She has legal custody of the baby and would like to assume that custody.”

“If she believes this child is here, she’s been misinformed,” Metwater said.

“Then you won’t mind if we look around,” Walt said.

“We have a number of children here in the camp,” Metwater said. “But none of them are the one you seek. I can’t allow you to disrupt and upset my followers this way. If you want to search the camp, you’ll have to get a warrant.”

“This child’s birth certificate lists you as the father,” Marco said.

Metwater smiled, a cold look that didn’t reach his eyes. “A woman can put anything she likes on a birth certificate,” he said. “That doesn’t make it true.”

“Are you the father of any of the children in the camp?” Walt asked.

“I am father to all my followers,” Metwater said.

“Is that how your followers—all these young women—see you?” Marco asked.

“My relationship to my disciples is a spiritual one,” Metwater said. He half turned away. “You must excuse me now. I hope you find this child, wherever she is.”

Walt’s eyes met Marco’s. The DEA agent jerked his head toward the door. “What do you think the odds are that his relationship with all these women is merely spiritual?” Walt asked once they were outside.

“About the same as the odds no one in this camp has a record or something they’d like to hide,” Marco said.

“It does seem like the kind of group that would attract people who are running away from something,” Walt said.

“Yeah. And everything Metwater says sounds like a lie to me,” Marco said. He turned to leave, but Walt put out a hand to stop him.

“Let’s talk to those women over there.” He nodded toward a group of women who stood outside a grouping of tents across the compound. One of them stirred a pot over an open fire, while several others tended small children.

“Good idea,” Marco said.

The women watched the Rangers’ approach with wary expressions. Walt zeroed in on an auburn-haired woman who cradled an infant. “Hi,” he said. “What’s your baby’s name?”

“Adore.” She stroked a wisp of hair back from the baby’s forehead.

“I think my niece is about that age,” Walt said. “How old is she? About three months, right?”

“He is five months old,” the woman said frostily, and turned away.

The other women silently gathered the children and went inside the tent, leaving Marco and Walt alone. “I guess she schooled you,” Marco said.

“Hey, it was worth a try.” He glanced around the camp, which was now empty. “What do we do now?”

“Let’s get out of here.” Marco led the way down the path back toward the parking area. They met no one on the trail, and the woods around them were eerily silent, with no birdsong or chattering of squirrels, or even wind stirring the branches of trees.

“Do you get the feeling we’re being watched?” Walt asked.

“I’m sure we are,” Marco said. “Metwater almost always has a guard or two watching the entrance to the camp.”

“For a supposedly peaceful, innocent bunch, they sure are paranoid,” Walt said. What did they have to fear in this remote location, and what did they have to protect?

Their FJ Cruiser with the Ranger Brigade emblem sat alone in the parking lot. Before they had taken more than a few steps toward it, Walt froze. “What’s that on the windshield?” he asked.

“It looks like a note.” Marco pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures, then they approached slowly, making a wide circle of the vehicle first.

Walt examined the ground for footprints, but the hard, dry soil showed no impressions. Marco took a few more close-up shots, and plucked the paper—which looked like a sheet torn from a spiral notebook—carefully by the edges. He read it, then showed it to Walt. The handwriting was an almost childish scrawl, the letters rounded and uneven, a mix of printing and cursive. “‘All the children here are well cared for and loved,’” he read. “‘No one needs to worry. Don’t cause us any trouble. You don’t know what you’re doing.’”

He looked at Marco. “What do you think?”

“I’m wondering if the same person who left the note also left that.” He gestured toward the driver’s door of the cruiser, from which hung a pink baby bonnet, ribbons hanging loose in the still air.

* * *

“I’M SURE THIS is the same bonnet that’s in the picture Emily sent me.” Hannah fingered the delicate pink ribbons, the tears she was fighting to hold back making her throat ache. “Whoever left this must have wanted to let us know that Joy is there and that she’s all right.” She looked into Walt Riley’s eyes, silently pleading for confirmation. The idea that anything might have happened to her niece was unbearable.

“We don’t know why the bonnet was left,” he said, his voice and his expression gentle. “But I agree that it looks very like the one in the picture you supplied us.”

“What will you do now?” She looked at the trio of concerned faces. Agent Cruz and their commander had once again joined Walt to interview her at Ranger headquarters. She had broken the speed limit on the drive from her hotel when Walt had called and asked her to stop by whenever it was convenient.

“We’re attempting to obtain a warrant to search the camp for your niece,” the commander said. “We’ve also contacted Child Welfare and Protection to see if they’ve had any calls about the camp and might know anything.”

That was it? When she had come to the Ranger office for help, she had expected them to immediately go with her to the Family’s camp and take the child. When they had insisted on visiting the camp alone, she had held on to the hope that they would return with Joy. But they had done nothing but talk and ask questions. They seemed more interested in paperwork than in making sure Joy was safely where she belonged. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” she asked. “Just sit and wait?” And worry.

“I’m sorry to say that’s all you can do right now,” Agent Riley said. “Rushing in there on your own won’t do anything but put Metwater and his people on the defensive. They might even leave the area.”

“Then you could stop them,” she said.

“On what grounds?” the commander asked. “So far we have no proof they’ve committed any crime.”

“They have a child who doesn’t belong to them, who isn’t related to them in any way. A helpless infant.” A child who was all she had left of her beloved sister.

“If they do have your niece, we don’t have any reason to think they’ve harmed her or intend to harm her.” Agent Riley reclaimed her attention with his calm voice and concerned expression. “The children we’ve seen in camp look well cared for, though we’ll verify that with CWP.”

