“Maybe a little more than ‘a bit’,” Charlie agreed, “but that all made him easy pickings for Westcott. Folsom needed a front, a solid front for his trafficking ring. The church and orphanage were perfect for him and Heap was the perfect chump.”
“Okay,” Sin interjected, “I get why Heap went along with it. He actually thought Westcott was trying to help him.”
“Right, and Westcott convinced him that any respectable, conservative, southern preacher needed a conservative, southern wife.”
“As fucked up and bizarre as all that is, I get it,” Sin said. “Heap was just a dumbass, backwoods preacher who saw himself as the second coming, who was easy prey, but why Tumbleboat and where does Miller fit into all of this.”
“Tumbleboat was in financial trouble. After the hurricanes of a few years ago, the fishing company was in shambles and there were more boats dry-docked than on the water.” Charlie had a gleam in his eye. “You could say, the citizens of Tumbleboat were looking for a savior.”
Sin made an expression like she just bit into a lemon. “That was cheesy, even for you.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Anyway, Westcott knew Miller from some of his twisted chat rooms. He became aware of Tumbleboat through Miller. The Keys have always been an accessible port of ingress for all types of smuggling due to its proximity to Central America and the Caribbean, so it all made sense. Westcott was able to ply Miller with more money than he had ever seen and supply him with girls for his perverted games. All Miller had to do was agree to play dungeon master in their little films.”
“I know you prefaced that this story would be disjointed, but help bring this back to Magdalene,” Sin said.
“I did a lot of digging into Westcott’s private life. I tapped his personal and business computers.”
“How?”
Charlie’s right eyebrow rose. “You of all people should know that if I fish long enough, I’m bound to catch what I need.”
Sin rolled her eyes and gestured for him to continue.
“Finding Miller and Tumbleboat were a dream come true for him, but . . .” Charlie stopped Sin from interrupting, “he needed someone to oversee the operation. That’s when he came up with the idea of sending Magdalene down there with Heap.”
“I am so confused,” Sin said.
“Stay with me,” Charlie pressed. “It will come together in just a minute.”
“It better, you’re giving me a freaking headache.”
“You need to read Maggie’s bio, later. It will fill in a lot of gaps, but for the sake of time just realize that Maggie was very pliable. She may be a dominant bitch now, but that wasn’t always the case. Westcott knew her weaknesses and he used them for all they were worth.”
Sin slouched in the chair, her head hung back over the metal frame, her legs splayed, and arms hung by her side. “My head is pounding,” she whined.
“Once Westcott had all the pieces of the puzzle,” Charlie continued, “all he had to do was assemble them. If Miller hadn’t been so careless when dumping the bodies of the girls, he’d still be in business.”
Sin sat straight up in the chair. “Did you find proof that Miller killed Alex and the other agents?”
Charlie turned his eyes downcast. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Frank had Miller’s computer confiscated and I was able to find erased emails between Miller and Westcott detailing the agents’ assignments, Westcott’s termination orders, and Miller’s affirmation of the completed kills.”
Sin eyed a photo of Miller that Charlie had brought up on the computer monitor. “I’m glad he’s dead. I’ll be happier on January first.”
59
Sin sat alone in her apartment, in front of the computer, reading and re-reading Maggie’s bio until her eyes ached. It read like a poorly written soap opera.
The file told of a girl who was given up for adoption at birth. The adoption fell through and she was rendered to a state facility. There were report after report from caregivers and administrators saying how she was a sweet, vulnerable child, but always over-looked for adoption because she was too shy to speak and not as ‘cute’ as the other children.
Sin scrolled up to a particular passage and read it verbatim.
“On June fifth, Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Seven, Magdalene R., a thirteen-year-old girl, was found beaten and unconscious in the stairwell of Stallings Home for Girls. Miss. R. could not or would not identify any of her attackers.”
After that date, Maggie regressed further into her own world. No other incidents were noted in the file and the state lost track of her when she was released at the age of eighteen.
There was a gap in Maggie’s bio until she was spotted ten years later on the arm of Folsom Westcott: up and coming attorney and political juggernaut.
Charlie had described her as meek and submissive in nature whenever she was in public. She never looked anyone in the eye and never initiated conversation.
She was typical of a lot of abused women I’ve known, thought Sin. But all that seemed to change after her plastic surgery. The abused became the abusive.
For a moment, Sin felt sad for Magdalene Ramirez, but then she scrolled the computer files and viewed the pictures of the dead girls.
“I don’t give a shit what hand the world dealt you, Magdalene,” Sin said aloud. “You could have risen above it. Instead, you chose to sink deep into it.”
For the next two weeks, Sin followed Maggie while Troy kept a constant eye on Westcott.
On the night of December thirtieth, she met with Charlie at the coffee shop.
“Sin,” Charlie said, “let me bring Frank in on this―”
“No,” she interrupted.
“Why not, we know we can trust him. We have concrete proof of Westcott’s involvement in the trafficking ring and the filming.” He reached out and held Sin’s hand. “We have him dead to rights.”
“It’s not Frank I’m worried about,” Sin said. “Westcott is too connected to leave it up to chance. Two of the ‘guests’ we disposed of