“You’re right.” She clenched her hands in her lap and forced herself to take a deep breath. “Patience isn’t one of my strong suits.” Especially when it came to a baby. So much could go wrong, and could anyone who wasn’t family watch over her as carefully as Hannah would?

“Go back to your hotel now,” the commander said. “We’ll be in touch.” He and Agent Cruz left, leaving her alone with Agent Riley.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

“You didn’t have to walk with me,” she said, after they had crossed the gravel lot to the compact car she had rented at the Montrose airport. A brisk wind sent dry leaves skittering over the gravel and tugged strands of hair from her updo. She brushed the hair from her eyes and studied him, trying to read the expression behind his dark sunglasses.

“I wanted to talk to you a little more. Away from the office.” He glanced back toward the low beige building that was Ranger headquarters. “Having to talk to a bunch of cops makes some people nervous.”

“As opposed to talking to only one cop.”

“Try to think of me as a guy who’s trying to help.”

“All right.” She crossed her arms over her stomach. “What do you want to know?”

“I’m trying to figure out what Daniel Metwater stands to gain by claiming your niece is his daughter,” he said. “Understanding people’s motives is often helpful in untangling a crime.”

“I imagine you know more about the man than I do. He’s been living in this area for what, almost a month now?”

“About that. Is it possible your sister listed him as Joy’s father without his knowledge?”

“Why would she do that?”

“You said she was one of his followers. He refers to himself as a father to his disciples. Maybe she was trying to honor that.”

She studied the ground at her feet, the rough aggregate of rocks and dirt in half a dozen shades of red and brown. She might have been standing on Mars, for all she felt so out of her depth. “I don’t know what my sister was thinking. As much as I loved her, I didn’t understand her. She lived a very different life.”

“Where do you live? I haven’t even asked.”

“Dallas. I’m a chemist.” The expression on his face almost made her laugh. “Never play poker, Agent Riley.”

“All right, I’ll admit I’m surprised,” he said. “I’ve never met a female chemist before. Come to think of it, I may never have met a chemist before.”

His grin, so boyish and almost bashful, made her heart skip a beat. She put her hand to her chest, as if to calm the irregular rhythm. “My job doesn’t put me in contact with very many law enforcement officers, either.” Impulsively, she reached out and touched his arm. “You’ll let me know the minute you know anything about Joy? Call me anytime—even if it’s the middle of the night.”

He covered her hand with his own. The warmth and weight of that touch seeped into her, steadying her even as it made her feel a little off balance. “I will,” he said. “And try not to worry. It may not seem like it, but we are doing everything we can to help you.”

“I want to believe that.” She pulled her hand away, pretending to fuss with the clasp of her handbag. “I’m used to being in charge, so it’s not always easy to let someone else take over.”

“Let us know if you think of anything that might be helpful.”

“I will.” They said goodbye and she got into her car and drove away. For the first time since coming to Colorado, she wasn’t obsessing over Joy and Emily and the agonizing uncertainty of her situation. Instead, she was remembering the way it felt when Agent Walt Riley put his hand on hers. They had connected, something that didn’t happen too often for her. She had come into this situation thinking she was the only one who could save her niece. Maybe she wasn’t quite so alone after all.

* * *

WALT SPENT EVERY spare moment over the next twenty-four hours working on Hannah’s case. Though he prided himself on being a hard worker, the memory of Hannah’s stricken face when he had last seen her drove him on. The afternoon of the second day, the Ranger team met to report on their various activities. Everyone was present except Montrose County sheriff’s deputy Lance Carpenter, who was on his honeymoon but expected back later in the week, and Customs and Border Protection agent Michael Dance, who was following up a lead in Denver. After listening to a presentation by veteran Ranger Randall Knightbridge on a joint effort with Colorado Parks and Wildlife to catch poachers operating in the park, and a report from Colorado Bureau of Investigation officer Carmen Redhorse on an unattended death in the park that was ruled a suicide, Walt stood to address his fellow team members.

After a brief recap of Hannah’s visit and his and Marco’s foray into Metwater’s camp, he consulted his notes. “I’ve gone over the documents Ms. Dietrich supplied us. We couldn’t lift any useful prints from the letter or the will. Nothing on the note that was left at the camp, or the bonnet, either. I contacted the Denver hospital where the baby was born—the hat isn’t one of theirs. They think the mother probably brought it with her, and they can’t give out any information on patients. We’re trying to reach the nurse who was one of the witnesses on Emily Dietrich’s will, Marsha Caldwell. She is reportedly living in Amsterdam now, where her husband recently transferred for work, but I haven’t gotten a response yet. We haven’t had any luck locating the other witness, Anna Ingels.”

“I talked to a contact at Child Welfare and Protection and she had nothing for me,” Carmen said. “They did send a social worker to visit the camp a couple of weeks after Metwater and his group arrived here, but they found no violations. They said all the children appeared to be well cared for.”

“And I don’t guess they noted any baby crawling around with no mother to claim her,” Ethan Reynolds, another of the new recruits to the Ranger Brigade, quipped.

“We got word a few minutes ago that the judge is denying our request for a warrant to search the camp,” Graham said.

The news rocked Walt back on his heels, as if he’d been punched. “What was their reasoning?” he asked.

“We didn’t present enough evidence to justify the search,” the captain said. “At least in their eyes. The judge feels—and this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this—that the Ranger Brigade’s continued focus on Metwater and his followers is tantamount to harassment.”

“This doesn’t come from us,” Randall said. “Ms. Dietrich came to us. She’s the one who made the accusations against Metwater. We weren’t harassing him. We were following up on her claim.”

“And we found nothing,” Graham said. He looked across the table and met Walt’s steady gaze. “As long as Metwater and his people deny the baby exists, our hands are tied. There’s nothing else we can do.”